A shout from the entrance shaft: Fortune. ‘Eddie! The others are coming.’
‘Great,’ said Rivero. ‘Let’s go.’ He tried again to stand, this time — with the help of Howie and Fisher — managing to push through the pain and bring himself upright.
The Yorkshireman acknowledged Fortune, then looked back at Rivero. ‘We should carry you — walking might make things worse,’ he warned. ‘You really want to risk it?’
Another nod. ‘I don’t wanna spend another minute in this hole.’
‘Then let’s go. You got a good hold on him, Steve?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got him,’ Fisher replied.
‘All right. Howie, use that light so we can see where we’re going. Nina, make sure none of the gauze comes off.’
‘Actually,’ said Nina, ‘I think it’d be better if David and I stay down here.’
Eddie stared at her. ‘You what?’
‘We can keep working while you get Jay outside, see if we can figure out how to get through the trap—’
An incredulous snort. ‘Are you out of your bloody mind? We’re not leaving anybody down here — especially not to poke around at a death trap in the dark!’
‘I know what I’m doing. I’m sure we can work out the solution and find the way through.’
‘I guess we really do know what your priorities are,’ said Lydia, voice dripping with disdain.
‘Nina, they’re right,’ said Ziff. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘But look what we’ve found already! I know we can—’
‘What would you tell your daughter if you got hurt? Or what would your husband tell her if something worse happened?’
Nina had no answer to that — at least, none that she wanted to think about. ‘I… okay, okay,’ she said, with reluctance. ‘We’ll get Jay outside. And then I’ll decide what to do about investigating this,’ she went on, unwilling to surrender completely.
‘Yeah, wouldn’t want someone getting Freddy Kruegered to interfere with work,’ Eddie growled. She shot him a hurt look. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘What about the gear?’ asked Howie, regarding the team’s equipment.
‘Leave it for now. You’ll have plenty of time to bring it out before a chopper arrives.’
With Howie using the camera to light the way, Eddie and Fisher began to carry Rivero down the passage. The others filed after them. Nina was last to leave, giving the booby-trapped hallway a final frustrated glance before following.
Climbing the stone ladder was beyond Rivero in his injured state. Eddie had to fashion a sling, fastening ropes around him in a way that would cause the minimum pain as he was lifted up the shaft. That done, he climbed to the top so he, Fortune, Paris and the three porters could laboriously haul the big man to the top of the tower, then lower him to the palace roof.
The Yorkshireman loosened the lines to check the cameraman’s wounds. ‘Shit, it’s bleeding again.’ The gauze was wet with oozing crimson. Whatever it was about the ruined city that deterred insects from swarming couldn’t overcome the lure of fresh blood, bugs already flitting hopefully around Rivero’s back. ‘We need to get this cleaned up, pronto. Where’s the satphone?’
‘Still at the camp,’ Fortune told him.
‘You didn’t bring it?’
‘Mr Fisher did not ask for it. I have many talents, my friend, but I am not a mind reader.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’ Eddie glowered at Fisher as he descended from the tower, but knew he was as much to blame as the director for the omission. ‘Jay, how’re you feeling?’
‘Not great,’ Rivero replied. His face was pale and slick with sweat. ‘Those painkillers you gave me? They kinda suck. Sorry, man.’
‘Not your fault.’ The tablets in the medical kit were prescription-strength, but only intended to dull the pain of minor cuts and contusions, not open wounds. ‘Okay, we’re gonna lower you to the ground and carry you to the camp, and then I’ll have another look at your back while someone calls for an evac.’ He resecured the sling.
Ten minutes later, all the expedition’s members were reunited at the base of the wall. ‘Seriously?’ Eddie groused, seeing that Fisher had taken over the Sony to record proceedings. ‘You’re filming this?’
‘We’re a documentary crew, and I’m documenting,’ Fisher replied. ‘If nothing else, the insurance company will want to see what happened.’
‘Hey, I’d do the same thing,’ Rivero feebly told Eddie. ‘It’s more than just a job to me, man. It’s what I do.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ the Englishman replied, looking at his wife. ‘Okay, Fortune, help me carry him.’
The two men took Rivero’s weight and set off towards the ruins. They soon reached the encampment. ‘Get him in there,’ said Eddie, indicating the largest tent. Paris cleared a space on the groundsheet for the American. ‘If we close the zip it should keep out most of the insects. Someone get me water and the medical kit. Steve, find the satphone.’
‘On it,’ said Fisher, going to one of the backpacks.
‘All right, Jay, we’ll…’ Eddie trailed off, suddenly on alert. Something had changed.
No, worse. Something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ Nina asked as he and Fortune looked around in alarm. Paris also sensed that the situation had changed, dropping to a crouch behind a tree trunk.
‘I can smell fucking smoke!’ Eddie snapped. ‘Everyone down — there’s someone else here!’
He and Fortune ducked, bringing Rivero with them — as a gunshot cracked from the jungle.
14
More bullets lanced through the air, sending the other expedition members scrambling for cover. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Nina cried.
‘Militia!’ Eddie shouted back. ‘The smoke — it’s the same shit they were smoking at the checkpoint!’
‘They followed us?’ said Fisher from behind a tree. He was still clutching the camera, out of instinct rather than any conscious intent to film the ambush. ‘All the way here? How?’
‘I don’t fucking care! Fortune! Guns?’
Fortune drew a gleaming nickel-plated automatic from a concealed holster. Paris did the same, though his weapon was considerably less polished. ‘There are more in my bag.’ He pointed at his tent. ‘We will cover you.’
Eddie nodded. ‘How many?’
‘Two nine-millimetres. They are fully loaded, and there are spare magazines.’
The shooting stopped. The Yorkshireman remained still, assessing their unseen attackers. At least three men armed with rifles. Not professional soldiers; the firing had been too indiscriminate. He could handle them — if he could get to a weapon. ‘Okay, I’m moving. Cover!’
Fortune and Paris both unleashed several shots in the direction of the intruders as he scurried for the tent. Someone yelled, but in fright at a near miss rather than pain. The cry told Eddie that the militia were amongst the ruins at the top of the path to the river. The expedition was cut off from the boats…
He put the thought aside. They were currently outgunned, needing to redress the balance before thinking of escape. He ducked into Fortune’s tent. The interior was as neat as its owner, bedroll carefully folded beside a bag. Eddie tugged it open, quickly finding cold metal—
The militia opened up again, single shots giving way to furious bursts of automatic fire. Ringing ricochets screamed off stone, wood splintering. Eddie dropped flat as the nylon wall flapped and puckered with multiple impacts.
He yanked out the guns, a pair of Browning Hi-Powers, and grabbed the spare magazines before crawling back into the open. Howie was nearest to him, but the young man was curled up behind a stump, terrified. Farther away he saw Wemba crouching at a wall, Chumbo beyond him. The latter saw his two guns. ‘Mr Chase! Here!’