Something seemed to pass between them. They nodded at each other.

  ‘The body doubles,’ Raf said. ‘You think you can tell the difference between them?’

  Zak thought of the doubles – perfect replicas of his enemy. Indistinguishable in every way. Even Cruz didn’t know which was which.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think I can.’

  ‘And you know the layout of the compound?’

  He nodded.

  ‘All right, then. We’ll do it. But Zak?’

  ‘What.’

  ‘No heroics, OK. We’ve already nearly lost you once today. Let’s not have a repeat performance.’

  26

  GOING NOISY

  ‘Three minutes out,’ Gabs shouted at the unit. She handed Zak a set of body armour and a helmet. ‘Put this on.’

  As he strapped the gear to his body, Gabs looked around the aircraft slightly guiltily. She pulled something out of her black ops waistcoat. A small pistol. ‘Self-defence only, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Zak checked the safety and lodged it in his belt.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ Raf shouted over the noise of the chopper. ‘Listen up. The target is Cesar Martinez Toledo and we want to take him alive. He has five identical body doubles, so we need to make sure we have the right one. As you know, Agent 21 has been inside the compound, so he can give us a rundown of what to expect.’ He nodded at Zak.

  ‘Er . . . right,’ said Zak. ‘The compound is surrounded by a circular wall, about six metres high and about two hundred metres in diameter. There’s only one entrance, on the northernmost edge. Either side of the entrance are two observation posts with armed guards. There are seven more OPs set at thirtymetre intervals around the wall, all manned. From the entrance there’s a long road – about a hundred metres – leading up to the house which is in the middle of the compound. Armed guards at the entrance. Behind the house there’s a swimming pool and a helipad. Oh, and a shooting range. The rest of the place is laid to lawn. Nowhere to hide in the grounds.’

  Raf took over. ‘We need to make the main exit impassable,’ he shouted. ‘Then deal with the OPs. This is going to go noisy.’

  ‘One minute out!’ shouted Gabs.

  Raf turned to Zak. ‘You see the webbing on the side of the aircraft?’ he shouted.

  Zak nodded.

  ‘Hold onto it. Things are going to shake up a bit before we land.’

  Zak edged to one side of the chopper and grabbed hold of the criss-cross of ropes fixed to it. He looked down through the window. Below him, in the distance, he could just see Martinez’s compound: searchlights shone from the observation posts around the perimeter wall and the house itself, bang in the centre of the circle, glowed in the night.

  The chopper swooped down, like a hawk closing in on its prey. In only a few seconds, it was cruising over the house and heading towards the perimeter wall. It hovered about ten metres from one of the observation posts and the Minigun operators opened fire.

  Rounds thundered into the thick stone wall and Zak couldn’t stop himself from letting go of the webbing and moving himself so that he could see through the front window of the chopper. He just caught a glimpse of two guards jumping from the OP out of the compound – the only way they could stop themselves being minced by the powerful Miniguns – before the chopper swung round and started blasting the next OP.

  ‘Two down,’ Raf shouted. ‘Seven to go. Once we’ve neutralized the OPs, we can go in. Hold on tight!’

  Zak did just that.

  Cesar Martinez Toledo woke with a start. His mobile phone was ringing and only one person had the number: Calaca. He sat up in the darkness of his bedroom and answered.

  ‘What is it, Adan?’

  ‘Harry Gold, señor. He has escaped.’

  Martinez blinked in the darkness. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He got away from us, señor. He had back-up. A helicopter. It fired on us. Three of my men are dead.’

  Martinez didn’t care about that. ‘How could you let this happen, you fool?’

  ‘You need to leave the compound. Remember, our source said the British were trying to abduct you. You need to go now. I will call our contacts in the Mexico City police force. I’ll instruct them to send a helicopter to extract you.’

  Martinez was already out of bed and getting dressed. ‘Do that,’ he said, and hung up his phone, too angry to talk any more to his head of security. He made for the door, stopping only to grab a loaded pistol from his table. Two guards stood outside. They looked surprised at his sudden appearance.

  ‘Get me the body doubles. In the atrium. Now.’

