Empire of Gold_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  “What about Eddie? And Kit?”

  “Just go!” She stood, flinching as another chunk of pipe smacked down nearby, then started back toward the ladder.

  To her horror, she saw that a section of catwalk had partially collapsed—and someone was hanging from it over a searing fire. Kit. A moment of sickening fear—where was Eddie?—then she made out her husband through the broken walkway’s gridwork floor.

  He was moving toward Kit. Was he going to rescue him, or …

  She scurried up the ladder, recoiling from the heat at the top. A security camera watched her. The pipeline’s operators had to know by now that something was badly wrong, and be trying to stop the flow of gas.

  Unless they couldn’t.

  The fires were spreading, getting closer to the gas tanks. If one exploded, it would take the others with it, obliterating the entire area.

  “Eddie!” she cried. But he didn’t hear. “Eddie!”

  Kit finally got a firm hold on the grating. He dragged himself up, looking for anything that would assist his climb.

  A small pipe to one side, connecting two larger conduits running from the pump. He shifted his weight toward it, finding a foothold—and something else.

  Stikes’s gun was wedged between the two main pipes, just within reach.

  Despite the danger, he was thinking one step beyond immediate self-preservation. He still had to protect his cover. Which meant he still had to deal with Eddie—

  A foot on the stanchion. Eddie loomed over him.

  Kit made his decision—and grabbed the gun.

  Nina hurried along the catwalk, holding up her arms to shield her face from the almost unbearable heat. Her eyes stung—she rubbed them and blinked, seeing Eddie standing over Kit—

  Eddie was about to reach down to Kit when he realized the Indian’s hand was already moving. Not toward him, but to something under the catwalk, nickel glinting on the steel pipes …

  Stikes’s Jericho, now in Kit’s hand.

  The Indian twisted his wrist, aiming the pistol upward—

  Eddie’s foot snapped out, catching Kit hard in the face. Blood sprayed from the Indian’s nose, shock causing him to lose his grip. He fell.

  Into the fire.

  For a fraction of a second, Eddie saw his expression in the inferno’s light, a mixture of pain and anger and terror—then he was gone, vaporized by the fury of the escaping flame. The Jericho dropped with him, vanishing into the fire.

  He turned, starting back toward the intact section of catwalk—and saw Nina standing there, staring at him in utter disbelief.

  Even in the searing heat, Nina somehow felt cold, as if her blood had been replaced by icy water. Her mind refused to accept what her eyes had just witnessed. It couldn’t have happened. It couldn’t!

  But it had. Eddie had just climbed over to the helpless, flailing Kit … and kicked him to his death.

  He came closer, the stanchions shuddering under his weight. “Give me a hand!” he called as he reached the end of the broken section and tried to clamber up. She didn’t move. “Nina!”

  She broke out of her freeze and pulled him up. “Oh God, what did you do? What did you do?”

  “We’ve got to go!” he shouted, looking toward the spreading fires. “Run!” He pushed her ahead as he raced along the walkway. The security camera looked on with its glazed eye.

  Nina reached the ladder and hurried down it, jumping off halfway. Eddie followed. They ran for the gate, the roar of the fires now accompanied by the squeals and groans of warping metal. The gas tanks were giving way …

  Through the gate. Macy sprinted for the highway ahead of them. The squeals turned to shrieks—

  One of the gas tanks blew apart in a seething white ball of fire, the others following it in a chain reaction. A shock wave erupted outward, whipping up a wall of dust and blowing Nina and Eddie off their feet. A roiling mushroom cloud rose into the night sky, a marker visible for miles around for the crater that had once been station fourteen.

  It took minutes before Nina felt composed enough to speak, or even think. She had a vague, confused memory of Eddie carrying her along the dirt road, Macy running back to help them, then sitting beside the highway trying to recover from the shock.

