Empire of Gold_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  “How the fuck would I know?” Eddie replied as the black-clad men dispersed. “I was down at the bottom trying to stop you arseholes from getting in.”

  Stikes sighed and drew his gun again, pressing it against Macy’s head. “We’re not going to have to go through this rigmarole again, are we?”

  Osterhagen spoke up. “Leave her alone. The statues are with our equipment, outside the temple.”

  “Show me,” said Stikes. “Arcani, tell your men to guard the others … no, wait. I want to keep Chase in my sight. Bring them with us.” Pachac issued orders, and the rebels pushed their prisoners forward at gunpoint.

  “We can’t let him take the statues,” Kit protested.

  “Don’t worry about being separated from them, Jindal,” said Stikes. “You’ll be coming with them.”

  “Why do you want him?” asked Pachac.

  “I’m a wanted man after the fiasco in Venezuela,” replied Stikes. “An Interpol officer will be a useful hostage if the police get too close.”

  Eddie narrowed his eyes, puzzled. Stikes’s answer was a little too glib, too rehearsed. And it didn’t even hold water; taking a cop as a hostage was a bad idea, because it ensured that the other cops trying to rescue him would be particularly determined and ruthless. The mercenary had some other purpose in mind for Kit.

  Pachac seemed equally doubtful, but was apparently willing to accept the explanation. “Then what about the gold?” He waved a hand at the silent ruins as they climbed through the tiers toward the temple. “We are the first people to find this place since the Incas left. There must be more gold than just the Punchaco. I must have it. I need it for the revolution.”

  “Revolution?” muttered Zender with contempt. “You are a drug dealer, nothing more. A common criminal.”

  Pachac rounded on him, face twisted with anger. “I am the Inkarrí!” he snarled. Zender flinched, but stood his ground, almost nose-to-nose with the terrorist leader. “I will give back my people the land and power that were stolen from them by the Spanish. By people like you! Bourgeois puppets of the ruling class! The revolution will sweep you away like garbage.”

  “There will not be a revolution,” Zender countered. “This is the twenty-first century! Communism is dead—even the Chinese have rejected Maoism. People want jobs, and money, and homes where they can raise their children. They do not want drug-dealing psychopaths like you!”

  Pachac was silent, the veins in his thick neck standing out as his fury rose … then with a roar he snatched something from his belt. A metallic snick—and he drove his knife into the official’s stomach. Zender screamed as the blade slashed deeper into his abdomen.

  Eddie lunged at the Peruvian, but was seized by other rebels and dragged back. Macy turned away in horror as Pachac pulled out the knife, then clamped both hands around Zender’s throat, spittle flying from his lips as he hissed abuse in Quechua, the Indian language. He squeezed harder and harder, forcing Zender to his knees.

  Zender convulsed, trying to force Pachac’s hands away, but the muscular revolutionary’s grip was too strong. The official’s mouth opened wide in a futile attempt to draw air through his crushed windpipe, tongue writhing like a panicked snake. A choked gurgle escaped his throat … then his eyes rolled grotesquely up into his head and his entire body sagged into the limpness of death.

  Pachac let go. The corpse slumped to the ground. He wiped off his knife, then folded it shut. “So that was your specialty?” said Stikes. “Callas told me about it. Capa …”

  “Capacocha,” Pachac told him, returning the knife to his belt. “An ancient Inca ritual. One I will be proud to bring back.”

  “Couldn’t you have just stuck to playing pan pipes?” Eddie asked, disgusted. The Peruvian’s expression made him think that he might also receive a demonstration, but then Pachac turned away and continued toward the temple entrance. His followers shoved the prisoners after him, leaving Zender’s body behind.

  “Where are the statues?” Stikes demanded as they entered the little square with the fountains.

  “Over here,” said Osterhagen, leading him to where the team had left their equipment.

  Stikes opened the case to find the statues inside, the set now complete. “Excellent,” he said, snapping the lid shut and picking up the box. He looked at Eddie. “So I’ve got the statues, I’ve got Jindal—that only leaves your wife.”

  “And the gold,” said Pachac impatiently.

