Galleon's Gold

by David Leadbeater

  And then she was alongside Elyse’s boat.

  Alicia studied her quarry. Elyse had eyes on her too, though she hadn’t moved. To all intents and purposes, the thief was relaxing after a long dive.

  “Hey,” Alicia drifted closer. “You know where Brunnen is? I can’t see a fucking signpost anywhere.”

  Elyse calmly pointed back the way Alicia had come.

  “Ah, shit, easy to get turned around here.”

  Alicia bent over, reaching for her gun. When she came up with it, Elyse showed that she was quicker. A Sig Sauer concealed-carry pistol was already pointed at Alicia’s face.

  “Nice gun,” Alicia said.

  “You know it.”

  “Ten rounds in a flush-fit magazine?”

  “You know your guns.”

  Alicia nodded. “Mine’s a Glock.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  With the pleasantries out of the way, Alicia tried a new tack. “I need your help, Elyse. I really do. I’m not here to arrest you or take you in for very long. Your help could save a friend’s life.”

  “If you know me you know what I’ve done and who I used to be. You’re not here to help me.”

  Alicia grunted. “Of course not. But I do need your help, and that has to be worth something.”

  Maybe it was, because rather than shooting Alicia, Elyse leapt over to the wheel of her boat and gunned the engine with one hand. The craft shot forward, picking up speed. Alicia swore and threw her gun down before jumping over to her own wheel and giving chase. The boat ahead skimmed over the tops of the tiny waves, water churning out of the back and throwing spray up over Alicia.

  “Wait!”

  It was useless, and Alicia knew it. She stopped wasting energy. She would have to take Elyse down hard and then talk some sense into her. The hot sun beat down. Alicia swerved her boat to the right, close to Elyse’s rear. The ex-FBI woman stood upright at the wheel, her white top and deep brown tan quite a contrast, her short black hair ruffled by a mounting breeze.

  Alicia goosed her own boat as fast as it would go. She saw instant results and began to overhaul Elyse, who instantly changed tactics. With a sharp twist of the wheel she veered right in front of Alicia’s prow, causing the Englishwoman to lose speed and fall to her knees. When she got back to her feet, Elyse was forty feet away, speeding toward the docks of Brunnen.

  Damn, she’s heading for the tourist town. I’ll lose her there.

  Alicia set off once more at a rapid pace, ignoring the new bruise on her temple. Her boat was marginally faster and, bit by bit, she started to catch Elyse. Together, the boats skipped across Lake Lucerne at eighty miles per hour, the roar of their engines creating a chaotic cocoon around the two women.

  Alicia balanced perfectly on the balls of her feet, standing at the prow, holding the wheel with one hand and staring at the rear end of her quarry. Elyse’s boat didn’t waver—it raced arrow-straight for Brunnen. Alicia could see people walking along the sidewalks now, some staring out over the water, others perusing a restaurant’s offerings. The sensible thing would be to have the police waiting.

  But Alicia couldn’t afford that.

  If the cops got enmeshed in this, they would drag it out until Duggan was dead. Not purposely, just because there was so much red tape involved. Alicia inched closer by the second, reckoning she would catch Elyse about two minutes before she reached the dock.

  Drenched, she waited for her chance to come.

  Elyse proved to be an accomplished speedboat pilot. She threw the boat into a wide drift as the sidewalk approached. Unlike a conventional dock at this point, Brunnen’s sidewalk ran several feet above the water, accessed only by a few pairs of concrete steps. When Elyse’s boat touched the concrete upstand, she jumped and landed deftly on the steps, leaving her boat behind but still clutching her Sig Sauer.

  Alicia pocketed her Glock and leapt out of her own boat into Elyse’s, managing to stay upright and then leaping again, landing on the same concrete steps. In another second she was racing along the side of a hotel in hot pursuit.

  They got looks from all the tourists. Some jumped out of the way. Others stared with contempt. Still more dug out their phones to film them. Alicia was ten steps behind Elyse when she turned the corner of the hotel.

