Kingdom of Darkness (26 page)

Dried bark exploded just behind the Englishman as he reached safety. The pursuing cop fired again, but struck nothing.

Vargas was not a skilled shooter, then; the chances of hitting a small target with a handgun while running were minuscule, but he had still taken the shot, driven by anger and testosterone. He had a second magazine on his belt, though, so playing cat and mouse until he ran out of ammo wasn’t an option. Eddie knew that his only hope of survival was to take the Argentinian down – but how?

He turned into the gritty wind. Lower down the slope, a small, blocky mausoleum stood about thirty yards distant. A plan came to him. Risky, and it depended on Vargas acting on instinct rather than logic, but it was all he had . . .

Eddie broke cover and ran. Grave markers blurred past. A shot, then another, lead striking stone behind him. Fifteen yards, ten – but the whipcrack of a third shot snapped past barely a foot in his wake. Vargas had got smart and stopped, gun in both hands for greater accuracy. Five yards, but Eddie knew that the next round would be on target—

He threw himself into a dive, thumping down in the dirt just short of the structure. A bullet seared above him. Vargas adjusted his aim and fired again – but hit only soil as Eddie scrambled behind the mausoleum.

Panting, the Englishman jumped up and grabbed a foot-long hunk of stone that had broken from the wall. The cop would take at most twenty seconds to reach the little tomb. Would he go around its right side, or the left? Vargas was right-handed, so coming from that side, rounding the obstacle anticlockwise, would give him the most advantageous positioning; he could lead with his gun as he circled. But doing so would also mean he was facing into the dusty wind at the first corner . . .

Eddie couldn’t cover both sides of the tomb simultaneously. He had to make a choice,
now
. He heard the cop approaching, the gear on his belt rattling. Which way would he go?

The Englishman went to the left side, gambling that the enraged Vargas would follow his natural instincts and protect his vision.

Pressing his back against the weathered wall, he held the stone like a baseball bat, ready to swing. The footsteps slowed, the Argentinian uncertain which side to take . . .

Left.

Eddie waited, arms tensed. Boots crunched on gravel. The gun’s muzzle came into view, Vargas leaning forward to see what was around the corner—

The chunk of stone smashed against his head.

Vargas staggered backwards. The gun went off – but the bullet hit the tomb, ricocheting away. Eddie threw the stone at the other man’s chest. The Argentinian fell on his back.

Eddie was about to dive for the weapon, but instantly changed his plan when he saw it was pointing almost at him – and Vargas still had his finger on the trigger. Instead he darted for the nearest row of gravestones. These were as old as the mausoleum, moss-scabbed stone teeth giving him a degree of protection.

But not much. Vargas shrieked breathless abuse as he ran, firing a couple of wild shots from the ground.

The old tree was just ahead. Eddie swerved to put it between his back and Vargas’s gun as he raced towards the car. It would keep him out of the cop’s sight for a few seconds, but could he turn that to his advantage?

Yes
.

Another change of course as he angled to retrace his own steps – and jumped down into the open grave.

The hole was four feet at its deepest, the edges crumbling. Eddie backed against the grave’s end, holding his breath as he listened for Vargas. Angry gasping reached him as the cop lumbered up the hill . . . then slowed as he found he had lost sight of his target.

Eddie tensed. He knew he could never have reached the car before Vargas spotted him – but did
Vargas
realise that? If the cop thought the Englishman had gone for the vehicle, then he had a chance. If not . . .

Vargas set off again, the jangle of his equipment growing louder. How close was he? Eddie couldn’t judge – and didn’t dare raise his head to look. All he knew was that each step was bringing his adversary nearer, nearer . . .

And past.

The noise receded. Eddie cautiously peered out. Vargas had passed about twenty feet away, a large neighbouring gravestone blocking the hole from his view. His back was now to the Yorkshireman as he advanced on the car – but it wouldn’t be long before he realised his prey was not there.

Eddie picked up the rusty spade and climbed out, moving up behind Vargas. The Argentinian stopped, head cocked, listening. Eddie slipped closer.

