Empire of Gold_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  He drew his gun, an old Colt .38 revolver, as the passenger used a walkie-talkie to relay the message to the Hummer.

  Pachac listened to the urgent radio report, twisting in his seat. The Land Cruiser filled most of the view behind, but the road’s curves gave him a glimpse of what was happening beyond.

  He didn’t like what he saw. “What are you waiting for?” he shouted into his radio. “Kill him!”

  Eddie saw the Ford pickup slowing, its occupants getting ready to attack. One man in the back, holding on to the F-150’s roll bar, and from the silhouettes it looked like two in the cab. No rifles; they must have lost them in the flood. The guy in the rear bed was instead taking aim with a pistol—

  The Englishman had something bigger. He fired the AK-47 through the broken windshield.

  The rebel got off three shots, but firing single-handed from a jolting vehicle didn’t even hit the speeding jeep, never mind its driver. Eddie’s shooting was just as wild—but with far more bullets. One clanged off the pickup’s tailgate, another cracking the rear window—and a third tore into the gunman’s chest in a gout of blood. The man fell backward, his clothing catching on one of the roll bar’s lamp brackets to leave him hanging against the cab, the revolver clattering to the metal floor.

  But the passenger in the front was bringing up an automatic. Eddie fired again—

  Two shots—and the Kalashnikov’s bolt stopped with a dry clack. Out of ammo.

  He dropped the AK and ducked as the rebel fired. More bullets struck the jeep, shattering a headlight, ripping another hole through the already damaged radiator with a shrill of escaping steam.

  And hitting a wheel.

  The tire didn’t blow out, the thick, heavily treaded rubber only holed, but the effect on the jeep was immediate. The steering wheel jerked in Eddie’s hands as the vehicle pulled to the left, toward the cliff. He dragged it back into line. But the vibration grew worse as the tire deflated, the 4×4 harder to control with every second.

  The shooting stopped. Eddie raised his head. The gunman was fumbling for a replacement magazine.

  The jeep swerved back toward the precipice. He forced the steering wheel hard over to the right, but the tire was almost flat, weaving on the wheel rim. A few more seconds and it would collapse …

  He snatched up the empty AK-47 and jammed its stock down on the accelerator. The jeep surged forward, engine screaming. He wedged the rifle’s barrel against the front seat and jumped up, gripping the steering wheel in one hand as he clambered over the broken windshield onto the hood.

  The man in the cab had slapped in a new magazine. He turned to fire—

  Eddie lined up the jeep with the pickup, and let go of the wheel as his vehicle rammed the Ford from behind.

  He was flung over the tailgate into the cargo bed—and slammed against the corpse hanging from the roll bar. The breath was knocked from him, but the body cushioned his landing, the damaged rear windshield behind it shattering and spraying the gunman in the cab with glittering fragments.

  Eddie dropped heavily into the pickup bed, the angular body of the Steyr inside his jacket digging painfully into his ribs. The revolutionary shook off broken glass and turned again to find his target—

  Eddie grabbed the fallen revolver and fired three shots at the cab’s back wall.

  Bullets ripped through the rebel’s seat into his body. He fell against the passenger-side door, which burst open.

  He rolled out of the cab with a shriek of terror that was cut short as he was crushed under the wheels of the still-speeding jeep.

  The 4×4 swerved sharply as it bounded over the human speed bump, veering at the cliff—

  “No!” Nina screamed as she watched the jeep sail off the road and arc down into the valley. “Eddie, oh my God!”

  “He’s okay, he’s okay!” Macy desperately reassured her. “He jumped into the truck!”

  “He what? Oh, Jesus Christ …” Nina gasped for breath, the horror of what she thought she had just witnessed still clutching at her heart.

  Eddie pulled himself up and pointed the revolver into the cab. “Stop the truck!” he yelled at the driver.

  The rebel instead clawed inside his wet, grubby jacket. Eddie pulled the trigger—

  Click. The hammer fell, but the gun didn’t go off. All the bullets in the cylinder had been fired.