  She slowed but it wasn’t enough. Elyse was waiting, sending out a strong arm that clouted Alicia across the bridge of the nose. Pain flew from her head to all her nerve endings. She staggered. Elyse pressed her advantage, sending a knee into Alicia’s forehead and then the bottom of her boot against her shoulder.

  Alicia was driven to the ground.

  A gun was aimed at her head. “Stop fucking following me. The next time I will shoot you.”

  Elyse sped off. Alicia dragged herself up and ran, shrugging off the aches and pains. They passed the front of the hotel, weaved through dozens of cars in a parking area and then headed toward the town. Alicia saw several side streets and passageways, a dozen ways for Elyse to get lost.

  Not here. Not now. Not whilst Duggan faces certain death.

  She raced across the street, side-jumping over the hood of a slow-moving car to help close the gap on Elyse. The other woman looked back, her expression becoming stressed. Alicia closed in. The crowds didn’t help, a press of men, women and children crowding the sidewalks. Elyse took to running in the road.

  Alicia put on a burst of speed to come within distance of the woman and then leapt at her. They both fell, rolling in front of a car that screeched to a halt within four inches of their skulls. Alicia was lying on her back, looking up at a silver grille. Elyse was beside her, forehead almost touching the wall of a dusty tire.

  Elyse shuddered. “You mad fucking bitch.”

  Alicia dragged her clear and then smacked her in the mouth with a closed fist. People were everywhere, watching and filming them. Alicia saw more cars coming and threw punches at her opponent, forcing her into the line of traffic, the cars at her back. Elyse defended well and reached for her gun, but Alicia’s non-stop attack stopped her every time.

  A minute later the event Alicia was hoping for happened. Elyse backed into a moving car, fell into the hood and lost her footing. Alicia was on her like a cat on a rodent, dealing four debilitating blows in half as many seconds.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but you are coming with me.”

  Elyse gasped.

  Alicia took her gun, stood her up and dragged her toward the furthest car. With a gesture she ordered the owner out and sent him over to the sidewalk before shoving Elyse into the front seat. Then Alicia jumped into the driver’s seat, zip-tied Elyse’s hands, and thrust the car into gear.

  “Where are you taking me?” There was a little fear in Elyse’s eyes.

  “I told you,” Alicia growled. “And I never lie. I need your help. If you give me that I will do everything in my power to keep you alive.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll feed you to Akhon myself, a piece at a time.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Russo sat in the back of the small plane with Marco right beside him. They were inches apart. The only issue was that three other men were also there, all sitting in various stages of excitement and readiness as the time of the jump approached.

  “Ever done this before?” Marco asked.

  Russo gave him the dead eye. “Of course I have.”

  “Over the Swiss Alps? Forecast isn’t good, man. No point judging the cloud movement up here. It’ll change in a second. Gusts up to twenty, maybe more.”

  “I guess you’ll be my wind-dummy.”

  Marco almost laughed. Russo knew that some seasoned skydivers watched the first day’s batch of jumpers to gauge the turbulence and gusts, referring to them as wind-dummies. Just then the pilot called out a five-minute warning and Russo turned his attention to his suit.

  His one-piece coverall was tight, his harness properly strapped. Both the main parachute and reserve had been checked. Helmet and goggles were affixed a
nd the altimeter attached to his wrist seemed to be working fine. He was ready to go.

  It’s been a while.

  Despite what he’d told Marco, he’d never been fond of the parachute jump and hadn’t done one in years.

  The other three men rose and headed for the side doors. Russo realized he and Marco would jump last. It occurred to him that he might get the chance to subdue Marco right here on the plane.

  The door opened and the first man readied himself. These guys were experienced and didn’t have to be told to know when they could jump. The first and then the second leaped out into space, tumbling away. Russo waited for Marco to stand up.

  The third man looked over at them. “You guys coming?”

  “Right behind you, Thorpe,” Marco said.

