Alicia myles 1 - Aztec Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Caitlyn stared at him. Coker was a defeated man. How, she didn’t know. But he was an utter wreck, barely hanging on. Christ, she was in deep shit now.

  The door suddenly flew open. A man walked in, seeing Coker’s position and ordered him up. “Does girl know anything?” The man’s accent was thick, guttural and halting. Calling her ‘girl’ was depersonalizing to the extreme and a bad sign.

  “I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Get out, Coker. I will finish.”

  “Just give me a bit—”

  “Now.” The man came forward, spitting on the floor at Coker’s feet, his dark face twisted with hate; fists bunched. Caitlyn felt a spike of fear, of desperation. Unrealized dreams and visions swept before her eyes.

  I’m dead.

  Coker, to his credit, stood his ground. “I am in charge here, Dingo. Let me do my fucking job.”

  Dingo snarled, practically shaking with anger. The body armor he wore vibrated along with him, its many pockets and knives quivering too. He grasped a baton that sat in his holster like a short sword. “You have till I find cow prod,” he said with an emotionless glance at Caitlyn. “Then, I don’t care. We do it my way.” The sudden calm demeanor was scarier than the anger.

  Coker watched him leave. “That guy’s unmanageable. Any man in my unit would’ve buried him by now.”

  “Please.” Caitlyn felt the fear spreading through her once again, a cold deluge of anticipated horror. “What can we do?”

  Coker turned to her, body closed and expression as cold as arctic ice. “I can’t help you now. It’s a fucked up, last chance world, lady. Tell me something before that madman returns.”

  TWELVE

  Crouch knew exactly what was at stake. Wasting no time he placed a fast call to Armand Argento, the Interpol agent.

  “We have a major problem.” Crouch quickly outlined the situation, unaware of the hour where Argento was and knowing it would not be an issue. “We don’t know the name of the South African. But we do know he’s employing local muscle, one part highly mediocre and the other part highly skilled. That many men, someone’s gotta know something. Plus,” he described the tattoo and attached it to an e-mail. “On its way.”

  Argento, speaking through an open line, said, “Got it, amico mio. Ah, but you owe me yet again. That is five is it not? Or six? No mind. What it is, is what it is. No?”

  Crouch thought it best not to interrupt the man known as the Jabbering Venetian in full flow.

  “So again we go off the book. You and your friends. You would not win so well without me, no?” Thankfully Argento always worked as he talked, which was one of the reasons he got an awful lot done. “But Caitlyn, you must help her, Michael. I feel guilty, mortified, even dirty to have sent her into the hands of the enemy.”

  “It’s not your fault, Armand. If any it’s mine.”

  Alicia stopped herself from chiming in. They could sort out the blame game later. Right now, both men needed to concentrate on what they were doing.

  Argento renewed his flow. “So fair, so English. I felt sorry for her after what happened between her parents. The whole of MI6 found out—somehow, but we will say no more on that, eh? Shocking. Shocking.”

  Crouch fielded a return call from the Mexican police. “Thank you,” he said after a minute, hanging up. “Armand, listen. The Mexicans know of this tattoo, but more importantly they know the scars that surround it.”

  Alicia leaned forward, now seeing an array of tiny white scars surrounding the distinctive inking of a green dragon wrapped around the turret of a castle, spitting fire. “Knife wounds?”

  “Something like that.” Crouch pointed at the screen. “Has to be self-inflicted. There’s too many and they’re too small for anything else to make sense.”

  “Could be what gets him and his girl off,” Alicia proposed.

  Healey turned to her. “Now that sounds sick.”

  “Takes all sorts, kiddo.”

  Crouch addressed Argento. “The man is locally known as Dragon Teeth. He’s some kind of ex-military enforcer, paid by the hour. Real name—”

  “I have it.” Argento was fast. “Rodriguez. Major war dog. Visited all the worst places you can name and many you can’t. Commonly runs with a local gang they call the banda, which I believe is the Spanish word for gang. So, not very imaginative. But they are feared because of their skills. Their military background. It could be the group you are seeking, Michael.”