The cop turned—

The shovel’s rusted head came down on his hand like an axe, the dull clang of metal accompanied by a snap of bone. Vargas screamed, the gun falling from his broken fingers. Eddie swung the spade again – and blood and broken teeth sprayed from the Argentinian’s mouth as the flat of the blade hit him in the face.

He dropped the shovel and forced the cop into a headlock, then dragged him to the open grave and threw him in. ‘You’re fucking lucky I’m not burying you in there,’ he said, kicking loose dirt on to him. Vargas curled up in fear. The Englishman retrieved the gun, then returned to the police car.

Miranda was slumped against it. He looked up as Eddie approached. ‘Where – where is Vargas?’

‘In a grave. Don’t worry, he’s not dead,’ Eddie added as he saw the shock on the young man’s face. ‘He just wishes he was. He won’t be causing any trouble for a while, though.’ He looked at the settlement below, then his gaze snapped back to Miranda. ‘Question is . . . what about you?’

The wind had picked up by the time Santos returned to town, dust from the dry lake billowing across the streets. Squinting even behind his mirrored sunglasses, he was about to head into the police station when the frantic bleat of a car horn reached him. He peered into the haze. It was the car in which Vargas and Miranda had taken the Englishman to the graveyard – but now only one man was inside.

The vehicle skidded to a halt. ‘What is it?’ Santos demanded as the frightened Miranda jumped out. ‘Where is Vargas?’

‘The – the Englishman,’ Miranda stammered. ‘He got loose and beat the crap out of Vargas! He was gonna do the same to me, but I got away. But he’s coming, he’s coming for you! He’s got a gun – he said he’s going to kill you!’

‘Like hell,’ Santos growled. He stared towards the hills, but the dust obscured all detail. ‘Did you come straight from the graveyard?’ Miranda nodded. ‘Then he can’t have got far. We can stop him before he even reaches the edge of town.’

Miranda’s arrival had drawn attention, people coming out of nearby buildings. Silva emerged from the hotel and jogged to the two cops. ‘What’s going on?’ he called, worried.

‘That English asshole’s still causing trouble,’ Santos replied, before hurrying into the station. He returned carrying a rifle with a telescopic sight.

Silva’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking care of a problem.’ Santos slapped a magazine into the Remington’s receiver and drew back the bolt.

‘But what if someone comes looking for him? What if they tell the federal police or the gendarmerie that he was here?’

‘You’ve done well out of our town’s little secret,’ the police chief growled. ‘Now it’s time for you to help keep it.’

Silva glanced around nervously. More people – including his daughter – were watching. ‘You can’t just kill him!’ he said in a strained whisper. ‘You said you were only going to kick them out of town!’

‘Things have gone beyond that. Now, are you going to help me?’ Santos glared at the mayor, who shrank back. ‘Then get out of my way.’

The police chief ran across the square, rifle in hand. One of the side streets was only short, continuing as a track out of town towards the graveyard. The last building on the street was derelict. He positioned himself behind a crumbling wall to get a view of the entire hillside. There was little cover beyond the occasional tree or boulder; his target would have nowhere to hide.

And the moment he was seen . . . he was a dead man. Santos was an accomplished shot. The Remington’s magazine held only three bullets, but one would be enough.

He raised the scope to his eye, checking each potential cover spot in turn. No trace of anyone. Dust prickled the back of his neck. Irritated, he wiped it, then resumed his search. The Englishman was out there somewhere . . .

A loud, echoing clang from behind. The church bell. It chimed again. He frowned. The priest was an old man, easily cowed; if this was some sort of attempt to warn away the visitor, then he would have to pay him a visit and remind him that God did not call the shots in Lago Amargo.

Clang
.
Clang
. The bell continued its tuneless toll. Santos swept his scope over the hillside once more, then raised his head from the rifle for a wider view. Still no sign of Chase, but he caught movement at the edge of his vision. He glanced over his shoulder.

Some of the townsfolk were advancing towards him, twenty or more, Silva and his daughter leading them. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Get back! This is police business. Go back to your homes or you’ll answer to me.’