  The guards stared at him.

  ‘Now!’

  Immediately one of them ran off. ‘Follow me,’ Martinez told the remaining guard, and he hurried down the corridor until he reached another door. He didn’t knock, but just burst straight on through it into Cruz’s bedroom. ‘Wake up,’ he shouted, but he needn’t have. Cruz was already sitting up. ‘Get dressed and get down to the atrium.’

  ‘Why, Father?’

  ‘Don’t argue. Just do it.’

  Sixty seconds later, Martinez was in the atrium with his five body doubles and two guards. He pointed at the guards. ‘You and you. We’re leaving the compound, now.’

  ‘Si, señor. Where to, señor?’ one of them asked.

  Martinez saw red. He placed his pistol up against the guard’s head. ‘Interrupt me again,’ he shouted, ‘and I’ll kill you.’

  The guard gulped.

  Martinez turned to the body doubles. ‘You will all stay here. Spread yourself around the house. Someone might come looking for me. If a single one of you reveals that you are not the true Cesar Martinez Toledo, the families of every man in this room will die a painful and lingering death. Do you understand?’

  The body doubles looked anxiously at each other.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Si, señor,’ they said in unison.

  There was a noise from outside – faint at first, but it grew louder very quickly. It was mechanical. Juddering. Like . . .

  ‘A helicopter,’ Martinez whispered. The Mexican police?

  He heard short, sharp bursts of gunfire.

  The birds in the birdcage started screeching. Martinez’s face went white. He ran to the back of the atrium and out towards the swimming pool. There he saw it: a Black Hawk, hovering over his land, pumping bullets towards an observation post on the western side of the perimeter. He watched in anger and shock as the guards on the observation post jumped outwards from the wall to save themselves, before the chopper moved onto the next post. This was not Calaca’s police helicopter. But where was it?

  Martinez spun round. One of his guards was standing there, gaping. ‘Give me that,’ Martinez instructed, and pulled the guard’s M16 from his hands. He aimed it towards the chopper and fired two rounds. The chopper’s guns fell silent for a moment; but then it turned and, with a deafening noise, started spraying rounds in an arc, blowing the skull-like head off one of the La Catrina statues round the pool, and forcing Martinez and his men to sprint back inside.

  Cruz was waiting for him, alarmed but steely-eyed; and so was Raul, who looked terrified. The noise of gunfire continued outside, moving round the perimeter. ‘They are taking out all the observation posts, señor!’ shouted a guard.

  ‘I know that, you idiot. Is there a vehicle out front?’

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘Go and get it started.’ He turned to the body doubles. ‘Spread around the house and remember what I told you. I will start with your children.’

  The body doubles didn’t wait. Two of them sprinted up the stairs, another went down to the basement, one into Martinez’s office and one hunkered down by the birdcage. Martinez himself led Cruz, Raul and the remaining guard towards the front of the house. A black 4 by 4 with darkened windows was waiting for them, but as they stepped out into the open, Martinez realized he had a problem. The Black Hawk had completed its circle of the perimeter, which meant the observation posts had been cleared of armed guards. Now it was setting itself down right in front of the only exit to the compound. If they were going to leave, they had to get past the chopper first. And that was never going to happen.

  ‘Back inside,’ shouted Martinez, just as the side door of the Black Hawk opened up and two shooters jumped out. They started raining covering fire towards the house as another six or seven people spilled out of the helicopter. Martinez followed the others, into the relative safety of the house.

  ‘What’s happening?’ screamed Raul. Martinez looked in disgust at his nephew, who was unable to keep control of himself, and spoke instead to Cruz.

  ‘Hide,’ he said. ‘They are coming for me, not you.’ He waved his arm around. ‘If they get me, all this is yours. The business, the men . . . everything. Do not disappoint me.’

  Cruz turned to the guard. ‘Give me your gun,’ he said.

  The guard looked shocked that Cruz had spoken to him like that.

  ‘Give it to me.’

  The man handed over the M16. It was fitted with a silencer to suppress the noise, and Cruz held it firmly. Even Raul looked taken aback by the determination in the face of Martinez’s son.

