Caribbean Gold

by David Leadbeater

  A shout: “Got him!”

  Alicia’s heart sank.

  More wrestling sounds and a few cries from unknown voices spanned the next few seconds. Then Healey groaned and she could almost see him beaten on the floor.

  Somebody said: “His phone. Grab it and take it to the boss.”

  “I’ll get the phone. You grab his legs.”

  “Shit. Bastard ran a long way, man. That’s a long way back.”

  “Hey, that’s the job.”

  “You think we’ll get something out of him?”

  “Dunno, man. Easier him than the big dude and the old guy. Even the woman looks tougher than this kid.”

  Alicia felt the strain in her knuckles as her fists clenched even harder.

  “He’s connected here,” another voice, “talking to someone.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me. Bring it here.”

  Alicia felt her eyes close in despair. Healey was down. The crew captured. Location unknown. Could a computer whiz track the call? Did she have access to one in Jamaica? Shit, there just wasn’t enough time.

  “Whoever you are,” hushed vehement tones spoke down the phone line, “you’d best prepare four caskets. Five, if you’re planning on joining us.”

  And then laughter. Vicious laughter. Alicia listened as the man turned the phone off. The prospects of finding a hidden fortune always brought out the worst. Today was no exception.

  Alicia would never give in though. Time was her enemy, but all else could be fought and fought until even the last shred of hope was gone. She held the phone away from her ear, checked the screen.

  Thank fuck for that.

  A text message had been received.

  It displayed the coordinates to Healey’s location.

  She prayed she could make it in time.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alicia exploded into a flurry of action. The coordinates, when entered into an app on her cellphone, pointed toward Montego Bay, on the opposite side of the bloody island. Hours to drive it.

  Alicia processed it all in just a few moments. Her soldier’s mind wanted to fight, to strike out; the old impulses hard to quell. But this was a highly unusual situation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to face something like this alone.

  And alone she was.

  You didn’t trust the locals in an unknown city, and her own team were too far away. In short then, there was only one option. Alicia flagged down another cab and took it all the way back to the airport. She used her other team’s SPEAR credentials, approved at the highest level by the US government, to finesse access to the private hangers and runways and took a quick wander around. The sun glared, the hubbub clamored at her, the sweat popped across her brow and shoulders, but nothing broke her focus. In the end there were only two real possibilities.

  Alicia studied them closely. The one she chose was just that bit younger, that bit greener, that bit more . . . likely.

  “Hey, I need your help.”

  “Ma’am,” the young chopper pilot said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Oh yeah. You call me ma’am again and I’ll box your friggin’ ears.”

  The pilot looked blank. “Excuse me?”

  “Look mate—” she moved beside him and put an arm gently around his shoulders “—the powers-that-be say I have to go to Montego Bay. They say now. I’d be willing to throw a little extra at the flyboy that helps me out. Whaddya say?”

  Alicia took out her wallet.

  The pilot blinked. “Oh, I can’t. I—”

  “Yeah,” Alicia flapped the wallet as if it was a winning lottery ticket. “You can.”

  The man’s eyes were hungry.

  Alicia let him see the wadded notes. “An hour there. An hour back. Easy money.”

  “Well, it’s a bit more than that.”

  “But you get my company too.” Alicia gave him the wide-eyed grin. “That’s gotta be worth something.”

  “Oh, of course.” The pilot was nothing if not polite. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “Hey, loosen up.” Alicia gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Sorry, hope that doesn’t bruise up too much.” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and tried another tack.

  “I wonder if that other guy over there could help me.”

  A minute later and their deal was done. The pilot’s name was James and, despite his nervousness and clear reluctance, he soon had the ultra-modern bird in the air. A quick flight plan had been filed and Alicia was heading toward Healey’s last coordinates—the port at Montego Bay. For the first time she began to feel a little lighter—she was on her way to help her friends and less than an hour had passed. The sun outside was inching down the horizon, the heat slowly fading, but that was good too. Alicia preferred to arrive with the shadows.

  Which also brought her back around to the situation she was approaching. Alicia had no weapons and no knowledge of the area save for what she could scavenge from the Internet. It appeared to be a relatively flat and open port, one side tasked to the docking of boats and the other a jumble of containers. At least one large gantry crane ran up and down one side. Alicia saw no real cover apart from the containers themselves, but still couldn’t put her trust totally into the hands of a map app.

  James tried to make small talk as they skimmed beneath the clouds. “So what do you do over in Montego Bay? PR?”

  Alicia almost chortled, but managed to stop herself at the very last moment. “You think I’d be good at PR?”

  “I do. You have all the right moves, miss.”

  Was that a little bit of flirting? Alicia missed those days—hadn’t seen them in so long she’d forgotten how it went. She managed to curb the crudity that was about to slip from her mouth and turned it into a half-true comment.

  “My company needs me. Help them out of a bind.”

  James nodded. “Well, settle back. We’re an hour out.”

  Alicia nodded and began to prepare.