The civilians stopped. He looked back at the hill, the dust clearing enough to reveal the road winding up to the graveyard.

Nobody was on it – or the surrounding open ground. Suddenly uneasy, he darted the sight from tree to rock to tree. Still no one. But Miranda had told him the Englishman was coming. Where was he?

He looked around again to find the young cop – and froze.

The bell clanged one last time. The townspeople, Miranda amongst them, parted from the centre of the street, clearing a path for a ghostly figure striding out from a dense wall of dust.

Eddie Chase.

Santos started to bring up the rifle, only to freeze again as the Englishman swept open his leather jacket to reveal that he was armed. The gun was in his waistband, but his cold expression warned the police chief that the slightest move would see it drawn without hesitation . . . and fired.

‘Miranda!’ Santos called. ‘Stop him! You have your gun – shoot him!’

Miranda stared at him, conflicted . . . then silently retreated out of sight. Dismayed, Santos turned to Silva for help. ‘Pablo! Do something! You’re in this with me – if I go down, so do you!’

The mayor breathed deeply before replying. ‘It . . . perhaps it’s time this ended, Eduardo. It has gone too far.’

Rage overtook fear. ‘You fucking coward!’ snarled Santos. ‘All of you! You’re cowards! This is
my
town – without me, you’d have nothing! I
protected
you!’

‘Protected?’ cried Julieta as the Englishman passed her, his stride relentless. ‘All you’ve ever done is threaten us!’

Santos shook with anger. ‘You bastards! I’ll remember who refused to stand with me, you—’

Eddie stopped about thirty feet from the cop. ‘Oi! Arsehole! It’s not them you want to worry about.’

Santos switched to English. ‘You should not have come back. You should have run away, as fast as you could.’

‘Well, people keep telling me I’m not that bright.’ He took in the cop’s rifle. ‘That a Remington? Decent gun. You should be able to take me down with one shot.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘If you’re fast enough.’

Santos hesitated, then turned to face him, keeping the rifle low. ‘What, you think this is a
shoot-out
? That this is the Wild West and you are a cowboy, like John Wayne?’

Eddie remained still, his dusty jacket flapping stiffly in the wind. ‘Was always more of a Clint Eastwood fan. But it’s up to you. You can either give yourself up so the feds can deal with you, or . . . draw.’ He moved his right hand fractionally closer to his gun.

Santos caught the movement, his eyes darting between the weapon and Eddie’s face. The Englishman’s expression remained unreadable. The cop licked his lips . . . then almost imperceptibly began to bring his rifle towards the other man.

Only Eddie’s eyes moved in response, momentarily regarding the Remington before fixing back upon the police chief. Now sweating despite the cold breeze, Santos again ran his tongue around his bone-dry mouth. If he was fast enough, he could get off one shot before his opponent reacted. It might not be a killing wound, but it wouldn’t have to be – if it stopped him from firing, then a second round would finish him . . .

The rifle’s barrel rose, millimetre by millimetre. Eddie remained statue still. Santos struggled to control his breathing, feeling every beat of his pounding heart. Just a little more, and no matter how fast the Englishman drew his gun, it wouldn’t be enough for him to get off the first shot. He could do it.

He could do it.

He could—

Santos burst into motion. The Remington whipped upwards, the barrel swinging towards Eddie’s chest—

Eddie was faster.

Santos was thrown back against the wall as a bullet ripped through his right shoulder, shattering bone. The rifle flew from his numbed hand and clattered to the ground. He gasped for breath as fire burned across his chest.

The Englishman closed on him, a near-silhouette against the dusty haze. He kicked the Remington away, then loomed over the fallen man, bringing up his gun. Santos felt a terror like nothing he had ever experienced before, not even when fighting in the Malvinas. ‘No, no!’ he gasped, feebly raising his uninjured arm in a pathetic attempt to ward off the shadowy figure. ‘Please, don’t kill me!’ His bladder let go, hot urine soaking his clothing.

The gun remained fixed on his face . . . then Eddie turned away. ‘You people need a new sheriff,’ he told the townsfolk laconically as he walked back down the street, fading into the drifting dust.