  ‘I will not disappoint you, Father,’ Cruz said.

  The chopper touched down. Two members of the unit jumped from the body of the aircraft and started laying down covering fire. The air stank of cordite.

  ‘Stick close to me,’ Gabs told Zak. They exited along with the rest of the unit.

  Zak, Raf, Gabs and the four commandos approached the house using a leapfrog formation: two of them holding back to give cover while the others advanced ten metres, then covered the other two while they caught up. It took about a minute to reach the house like this. When they did, Zak and Gabs led the way into the atrium, followed by the others.

  It was empty. There was no noise apart from the chirruping of the birds in their cage, and the distant rotary blades of the chopper out in the grounds. Raf took charge. He pointed at Gabs and two of the commandos, then at the stairs. Gabs mouthed the words ‘follow me’ at Zak, and the four of them moved swiftly up to the first floor.

  One of the commandos took the lead, his assault rifle pressed tightly in to his shoulder. Gabs was carrying a Colt automatic pistol and went next, with Zak beside her. The second commando followed.

  The upstairs corridors were deserted, but Zak’s heart was in his mouth every time they turned a corner. They passed the door to Zak’s room. The two commandos burst in, guns at the ready; but it was empty. The same went for the room beyond it – the one Zak had entered via the roof the day before.

  The third room they tried was Cruz’s. Here they struck gold.

  Martinez – or a version of him – was cowering behind the bed.

  ‘Get up,’ hissed one of the commandos in Spanish.

  ‘Please,’ begged the lookalike. ‘Do not shoot . . .’

  ‘Is that him?’ Gabs asked.

  Zak stared at the man. It was almost impossible to tell, but . . . ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  ‘Get him downstairs,’ Gabs told the commando.

  ‘Roger that.’

  The rest of them continued their sweep of the first floor.

  They found the second body double – if that’s what he was – behind the door of an ornate bathroom. His face twitched in terror and he put his hands up the moment he saw them. The remaining commando took him down to the ground floor, which left Gabs and Zak to continue the sweep.

  ‘Stay close,’ she breathed as they continued down the corridor.

  They moved silently, checking two more rooms, one on the left and one on the right, before coming to a turn in the corridor.

  A quick nod and they turned the corner.

  Zak had only taken a couple of paces when he heard two shots from behind – suppressed shots from a silencer, as quiet as someone knocking on a door. The overhead lights in the corridor shattered, like broken ice and Zak felt something cold and hard pressed against the back of his neck, between the helmet and the body armour.

  A voice.

  It was Cruz.

  ‘Drop your gun,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I’ll kill Harry.’

  Zak could see the shape of Gabs’s body in the gloom up ahead. She spun round, her weapon pointing out in front of her.

  ‘Drop it,’ Cruz hissed.

  A dangerous look crossed Gabs’s face, but she lowered her weapon and laid it on the floor.

  ‘Put your hands on your head, both of you,’ Cruz instructed. ‘Now turn around. We’re going back to the atrium and you’re going to tell these intruders to leave my father’s house. Unless you want me to kill Harry, that is.’

  ‘Cruz,’ Zak said. ‘You’re not in danger. You can come with us . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Harry. You’ve made enough trouble for yourself today. You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘We’ve closed down the compound, Cruz. You can’t win this.’

  ‘Aren’t you the one that told me I should stick up for myself?’

  ‘Cruz, I can help you—’

  ‘Shut up!’

  They walked in a line: Gabs first, then Zak, then Cruz, who kept his weapon dug firmly into Zak’s neck. Thirty seconds later, they passed his room, which meant they were nearly at the top of the stairs. He had to do something – and fast.

  He checked ahead. Gabs was walking in front of him and slightly to the left. If he moved, Cruz would be aiming just to her right . . .

  It was a sudden movement. It had to be if he was to keep the element of surprise. Zak jerked his head to the left. For a millisecond, Cruz’s weapon was pointing not into his neck, but over his shoulder. Zak dug his right heel into Cruz’s shin. The gangly boy gasped in pain and the sound made Gabs spin round. In the confusion, Cruz fired a single shot. It slammed into Gabs’s chest and she span round from the impact and fell down onto her face.