  The driver drew his own gun, twisted—

  Eddie dropped and rolled as the rebel opened fire. Unable to turn any farther without risking losing control of the truck, the driver unleashed a couple more shots blindly over his shoulder. One hit the floor as Eddie jerked out of the way, the other blasting messily through the dangling corpse’s stomach.

  Eddie flipped the useless revolver over in his hand. He scrambled forward and lunged through the broken rear window, brutally cracking the empty gun against the driver’s head like a knuckleduster.

  The man reeled, the pickup swerving to the right. Before he could recover, Eddie grabbed his gun hand and slammed it against the window frame, rasping his wrist against the broken glass. The driver yelled in pain and fired again, forcing Eddie to duck—but not before he pushed the weapon’s magazine release button. The automatic’s slide locked back as the mag clattered into the cargo bed.

  The driver pulled the trigger twice more, getting nothing but metallic clicks in response. By the time he realized his gun was empty Eddie had shoved the corpse over the truck’s side and reached into the cab to hook an arm around his neck. Choking, the driver struggled to break free—then saw that the truck was heading for the side of the little wooden bridge. He yanked at the steering wheel—

  The F-150 lurched, tilting on its suspension and throwing Eddie sideways. He lost his hold on the driver and reeled across the cargo bed, almost falling out before grabbing the roll bar.

  The passenger door swung open and hit the bridge’s fence with a huge bang. It was ripped away, spinning backward. The mangled metal scythed past Eddie, slashing the back of his jacket.

  The driver regained control, straightening out. Eddie was about to attack again when he saw something ahead—something that hadn’t been there when the expedition drove up the road. A waterfall spewed down the hillside from high above, pounding the road in a swirling cloud of spray.

  He gripped the roll bar tightly as the truck drove through the torrent, crashing across the newly created dip where the muddy track had been washed over the cliff. The driver fought with the wheel as the pickup skidded.

  Eddie saw his chance. If he got into the cab through the missing door, he could use the Steyr to kill the driver and immediately take the wheel before the F-150 went out of control.

  He drew the gun from his jacket and climbed over the pickup’s side.

  The Nissan rounded a bend. “Where the hell did that come from?” Macy gasped, seeing the new waterfall.

  Nina looked up for its source. There was only one possible explanation: When the river feeding the falls concealing El Dorado had been blocked, the water rose behind the dam … and was now finding other ways downhill. “Oh God,” she said in alarm. “This whole valley might flood!”

  Eddie swung into the cab, aiming the Steyr at the driver—

  The Peruvian hurled his empty gun.

  Eddie jerked his head sideways, but the automatic struck his cheek hard enough to draw blood and knocked him backward. The Steyr dropped into the foot well as he grabbed at the dashboard, missed, toppled through the gaping doorway …

  His hand clamped around the seat belt.

  It didn’t stop him. The reel unwound, pitching him out of the truck—

  Thunk!

  The seat belt’s inertial lock mechanism activated, yanking him to a stop. One hand clutching the belt, Eddie dangled out of the open door, his back almost parallel to the ground.

  Grinning sadistically, the driver turned the wheel to smear him against the rock wall.

  Eddie grabbed with his free hand for the seat belt, the door frame, anything—but there was nothing
within reach. The cliff face rushed past, getting closer …

  Something sticking out of the ground, right ahead—

  He snatched up the wooden cross and hurled it into the cab.

  The driver had turned to watch Eddie’s head hit the wall—but instead took the pointed stake in his left eye. He screamed, reflexively bringing up both hands to pull out the cross. The F-150 swerved away from the wall—and toward the precipice.

  The change of direction swung Eddie into reach of the door frame. He hauled himself inside. The rebel was still screaming, one hand pressed to his face as blood gushed from his eye socket. The truck jolted over the road’s crumbling edge—

  Eddie grabbed the wheel. The Ford lurched back across the track, throwing the driver against his door. Flailing for balance, he looked across the cab with his remaining eye—to see Eddie twist in the passenger seat and slam both feet against his chest.