  Not merely the shock of the explosion. Her memory of what had happened on the catwalk was crystal clear. It kept replaying, unbidden, in her mind: Kit dangling from the walkway by one hand, struggling to get a grip on a pipe with the other, Eddie’s foot lashing out, Kit’s face filling with horror as he dropped into the fire …

  Vigilante justice. Revenge-driven murder. Just like Jerry Rosenthal in New York. Only this time it wasn’t a mere moral talking point, a topic of argument. It was something her husband had done right in front of her.

  Someone sat beside her. Eddie. The light from the still-burning pipeline revealed his scorched clothes and reddened skin. “Hey,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  She pulled away.

  He looked startled, then hurt. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Nina said curtly, standing. In the distance, she saw flashing lights—emergency vehicles coming along the highway.

  Eddie stood as well. “Then what’s the matter?”

  “What’s the matter?” she cried. “You murdered Kit, that’s what’s the matter!”

  Macy, sitting nearby, reacted in disbelief. Eddie’s response was only slightly less surprised. “What?”

  “Eddie, I was right there! He was hanging off that walkway, and you—you kicked him into the fire!” Saying the words out loud brought back her shock at what she had seen, full force.

  “He was trying to kill me!” Eddie protested. “He had a fucking gun in his hand!”

  Nina shook her head. “He didn’t have a gun.”

  “He did—how could you not have seen it? You were right there, you must have seen it!”

  “He didn’t have a gun,” she repeated forcefully. “And why would he have been trying to kill you?”

  “ ’Cause he was working with Stikes,” said Eddie, anger rising. “He was all along. All they wanted the whole time was those statues. Kit killed Mac to protect them, and tried to kill me because I figured it out.”

  It was now Nina’s ears, not her eyes, that she doubted. Kit had killed Mac? The idea was impossible to believe. More than that, it was …

  Insane? The word sent another chill through her. Could Mac’s murder—compounded by the news of his grandmother’s death—have possibly affected Eddie so badly? “Why?” she asked.

  “How the fuck would I know? I wasn’t in on whatever they were doing. But I’ll tell you who else was,” he added. “Sophia.”

  Nina stared at him. “Sophia?” she said after a pause. “Sophia, as in your ex-wife Sophia?”

  “Yeah. She was the one who wanted the statues.”

  “You mean Sophia Blackwood?” said Macy, bewildered. “The terrorist? I thought she was dead.”

  “She is dead,” Nina told her. “And Eddie should know—he threw her off a cliff!”

  Eddie looked in frustration between the two women as the wail of approaching sirens reached them. “She was here—she took off with Stikes in that chopper. Don’t tell me you didn’t see her, either!”

  “I saw Stikes—I think.” Nina glanced at the now empty helipad. “But the only other people I saw were you … and Kit.”

  “There! Kit and Stikes were working together, like I told you! That’s why he kept the whole meeting a secret!”

  “He told me about it.” Eddie’s face revealed his shock. “Stikes offered Interpol a deal—immunity in return for the statues. Kit didn’t tell you because he knew how upset you were about Mac, and thought you’d react badly if you knew he was talking to Stikes.” Nina let out a short, bitter laugh. “And he was right!”

  “No, that isn’t—that’s not what happened,” Eddie insisted, desperation entering his voice. “Kit wasn’t negotiating some immunity deal. He was work
ing with Stikes and Sophia!”

  “Stikes and Sophia,” Nina echoed. “Two of the people you hate most in the world—and they’re both involved in a conspiracy to cover up Mac’s murder? By Kit? Eddie, this whole thing, everything you’re saying, is just, just …” She didn’t want to say the word.

  He knew exactly what she meant, though. “I’m not fucking mad, and I didn’t fucking hallucinate this.” He grabbed her by her upper arm. “Kit killed Mac! And he would have killed me too, if I hadn’t killed him first!”

  Nina recoiled with a gasp of pain as his fingers dug into her. “Eddie, let go,” she said. It was the first time she could remember that he had ever physically hurt her. “Let go of me!”

  He opened his hand, and she jerked away, almost tripping as she scurried backward. “Jesus Christ, Eddie! You killed a policeman—you murdered your friend!”

  “That’s not what happened!” he shouted, starting to follow her.