  *

  The chopper started to dip, then glide down. Alicia steadied her thoughts and imagined the possible outcomes. She combed her memory, ran through ideas. She fixed the main objectives firmly at the forefront of her mind.

  Crouch. Russo. Caitlyn. Healey.

  James landed sweetly and took his money with a grin, more confident now that his risks were over. Alicia considered inviting him on the next leg of her mission, but only for a private joke. It wouldn’t be right, and she was trying to change.

  She made her way to the port of Montego Bay, stepping out of a cab near the entrance and into the shadow of the biggest cruise ship she’d ever seen. The area behind her along the dock was a hive of motion, too many bodies moving to get a bead on any one person. The area before her, however, as the dock turned more industrialized and less public, appeared almost deserted.

  Alicia scanned the horizons. The sun was slipping low. Shadows were seeping free. It had been a very long day.

  She had no weapons. But she didn’t need one.

  Alicia Myles was the weapon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alicia used her cellphone to pinpoint Healey’s exact location. Of course, the altercations must have happened in broad daylight, but she fancied a determined force might just get away with it. Barring gunshots, the commotion and sheer noise around the busy dockside would mask an awful lot of sound. A walk around the perimeter revealed relatively easy access to the place, and minimal security. The security office looked unmanned. Alicia began to wonder if this area might be a private storage facility.

  Readying herself, she walked inside.

  Soon among the containers and feeling safer. CCTV cameras were mounted on poles at all four sides of the compound, but if they were anything like the security office then they wouldn’t pose a problem. Of course, the criminal element might be using them—they’d be somewhat lax not to. But maybe they were obsolete. Alicia could only hope.

  It took her twenty minutes to find the place where Healey had sent his text. Hund
reds of containers surrounded her. No noise penetrated what felt like a metal maze, a blinding-hot partitioned box. She searched the area but found nothing save boot prints and what appeared to be dried blood.

  Healey? Where are you? Show me a sign now.

  Time ticked and stretched out, the waiting part of her journey now at an end. This was where she could act. This was where she could make a difference. But short of getting herself noticed and potentially in the same boat as her teammates, what the hell was she supposed to do?

  Time still spilled away faster than sand through fingers. What state were her friends in by now? How long could they withstand the pressure? Were they even now sat inside one of these metal boxes, wasted, dehydrated, just wishing for help to arrive?

  Alicia began to think more desperate alternatives as darkness appropriated the land.

  For fuck’s sake, guys, do something!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zack Healey stayed as hard-faced as he could, as resolute as an ancient forest tree. Still, the men interrogating him knew his rawness. It seemed they could smell it seeping from his pores.

  The fist landed again, smashing his head to the side. Healey felt an explosion of pain and the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He knew about this though, knew how to fight it. The training had been much harder. The British soldier had to be ready for anything. Healey had figured at the moment of his capture that it was he that would be leaned upon. Didn’t take a genius to figure he was the weak link.

  “Speak,” his aggressor growled.

  “The more you hit my face, the less I can,” he replied.

  Another punch.

  Healey took it. Behind, he heard Caitlyn stifle a cry and just wished she’d remain quiet. The more low-key her presence the better. These guys clearly believed she was a civilian along for the ride, maybe a consultant, and believed she wouldn’t be privy to the more sensitive information that they were after. Fine. Let them think that. Let them think that and keep on hitting me. Because if they hurt her . . .

  Healey looked up from the floor as a new voice made itself heard.

  “Wait. For now. The boy is right.” It was a grating, highly accented voice, something eastern European.

  Healey looked up. “Boy?”

  “Ah, you have to see enough things to become a man. I feel you have not seen these things yet. But who knows? You do not know me and I do not know you. Not yet. Let’s change that a little, shall we?”

  Healey just stared at the man, grateful for the respite for now. His jaw throbbed, his teeth ached.

  “I am Jake. You call me Jake.”

  Healey shuffled in his chair, but couldn’t go far. The legs were nailed to the ground, the arms colored with old blood. A regular questioning point, this then. A go-to method. Healey couldn’t think of any use of that knowledge, but then he usually left the real thinking to the others.

  Men sat around, or idled with their backs against the metal sides of the box. A passable air-conditioner cooled the inside, and bottles of water were passed around. Healey longed for a swig but didn’t let them know.

  “What are you looking for? What have you found? Why are you here? Are there more of you? C’mon, man, just answer me one for now.”

  Vague questions, Healey thought. Of course the main boss would be questioning Crouch. These were underlings, allowed to play.

  “We came here to view the yard,” Healey told him. “To rent a container.”

  “You can’t do that, man. Containers belong to shipping company.”

  Healey spread a palm as best he could. “But clearly you can.”

  “Who’s your contact?”

  Healey ran through the information they’d picked up just before setting off on this ill-fated exercise. Crouch was the kind of man that kept a contact in every city—every port as it were. Upon arrival in Jamaica he had sent out the feelers then sat back and waited for the hits to come in. Anything connected with the incredible find or the treasure they’d already hauled up. Anything revolving around Captain Henry Morgan or the people that were involved in the search. Trees shook. Calls were placed. Dirty money smeared across greasy palms. In the end, a trickle of information and then a hot tip had come in. An informant would meet them at the Montego Bay port . . .