  The battered vehicle’s door flew open, the rebel shooting out of it like a cannonball. With an echoing wail, he vanished into the abyss.

  Eddie pulled himself across and took the controls, rounding the next bend to see the Land Cruiser and the Hummer ahead. He shut the door, groped for the Steyr, then accelerated after them.

  A radio crackled on the parcel shelf, a voice speaking in Spanish. Pachac.

  Pachac looked back at the F-150. Only one figure was visible inside it. “Mateo, did you get him? Mateo!”

  The reply was in English, almost calm despite the struggle that had just taken place. “No. He didn’t. He’s dead. And Pachac?”

  The terrorist leader exchanged a worried look with his driver before answering. “What?”

  “You’re next.”

  Pachac stared at the walkie-talkie, then yelled orders to his men in the Land Cruiser. This time there was no anger in his voice, only fear. “Stop him! Kill him! Kill him!”

  Eddie dropped the radio, eyes fixed on the two 4×4s ahead. The Land Cruiser was falling back from the H3. He could see two men inside it, the passenger climbing over the seats into the cargo space.

  He also glimpsed the unmistakable silhouette of an AK-47 in the rebel’s hands.

  The Steyr was wedged under his thigh. He pulled it out and switched it to his left hand. The Toyota was still slowing. The tailgate hatch swung up, the man inside aiming his AK out of it—

  Eddie fired his remaining bullets from the side window as he accelerated. The revolutionary ducked for cover behind the lower half of the tailgate. By the time he realized the shooting had stopped and looked up again, the F-150 had caught up—

  The Ford slammed into the back of the Land Cruiser. The driver’s head whiplashed backward as he let go of the controls—and the vehicle swerved toward the rock face. The man in the back was thrown against the side cabin.

  Eddie saw an opening and swung to pass the Toyota on the outside. The pickup drew alongside the off-roader. The Ford’s left wheels were less than a foot from the cliff edge.

  The Land Cruiser’s driver shook off his pain and grabbed the wheel, turning hard to sideswipe the F-150—

  Eddie did the same thing, trying to ram the Toyota into the hillside. The vehicles clashed together with a crunch of crumpling metal. Eddie’s truck was more powerful, but the Japanese 4×4 was heavier. He turned the wheel harder, but the rebels were bullying him inch by inch toward the precipice.

  And the man in the back was raising his rifle again.

  Death by fall, or by firepower—

  Eddie braked hard—then swerved at full throttle to smash into the Toyota’s back quarter as it pulled ahead. The 4×4 slewed around, almost side-on to the pickup’s blunt nose, before its right rear corner struck the hillside and it abruptly swung back, hitting the rock wall side-on like a door being slammed. The F-150 shot past, ripping off the Land Cruiser’s front bumper.

  A glance in the mirror told Eddie that it wasn’t out of the hunt, though. It bounced back across the road, right side caved in, then the driver caught the skid and turned back into pursuit.

  The Hummer was not far ahead, its driver being cautious on the dangerous road. Eddie switched his attention back and forth between Pachac’s vehicle and the one in the mirror. Even though he was gaining on the H3, he wouldn’t reach it before the Land Cruiser caught up with him.

  An AK poked out of one of the Toyota’s left-side windows. Eddie moved as far over to the right as he could to deny the rebel a clear shot. But the road’s curves meant it would only be a matter of time before he was exposed.

  Still closing on the Hummer. Beyond it, he recognized the scenery: They were coming up to the spot where the landslide had deposited tons of mud and stones on the road, the waterfall gushing onto the rubble. The H3 would have to slow to negotiate it—but so would he. The waterfall—

  It had grown enormously since the morning. The stream was now much wider, more powerful.

  Realization of the new threat struck him like the force of the water itself. The flood, caused by the blocking of the river, was building up above, and could overflow at any moment …

  The Hummer reached the landslide and lurched over the rubble. Eddie speeded up. The Land Cruiser followed suit, still gaining.

