Authors: Andy McDermott

Empire of Gold (6 page)

BOOK: Empire of Gold

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The pounding of hooves.

‘Oh, fucking pack it in!’ he gasped. The bike’s engine was still sputtering, but the front wheel was buckled. Unrideable.

Two options. Either sprint for the Black Hawk, and be trampled or shot before he reached it . . . or make sure it took off safely and got the hostages and his comrades home.

The decision was made before the thought was completed. He recovered his rifle and loaded his final magazine. The last few men boarded the Black Hawk. Even from this distance he could pick out Mac’s grey hair, his commander – his mentor, his friend – waving for him to run to the chopper. Chase instead crouched and took aim.

The first horseman emerged from the pass, hunched low on his galloping steed with an AK raised in one hand—

Chase tracked him, firing twice and bowling the Taliban off his horse. But his rifle’s suppressor was now completely burned out, and the shots had given away his position. Another horseman appeared, and a third, charging at him.

A mechanical roar: the Black Hawk taking off. Three more riders thundered from the ravine, going after the helicopter as it lumbered into the air. AK-47s chattered, tracers streaking after the rising aircraft. Moonlight flashed off another RPG-7 as a Taliban slowed his mount to take aim. A burst from Chase’s C8 cut him down before he could fire. The chopper was safe, but now the nearest riders were almost upon him—

A sizzling chainsaw rasp from above – and men and horses alike were torn apart by a laser-like stream of orange fire.

The Little Bird swooped down, its twin six-barrelled Miniguns blazing as each unleashed over sixty rounds per second at the Taliban forces. It pulled up sharply, pivoting to follow the surviving horsemen, then fired again. Hundreds of spent shell casings hailed down around Chase, one plinking off the top of his head and singeing his scalp. ‘Great, now I’ll have a fucking bald spot,’ he muttered as he fired at the last of the horsemen. The shot hit home, but it became academic a moment later when the man literally disintegrated under the force of the MH-6’s firepower.

The Miniguns stopped, but he could still hear more horses approaching. Holding back a curse, he looked up at the Little Bird as it started a rapid descent towards him.

No time for it to land. This would have to be a moving pickup, and he would only have one chance . . .

He glimpsed the pilot in the green light of his instruments, his night vision gear making him look like a cyborg. The Little Bird was coming right at him, slowing, but still travelling at twenty miles an hour.

Chase jumped—

The skid slammed against his chest. He wrapped his arms round the forward support strut and clung for dear life as the MH-6 went to full power. The helicopter surged skywards, Chase flapping beneath it like a banner.

He turned his face away from the downwash to see the plain wheeling below – and tracer fire rising up after him as more Taliban came out of the pass—

They disappeared in a tremendous explosion as the AC-130 reacquired its targets and, friendly forces now clear, fired its big gun. The blast from the 105mm shell collapsed part of the ravine, burying the Taliban under tons of rubble. More explosions ripped along the length of the pass as the Bofors gunner dealt with any stragglers.

The Little Bird levelled out, flying after the Black Hawk. Chase heard a voice; he squinted up to see the pilot shouting at him from the doorless cockpit. ‘Are you all right, man?’

Despite the fact that he was dangling from a speeding helicopter a thousand feet above hostile territory, Chase still managed a grin. ‘Never better, mate. What’s the inflight movie?’

The Black Hawk landed at the Coalition base, the Little Bird close behind it. The MH-6 had briefly touched down, once both aircraft reached nominally friendly territory, so that Chase could climb aboard; he leapt from the cabin and ran to the larger helicopter. Three men from the Royal Army Medical Corps were waiting, two bearing a stretcher and a third to attend to the wounded Green. He was carried out of the Black Hawk by Starkman and Baine, and quickly whisked away by the medics.

The hostages came next, and were escorted to a temporary building nearby. Finally, the remaining soldiers clambered from the helicopter, Mac ruefully looking after Green. The others were simply relieved to have made it back in one piece. ‘Christ,’ said Bluey, rubbing his shaved head, ‘that was a bit fierce.’