  “Don’t touch me!” Nina brought up her hands, balled almost into fists. Eddie stopped as she continued to retreat. “Get away from me! I don’t—I don’t even know you anymore! What have you done?”

  Eddie stayed still, stricken, as the first emergency vehicles reached the dirt road. Leading was a yellow van bearing the gas company’s logo, which tore past and headed for what was left of the pumping station. Behind it was a police car, which screeched to a stop at the roadside. Two cops jumped out, running to the group and drawing their guns. They shouted orders in Spanish.

  “What the fuck’s this?” Eddie demanded, raising his hands as the men fixed their weapons on him.

  Macy translated. “Oh, my God. Eddie, they say they’re arresting you for murder!” She ran to the cops and asked panicked questions in their language, getting brusque responses. “The gas company saw you and Kit on the security cameras!”

  One of the cops approached Eddie. He gestured for the Englishman to hold out his hands, ready to be cuffed. The other hung back suspiciously, unsure what to make of Nina and Macy and splitting his attention among the three.

  “I didn’t murder him,” Eddie said—to Nina, not the cops. “He was trying to kill me. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I … I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

  The first cop waved his gun impatiently. Eddie gave Nina a long, saddened look, then held out his wrists. The cop fumbled one-handed for his handcuffs, glancing down as they caught on his belt—

  And was sent reeling as Eddie’s fist crashed against his jaw, his other hand wrenching the pistol from his grip.

  The second cop hurriedly brought up his gun—but found his partner between him and their intended prisoner. He hesitated, then clumsily sidestepped to get a clean line of fire—

  A single gunshot, and the second cop’s weapon spun away with a crack. He screamed and clutched his hand. Eddie’s bullet had shattered on impact with the pistol’s harder steel, sending shards of metal spearing into his flesh.

  “Tell ’em not to move,” Eddie barked to Macy as he rounded the two men, smoking gun covering them, and headed for their car.

  “Uh … I think they figured that out for themselves,” she said, shocked.

  Nina was stunned, struggling to take in the latest turn of events. “Eddie, what the hell?”

  “Kit killed Mac, and he tried to kill me,” said Eddie, reaching the car. Its engine was still running. “He was working with Stikes, and Sophia. And I’m going to prove it. I don’t have a fucking clue how, but I’m going to prove it to you.” The gun still raised, he slid into the driver’s seat. “Only I can’t do that from inside a Peruvian prison. So … I guess this is it.” He put the car into gear and reached to close the door—then spoke again just before it slammed shut. “I love you.”

  And with that the car peeled away, swinging across the central divider and heading at high speed back north, leaving the overwhelmed Nina behind.

  EPILOGUE

  England

  The last time Eddie saw the English Channel, it had been a brilliant blue beneath a sunny sky. Today, though, the sea beyond the harbor entrance was as gray and leaden as the thick clouds overhead, a stiff breeze stirring up whitecaps.

  He watched as a boat slowly approached the quay. The white motor yacht had left Poole Harbor an hour earlier, heading a few miles out to sea on its short, solemn voyage. Its screws reversed, churning up white foam, and it came to a stop at the quayside. A crewman quickly tied it up, then positioned a gangplank so the passengers could disembark.

  Eddie counted a dozen, all dressed in mourning black. Most he didn’t recognize; elderly people, friends of his grandmother’s. But four he knew. His sister, his niece … and his father, accompanied by Julie.

  He checked that nobody nearby was paying him any undue attention, then left the doorway in which he was waiting and crossed to the quayside to meet the group as they came ashore. Holly was the first to see him, crying out “Uncle Eddie!” in a mix of surprise and shock. Even after several days, his bruised face still bore witness to the beatings he had suffered in South America.

  “Hi, Holly,” he said. “Lizzie. Julie.” He deliberately didn’t acknowledge his father … yet.

  Elizabeth was just as startled as her daughter, though far less enthused. “Eddie, what the hell are you doing here? The police came ’round—they told us to tell them if we heard from you. They said you killed someone!”

  “I came to say good-bye to Nan.” Elizabeth was holding an empty cremation urn, the family having carried out Nan’s wish to have her ashes scattered at sea. “Was it a good service?”