  Gunfire—

  Eddie ducked as bullets clanged off the bodywork behind him. He was almost at the landslip. More shots. The H3 entered the waterfall, spray kicking up from its flat roof. He lined up the F-150 with the ruts carved by other vehicles and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He needed all the momentum he could get—

  All four of the Ford’s wheels left the ground as it hit the blockage, then crashed back down with a squeal of poorly maintained suspension. It veered toward the drop, Eddie struggling to bring it back into the ruts. Rocks pounded at the tires, throwing him about in his seat. Despite his best efforts, he was losing speed. The Land Cruiser grew in the mirror, the gunman firing again.

  He had almost reached the waterfall—

  No. The waterfall had almost reached him.

  It grew wider even as he watched, its edge sweeping along the defoliated swath of the cliff above. Stones tumbled down the mountainside.

  The river was about to burst its banks—

  The F-150 plunged into the waterfall. The torrent exploded into the cab through the missing door, the force of the water throwing the truck sideways. Eddie frantically spun the steering wheel, trying to turn back toward the cliff face. He couldn’t see anything, froth obliterating all vision. All he had left was his sense of balance, which told him the truck was tipping over as it slid closer to the edge of the road …

  The sickening feeling of being about to fall suddenly faded. He had somehow found traction in the mud. He didn’t know why, but took advantage of his apparent luck, applying more power. The truck leveled out.

  The deluge eased, giving him a rippling, distorted view through the windshield. The Hummer was a yellow shimmer ahead. He looked back—and saw where the extra grip had come from. The pickup bed was full of water, putting well over a ton of extra road-hugging weight onto the rear wheels.

  Water sloshed around his feet. He opened the door to let it gush out. The truck was struggling, but continued its lumbering journey.

  He emerged from the falls. The Hummer was still negotiating the remains of the landslide. A loud bang from behind, and the F-150 shook violently—he thought a tire had exploded, until he saw that the tailgate had burst open, the trapped water sluicing out of the back.

  A dark shape emerged from the downpour in the mirror. The Land Cruiser was right behind him. The gunman leaned from the window again, AK raised—

  A new noise from above, a colossal ground-shaking boom as the weight of millions of gallons of trapped water finally overwhelmed the earth containing it.

  The waterfall Eddie had just passed through was barely a trickle compared with the wave that surged over the hilltop. Thousands of tons of soil and boulders were swept down the cliff into the valley below.

  Eddie floored the accelerator, aiming the Ford at the Hummer
. Shadows swelled around him as the great mass of muddy water descended like a shroud.

  It hit the road, blasting away the debris of the landslide as if jet-washing the mountain. A massive rock flattened the Land Cruiser and the two rebels inside it, what little was left of the vehicle whirling away into the maelstrom. More stones hit the pickup like meteorites. The windshield shattered as the roof buckled under the impacts.

  A swelling, churning wave snatched up the F-150. Fear froze Eddie’s heart as he thought he was being flung to his death into the void—then he realized he was being carried along the road, not off it, the water finding a ready-made channel down which to run. But he was out of control, the truck tossed like a cork on the wave crest …

  A flash of yellow—

  The pickup hit the Hummer. Both vehicles slewed around, wheels scraping sidelong over the road as the water swept them along. For an instant, Eddie found himself looking straight at Pachac, the Maoist leader staring back at him wide-eyed through the H3’s window.

  Then the Hummer slipped away—and went over the edge.

  Eddie had no time to rejoice, or think about anything but his own survival. The steering wheel jerked in his hands as the pickup was carried down the track. If the tires could find enough grip for him to steer, just for a second, he could try to wedge the F-150 against the hillside—

  He didn’t get the second he needed, or even close. The current whirled the truck around. The front wheels dropped sharply, the pickup hanging briefly on the brink … then the sodden soil collapsed beneath it and pitched it over the cliff.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Nina skidded the Patrol to a desperate emergency stop as the seething wave crashed down the hillside ahead. “Holy shit!”

  “Over there!” said Macy, pointing down the steep slope on the far side of the deluge. Nina saw the yellow Hummer skittering down the hill—and the pickup truck following it over the edge of the road.