  And here they were.

  Clearly, the criminal element was high and invested in some kind of enterprise. The bad news for them was—Crouch and his crew now knew.

  “We don’t have any contact,” Healey said, for want of saying something different. “Clearly you guys have your ears to the ground. You should know.”

  The man in charge frowned as if struggling to understand Healey’s turn of phrase. “You came here for a reason though, didn’t you? How about you tell me why.”

  Healey realized he should probably have kept quiet. These situations always ended up with a question he couldn’t handle. He wondered just how far they’d take it. He’d already tested his bonds and the ties were secure. Not unbreakable given the right moment, but the pain was going to have to be worth the payoff.

  “Maybe you should ask the girl,” one of the guys said.

  Healey stiffened immediately, a movement not unnoticed by Jake, who shrugged. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  Healey stayed quiet. There was no good end to these questions.

  “Bring her here,” Jake drawled.

  Healey turned as best he could in the chair, torn between a need to protect Caitlyn Nash and the knowledge that he should remain impassive. Caitlyn was a strong woman, she’d fought through her fair share of tragedy, but a volatile situation like this should be avoided.

  “Tell me,” Jake said softly as Caitlyn was propelled forward and deposited in a wooden chair next to Healey. “We won’t be taking silence for an answer.”

  Healey tried not to look at Caitlyn, more conscious than ever now of his feelings for his colleague. They walked these dangerous paths every day; they knew the potential outcomes of every mission. But sometimes . . . just sometimes . . . a desperate situation really drove it home.

  “We’re here to rent,” Caitlyn backed Healey’s words up, hollow though they were. “Just a container or two.”

  Jake let out a breath and checked his watch. “Boss gave us a couple hours with you two. We’re stepping it up.”

  He nodded at an underling who stepped forward, fists bunched. Healey saw his intentions in an instant and tried to jump up.

  “No!”

  “We don’t want to do this,” Jake said.

  “Let her be!” Healey wrenched at his bonds, struggling hard. The chair rocked a little, fighting its bolts. Men rose all around the container.

  “You can shout all you want,” Jake said. “Nobody gonna hear you, man.”

  “She doesn’t know anything!”

  “We know you’re searching for the treasure under the Panama Sea. We know that. You tell us the rest and we’ll lay off.”

  Healey spluttered. The man cuffed Caitlyn, not hard but enough to snap her head to the right; her eyes suddenly locked on Healey’s and wide with fear. The young soldier jerked hard at his bonds.

  Jake stepped in, took Healey’s face and squeezed. “Why you here, man?”

  He had faced down much worse, but not with the woman he loved captured beside him. Worst case scenarios and stomach churning outcomes sprang out from the dark corners of his mind, all twisting and writhing in the few moments he had to choose. The world suddenly became a much darker place.

  “We’re treasure hunters,” he said softly. “She’s my friend. Don’t hurt her again.”

  “All right.” Jake grinned, spreading his hands. “But we already knew that. How ’bout you tell me more?”

  Healey tried to calm himself. The soldier had withdrawn, replaced by the man, the lover. Caitlyn was his first. In some ways, the experience of life was just beginning.

  “We are a team of investigators—” finessing the truth “—seeking out old artifacts, lost treasure, ancient relics, that kin
d of thing. We found Aztec gold in the US, crusaders’ gold in the UK, and missed out on a few other finds.” He drew it out for more time. “We followed more than a few red herrings of late. Peru. France. Failure puts us back but doesn’t deter us. We knew about this find . . . these five ships . . . but nothing ever came of it.”

  Jake whistled. “Phew, listen to him now. More words than a dictionary.”

  “What else do you need?”

  “You told me nothin’ yet, man.”

  “This is our job. We’re not chasing you or your organization. We just crossed paths by chance.”

  Jake glanced over at Caitlyn.

  Healey rushed on, “Captain Henry Morgan. Lost five ships off Panama, most of which were believed to be loaded down with loot. This because by the time Morgan reached Panama he was already tremendously wealthy. Where else could he store his riches? He wouldn’t bank it. Wouldn’t leave it behind. But—” Healey smiled “—in relation to that line of thinking, would he really put it all on his ships for his pirate brethren to watch over?”

  Jake shrugged. “Dunno, man. Would he?”

  “Well, maybe. It had to be transported sometime, right? But those five ships were found years ago. One was believed to be Morgan’s flagship—the Satisfaction. Still no proof and no treasure has been found. But . . .” Healey paused as he heard a noise.

  “But what?” Jake urged him on.

  “But maybe they found . . . something.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rob Russo was a big man, a broad, chunky muscle-bound figure with a rock-hard presence and a head like a boulder. The physical presence couldn’t be altered, but the man beneath was entirely interchangeable. Russo was a first-class soldier, through and through, but had a deep, caring heart and a personable nature.

  Once you got to know him.

  The container that was his jail cell echoed to a chorus of malicious cheering.