or seven minutes before they’re close enough to take any kind of action.’ He drew a pistol. ‘Stay here with Nina. I’ll be with Walther.’
‘Be careful, okay?’ said Eddie.
A humourless smile. ‘I’m not wearing body armour. I will be very careful!’ He hurried after Probst.
Eddie watched them go, frustrated. There had to be something he could do. But with the bridge destroyed, there was no way on or off the island except by boat . . .
Something about that troubled him, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. He returned to Nina. ‘Have you seen anything?’
She shook her head. ‘After that rocket fired, all the guys at this end took off.’
‘Going for the boats.’ He considered that. ‘Which . . . doesn’t make any fucking sense.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This de Quesada blew up the bridge deliberately, so the only way to escape is by boat – but the path down to them’s way too exposed. He must have known we’d try to cover ’em.’ As if to illustrate his point, more gunfire started, this time from the shore. The remaining members of the SWAT team had reached positions from where they could see the path down to the jetty, and opened fire. A scream echoed off the cliffs: one of de Quesada’s bodyguards had been hit. The drug lord’s men shot back, dust and chipped stones spitting from the clifftops.
‘So, what, you think he’s using his own men as a decoy?’ Nina said dubiously.
‘The guy’s a drug lord – he’d probably use his own grandma as a human shield. He wants us looking at that end of the island, so he can do something at this end.’
‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. Maybe he’s not really leaving – he’s just going to hide in a panic room until everyone’s gone.’ He regarded the house – then stood.
‘Get down!’ Nina yelped, yanking at the sleeve of his battered jacket. ‘They’ll see you.’
‘There’s nobody there. They’re all by the boats to give de Quesada time to do whatever he’s doing. I need to get over there before he does it.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’ Even at its narrowest point, the channel was still over fifty feet across. ‘The bridge has gone, and I don’t think high-diving into the sea to swim across would be a good idea!’
He pointed. ‘That cable. I can slide down it.’
‘Are you kidding? It’s probably got ten thousand volts running through it!’
‘Then I won’t touch it.’
‘If you don’t touch it, how are you going to slide down it?’
Rather than answer, he hurried back to the parked vehicles and climbed into the truck’s bed. As well as carrying the Colombian SWAT team, it had also transported the weapons, including the Barretts. But it wasn’t their now empty cases Eddie was interested in; rather, the ratchet straps used to secure them. ‘Here we go,’ he said as Nina arrived, detaching one. It was six feet long, made from a heavy-duty polyester. ‘It’s insulated, so I can chuck it over the wire and use it as a zipline.’
Nina wasn’t impressed. ‘And if the line doesn’t hold?’
‘Let’s not worry about that, eh?’ He headed for the stub of the bridge.
She followed. ‘Oh, you know me, I worry about everything. Especially you!’
Eddie reached the pole supporting the power line, looped the strap round the pole and held the ends tightly together. ‘Okay, stay low, just in case I’m wrong and there’s still someone over there. Once I’m across, use the radio in the truck to tell Kit what I’m doing. Back soon.’
‘How?’ she demanded. ‘You’re going to slide up the line?’
‘I’ll think of something.’ He kissed her, then, using the strap for support, climbed until he reached the metal pegs that acted as a ladder. Warily eyeing the power line on its ceramic insulators, he scooted round to the pole’s seaward side.
It was his first clear view of the channel far below. Waves churned and frothed, and the rocks poking from the water suggested it was not especially deep. High-diving definitely wasn’t a good idea. The open sea was visible at the far end to his left; to the right, it curved out of sight towards the jetty. Gunfire was still being exchanged, but less frequently than before – the two sides seemed caught in a stand-off.
Which wouldn’t last long. Beyond the island, Eddie saw an approaching ship: the Colombian Coast Guard. The drug lord’s bodyguards would soon be forced to make a break for the boats, or be trapped.