  Russo showed willing, standing just as Thorpe jumped. Now he was behind Marco and about four feet from the door.

  Marco turned. “Not sure I—”

  Russo didn’t wait for more. He punched Marco in the face, breaking the lens of one of the man’s goggles. Marco staggered, and Russo was on him, bearing him to the floor, trying to find some exposed flesh around the helmet or neck as Marco covered up. Marco heaved, throwing Russo off balance. Russo expected Marco to come back at him—he had been a trained SAS soldier and kept in shape—and wasn’t disappointed. Marco kicked and then kneed Russo. He flung a backhand into Russo’s face, tried to roll away.

  Russo scrambled after him. Both men rolled down the floor of the plane as it hit a patch of turbulence. The craft juddered, its wings dipping. Russo rolled against the side wall and sat up. Marco was at his feet.

  “I knew you weren’t—”

  Marco was a talker, it seemed. Russo shut him up with a boot to the mouth. Marco’s lip scrunched and turned bloody. Russo leapt at him. Marco swiveled and dropped a shoulder, sending Russo sprawling. Russo hit the deck and came back around, grabbing Marco in a bear hug. The two men grappled, their hands snatching at each other’s parachutes.

  Russo pulled away sensing what Marco was trying to do. In that instant Marco appeared to make a swift decision. He leapt up, turned and threw his body straight out of the airplane door, into thin air.

  Russo cursed, his chance had gone. It would take everything he had now even to keep up with the ex-SAS infiltrator. But he didn’t miss a beat. He ran for the opening and hurled himself after Marco.

  Incredible gusts tore at him, swinging him downward away from the plane. His body turned and turned, the ground appearing in his vision every second or so. Russo plummeted toward the distant mountains, hardly able to breathe, trying to remember everything he’d ever been taught about skydiving. He couldn’t see it, but knew his altimeter would be whirring, clicking down the numbers faster than the eye could see. He tried to right himself, spreading his arms. His descent slowed to the point where he managed to make out Marco’s falling figure.

  Russo put his head down and steered himself toward Marco. The figure grew larger. Russo was a torpedo, skimming the clouds in his enemy’s direction. As he came closer, Marco turned slightly and pulled his chute. Russo flew by, staring straight down at jagged peaks that suddenly appeared much closer than he’d thought.

  Russo pulled his own chute and waited for the snap. It came fast, spearing him back up into the air. He passed Marco and waited for the momentum to subside before settling and using the toggles to chase his quarry through the air.

  Both men swept through the skies, their main focus on each other, trying to gain any kind of advantage. Gusts of wind buffeted them from two directions, snapping at their bodies and chutes as if they had teeth. Russo guided his chute toward Marco’s as Marco tried to veer away. It was a cat and mouse hustle, a dangerous game without any real chance of a good payoff.

  The tops of the mountains came up fast. Marco flew between two peaks with Russo only twenty feet above. Russo could make out the shape of a glacier and what was probably an ancient, jagged cave cut into black rock. They swooped lower. Russo jerked at a toggle, angling toward Marco. In another second they were practically face to face.

  “You’re fucking crazy!” Marco cried, his words torn to pieces by the wind.

  Russo agreed and was shocked at himself. Normally, he was the conservative one. Maybe bloody Alicia was rubbing off on him. “I need your help.”

  Marco curved away before coming within shouting distance again. “My help? You got one stupid way of showing it.”

  Russo thought about kicking Marco in the chest but didn’t want their chutes to become tangled. Nevertheless, Marco read it in his eyes. He swung away, sweeping down at an angle. Russo flew down after him.

  The ground came up fast. Marco guided himself toward a patch of level ice near the base of a mountain. Russo followed, conscious of a safe landing now. Marco’s boots hit the ground running, but he couldn’t quite keep his balance and ended up tumbling several times, kicking plumes of ice and snow up all around. Russo struck the ice and folded as he’d been taught to compensate for a heavy landing, coming up around, trying to release his chute with the cutaway handle but not quite making it as the wind caught the chute and dragged him along,

  Marco ended up on his knees, surrounded by a fog of churned up ice, facing Russo. The big man ran and hit him hard, putting all his power into an initial battering-ram-style attack. Marco hadn’t had time to release his chute and fell back onto it, striking the ground hard and getting tangled among four strong lines. Russo was on him without mercy. Marco’s eyes were glazed, his mouth working soundlessly.