  “And the gold, yes. But—” He broke off as his walkie-talkie bleeped. “Yes? Have you found her?”

  “Sir!” said one of his men urgently. “We haven’t—but we found two of Pachac’s men dead. Their weapons are missing.”

  Stikes immediately understood the implications. “She’s not trying to escape—she’s going to try to rescue her friends! Everyone get back up here—we’re on the level above the plaza.” The case under one arm, he strode back to Eddie. “Been giving her survival lessons, have you?”

  “A few,” said Eddie, wondering what the hell Nina was doing—and Mac, for that matter. “She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “But does she know how to take care of you?” The Jericho was drawn again—but this time it was Eddie, not Macy, who was its target. “Dr. Wilde!” Stikes’s voice rose to a shout, echoing through the cavern. “Dr. Wilde, I have your husband at gunpoint. You have ten seconds to make your position known and surrender, or I’ll kill him, then move on to the rest of your friends!”

  Macy clutched Osterhagen’s arm in fear as Stikes stepped closer to Eddie, the gun inches from his face. The first of the mercenaries ran into the square, covering the other entrances and surrounding buildings with their M4s. “Ten!” said Stikes. “Nine! Eight—”

  “Really, Alexander!” boomed a Scottish voice. “You always were such a drama queen.”

  Everyone whirled to see Mac on the terrace above, an AK taken from one of the rebels Eddie had shot ready in his hands. The weapons of mercenaries and terrorists alike snapped up to lock onto him. Stikes was genuinely thrown by his unexpected appearance, but quickly masked his surprise. “Well, well. McCrimmon. What in the name of God are you doing here?”

  “I’m on holiday,” Mac replied. “Let them go.”

  Stikes laughed sarcastically. “I don’t think so.” The Jericho was still aimed unwaveringly at Eddie’s head. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. Seven! Six! Five!”

  “I’m warning you, Alexander!” Mac shouted, lining up his gun’s sights on the mercenary leader.

  “And I’m warning you. Three! Two! One—”

  “Arse!” Mac growled. With a noise of angry frustration, he tossed the Kalashnikov down to the square and raised his hands.

  “Hold your fire,” Stikes snapped, the command aimed more at Pachac’s men than his own. “Come down here, McCrimmon.”

  Mac started toward the nearest flight of steps. “So this is what you’ve come down to, Alexander?” he said. “Teaming up with Maoist killers? Robbing and plundering? It took eleven years, but your true colors are finally out in the open.”

  “Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious,” Stikes sneered. “You’ve hardly kept your hands clean, doing all those little jobs for MI6. How many people did you set up to be killed? And as for your favorite poodle here”—he waved his gun at Eddie—“it’s a wonder he hasn’t ended up in jail, with all the chaos he’s caused around the world.”

  Mac managed a sardonic half smile as he descended the steps. “I’d hoped that after the official investigation, the difference between legitimate and illegitimate targets might finally have penetrated your skull.”

  Stikes narrowed his eyes in anger. “The only thing penetrating your skull will be a bullet if you don’t—” He caught himself. “Oh, very good, Mac,” he continued, voice becoming mocking. “You almost got me.”

  “Got you with what?” Mac asked innocently as he reached the square. Pachac’s men surrounded him.

  “Got me into an argument about your attempt to destroy my reput
ation back in the Regiment. That would have kept me occupied for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?” He regarded the surrounding buildings suspiciously. “Enough time for Dr. Wilde to do whatever you’re both planning.”

  “Actually,” called Nina, “I’ve already done it.”

  Her voice came from above. The people in the square all looked up at the terrace, but saw nothing—until they raised their eyes higher to see Nina on the roof of the palace itself, watching them from the highest point in the city.

  And aiming a rocket launcher at them.

  “Okay,” she continued, having gotten their full attention, “here’s the deal. Either you let everyone go, or … boom.”

  “Er, love,” said Eddie in alarm, “that didn’t work for Indiana Jones, and it won’t work for us either!” The kill radius of an RPG-7 warhead was relatively small … but still more than large enough to shred the closely packed group in the square, good guys and bad alike.

