Someone stumbled, almost knocking her over. The case was wrenched from her grip as the man fell. She tried to go back for it, but the crowd swept her along like driftwood. “Eddie! The case!” she cried, but she had lost sight of it …
Kit held it up. He shoved past the fallen man to her. “I think you dropped this,” he said. “We don’t want to lose the statues after everything we’ve been through.”
“Or the disk,” she added as he handed the case back to her.
He seemed almost to have forgotten about it. “Or the disk, yes!”
They reached the doors. They opened, station employees hurriedly pulling away their makeshift barricades of desks and vending machines. Eddie looked back as they entered. The soldiers were advancing. No shots had been fired … yet. But the two opposing forces would meet in seconds.
Clutching the case, Nina pushed through the doors behind Suarez. There were about twenty people in the lobby. “Can anyone speak English?” she called.
“I can,” said a middle-aged man in a yellow tie. He did a double-take. “Are you Nina Wilde?”
“Yeah, I am—but never mind that!” She held up the case. “I’ve got a DVD in here—there’s a recording on it that’ll destroy General Callas. You’ve got to get it on the air as soon as you can!”
Shots cracked outside, people screaming. “Shut the doors!” Eddie yelled.
Suarez joined Nina, adding his own instructions as she took out the DVD. “How long will it take you to start broadcasting?” she asked.
“Two minutes, less,” said the man. “What is on it?”
Nina shrugged helplessly. “I dunno—just something really bad for Callas.”
He looked uncertain, then took the disk and ran for a set of double doors. Suarez followed as the staff restored the blockade.
There were several large plasma screens in the lobby, all showing the station’s current output: a view of the street outside. Eddie joined Nina and watched, seeing a phalanx of soldiers driving through the crowd, clubbing them with their rifle butts. The protesters pushed back, throwing stones and garbage.
More shots. Muzzle flashes flickered across the screens, people falling dead to the ground. Nina gasped and clutched Eddie’s hand. Macy put a hand to her mouth in horror, looking away. Some of those nearest the soldiers tried to retreat, but the weight of people behind them left them with nowhere to go. Others, trapped, threw themselves at the troops, armed with nothing more than their fists and feet. They were brutally battered to the ground as other soldiers fired into the mob.
One screen briefly showed a test pattern before switching to a studio. The image jerked about before the camera operator finally fixed on a chair. Someone ran up to it, waving—then Suarez appeared. He took the seat, holding his wounded arm with the blood clearly visible. The camera tipped up as if to frame it out, but Suarez shook his head. The picture tilted back, making sure the injury the president had sustained—and seemingly shaken off—was in plain view. Even in a crisis, Suarez still knew the value of creating an iconic image.
Nina looked at another screen showing the fighting outside. The soldiers were much closer. “This barricade won’t keep them out, will it?”
Eddie shook his head. “Just hope whatever’s on that DVD does the trick.”
Suarez started to speak. All but one of the screens changed to show him, the broadcast going out live to the country. His voice echoed from the loudspeakers outside. Macy gave a running translation, despite her nervous glances at the doors. “People of Venezuela, today has been a dark day for our country. Traitors have attacked Miraflores, and tried to kill me.” He held up his injured arm. “A man I thought was a friend, Salbatore Callas, led this revolt … funded by criminals and drug lords. I have the proof—and now I will show it to you.”
Suarez then spoke in English. “Dr. Nina Wilde … I hope you are right.”
“Oh, great,” said Nina. “Now if it turns out to be Callas’s boudoir tapes, I get the blame!”
The president gestured to someone off camera. The image changed.
Nina recognized the Clubhouse balcony where she had met de Quesada. The drug lord was seated at the very edge of the picture, almost out of shot and distorted by the fisheye effect of a wide-angle lens; the video had been shot on a concealed camera among his belongings. Callas, however, was almost dead center, instantly recognizable in his uniform.
De Quesada had apparently edited the raw footage down to the most incriminating highlights. Again, Macy translated. “So, just to be perfectly clear about our deal,” she said as de Quesada spoke, “in return for twenty percent of the value of my drugs that cross Venezuela, you will give them completely unrestricted passage from the Colombian border to the ports where they are shipping to America and Europe. Yes?”
“Yes, agreed,” said Callas.
“And what about the DEA? If you take power from Suarez—”
“When I take power.”
“When you take power,” de Quesada said, correcting himself, “you will not let them back into your country?”
Callas smiled. “I only want the Americans’ money, not their policemen.”
A cut, the Colombian leaning forward in his seat. “And what about Venezuelan drug policy under your rule?” he asked. “It’s not a big market, but it’s still worth millions of dollars a year. Since I’m helping you, I don’t want to have my … subcontractors being arrested.”
“Your dealers will have immunity,” said Callas, though with evident distaste. “Providing they keep a low profile.”
“They will be very discreet, I assure you.” De Quesada smiled again, then stood. “So,” he said, extending his right hand, “we have a deal?”
Callas shook it. “We have a deal.”
“Thank you.”
The screens went black, then Suarez returned, looking off to one side at a monitor and seeming as astounded by what he had just seen as those in the lobby. But Nina was more interested in the one TV still showing what was happening outside. “Eddie, look!”
