Fortune nodded. ‘If any raise their heads too high, they will not live long enough to regret it.’
Eddie put down the Shamir, then unslung his AK and ejected the magazine, tugging the charging handle until the jammed round finally spat free. He retrieved it and examined the cartridge. It wasn’t damaged, so he thumbed it back into the mag and reloaded. ‘Spare if you need it,’ he told Fortune, leaning it against the wall and drawing Mukobo’s revolver. ‘I’ll go and tie up this arsehole.’ He pointed the golden gun at its former owner. ‘All right, move.’ When the warlord didn’t rise at once, he added: ‘I had two chances to kill you before, in Rwanda and Tenerife, but I didn’t take ’em. That was a mistake. So I will fucking shoot you dead if you piss me off.’
Mukobo glared angrily at him, but eventually looked away under the former soldier’s stony gaze. ‘This is not over, Chase,’ he muttered as he stood.
Eddie didn’t reply, instead directing his prisoner down the passage. Nina collected the Shamir and followed them. ‘So the bad guys can’t get in here, that’s good,’ she said quietly, ‘but how do we get out?’
Again, he did not answer.
‘Luaba!’ Brice shouted, finding the big man in frantic discussion with some of the Insekt Posse. ‘Over here!’
The militia had retreated to a position in the ruins beyond the expedition’s camp, but it had not been an orderly withdrawal. Luaba had been forced to fire a few shots over the heads of his panicked men to stop them from fleeing to the boats. He gave the Englishman an angry look, but after a moment reluctantly joined him. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded in French.
Brice replied fluently in kind. ‘They’ve got Philippe — Chase took him inside.’
‘And what are we supposed to do about it? That thing, that stone — it’s like a tank gun!’
‘So you’re just going to abandon him? Without Philippe, the LEC and the Insekt Posse will be crushed. Any chance of independence for eastern Congo will be gone.’
‘I know,’ said Luaba, frustrated. ‘But we can’t help him without reinforcements! There’s an LEC camp in the jungle about fifteen kilometres south-east of here; we can reach it by river, but it’ll take most of the day to get there and back. Even if we leave guards here, they might still escape. Especially if they use that thing again.’
Brice contemplated the situation. ‘This camp — do they have a radio?’
‘Yes. But we don’t, not any more. Philippe had it!’
‘I can take care of that. Chase’s people had a satellite phone. All I need is your people’s radio frequency, and I can reach them.’
‘How?’
‘I have friends,’ was the smug reply. ‘Bring me the phone, and I’ll get you through.’ Luaba was dubious, even suspicious, but still called to one of his men to retrieve the satphone. ‘Oh, and if they have grenades and explosives?’ he added with a sly smile. ‘Tell them to bring them. All of them.’
21
‘Okay,’ announced Howie, ‘that’s everything backed up.’ He disconnected a solid-state hard drive from one of the team’s laptops and returned it to a waterproof bag.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Lydia sarcastically. ‘We’re going to die, but at least all our data’ll be intact!’
‘We’re not going to die,’ said Eddie wearily. They had been inside the palace for some hours now, and the New Zealander’s negativity was like a wet cloud filling the first chamber, fraying already strained tempers still further.
But if she was fraying them, Mukobo was actively tearing. ‘Oh, but you are,’ he intoned. Eddie had tied his hands behind his back and dumped him in a corner with a promise that if he tried to leave it, he would be shot. The warlord had taken him at his word — but that hadn’t stopped him from making the occasional threat. ‘My people will come for me, and when they do, you will beg for—’
He broke off with a pained gasp as Eddie delivered another savage kick to his stomach. ‘I’m getting pretty fucking tired of this, Mucky. Another word, and I will just shoot you.’
Even winded, Mukobo still managed to strain out a retort. ‘You would kill me for talking, Chase? And I thought you believed yourself a good man, a man of honour. Where is your honour if you are afraid of mere words?’
‘I’m not bothered about words,’ Eddie snapped. ‘I’m bothered that you actually mean them.’
The warlord’s lips curled into a mocking smile. ‘Ah. You are afraid. So afraid that you do not dare even use the word.’ He raised his voice to address the others. ‘And this is your protector? A coward who is scared of the words of a bound and helpless man?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ The Yorkshireman turned away, fuming inwardly that Mukobo had called his bluff. Both men knew that for the team to have any hope of leaving the City of the Damned alive, they would need to use the militia leader as a bargaining chip.
‘Hey, Howie,’ said Rivero. The cameraman’s wounds had been cleaned and rebandaged as best as the team could manage. ‘You got my camera there?’
Howie brought the Sony to him. ‘What do you want that for?’ asked Fisher. The director was huddled with Lydia, his left arm folded over the stump of the right as if hiding it could negate what had happened.
‘I’m gonna do my job,’ Rivero told him. ‘I want the world to know what happened to us. If I die here, then maybe the footage’ll still get back to civilisation. And if we do get out…’
‘You’ve got something that might win you an award,’ Lydia noted, voice cutting.
‘Not what’s at the front of my mind, but hey, if it does that’d be cool.’
Fisher chuckled, without any humour. ‘Well, if an opportunity comes, I guess you’ve got to grab it with both hands.’ A long sigh. ‘Get it?’
‘Jesus, Steven,’ said Lydia quietly.
‘If you let me go,’ said Mukobo, ‘that hand will be the last thing you all lose. You will go free.’
The blonde raised her head. ‘Really?’
‘All I ask is that you give Chase to me. The rest of you can leave.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Eddie. ‘This twat doesn’t know mercy. He probably doesn’t even know merci.’
‘Think about it,’ Mukobo went on. ‘You would return safely to your homes, to your families. You would even have your television show. Perhaps you really will win awards, no? You would be famous, even rich.’
‘Enough of this bollocks,’ said Eddie, not liking that some of the documentary crew — Lydia foremost, but even Rivero — seemed to be considering the warlord’s proposal. He pointed the revolver at Mukobo. ‘Get your arse up.’
‘Where am I going?’ asked the Congolese.
‘Long term? Hell. Short term, somewhere you can’t stir the shit.’ Keeping his gun trained on Mukobo, the Yorkshireman went to the passage. ‘How are things out there?’ he called.
Fortune had remained on guard at the entrance, though Paris had taken over from Ziff. Despite the loss of his hand, the mercenary had assured Eddie he could still use a gun, resting the Kalashnikov’s wooden foregrip in the crook of his right elbow. ‘Quiet here,’ the scruffy man replied.
‘I have seen a couple of scouts in the ruins,’ Fortune added, ‘but nobody has dared come close. They probably still think we have the Shamir with us.’