  But then he caught Mac’s eye. The older man gave him a knowing look—one that, while not exactly reassuring, still suggested Nina had something in mind other than a no-win scenario.

  Stikes was unimpressed by her threat. “You really expect me to believe that you’d kill your husband? And your friends?” He briefly looked around as the rest of his men arrived. They immediately aimed their rifles at her.

  “Well, of course not,” Nina replied. “I just wanted to let them know what I climbed all the way up here to do.”

  “Which is what?”

  She cocked her head to one side—and smiled. “Pull the plug.”

  And with that she ducked out of his sight, making a half turn and dropping to one knee to brace herself as she took aim.

  Eddie realized what she meant at the same moment as Macy, Kit, and Osterhagen. “We’re gonna get wet again—”

  Nina pulled the trigger.

  The grenade’s small expeller charge blasted it out of the launch tube, flying clear of Nina before the main rocket booster ignited and sent the warhead streaking toward the rear of the cave at over six hundred miles an hour. It hit the wall the Incas had built to constrain their water supply—and exploded.

  The echoes of the detonation faded … to be replaced by another sound. A low, crackling rumble.

  Pent up behind the ancient dam were hundreds of thousands of gallons of water. Even with the river blocked, the level had hardly fallen, having only a tiny hole through which to escape.

  That hole was now widening.

  The cracking of stone blocks grew louder—then with a splintering boom, the wall gave way.

  And a tidal wave burst into the cavern.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The fountains erupted into geysers as the pressure behind them increased a hundredfold. Water exploded around the palace, sweeping over the terrace and down the broad stairways toward the shocked people below.

  Mac grabbed Macy, yelling “Run!” She broke into a sprint, the Scot behind her.

  Simultaneously Eddie ran for the closest shelter—the Temple of the Sun. He swatted Osterhagen’s shoulder as he passed him, hoping the German would get the message and follow. Kit, farther away, also made a break for the entrance.

  “Evacuate!” Stikes bellowed, rushing for the steps leading down the temple’s side. His men raced after him.

  Pachac and his followers were the least prepared, lacking the understanding of Nina’s plan or the mercenaries’ training. The great wave was almost on them before they broke through their dumbfoundedness and started to move.

  Macy leapt onto a wall just as the water thundered past her. Mac, two paces behind and slowed by his artificial leg, was not so lucky. The frothing surge swept him away, also snatching up Pachac and his men, and Kit, bowling them all down the stairway toward the city’s lower levels.

  Eddie ran into the temple just as the wave caught him and Osterhagen, throwing them against the inner wall. The two men were tossed like driftwood into the Punchaco’s chamber.

  Outside, Stikes and his men changed direction just before the flood consumed them, running onto a narrow ledge along the temple’s flank rather than down the steps. Most of the flow took the steeper, wider route, human flotsam tumbling helplessly within it—but the rearmost mercenary slipped as a pursuing bore of water washed beneath his feet and fell with a scream into the maelstrom.

  Choking, Mac managed to bring his head above the water—and saw danger dead ahead. The path down into the city made almost a ninety-degree turn at the bottom of the stairway. He was about to be flung against a wall.

  Two buildings abutted each other to one side, a narrow gap between them—

  He lashed out with his left leg. His foot wedged into the crack—and his ankle bent at an unnatural angle as he jerked to a stop.

  His prosthetic ankle. The joint creaked and strained, the force of the water threatening to rip the straps securing the artificial limb to his knee. Water pummeling his face, he bent at the waist to grab the prosthesis itself with both hands, taking the weight off the bindings.

  A hand clamped around his arm. Pachac, his extra weight about to snap the metal bone—then the Peruvian lost his grip and was gone.

  Kit also glimpsed the approaching wall. He held his breath, powerless to prevent the collision—

  The current swept the fallen mercenary in front of him, the other man taking the full force of their impact with a crack of ribs. Winded and spinning, Kit saw pillars along the front of a building. He grabbed at them, the water’s relentless push forcing his fingers from the first before he managed to get a grip on a second. He hung on as the flood surged past him, carrying the other men away downhill.