Starkman saw Chase. ‘Damn, almost thought we’d lost you,’ said the Texan. ‘You okay?’

Chase ignored him, eyes locked on another man: Stikes. The captain stepped out, donning his beret and adjusting it to a precise angle. ‘Seven hostages rescued, and it would have been eight if that idiot hadn’t panicked. Not bad.’ He saw Chase step towards him. ‘So Chase, you—’

Chase smashed a brutal punch into his face. Stikes’s regal nose broke with a wet snap, and he fell back against the fuselage. ‘You
fucker
!’ Chase shouted.

Baine lunged at Chase, but Mac intervened, hauling the Yorkshireman back from the fallen officer. ‘Eddie, for Christ’s sake!’

A hand to his bleeding nose, Stikes pulled himself upright as the other team members looked on in bewilderment. ‘It’s a court-martial offence to strike a superior officer, Chase!’ he cried. ‘You’ll get five years for an unprovoked attack – which you all witnessed!’

‘Unprovoked, my arse!’ Chase said furiously. ‘You pointed a fucking gun at my head!’

‘Eddie!’ Mac snapped.
‘Sergeant!’
Still tight-lipped with rage, Chase stood at attention. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘This bastard murdered five civilians – five women, sir,’ Chase said through clenched teeth. ‘They were unarmed and tied prisoners of the Taliban, but he shot them – then aimed his weapon at me.’

‘That’s a complete lie, Major,’ Stikes responded. ‘I did no such thing.’

Mac frowned. ‘But the Taliban
did
have female prisoners. Did you see them?’

Stikes’s cold eyes didn’t blink as he answered. ‘No sir, I did not.’

‘
That’s
a complete lie,’ Chase hissed.

‘The only non-hostages I saw had been designated as hostiles under the rules of engagement.’ Stikes moved his hand from his nose; red liquid trickled over his lips. ‘Damn it! Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this dealt with. And then’ – a venomous look at his attacker – ‘I’ll make a full written report so charges can be drawn against Sergeant Chase!’

Mac nodded, and Stikes strutted away. The Scot hustled Chase out of earshot of the others. ‘If you have a grievance against a superior, Eddie,’ he rumbled, ‘there are well-defined procedures. That was not one of them!’

Chase forced his anger back under control. ‘Sorry, sir. I mean, I’m sorry for causing you any trouble – not for decking Stikes! It’s the bloody
least
that he deserved. He murdered those women in cold blood.’

‘Nobody else saw anything. It’s your word against his.’

‘Mac, you know me. And you know Stikes.’ He gave Mac an almost pleading look. ‘Who do you believe?’

Mac remained silent for a long moment. ‘Eddie,’ he said at last, ‘however this turns out, there will be consequences for you – for your career. The plain and simple fact is that you punched an officer in the face in front of half a dozen witnesses.’

‘I’ll take whatever comes to me.’

‘I’d expect nothing less. But . . . as you say, I know you. And I know Stikes. So when the court-martial comes – which it will, he’s got connections that will see to that – I’ll do everything I can to support you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And’ – a hint of a smile – ‘I’d be remiss as your commanding officer if I didn’t remind you to get straight on with a full written report of your own, describing
everything
you witnessed on the mission. Our well-defined procedures are there for everyone’s benefit, not just officers’. If, as a result of that, an investigation is warranted . . . again, you’ll have my full support.’

Chase gave the older man an appreciative look. ‘Thank you, sir!’

‘Well, you’d better get to it, sergeant. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find a shower in this bloody hole.’ Mac walked off, then stopped and looked back. ‘By the way, Eddie, you did excellent work tonight. Well done.’

Chase saluted, and Mac continued on his way. The Englishman stood for a moment, then took out and lit a long-awaited cigarette.

New York City:

Eleven Years Later

E
ddie Chase strolled into the office with his hands behind his back and a knowing smile on his face. ‘Ay up, love.’

His wife looked up from her laptop with a faint frown. ‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Nina Wilde, flicking a strand of red hair away from her face. ‘We’re going to be late.’