Miranda ran to Santos, his own gun raised. ‘Eduardo Santos,’ he said, almost unable to believe that he was making the challenge, ‘you are under arrest for attempted murder . . .’

23

Eddie looked up at a knock on the door of Silva’s office. Miranda entered, speaking to the mayor before addressing the Englishman. ‘Santos and Vargas are both in the jail. El Jefe’s shoulder has been bandaged.’

‘What’re you going to do with them?’ Eddie asked.

‘I will have to tell the federal police what has happened here. All of it,’ he added, with a mournful look at Silva.

The mayor dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh. ‘I was afraid this day would come.’

‘What, the day your town’s little secret got out?’ Eddie replied, scathing. ‘That you were hiding a bunch of Nazi war criminals?’

‘It has never gone this far before, never!’ Silva protested. ‘The cops were only supposed to scare people away. They never tried to kill anyone.’

‘But you didn’t try too hard to talk Santos out of it after you spoke to Kroll, did you?’

‘You do not understand,’ he said, hands jittering in agitation. ‘El Jefe is not a man you argue with. Even though I am the mayor, he . . . he has all the power.’

‘
Had
all the power,’ Eddie corrected. ‘You’re in charge now. So do the right thing.’

Silva put his head in his hands. ‘The men in the Enklave, the Germans . . . without them, there would not
be
a town. You have seen the dry lake, the farms – Lago Amargo is dying! It would be dead without their payments.’

‘But Julieta said they made the lake dry up in the first place. Get rid of them and you get your water back.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know . . .’

Eddie banged a hand on the desk, making him jump. ‘I’ll tell you what
I
know. Those bastards up in the Enklave have got my wife, and my friends. I’m going to get them back – and you’re going to help me. Otherwise there really
won’t
be a town, ’cause I’ll burn the fucking place to the ground. Starting with your hotel.’

Silva wearily raised his head. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘I want you to call Kroll. Tell him I’m dead. That way, they won’t expect any trouble when I go up there.’

‘But what if he wants to speak to Santos?’

‘I don’t fucking know! You’re a politician; lie. But once you’ve done that, I need to know the best way to get up there, and what I can expect to find.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Silva. ‘I have never been inside the Enklave. No one from the town has.’

‘Seriously?’ Eddie said in disbelief. ‘So nobody knows what’s up there?’

‘I do,’ said a new voice.

All three turned to see Julieta at the door, which she had silently eased open. Silva jumped up, admonishing her in Spanish.

She responded in English. ‘No, Papá. I will not go to my room. I am not a child any more! This town has been sick for a long time, and we all know it – but this man has helped us by stopping El Jefe. So now we must help him. It is the right thing to do.’

Silva was clearly unhappy at being challenged by his daughter, but he seemed so drained by the day’s events that he lacked the energy to argue with her. ‘How do you know what is in the Enklave?’ he asked instead.

‘I have been inside.’

The mayor’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘Roland took me up the hill, in secret. We followed the old railroad.’

‘Roland? That
boy
?’

‘You’ve met him?’ Eddie asked Silva. ‘They come down to the town?’

‘Once or twice a year. They buy supplies, tools, things like that. They grow their own food, but it must not be enough for all of them any more.’

‘All of them?’ echoed the Yorkshireman. ‘How many of these buggers are there? How big’s this Enklave?’

‘Their land starts at the edge of the lake, and goes all the way to the old mines in the mountains.’ The bases of the peaks Eddie had seen on the way into Lago Amargo were at least ten miles away; the Enklave was indeed huge. ‘It is . . .’ Silva thought for a moment, ‘more than two hundred and fifty square kilometres. But I do not know how many people live there.’

‘Over one hundred,’ said Julieta. ‘Roland told me. Maybe one hundred and twenty.’

‘That’s a lot of Nazis,’ Eddie muttered.

‘Roland is not a Nazi!’ she protested. ‘He is . . . different. He wanted to find out more about the world, so . . .’ Guilt crossed her face as she glanced at the computer on Silva’s desk. ‘So I let him use the Internet when you were not here, Papá. Volker, too. He used it even more than Roland.’