  Stikes and his remaining men jumped from the ledge as the bore rushed around their feet, landing on the walls of the roofless buildings on the tier below the temple. A waterfall gushed down behind them. “Fuckin’ ’ell!” gasped Baine. “That ginger bitch is a fuckin’ psycho!”

  “Keep moving,” Stikes ordered, surveying the way ahead. By moving along the rooftops, they would be able to stay above the water and make their way down to the helicopter. He still had the case containing the statues; he checked that it was securely closed, then took the lead across the ruins.

  On the plaza, Gurov and Krikorian had broken off from their checks at the sound of the explosion and rumble of water, but neither had been able to figure out what was happening—until the wave burst over the buildings above. Gurov gaped at the oncoming deluge, then scrambled down to the open rear cockpit. “I’ll start it up!” he yelled at Krikorian. “You shut the hatch!” The Russian had opened an inspection panel to access the gunship’s engines. Krikorian climbed up, slamming it closed and fumbling with the locking bolts as the wave front swept across the plaza, churning against the Hind’s landing gear.

  The tsunami swept Eddie and Osterhagen all the way around the chamber’s curved inner wall, slamming them against the Punchaco. Eddie gripped the enormous gold disk’s thick edge with one hand, the other clawing for a hold before finding purchase on the sun god’s open mouth. “Hang on to me!” he yelled. Osterhagen clung to his waist. The water level was rising rapidly in the confined space, more surging in every second—

  The wall beneath the window cracked—and broke apart.

  Eddie almost lost his grip under the powerful suction of water rushing out through the new hole. It cascaded onto the buildings below, sweeping the broken stones with it—and exposing something beneath them.

  From the palace roof, Nina watched the spreading waters, conflicted. The rocket launcher, now slung over her shoulder, had given Eddie and the others a chance to escape—but they were still in danger. She could see Macy fearfully climbing a building, cut off by the torrent, but the rest of the explorers were out of sight. And the ruins themselves were under threat; as she watched, a wall crumbled behind Macy like a sand castle in a rising tide.

  The palace itself trembled under her feet. She spun in alarm. The building was taking the full force of the escaping water—and a chunk of its rear w
all collapsed in a waterlogged implosion. Pillars toppled like dominoes, a chain reaction of disintegrating masonry advancing on her—

  She screamed and made a running jump off the roof just as it broke apart, landing painfully on a lower wall. Spray and froth crashed over her. She gasped for breath, then looked back at the fallen section …

  Her pain and fear disappeared, replaced by utter amazement.

  Pachac had been right. There was more gold hidden in the ancient city. Quite literally—behind the carefully interlocked stones from which the palace was built, she saw the unmistakable sheen of precious metal, cast into rectangular slabs. The Incas had kept more than the Punchaco hidden from the Spanish; an unimaginable fortune was concealed inside the walls. Despite her precarious situation, she actually laughed in genuine delight.

  In the temple, Eddie had made a similar discovery. “Doc!” he shouted. “Look at the wall!”

  Osterhagen found secure footing. He turned—and gasped. Jutting from the edges of the jagged hole were large golden bricks, gleaming in the daylight coming through the cave mouth. “The city of gold!” he cried. “It’s true, the legend is true!”

  Suddenly the light became brighter.

  The advancing wave hit the great defensive wall. The reservoir was filled in a moment, a huge backwash exploding into the air as the drainage holes were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of water. More plunged down the shaft, sweeping away the bodies of Pachac’s men, but even this was not enough to relieve the pressure.

  A huge section of the wall bulged outward—and toppled with a cacophonous boom. The water rushed down its new escape route, sweeping over the rubble into the drained pool outside. The river channel that had carried away the overflow filled again, a tidal surge charging through the jungle toward the valley.

  Almost as if satisfied with its destructive efforts, the flow of water began to ease. Most of the underground reserve had now drained away. The roar fell to a rumbling growl.

  Stikes, climbing down to another rooftop, heard the change and looked up the slope. The torrent’s fury was dying. There was still a lot of water gushing through the streets, but no longer with deadly force.