Empire of Gold (47 page)
Authors: Andy McDermott
She was too terrified to lie, Eddie decided. He pulled the octopus away and tossed it across the room into the tank’s remaining water – then punched the woman again, knocking her out. ‘Sucker,’ he said as he went to the shelves.
Close up, they were revealed as a disguised door, the sharp stench of melted plastic coming from inside. No way to know if de Quesada was armed and waiting within. He yanked it open, ready to dive—
The room was empty. Smoke belched from the smouldering remains of a computer, a hole burned right through it. Thermite; de Quesada had been in here to destroy anything compromising on his hard drive.
He wasn’t here now, though. But he was sure the woman hadn’t lied – and why would she and her friend have been defending an empty room?
A panel not quite flush with the wall, a cord attached . . .
He pulled it. The panel swung outwards, revealing a rocky passage leading downwards.
The coughing grind of an engine came from somewhere far below.
‘Oh, you are
not
doing a fucking runner after all this,’ Eddie growled, ducking through the opening.
not
doing a fucking runner after all this,’ Eddie growled, ducking through the opening.
Nina also heard the noise. Eddie had been right – the drug lord was using his own men as a decoy while he escaped in a hidden boat.
Only it wasn’t a boat that slid down the rails, but a light aircraft, riding on elongated pontoons. It reached the water’s edge, a brief snarl of power to the propeller pulling it into the channel. A door opened and the pilot clambered along a pontoon to detach the runner that had guided it down the tracks.
Even from high above, Nina recognised him. De Quesada.
Descending through the narrow tunnel, Eddie dropped on to a ledge. He was high up in a large cave, its mouth opening into the channel. A glance through a wide crack in the rock revealed the source of the noise: a floatplane bobbing on the water outside. De Quesada ducked beneath the rear fuselage and hopped from one float to the other, crouching to unfasten something from it. As soon as the drug lord finished whatever he was doing, he would be able to escape.
He had to be stopped.
A piece of equipment was bolted to the rock wall – an electric winch, hooked to a painted tarpaulin that had been pulled away from the cave mouth. Eddie checked the rope. Brightly coloured marine line, strong and hard-wearing.
He looked back outside. De Quesada was returning to the cockpit.
Eddie unhooked the rope from the tarp, then switched on the winch, reversing it to unspool the line. He looked back through the opening. Below, the Colombian climbed into the plane. ‘Come on, come on!’ he snarled, tugging at the rope. He needed more slack—
The engine revved. Out of time.
Pulling the line after him, Eddie leapt from the crevice, aiming to land on the fuselage—
The rope pulled tight, stopping him short. He hit the wing’s trailing edge and fell backwards, landing hard on the tail of the port pontoon.
De Quesada, startled by the unexpected impact, turned and saw the stowaway. He jammed the throttle forward, the propeller screaming to full power as he steered the plane down the channel.
Eddie flailed, about to slip off the float . . .
His foot caught the rearmost strut connecting the pontoon to the bottom of the fuselage. He used the tenuous hold as leverage to sit up. The winch was still unspooling the rope – there was just enough slack for him to reach the support.
He lunged, clanking the hook on to the strut—
The line went taut again with a whipcrack. The plane jolted, but didn’t slow – it was now unwinding the rope from the winch reel. Eddie dropped to keep his head clear of it. If his plan worked, when the line ran out it would either bring the plane to a stop, or rip out the strut, making it too dangerous for de Quesada to risk taking off.
The Skyhawk headed for the open ocean beyond the cliffs on each side. It picked up speed—
The reel reached its end.
For an instant it held . . . then the entire winch was torn from the wall, flying out of the crack and splashing down in the water.
The plane lurched, pitching Eddie into the sea.
Churning wake filled his nostrils, choking him. The Cessna surged away. He kicked, trying to get his head above the surface.
Something brushed his legs.
The rope—
A loop closed round his ankle, the weight of the winch pulling it tight – and he was dragged along by the plane, bouncing helplessly through the waves.
28
N
ina watched in horror as her husband was hauled along behind the floatplane. The Seahawk accelerated, but was still a long way short of its sixty-four knot takeoff speed in the confined channel.
ina watched in horror as her husband was hauled along behind the floatplane. The Seahawk accelerated, but was still a long way short of its sixty-four knot takeoff speed in the confined channel.
It had to be stopped. But how?
The waterway narrowed just before its end . . .
She ran back to the trucks and scrambled into the lead SUV. The key was in the ignition; she turned it, the big V8 roaring in response. Into drive, apply the gas—
The Expedition surged forward, flattening bushes and saplings as Nina turned to follow the plane. A small tree tumbled with a crack of shattering wood – and she was at the cliff, the drop looming. She swerved to drive along it, the right front wheel thumping over the ragged edge before finding solid ground. Craning her neck, she saw the floatplane was ahead of her – with Eddie skittering in its wake.
She accelerated. Past thirty – and gaining. The Expedition crashed over rocks and roots, slamming her against the door. Ignoring the pain, Nina stayed focused on the cliff ahead – and the plane below. She was almost level with the aircraft. Forty, and the 4×4 was airborne for a moment as it hit a bump, smashing down more shrubs as it landed.
Past the plane, but the end of the channel was just ahead—
Nina opened the door and jammed the steering wheel hard to the right as she threw herself out.
The Expedition shot over the edge and plunged towards the water.