  There was a moment when the wind howled and tore at them with an unstoppable force. It ballooned their chutes, dragging them along the ground. Russo was lifted three feet in the air and crashed down. Marco landed better and was waiting for him, kicking him in the face. Russo grunted and covered up, shuffled around, then swung a clenched fist at his opponent.

  The wind struck again, sending both men sliding and tumbling across the ice, head over feet. Marco struck a boulder. Russo somehow managed to skip over it. The wind died and the chutes emptied, depositing both men once more on the hard ground.

  Russo groaned, bruised and bloodied. Marco was gasping. They pushed themselves upright. Both men were barely on their feet, swinging at each other when the gales sent them staggering, tiptoeing without control, stumbling across the ice shelf. Again, it died suddenly, and Russo flew hard into Marco.

  Russo tore off the man’s goggles and helmet and threw them away. Then he smashed him straight in the mouth.

  Blood flew. Two teeth broke. Russo pulled Marco up by his collar and raised a boulder-like right fist once more.

  “Wait.” Marco spat blood. “Wait. You got me, you got me.”

  Russo paused. “You’ll go quietly?”

  “Go where? You work for the Assyrians?”

  “You have to work with us. They kidnapped a friend of ours and are gonna kill him unless you help us and tell the Assyrians where that bloody treasure is.”

  “Treasure?”

  Russo almost unleashed another hammer blow, but Marco saw it coming and raised a hand just in time. “All right, all right. You mean the Santa Azalea, right? Yeah, we stole that. We saw the Assyrians coming a mile off and managed to squirrel it away. Been on the run from those maniacs ever since.”

  Russo let up a little. His knees were ground into the snow at either side of Marco. The cold was seeping through. He became aware of a snapping breeze and their exposed bodies. He was far from home and dry yet.

  “We can help each other,” he said.

  For the first time Marco looked invested. “How?”

  “I belong to the kind of team that uproots people like Akhon and feeds them into the chipper on a monthly basis. You need us. But... we need you first.”

  Marco struggled into a sitting position. “What team?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Crouch and Caitlyn waited by the phone, desperate for news, filling their time researching the Manila galleons and, specifically, what kind of treasure might
have been aboard the Santa Azalea.

  Caitlyn sat behind her boss’s desk, two laptops open, using one for video messaging and the other for research. So far, she’d made a small impression.

  “Gold, jade and ivory appears to be the richest treasures they transported,” Caitlyn was saying. “Assuming we’re not talking about a particular item of course. The problem is that in addition to the registered treasures on board, almost as much was being smuggled.”

  Crouch turned away from the window to look at her. “Not necessarily an issue. Marco and friends couldn’t have known what was being smuggled either.”

  “That’s true, so, they either took a gamble or targeted the expensive commodities. These galleons, they were legendary even when they sailed, let alone today. Nowhere else in history did a treasure fleet attract so much notoriety and intrigue. And it all began with a small act of kindness.”

  Crouch was interested. “Go on.”

  “In the late sixteenth century, the Spanish rescued some Chinese sailors whose sampan went down close to the Philippines, and helped them return to China. A year later the thankful Chinese returned the favor with a trading vessel filled with silk, porcelain and other goods. The ship sailed in 1573 and eventually made it to Spain where people loved the goods, demanding more. The trade was born.”

  “It brings us no closer to a specific treasure.”

  “Well, here’s something,” Caitlyn said. “Japanese ships also arrived in Manila, offloading amber, knives, samurai swords and gunpowder. These goods would have been loaded onto a ship bound for Acapulco.”

  “You’re saying the principal treasure could be Japanese?”