  Crouch paused and called the Mexicans back. “Please run a check on a local gang, the banda. I realize it’s probably unusual, but we’re wondering if they have recently been contracted to anyone.”

  Argento’s voice sprang from another phone. “When Caitlyn returns you tell her Armand helped. You tell her that or we will speak no more. And inform me. The moment you know.”

  “I will.” Crouch thanked Argento and hung up. The room fell into silence as they waited for the Mexicans to call back. Alicia checked her guns again, not liking the old weaponry but knowing it was better suited to her proficient hands than most others. Thinking that way made her slip out to check Russo’s surveillance net, just to double-check they were safe, but the gnarled, watchful warrior was in full control.

  When she returned Crouch was talking to the Mexicans. He covered the speaker, looking up at her. “The banda are working for an outside contractor. We’re just waiting for Intel updates.”

  Alicia eyed Healey and Lex. “You ready?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Damn stupid question.”

  Alicia could have matched the answers to the men with her eyes and ears covered.

  Crouch pursed his lips, listening. “Is that it? That’s all you’ve got?”

  Alicia swallowed. “Don’t leave me hanging, Crouchy. What the hell?”

  The ex-soldier looked up. “The banda have a hideout. A place of business. Of course, like any gang’s HQ it’s extremely well known to all and sundry. The authorities can give us no confirmed sightings of gang members in the last two days but say there is activity inside the HQ right now.”

  “Then let’s go get ‘em.” Alicia picked up her guns.

  THIRTEEN

  Caitlyn’s heart stopped when Dingo reappeared in the doorway, a cattle prod in one hand and a machete in the other. Coker’s first reaction was one of outrage, playing a dangerous angle.

  “Boss ain’t gonna like this, Ding. Nobody said anything about this kind of torture.”

  “Boss say get answers.” Dingo brandished the machete. “This work before. Will work again. Now leave, unless you want to join her in the chair.”

  Coker hung his head, gradually moving aside. “Wait until I talk to Solomon. You piss him off, not you nor any of your gang buddies are going to be safe. Don’t forget, you’re only working for this guy, not goddamn family.”

  “You talk.” Dingo jerked his head toward the door. “Out there. Me and this woman gotta talk ‘bout knives and guns. Mmm.”

  Caitlyn stared, transfixed, by the blade. Its edges looked dull, almost a burnished orange. It was only when the blade came closer that she understood why.

  Blood. Congealed, dried blood clung to the edges. She jumped when Dingo juiced the cattle prod.

  “You speak for me, woman? Let me hear you speak. Be free, say your words. Nothing else in life is free, eh?”

  Caitlyn struggled against her bonds. The chair was shaky, but the ropes were tight. In this moment, at this point in her life, raw emotion and a passion to survive could have thrust her into any action. A person never knows how they will react to a severe or desperate incident until they’re faced with it, with life or death, unexpected pleasure or terrible pain. All bets are then off.

  “I want to be saved,” she said. “We all want to be saved in some way. Even you, Dingo. You mind me calling you that? What’s your real name?”

  “You want saving? Ah, but only one thing saves. You know what that is, woman?”

  Caitlyn shook her head, trying desperately
to hold the man’s eyes.

  “An altar,” he said seriously, then burst out laughing. “Altar full of gold. And diamonds. A pit of money. All the rest,” he shrugged, “is our living hell.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  Dingo brought the cattle prod around until its fizzling prongs were an inch from her nose. “You gonna save us? You figure I ain’t heard all that before? I heard it from the mouths of cops. Childcarers. Even priests. Most truth I ever got from a priest was the one told me the best use he ever got outta the Bible was that he used it to bash a mugger’s head in. That’s real. That’s our world, woman. We were born with one foot in Hell.”

  Calmly, he laid the machete on the floor and lit a cigarette. “How ‘bout we get to the point. Boss wants answers. Let’s start with the map.”

  Caitlyn felt a sudden rush of annoyance, unprecedented. “I don’t have any answers! I joined the fucking group just yesterday!”