‘We’ve still got ten minutes. Anyway, I’m amazed you noticed I’d gone, since you haven’t lifted your nose out of that lot all morning.’ He glanced at the stacked paperwork on her desk.

‘Don’t be a smart-ass.’ She eyed him more closely, noticing his expectant smirk. ‘What have you got behind your back?’

He stepped forward. ‘Oh, nothing. Just . . . ’ With a flourish, he dropped a large brown paper bag beside her computer. ‘Lunch.’

Nina did a double-take as she recognised the logo on the bag. ‘Aldo’s Deli?’ Her frown was replaced by surprised delight. ‘Wait, you went all the way to Aldo’s just to get me a sandwich?’

Eddie shrugged, looking out at the view of Manhattan beyond the windows of the United Nations building. ‘It’s only in the East Village. It’s not
that
far.’

She opened the bag, and her look brightened still further. ‘You didn’t.’

‘I did. Your favourite. Extra-peppered pastrami on rye, with lettuce, tomatoes, pickled onions, not regular ones . . . and Aldo’s special chilli sauce. Just like you used to get when we lived down there.’

Nina almost reverently unwrapped the sandwich. ‘That was over four years ago. I can’t believe you did this.’ She was about to take a bite when she paused. ‘Why
did
you do this?’

‘What, a bloke can’t do something nice for his wife once in a while?’

‘Not when she knows him as well as I know you.’ A sly smile. ‘This wouldn’t be a peace offering, would it?’

‘Pfft, don’t be daft. What’ve I got to apologise for? I’m right.’

Her green eyes narrowed, the smile fading. ‘Don’t even start.’ A discussion the previous night about the week’s main news story had somehow degenerated into a full-blown argument, and the atmosphere had still been frosty even over breakfast. A New Yorker named Jerry Rosenthal was on trial for having killed the man accused of raping his daughter after the case against him collapsed. To Nina it had been an open-and-shut case of revenge-driven vigilantism, but Eddie had very different opinions.

Which he still held. ‘What, so you’re saying that if it had been your daughter, you’d be happy to let the guy walk the streets because of some forensics cock-up? We know he did it, he just got away with it on a technicality.’

‘We
don’t
know he did it,’ she said irritably. ‘You weren’t there – you didn’t see what happened.’

‘Neither did you.’

‘Which is why we have courts to decide whether a person’s guilty or not. And why we have courts to decide on the sentence – rather than some guy appointing himself judge, jury and executioner. That’s not justice.’

‘Sounds like it to me. You know somebody’s done something bad and thinks they’ve got away with it?
Boom
. Kill the fucker.’

Nina huffed. ‘Eddie, I really don’t want to get into this again. You know what? I’m just going to eat my sandwich – for which thank you very much, by the way. And,’ she added, ‘you are
not
going to get the last word just because my mouth’s full!’

‘As if I would,’ said Eddie, who had been planning to do exactly that.

She was about to take a bite when there was a knock at the door. Before she could ask who it was, Macy Sharif entered. ‘Hey, Nina. Hi, Eddie.’ The archaeology student, who had helped them discover the Pyramid of Osiris beneath the Egyptian desert the previous year, had accepted Nina’s invitation to spend part of her summer vacation as an intern at the International Heritage Agency before completing her final year of study. ‘Dr Bellfriar sent me to get you.’

‘Bet I know what he’s going to say,’ said Eddie with a mocking grin. ‘Eight months of looking at the things, and he’ll tell us . . . they’re made of stone. Thank you, that’ll be fifty grand plus expenses.’

‘Oh, he’s got way more to say than that,’ said Macy, the Englishman’s sarcasm fluttering past her unnoticed. ‘I should know. I had to make all his PowerPoint slides.’

‘Not enjoying your current assignment?’ Nina asked in an impish tone.

‘No, no, it’s fine!’ said Macy hurriedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. ‘Just that I was hoping to do something a bit more fieldworky. With you.’

BOOK: Empire of Gold

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