‘Volker Koenig?’ said Eddie.

‘Yes, Roland’s brother.’

‘I met him. Briefly.’

‘Where is he?’ she asked, excited. ‘Is he okay?’

He hesitated before giving her the bad news. ‘I’m . . . afraid not. He’s dead.’

Julieta stared at him, stricken. ‘What – what happened to him?’ asked her father, equally shocked.

‘He came looking for us, but a Nazi called Jaekel shot him. I’m sorry.’

‘He shot Volker?’ she whispered. ‘But – but why? Why was he looking for you?’

‘He wanted to give something to my wife – she’s an archaeologist, Nina Wilde.’

‘I know that name!’ she said. ‘She is famous, yes?’ Eddie nodded. ‘Volker read about her on the computer. You are really married to her?’

‘Yeah, hard to believe with a face like this, I know,’ he said with a bruised smile. ‘They’re holding her, somewhere up there. I’m going to get her back, and the other people they’ve kidnapped too. You know how to get in?’

‘Yes – there is a hole in the fence. Roland and Volker used it to sneak down to the town.’

‘Will you show me?’

‘Of course. I will go with you.’

‘You will not,’ said Silva firmly.

‘I have to, Papá,’ Julieta insisted. ‘I have to find Roland and make sure he is okay . . . and I must tell him his brother is dead.’

Her father’s face fell. ‘I . . . Yes, you are right. But,’ he went on, raising a forefinger in warning, ‘you are not to take any risks, you understand? These people have become dangerous.’

‘They always were,’ Eddie pointed out. The reminder did not make Silva any happier.

‘What are you going to do once you are inside?’ Miranda asked.

‘First priority is rescuing Nina and the others. Then,’ he added to Julieta, ‘we’ll try to find your boyfriend. Anything else that happens . . . well, that’s up to them.’

‘What does that mean?’ said Silva.

‘It means that if anyone gets in my way, they’ll wish they hadn’t. But the main thing is finding Nina. Once I’ve done that, I’ll bring her and the others out, then call in the cavalry.’

Silva put his head in his hands again. ‘This could end everything. I do not know what to do . . .’

‘Do what is right, Papá,’ Julieta told him softly.

A sigh, then the mayor looked up at Eddie. ‘Okay. I will phone Kroll. Then,’ reluctance filled his voice, ‘Julieta can take you into the Enklave. If you promise that you will keep her safe.’

The Yorkshireman nodded. ‘I’ll watch out for her, trust me.’

‘Okay. Then . . . good luck, Mr Chase. I hope you find your wife, and your friends.’

‘So do I,’ replied Eddie. ‘So do I.’

After retrieving his belongings from the police station, Eddie set out with Julieta. ‘So how far’s the entrance?’ he asked, looking westwards towards the distant mountains. The crumpled hills rose quite steeply in places, but there was a distinct edge to the terrain that suggested a plateau higher up the slope.

‘There is a big gate about two kilometres from here,’ said Julieta, pointing along the dry lake bed. ‘The railroad from the mines goes to it, but it has not been used for a long time. Planes sometimes land on the lake, though; they have marked out an airstrip. There have been a lot recently – more than usual.’

‘How often do they normally come?’

‘Once every two or three months.’

‘Bringing people, or cargo?’

‘Mostly cargo. I was once out at the lake when a plane landed, so I hid in the bushes to watch. It brought lots of wooden boxes, but I do not know what was in them. But one came not long ago,’ she added, ‘and some men got in and flew away. That was weird, because they do not usually leave the Enklave.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Two weeks?’

Probably going to Egypt, Eddie thought; their entrance to Alexander’s tomb would have taken some time to prepare. ‘So if nobody leaves, how did you meet Roland and his brother?’

‘I told you, they were . . . different. It was over a year ago – I was looking for herbs when I found them both hiding behind some rocks. It was funny,’ she said, a faint flush of pink appearing on her cheeks as she smiled, ‘you would think they had never seen a girl before. Roland was so shy, he could hardly look at me! Volker was more . . . oh, I do not know the right word.’