  Their inability to believe her, their unending distrust, irritated the hell out of her. This guy was never going to believe her no matter what she said. But deep, deep inside her memory lay a fact that might give them pause. Her eyes had slipped innocently over Crouch’s work yesterday as he sweated over the map and its translation. She had noticed a destination and sentence that stuck with her.

  First treasure of Tenochtitlan is in Utah!

  First treasure? What the hell did that mean?

  If she told them . . . she would be betraying the team and her new boss. Truth was, they would hurt her anyway. Still, she fought a testing inner battle to keep her silence.

  That was when the prod touched her left knee. White hot pain stabbed hard through every nerve and she threw her head back for real this time, unable to stop the scream.

  “No! I’m just an analyst and a techie. You can’t—”

  The agony came again, the prongs fizzling briefly against her right knee this time. “I can,” Dingo muttered. “You’re in my world now, woman. There ain’t no heroes coming for you.”

  Caitlyn gasped in agony. “You might . . . be surprised.”

  “Not in ten years. Life just wears you out around here. Jades you. By the age of ten—” Dingo spread his arms. “World weary. Seen everything.”

  “Believe me, you’ve seen nothing like what my friends will do to you when they get here.”

  Dingo laughed. “Friends? What friends? Nobody follow us here. Nobody know we here. Cops won’t help. That kinda hope gonna get you nothin’ but dead.”

  Caitlyn tried again to connect with Dingo through eye contact. “My friends are coming right now. I’d recommend you treat me well.”

  If there was one thing a hardened criminal worried about it was any kind of threat to his business. Dingo was no exception. The first thing he did was to stare at Caitlyn as if gauging her sincerity; the second was to dig a cellphone out and press speed dial.

  “Marco? What you got out there? Anything around the shop?”

  Dingo listened carefully. Caitlyn watched him without expression, shocked by her own coolness under pressure. Hard to believe that she was a wreck inside. Maybe it was the training kicking in or the faith she put in Alicia and Crouch. Maybe it was denial. The reasons didn’t really matter. Dingo listened for a while, waving the cellphone about beside his left ear.

  “Don’t worry,” he said to Caitlyn. “Marco find them if they around.”

  Caitlyn flinched when Dingo suddenly hung up. “All right.” He tucked the phone out of sight and came forward. “This time I ain’t fuckin’ around, lady. I don’t care if you tell me or not but I’m gonna have me some fun.”

  He thrust the prod forward into her stomach. Caitlyn screamed as fifty thousand volts entered her body from the point of impact. She struggled against her bonds, the ropes abrading flesh. Caitlyn felt her muscles stretched in a rictus of agony, taut until Dingo pulled the prongs away.

  “So what you got for me, bitch? You wan’ some more, ‘cause y’know I’m happy to serve it up.”

  Caitlyn shuddered. Before she had a chance to catch a breath Dingo was pressing the prod forward again, this time into her ribs. Again she screamed, convulsed against her bonds. Spittle flew from between her lips.

  “Fuck you!” she yelled, amazed by her own defiance. “Fuck you and the whore that shat you out!”

  Dingo looked a little startled, but then a crafty leer crept across his features. “So.” He smiled. “You trained? The choir girl was all an act. Good!”

  Again he zapped her. Again Caitlyn juddered and jerked against the ropes, wishing it were indeed all an act. Her wrists bled, her ankles were bruised. The chair trembled with every movement. An involuntary twitch began in her left cheek and wouldn’t let up.

  Dingo slowly brought the prod up until it sparked before her eyes. “Think you’ve felt the worse? Nothing near. How ‘bout the face? Ears? Eyes? Or maybe I’ll just jam this baby into your mouth.” The sneer told her he would be good to his word.

  “The treasure.” She panted. “I know. I know where it is.”

  Dingo leaned toward her, the sparking prongs between his eyes and her own. “I thought so. Tell me. I’ll go easy on you.”

  Caitlyn forced out a tear. “It’s . . .” The rest was lost in a murmur.

  Dingo tilted his body another few degrees. The instant he was at full stretch Caitlyn jerked forward, headbutting the cattle prod and forcing it against Dingo’s own forehead. The pain was immense, making her see blackness and stars but the shocked squeal that came from Dingo’s mouth almost made it worthwhile.