De Quesada adjusted the rudder to keep the Cessna in the centre of the channel. The cliffs were far enough apart to accommodate the Skyhawk’s ten metre wingspan, but after having someone jump on his plane, he didn’t need any more close calls—
An SUV fell from the sky directly ahead and hit the water with a colossal eruption of spray.
‘Mierda!’
he shrieked, yanking back the throttle and applying full rudder to swing round it. But the vehicle was buried nose-down in the mud beneath the shallow water, blocking his escape route.
he shrieked, yanking back the throttle and applying full rudder to swing round it. But the vehicle was buried nose-down in the mud beneath the shallow water, blocking his escape route.
The only way out was back the way he had come. Keeping the rudder hard over, he reapplied power in pulses, swinging the plane around to reverse course.
A man was in the water, directly in his path.
Eddie gasped for breath, shaking water from his eyes. The rope was still looped round his leg, coils bobbing on the surface around him. He reached down to untangle it, looking for the plane.
It was powering towards him.
Nina had crashed through a stand of bushes to a soft, if messy, splashdown in a glutinous pool of mud. Bruised, face cut, she dragged herself from the mire and staggered to the cliff edge.
Her plan had worked. She had blocked the exit from the narrow canyon, forcing the plane to stop . . . but it had turned round and was now heading straight for Eddie.
It accelerated, about to mow him down—
Eddie abandoned his attempt to untangle himself and dropped underwater, kicking downwards. The float’s keel bashed against his foot as it passed just inches above him in the shallow channel.
He surfaced, heart pounding – then realised the danger was far from over as the colourful line skimmed sinuously past him, still hooked to the strut. He grabbed the rope as it jerked into motion, friction burning his palms.
But at least now he wasn’t a helpless dead weight. He pulled himself along the rope towards the float.
Something yanked hard on his entangled leg – the winch. It had sunk when the plane stopped, and was now being towed along behind again. Eddie grimaced, but kept reeling himself in. He was almost level with the Cessna’s tail, the float just feet away.
The cave passed by to his left, the channel ahead curving round the island. Over the engine’s roar he heard gunshots echoing from the cliffs.
Despite the best efforts of Probst and his team, two of the bodyguards had reached a speedboat and started it. The cops concentrated their fire on the vessel as it moved from the jetty - but this allowed another two thugs to reach the bottom of the path and find cover, shooting back.
Kit ducked as bullets smacked into the cliff in front of him. He wiped away grit and opened his eyes – to see the floatplane approaching.
Probst spotted it too. ‘De Quesada, it must be!’ He swung round his rifle and opened fire.
‘No!’ said Kit, batting the weapon upwards. ‘You’ll hit Eddie!’ He pointed at the man who had just pulled himself on to one of the floats.
Probst swore in German, then shouted to the others: ‘Don’t shoot the plane! Chase is aboard!’
‘He’ll get away!’ Cruz protested.
Kit looked out to sea. The Coast Guard vessel was coming in at speed. ‘Forget the speedboats – tell them to block him before he can take off!’
Clinging to the float, Eddie winced as bullets struck the plane - then the barrage stopped. Hoping that meant he had been seen, he hooked an elbow round the diagonal brace connecting the float to the wing and freed his leg from the rope. It whipped away as he released it, the heavy winch still acting like an anchor.
He saw the jetty ahead, one of the speedboats moving away.
Into the plane’s path.
De Quesada had seen it too. The engine note rose, the wing flaps clunking to their full extent as he tried to give the plane as much lift as possible.
Eddie moved forward and briefly raised his head to glance into the cabin. He was surprised to see the khipu in a plastic bag on the passenger seat, but was more interested in the drug lord. The Colombian was concentrating on getting the plane into the air.
He advanced again, reaching for the door handle . . .
Wind whistled through a bullet hole in the cabin roof. Ten centimetres over, and the round would have struck de Quesada himself. Blessing his good fortune, he looked round to see where else the plane had been hit . . .
The top of a head, short dark hair fluttering in the wind, was visible through a window. Edging towards the passenger-side door.
Jaw set, de Quesada gripped the control yoke tightly with one hand, his other clenching into a fist . . .
Eddie pulled the door open, thrusting himself into the cramped cabin – and was punched hard in the face.
Caught completely by surprise, he toppled backwards, clawing for a handhold but only managing to snatch up the bag on the passenger seat. With nothing to support himself, he fell. . .
His empty hand caught the rope just as the drag of the waves snatched him from the float. He slid back down the line. Even wet, it burned his skin again before he managed to get a grip with his other hand, using a corner of the large bag as a makeshift glove to protect his palm. He hung on tightly, gasping in the spray.
The spray suddenly stopped as the Cessna took off.
‘Oh,
shiiiiit
!’ Eddie yelled as he was pulled from the water. He was heading into the sky – but if he let go of the rope, he would slam into the speedboat directly ahead like a torpedo.
shiiiiit
!’ Eddie yelled as he was pulled from the water. He was heading into the sky – but if he let go of the rope, he would slam into the speedboat directly ahead like a torpedo.
The men in the boat were forced to duck as the Skyhawk roared barely a foot above. One realised it was trailing something and raised his head to see what—
Eddie pulled up both feet and kicked the bodyguard in the face, backflipping him out of the boat in a spray of blood and teeth.
Behind him, the rope rasped over the speedboat’s side—
The winch smashed through the hull – and snagged. The boat flipped over, flinging the other man screaming into the sea, and landed upside down, carving a great swathe out of the ocean as it was dragged behind the floatplane.
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