The soldiers were staring up at the big screen beneath the cameraman’s vantage point. The protesters were doing the same, everyone’s attention captured by the broadcast. The camera zoomed in on the troops. Confusion was clear on their upturned faces … quickly turning to shock and outrage.
Eddie watched as the new emotions rippled through Callas’s forces. “This should be interesting …”
Callas, standing with a group of his commanders among the military vehicles, struggled to conceal his dismay as Suarez returned to the giant screen. Part of him knew that the game was over; the incriminating recording had just been broadcast to the entire country, and more worryingly to his forces outside the television station. While he was using carefully chosen corrupt men to ensure that narcotics traffic across the Orinoco followed his rules, he knew that the vast majority of Venezuela’s soldiers despised the drug lords.
But another part refused to give up. He had come so close! And Suarez was inside the building. He could still be captured, some fairy tale about the recording being faked with computer graphics and a vocal impersonator concocted. “Well?” he snapped. “What are you waiting for? We’ll take the building—I want Suarez to pay for these lies!”
A young captain faced him. “General, was that—real?”
“Of course it wasn’t real!” But Callas could see that doubt had taken root. He decided that sheer volume was the best way to overcome it. “You idiots! This is exactly what Suarez wants, for you to think I’m in league with drug lords.”
“But that was the Clubhouse, I recognized it.” Other men nearby voiced agreement.
“Never mind that.” He jabbed an angry finger at the studios. “I want Suarez captured, now!” Nobody moved. “Do what I tell you!”
Other soldiers closed in, faces dark, betrayed. Another officer spoke. “We want an explanation, General. Did you really make a deal with some Colombian so he could sell drugs to our children?”
“Get back,”
Callas warned. The advance continued, more troops surrounding him. “I’m warning you, do as I say!”
“Get him,” growled the captain.
Several men lunged at Callas. He grabbed for his sidearm, but they pinned his arms behind his back. “You bastards!” he snarled. “Suarez will wreck the entire country—I’m its only hope! Everything I do is for the good of Venezuela!”
The captain stood before him, lips tight. “Let’s find out who is telling the truth.” He nodded to the men holding the general. “Bring him.”
Stikes observed the scene below through binoculars as the Hind continued its orbit. “Looks as though we’re out of pocket on this job, boys,” he said coldly as he watched Callas being frog-marched through the crowd. “Gurov, get us out of here.”
The gunship changed course, sweeping away into the darkness over the city.
“It’s Callas!” Nina said as the cameraman zoomed in on the man being forced toward the building. “They’ve arrested him!”
“We’ll see,” said Eddie, more wary. “It might be a trap.” But the gunfire had stopped, and the soldiers were retreating to leave a space outside the entrance. The two sides genuinely seemed in a state of uneasy truce.
Suarez hurried into the lobby, followed by the man in the yellow tie, now powering up a professional video camera. The president ordered that the barricades be moved from the doors.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Macy asked him.
“I want to see him face-to-face,” came the reply. “And the people have to see that I am still in charge.” Then he addressed the little group of foreign visitors in English. “I have not said thank you—you saved my life. You saved my country. Thank you.” He added something in Spanish, then strode to the doors as the blockade was cleared.
“What did he say?” asked Kit.
“That we’re heroes of the socialist revolution, and we’ll all get medals,” Macy told him. She grimaced. “That’s not something I’m gonna be wearing around Miami.”
“I can see it wouldn’t be too popular,” said Nina, amused.
Eddie huffed. “Can’t we just get money?”
The station personnel opened the doors. There was a moment of tension as Suarez was revealed to the world outside, standing in plain view of any potential assassin, but it passed. People began to cheer. Suarez waved his hands for silence as he stepped into the open. The cameraman bustled after him to record the scene.
The soldiers brought the struggling Callas to a stop in front of the president. Nina and Eddie watched as the two men faced each other. Suarez spoke first. “Salbatore. I never thought it would be you who turned against me.”
“That’s because you’re blind, Tito,” Callas spat. “You’re living in a fantasy world.” Sarcasm twisted his lips. “All your glorious revolution will do is make everyone poor. Our country needs strength, not dreams!”
“The strength of the dictator?”
“Isn’t that what we have now?” the general countered.
Suarez drew in a long breath, his expression cold. “Salbatore Delgado Callas,” he said. “You are under arrest. Your crime is treason.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take him away.”
They turned, pulling Callas with them. He resisted—causing one of the soldiers to stumble.
It was enough for Callas to break one arm free.
He snatched the pistol from the captain’s holster and whipped it around at Suarez—
A single gunshot cracked across the plaza. In Suarez’s hand was the pistol he had taken from Rojas. The soldiers holding the general jumped back in shock. Callas stared at the bullet wound in his chest, mouth wide in silent pain.
He looked back at Suarez, trying with his last breath to bring up his own gun and pull the trigger …
Then he collapsed at his enemy’s feet, blood pooling around him.
The coup was over.
TWENTY-FIVE
So, Mac,” said Eddie, with a twinge of stiff and bruised muscles as he raised a glass of beer, “how does it feel to be back in action?”
