wanted to his prisoners, and nobody would ever know.
The truck slowed. Nina looked ahead, seeing a chain-link fence topped with coils of razor wire stretching into the vine-draped trees to each side. A soldier opened a gate to let the vehicles through. They rumbled on for a short way before emerging in a large rectangular space bulldozed out of the jungle.
The military base.
The Mi-17 was parked on a concrete helipad, being refuelled. The crate containing the Inca treasure rested beside it. At the facility’s heart was a giant rectangular radar antenna, aimed towards the Colombian border. The rest of the base was less imposing: an assortment of prefabricated control and administration huts, and tents for the troops luckless enough to be stationed in the sweltering green hell.
The lead Land Cruiser stopped beside the helipad, Callas getting out to check the crate. The other two vehicles pulled up behind it. Stikes emerged from the second Toyota and strolled to the truck. ‘Everyone comfortable in there?’ he asked mockingly.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Nina, indicating Becker’s injured leg, ‘he needs a doctor.’
‘At least give him something for the pain,’ Kit added.
‘He’ll get something for the pain soon enough, don’t worry.’ Stikes looked away at a distant noise. ‘Ah! Excellent timing. My new toy has arrived.’
Nina followed his gaze. Off to the southwest was the dot of an approaching helicopter – two helicopters, she realised, picking out a smaller one flying alongside.
Callas joined Stikes by the truck. ‘I wasn’t actually sure this friend of yours could live up to his promises,’ Stikes said to him. ‘For once, I’m pleased to be wrong.’
The Venezuelan spat. ‘Pachac is no friend of mine. Maoist scum! If I could do this without him – or that drug-dealing pig, de Quesada – I would, but I need their money. For now, at least. After we succeed, I think I will change the deal. It is time Venezuela was . . . cleaned.’
‘Well, if you need my services again, you have my card,’ said Stikes. Callas smiled darkly, then watched the helicopters.
Valero frowned as they neared, puzzled. ‘What is it?’ Nina asked.
‘The big helicopter – it is a gunship, Russian. You yanquis call them Hinds.’ Nina looked more closely as the two choppers prepared to land. The subject of Valero’s confusion was, she suspected, every bit as deadly as it was ugly, stubby wings bearing rocket pods and a huge multi-barrelled cannon beneath its nose. ‘We have them here in Venezuela – but this one is from Peru.’
‘Peru?’ Now it was Nina’s turn to be bewildered. ‘But that’s Colombia over there. Peru’s four hundred miles away.’
‘I know. And this Pachac, I have heard of him. He is a communist revolutionary, but a dangerous one, a killer – even the Shining Path threw him out. He is also a drug lord.’
‘Sounds like a nice guy,’ said Macy.
‘If he has got a gunship, that is bad. If he has brought it to my country to give to mercenaries, that is worse! I do not like this.’
‘You’re not the only one,’ said Nina. The Hind moved over the pad, blowing dust and grit in all directions as it touched down beside the Mil, tripod landing gear compressing under its armoured weight. The smaller helicopter, a civilian Jet Ranger, followed suit.
A man climbed from the Jet Ranger, bending low beneath the still spinning rotors even though his short stature meant he was in no danger of decapitation. Like Stikes, he wore a military beret, this one blood-red. Giving the Hind an almost longing look, he approached Callas and Stikes.
‘Ah, Inkarrí!’ cried Callas, suddenly exuding warmth and friendliness towards the new arrival, who responded with similar, not entirely sincere, enthusiasm. He was not of Hispanic descent, instead having the broad features of a native Indian. While far from tall, he had a powerful chest and muscular arms, his sun-weathered skin showing that his physique was the result of long outdoor labour rather than a gym. The two men briefly conversed in Spanish, then Callas switched to English. ‘Alexander Stikes, meet Arcani Pachac.’
Stikes and Pachac shook hands. ‘The mercenary,’ said the Peruvian with vague disapproval.
‘I simply provide a service,’ said Stikes. ‘Once the job’s done, I leave. Quick, clean and efficient, with no messy differences of ideology to cause problems afterwards.’ A hint of a smile. ‘So, how are your relations with the Shining Path at the moment?’
Pachac’s eyes widened with anger. ‘Do not mention those traitors! Counter-revolutionary bastards!’