  Almost.

  Dingo was suddenly enraged. “Bitch! Fuck, fuckin’ bitch! I’ll kill you. C’mere!”

  He grabbed her left hand, leaned on it, and brought the cattle prod around until it was level with her right eye. Without a word he pushed it forward. Caitlyn struggled hard. Using the leeway she had created in her bonds, she threw her head from side to side. Dingo grabbed her throat, trying to keep her still.

  “Goddamn it!”

  Caitlyn spat at him, then started to rock the chair from side to side. The moment Dingo attempted to arrest the pitching by perching on the arm, the entire flimsy seat collapsed. Both Caitlyn and Dingo crumpled to the floor amidst a pile of shattered timber.

  Dingo was beside himself, scrambling around in the pieces, swearing uncontrollably. Caitlyn rolled to the side of the room, still attached to the arms of the chair but at least able to hold the broken wedges up before her face.

  “Stop fighting, dammit!” Dingo muttered. “I’ve seen meeker pit fighters and cops sat in that chair.”

  Caitlyn prepared herself for his next attack. He was concentrating on the prod but she knew exactly where the machete was, over the other side of the room where it had been discarded. If she could—

  Dingo’s cell chimed. The sudden interruption almost sent him over the edge. Veins stood out in his forehead, a tapestry of unhinged madness that might have made a great abstract painting. With hands curled into fists he sought to calm himself down. Caitlyn took the brief respite to regain her balance.

  “What?” Dingo’s anger was becoming infectious.

  Caitlyn tried to listen but could hear only one side of the conversation.

  “Now? I thought you said—”

  A quick rush of hope swept through her. Could it be? But she quelled it; her situation was dire beyond belief. Even if someone had come to save her could they find her in time?

  Dingo spat onto the floor. “Deal with them! Give me time to finish this bitch off!”

  *

  Alicia kept her head down as Crouch drove their car through the locked warehouse door. The outside was a gaudy canvas of altered signage, one new name painted atop the other, and constructed of solid blocks. But the entry doors were wooden, held together by a thick iron strap, and crumpled at the first impact. The doors crashed onto the front of the car, then slid away. The car itself slewed to the left, turning almost a full circle before coming to a complete stop.

  Alicia
cracked one door open and Russo did the same to the other side. With no immediate retaliation forthcoming they piled out and headed for the nearest cover—several chopped apart cars were scattered around the inside, some stacked on top of each other. Tall, brightly colored toolboxes with dozens of open drawers stood around the place like sleeping robots. A dilapidated table and dozens of plastic chairs sat in one corner, the remains of food and soda cans left around the dirty surface and the floor. An open pit lay in the center of the warehouse, a car lift at the far end.

  Alicia took it all in without stopping to look. The banda were well equipped, their chop shop business was no doubt lucrative. The current crop of cars weren’t exactly high-end, but they were no rust-buckets either—an old Lotus Eclat, several Volkswagens and aging Mercedes, other marques that she didn’t recognize but looked middle of the range. Harder to pick out, at the rear of the space were the back ends and front ends of cars, side panels and stacks of wheels. At full muster, Alicia dreaded to think how many men the banda employed here.

  Presumably, all on call right now.

  She pressed on quickly into the warehouse, flanked on the far side by Russo and Healey, followed by Crouch and Lex. She ducked behind a deep blue Volkswagen as men began to flood the place from the far end. Don’t give them a target until you’re ready. She slipped around the edge of the Volkswagen, keeping to the shadows cast at the side of the warehouse, gaining even more precious ground.

  One man saw her. He was dead before uttering a word, but the gunshot sent the chop shop into chaos. The Mexicans opened fire indiscriminately and without clear targets, spraying out of fear and ignorance. Alicia hopped up onto the next car, using the broken window frame to gain the roof, and fired down at them. The line of Mexicans suddenly parted as men darted for cover. Alicia picked them off where she could, leaping down before anyone could draw a bead on her.

  Men screamed and ran straight for her, brandishing knives and axes. She lowered her machine gun. Crouch and Lex knelt to her either side. This sure as hell wasn’t going to be pretty.