  ‘Gabs! No!’

  Zak turned round. Cruz was re-setting his gun, lowering it so he could take aim. Zak clenched his fist, swung his arm and punched Cruz in the side of the face. The Mexican boy staggered against the wall, but he still had his gun. Zak did a high kick, whacking his right foot against Cruz’s wrist. The assault rifle clattered to the floor. Zak grabbed his pistol from his belt and held it up to Cruz.

  Blood dripped from Cruz’s nose and his eyes burned with hate. ‘I thought you were my friend,’ he hissed.

  ‘Last time I checked,’ Zak replied, ‘friends don’t try to kill each other.’ He glanced down at Gabs’s motionless body. Tears of anger came to his eyes. ‘She was my friend,’ he said. He twitched the gun in the direction of the stairs. ‘Move,’ he instructed. ‘If you say a word, you’ll be next.’

  The tables were turned. Zak forced Cruz down the corridor. He tried not to think of what had just happened to Gabs. She wouldn’t want him to. She’d just tell him to keep his mind on the job.

  Not easy. Not easy at all.

  As they approached the landing overlooking the atrium, they stopped.

  ‘Get on the floor,’ Zak whispered. Cruz lay down on his front while Zak peered down to see what was going on.

  Raf was in the atrium. Four of Martinez’s guards were face down on the floor, their hands cuffed behind their backs. Raul was cowering in a corner, trembling like a frightened animal – so much for his bravado. Six men were lined out in front of Raf: six identical versions of Cesar Martinez Toledo. Only one of them was the real drug lord. He couldn’t see any of the commandos.

  He knew he needed to identify the real Martinez, and he had a plan to do it. But he had to wait for the right moment, so he stepped back and hid himself from view.

  Raf spoke into his comms unit. ‘Come in, Gabs. We’ve rounded up the body doubles. We need Agent 21.’ He was careful not to say Zak’s real name.

  ‘Do you copy, Gabs? Do you copy?’

  Radio silence.

  He cursed. What was happening up there? What was happening?

  Raf turned to the line of body doubles. One of these was the real Cesar Martinez Toledo. But only one. He couldn’t believe how identical they were – down to the exact fatness of the face and the tiny mole on the left-hand cheek. They were all in night attire and, frankly, they all looked terrified. Raf raised his gun and pointed it at each one in turn, looking into their eyes, hoping to see something. Some kind of clue.

  There was nothing.

  A voice came over his comms. It was one of the commandos he had stationed outside the house in case any of the perimeter guards got brave. ‘Mexican police chopper overhead. We need to extract.’

  ‘Roger that.’ He swore under his breath. They’d spent too long in the compound already. He needed Gabs and Zak. Where were they?

  He couldn’t wait for them. The sand was running out of the egg timer. No doubt the Mexican police were here to help Martinez and if they caught this deniable unit, there’d be hell to pay. He needed to identify Martinez for himself. Raf stared at the lookalikes. ‘You’re scared,’ he said quickly in Spanish. ‘You think that the real Martinez will hurt you or your families if you betray him now. Well, think again. We’re not leaving here until the real Martinez is in custody. He can’t threaten you any more. You’re safe.’

  Nothing from the lookalikes except a blank look.

  Raf didn’t give up. He walked up and down the line of body doubles, examining their faces carefully. ‘You all want Martinez behind bars just as much as I do. You know he’s a monster. You know he’s a murderer. Now’s your chance to see to it that he pays for his crimes.’

  Still nothing. The body doubles stared straight ahead, acting like he wasn’t even there.

  Fine, thought Raf. The promises hadn’t worked. The appeal hadn’t worked. That meant it was time to start on the threats . . .

  ‘You know he’s a monster. You know he’s a murderer. Now’s your chance to see to it that he pays for his crimes.’

  From his hiding place on the top floor, Zak could hear every word. He could also sense Cruz’s anger. Raf was right – Martinez was a monster and a murderer. Zak knew that better than anyone. But to Cruz, he was just a father.