‘Confident?’

‘Yes, that is it! But he was more confident about everything. Volker was the real explorer – he wanted to know all he could. After I showed him the Internet, it was hard to get him off the computer.’

‘And Roland wasn’t like that?’

‘He was, but not so much.’ Another blushing smile. ‘He was more interested in me. They would both sneak out of the Enklave, and I would spend time with Roland while Volker used the Internet.’

‘What was he reading about?’

‘Everything. In many languages, too – he was very smart. So is Roland, actually. He told me they are all taught English and Spanish as well as German. But Volker read a lot about history.’

‘What, like archaeology?’

‘Sometimes. But most of it was recent history. The Second World War.’ She shook her head. ‘There were always rumours about the people in the Enklave, that they were Nazis, but my father told me not to think about them. He tried not to think too much about the Enklave himself – like it was a secret he wished was not there. He wanted me to stay away from them when they came into town, but . . . I did that anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘They were not nice people. They always seemed very angry, looking at us like we had done something wrong – even though it was our town! But Roland and Volker were not like that. They were not supposed to go outside the Enklave, but they did – well, it was Volker’s idea, but Roland went with him – because they wanted to see if what they had been told about the rest of the world was true.’

Eddie smiled faintly. ‘If Roland’d never seen a girl before, I’m guessing they were pretty surprised about everything else they found.’

‘Volker was – and he was angry, too, at first. Like he didn’t want to believe it. But he kept coming back to find out more, and . . . and he was still angry, but now at the people in the Enklave for lying to him.’

‘What did they lie about?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask, because I did not think I
wanted
to know. But when he left, he said he was going to stop the lies. Roland did not want him to go, but he said he had to. That . . . that was the last time I saw him.’ Her voice caught.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Eddie.

‘Thank you. I do not know how I am going to tell Roland, though.’ She wiped an eye, then changed direction, heading away from the lake bed. ‘Up here.’

They climbed a rumpled slope dotted with scruffy vegetation. A tall barbed-wire fence stretched into the distance, enclosing a huge tract of land. ‘How far’s the hole?’ asked Eddie.

‘Not far, inside some bushes. They check the fence for gaps, but this is hard to see from inside the Enklave. It is big enough to crawl through. Don’t touch the fence, though,’ Julieta added in sudden warning.

‘Is it electrified?’

‘No, but there is an alarm. I do not know how it works, but men come down in a Jeep if it is touched.’ She led him up the hillside to a stand of shrubs that was bisected by the fence, and pulled back a bush to reveal a small depression beneath the lowest barbed strand. Eddie bent for a closer look. It would be a tight squeeze, but he would fit through.

He surveyed the grounds within the fence. No sign of life, or any indication that they were being observed. Some laborious mental arithmetic during the walk – if Nina had been with him, she could have done it in moments – had told him that the Enklave’s perimeter was over thirty miles long; a lot of ground for a hundred or so people to monitor, especially with so many blind spots caused by the rippled terrain.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll go first, then you follow. If you’re
absolutely
sure about coming.’

‘I am,’ said Julieta firmly. ‘I have to know that Roland is okay. There is a way up where we will not be seen – Roland took me once because I wanted to see where he lived.’

‘How long will it take to get there?’

‘About two hours.’

Eddie checked his watch. By the time they reached the top, they would be heading into darkness, but that could be to his advantage. ‘All right then. Let’s go.’

He dropped on to his back and wriggled under the barrier. There was a tense moment when the wire almost brushed his stomach, but he sucked it in and passed through without incident. On the other side, he rose to his feet and checked his surroundings.

The landscape looked little different from that outside, but it felt as if a switch had been flipped, putting him on high alert. He was about to head into the Nazi stronghold – into darkness in more ways than one. ‘Where Llamas Dare,’ he muttered, before turning as Julieta emerged. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Which way?’

‘There.’ She pointed along a crease in the hillside. ‘It goes to the railroad bridge.’

‘Okay.’ He drew the gun he had taken from Vargas and pulled back the slide to chamber the first round from its reloaded magazine. ‘Let’s get started.’