The Scot regarded him through narrowed eyes. “What, you mean apart from the injuries, the fear, the gunshots and car crashes and explosions, and losing my leg—again?” He thumped the heel of his reattached prosthetic limb on the floor.
“Yeah, apart from all that.”
Mac smiled and raised his own drink. “Rather good, actually. Cheers!”
“Cheers.” The two men clinked glasses.
Over twenty-four hours had passed since the end of Callas’s attempted revolution, and the pair were sitting in the hotel bar. It had been a busy day for all of the group. In addition to receiving medical treatment for their numerous battle scars, the various members had then had to deal with officialdom, both Venezuelan and from their own countries. Eddie and Mac had been summoned to the British embassy, Kit went to make his report at the local Interpol headquarters, and Nina and Macy were whisked away by a cavalcade of black SUVs to deal with the US ambassador. The meeting for the two Brits had been relatively short; as Mac had told Eddie, the United Kingdom’s interest in Venezuela was minor, and beyond expressing a regret that Suarez hadn’t suffered an injury that would force him to leave office, the MI6 officer debriefing them stuck to obtaining a purely factual account of events.
The debriefing for the two Americans would, Eddie suspected, be more politically charged. “How long do you reckon they’ll keep Nina and Macy, then? Or will they just ship ’em straight off to Guantanamo? They could put them in Sophia’s old cell.”
Mac smiled. “Maybe they’ll become the next communist icons. You might see Nina’s face on a T-shirt, like Guevara.”
“Oh, she’d love that,” said Eddie with a laugh. “Now Macy, she’d probably go for it.”
“She might at that.” Mac sat back, his expression turning wistful.
“What is it?”
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I wanted to say that, once again, you’ve done damn good work, Eddie. Whatever we may think of Suarez politically, he’s not a murderer like Callas. Stopping Callas from taking power will have saved God knows how many lives. Well done.”
“I learned from the best,” said Eddie. “And you helped.”
“Well, just a tad.” Mac waved a hand in false modesty. “But yes, it was reassuring to know that I’ve still got it. Getting old doesn’t mean we become useless.”
“We? You saying I’m getting old?” Eddie asked, grinning.
“It happens to us all, in the end. If we’re lucky.”
“Speak for yourself. Soon as Nina finds the Fountain of Youth, I’m going to drink out of it from a bucket!”
Kit entered the bar, accompanied, to Eddie’s surprise, by Osterhagen. “Kit, mate! How did it go with Interpol?”
“As well as could be expected,” the Indian replied. “I had a teleconference with my superiors—they were confused about how an investigation into artifact smuggling turned into the prevention of a coup d’état, but I think I explained everything. As far as I can comprehend how I ended up in this situation myself.”
“You’ll get used to it. You’ve known Nina for eight months and had this kind of mad shit happen to you twice. I’ve known her for five years, so think how much I’ve been through.” He turned his attention to Osterhagen. “Doc! How are you?”
“Good, thank you,” said the German.
“What about Ralf? Is he okay?”
“Yes. He is being flown back to Germany and his family.” He sat down beside Eddie. “I heard you had an eventful night.”
Eddie chuckled. “You could say that.”
“But you rescued Nina and Mr. Jindal safely.” He looked around. “Where is Nina? I heard she recovered the statues and the khipu. I have a theory about the khipu, and want to discuss it with her.”
“We recovered the statues …,” Eddie admitted.
“And the khipu?”
He grimaced. “Er … no.”
“What? Then where is it?”
Nina shook her head in exasperation. “From the way the people from the State Department were carrying on, you’d think we personally expropriated the plantations of United Fruit or something. They were one step away from accusing us of being communists because we didn’t throw Suarez under a bus when we had the chance.” She squeezed between Osterhagen and Eddie. “I’ve had it with debriefings.”
“No you haven’t. You’ve got one more debriefing to come tonight.”
“Huh?” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, and after a moment she picked up on his double entendre. “Oh. Oh!” She blushed a little. “Well, ah, it’s been kind of a long day, and I need to get some sleep, and ah …” Macy mouthed Go on! at her. “But we have been through an incredibly intense experience, I suppose, a lot of pent-up tension to get rid of, and, ah, somebody please stop me babbling before I make a total ass of myself?”
Everyone laughed, and Eddie put his arm around Nina and kissed her. Osterhagen gave the couple more room. “I suppose we can discuss the khipu tomorrow,” he said.
“What about the khipu?” Nina asked.
The German saw Eddie’s glare. “It … can wait.”
“Are you sure? I realized something about it at the Clubhouse, how it relates to the map. I think the knots are—”
The glare took on a death-ray intensity. “No, really, it can wait!” said Osterhagen, throwing up his hands. “You know, I would like a drink.”
“Me too,” said Macy. “In fact, I’d like several drinks.”
Eddie gestured toward the bar, catching the attention of a waiter. “Suarez is paying for everything, so have whatever you want.”
“Seriously?” He nodded; she beamed. “Awesome! Champagne, then!”
“You want anything?” Eddie asked Nina.
Now it was her turn to look libidinous. “Yes, but I think we should put it on room service.”
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