  “As far as any service can be said to be good, yes,” said Elizabeth tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Eddie told her. “I wish I could have seen her before … before. You know.” Holly, red-eyed, tried to stifle a sniff as new tears welled. “I should have been there. But …”

  “But you were busy,” said Larry. “More important things to do.” Sarcasm entered his voice. “Saving the world, no doubt.”

  Eddie rounded on him, fists clenched. “No, I was watching a friend die.” He looked at Elizabeth and Holly. “Mac. Jim McCrimmon, you remember him?” Both women reacted in dismay. “He was murdered, shot in the back.” He faced Larry again, anger rising. “Because of you!”

  “What?” said Larry. “What are you talking about?”

  “You talked to Stikes after I saw you in Colombia, didn’t you?”

  “Well … yes. But he was a client, so I had every right. I don’t see how—”

  “You told Stikes that Nina was looking for El Dorado in Peru. And guess what, he turned up at the site with a helicopter full of mercenaries and a truckload of terrorists! A lot of people died—and it was your fault!”

  Larry bristled, rising to his full height. “You told me what Nina was doing. I hardly think you can put all the blame on me.” His mouth tightened accusingly. “I’m sorry about your friend, but it’s your fault too.”

  Eddie stared at him … then a surge of fury overcame him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he swung with his full strength and punched his father in the face. Larry flew backward and thumped down on the damp dockside. Julie screamed.

  Eddie moved as if to kick him into the water—but Holly rushed forward to crouch in front of her grandfather, looking up at her uncle in disbelief. “No, leave him alone!”

  “Edward!” Elizabeth shrieked. “What are you doing?” People on the quay turned to see the cause of the commotion. One of the mourners took out a phone and hurriedly dialed 999.

  Larry put a hand to his face, stiffly moving his jaw before wiping blood from his mouth. “Pretty good punch,” he gasped as Julie knelt to help him.

  The burst of rage that had fueled Eddie faded as he took in Elizabeth’s and Holly’s appalled expressions. He looked down at Larry. “I’m …,” he started to say, but even now he couldn’t bring himself to complete the apology.

  “I think you should go,” said Elizabeth coldly. She clutched the urn protectively t
o her chest. “Before you do anything else that Nan would have been ashamed of.”

  Eddie regarded all the faces looking at him with horror, shock, disgust, then walked away, disappearing into the port’s narrow streets.

  Another day, another funeral.

  Eddie lurked in an alley across the street from the small church as Mac’s coffin was raised by the pallbearers and placed in the hearse. He knew several of the mourners; Mac’s ex-wife Angela was among them, as were a number of his former military colleagues. On the group’s fringe was a man with whom Eddie had had decidedly mixed dealings in the past: Peter Alderley. The MI6 officer’s drooping mustache made his downcast expression look even more doleful. As Eddie looked on Alderley twitched, then edged away from the others to take a vibrating phone from his jacket. A brief conversation, and he retreated into the church.

  Eddie shook his head at the disrespect, then watched as the coffin’s loading was completed. Angela spoke with some of the mourners, then she and a couple of others entered a Rolls-Royce, which followed the hearse as it slowly moved into the London traffic. He gazed after the cortège until it was out of sight. “Fight to the end,” he said quietly.

  “Fight to the end,” echoed a voice behind him.

  Eddie whirled to find Alderley in the alley, rapid breathing suggesting he had gotten there in a hurry. “Well, look who it is,” Eddie said, trying to cover his surprise that the MI6 man had managed to sneak up on him. “James Bore.”

  “I thought you might turn up here, Chase,” said Alderley. “Once we knew you were back in the country after that contretemps with your dad, it seemed likely. I had a couple of spotters looking out for you.”

  “You did? Thought that was MI5’s job on home turf.” Eddie glanced into the street, but saw no signs of large men moving purposefully toward him.

  “It is, normally. But I’ve got a personal interest in this one.” He briefly looked in the direction of the departed hearse. “My men are hanging back—for the moment. I wanted to talk to you first.”