Desperate, she tugged his ankles, dragging him away.
It was a chaotic fray, reminiscent of a schoolyard scrap but much more dangerous. Alicia battered at both men with the table leg, then jumped atop the second man who was closest to the guns. A compact jab to the back of the neck took the fight out of him.
Russo tackled three, the soldier clearly knowing it was important to thin the herd as early as possible. One he shot, the other he collided with head on. Then he tripped but held on to the gun, firing upward as a man descended on him with a machete.
Machete!
The weapon sent even Russo’s blood boiling. Luckily said weapon only clattered to about an inch away from him, useless as its wielder collapsed dead on the floor. Before Russo sat Healey and Caitlyn, and beyond that Alicia still struggled. Another enemy figure stood close to Healey.
Alicia sat up and took a bead on the last man standing.
“Stand back, asshole.”
“Name’s Mike. What’s yours?”
“Stand the fuck away.”
Mike turned a little so that Alicia could see the bright blade he held poised at Healey’s neck. “Say what?”
Alicia picked up a gun and aimed it in a single movement. Russo made it clear he was also holding one. Mike merely grinned. “You want to save this kid. You let me go.”
Alicia saw the blade had already drawn a streak of red. “Stop.”
“Put your guns down. Let me walk.”
Alicia knew it would be straight to the next container for backup.
“Put the blade down and we’ll let you walk.”
“You hurt him, you die,” Russo added. “Only way out is to comply.”
Mike struggled visibly with it, torn between wanting to be anywhere but here and signaling his crew. The odds were not good and he clearly knew it. Alicia let him sweat, knowing the more he wavered the less sharp he’d be when the time came. As he vacillated Caitlyn stared Healey right in the eyes.
“He’s also playing for time,” she said.
Alicia tightened her grip on the gun. Mike flexed the muscles of his arm, blade about to dig deeper, but then Healey himself rose up, ties breaking, pulling away from the blade and swiping at Mike’s face. Shocked, the merc tried to lunge forward, knife wavering. As soon as the tiniest gap opened up, Alicia fired. Mike fell away, groaning, the knife clattering to the floor. He made a quick lunge but Alicia jumped in hard with blows to the abdomen. Mike’s forehead cracked the floor as he fell asleep.
Alicia met Healey’s wide eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”
“Thought you were gonna sit there all day,” she said airily.
Healey regarded her as if seeing her for the first time. “You kidding?”
“Do they still have Michael?” Caitlyn asked, although the answer was clearly obvious.
“Yep,” Alicia said. “I’ve rescued three quarters of you. Thought I’d save the boss till last.”
“Oh shit, we’re never going to hear the end of it,” Russo moaned.
“Damn right.” Alicia grinned.
“Hey, Myles, if it was up to you,” Russo blustered. “Poor ole Healey would still be sitting there.”
“Hey . . .”
“No time,” Caitlyn said.
Russo jumped for the rifle.
CHAPTER TEN
Alicia hurried through the weapons and handed the best suited to Healey and Caitlyn. The researcher of the team knew how to hold and use a handgun, and had a few combat skills since Healey decided she needed to know at least enough to keep her alive. Well done, Zack, Alicia thought. That was some fine forward thinking. Together, the three of them rushed out of the open container doors and back into the night.
The first thing Alicia felt was a welcome breeze on her face and a lifting of the cloying heat that had settled over them all despite the rudimentary air conditioning. The second thing she saw was the nearby container doors slamming open and four men rushing out. They held rifles with attached sights and camo jackets. Alicia lined them up, staying out in the open.
“First to move is target practice,” she said easily.
The four men spread out, covered now by Healey and Caitlyn too. Alicia could almost smell the fear washing off Caitlyn but a quick glance revealed no clear presence of it. Good. Alicia gave Caitlyn a reassuring nod.
Next out of the container came Crouch, a scared-looking stranger, two more thugs, and a man with the air of a leader. Not least because he still held a glass of dark liquid in one hand.
“Well, well,” he said. “There’s another one of you.”
Alicia couldn’t help but stare. Despite his well-bred accent this man had an air, an aura that reminded her of her boyfriend. And the way he carried himself, the steely blue eyes and confident gait. She was pretty sure he was military, if not the SAS. But he showed no obvious signs of recognition.
“Michael,” she said, exuding a confidence of her own. “I’m assuming the scared guy there is your contact?”
Their boss nodded quickly, giving no names away but helping Alicia decide who exactly belonged in the enemy camp.
“John Jensen,” the leader of the crew offered and raised his glass. “Good night for it, eh?”
Another bloody crackpot, Alicia thought. Is the world so full of them?
“Hand him over,” she said, “and we all live to fight another day.”
Jensen nodded agreeably. “Sure, sure. We’ll get to that. Michael here was just telling me about your little quest.”
Alicia grunted. “Well, lucky you. That’s more than he told me. I just got here.”
Jensen laughed. “Very good. But, look, I’m running out of rum here. Can we move matters along?”
“Sure. Where do you want the bullet?”
“Is Henry Morgan’s treasure worth such violence?”
Alicia considered Jensen’s actions of the night. He seemed to think so. A palpable air of tension hung over the scene, making the mercenaries itchy and sweat bleed into their eyes. It seemed there were only three people unaffected by it all: Alicia, Jensen and Crouch.
“The promise of wealth is such a great divider,” Crouch said then, “and brings out the true colors of men and women, both the bright and the dark. How much wealth do you think you can amass before you are satisfied?”
Jensen lowered his glass. “Truly? Does there have to be a limit?”
His men guffawed. Alicia took a deep breath and steadied her aim. The knife edge tension deepened.
“Did you know that in England, Henry Morgan was known as one of the country’s greatest naval tacticians? Whilst on the Spanish Main he was known as a bloodthirsty pillager and liar. How differently history and distance can judge a man. How influential the scribes and papers can be, retelling only what they need for sensationalism. For sales.” Jensen shrugged. “It’s all relative to an agenda.”
“Are you saying that you’re misunderstood?” Alicia asked.
“Just tell me what you know. Then we can get on.”
The night went silent; all breath was held. Jensen made no move but Alicia sensed the end was but a word away. She sent out a wish and then that wish was answered.
A bright red dot appeared on Jensen’s vest, just above his heart.
The military man saw it instantly, eyes narrowing. He appeared to evaluate them once more. “How odd,” he said. “I saw the appearance of a woman but missed the vanishing of a man.”
“Rum will do that to you,” Alicia said.
Jensen laughed shortly. “Not to me. I wrongly assumed he was behind a different container.”
“So hand over Crouch. And we go away to fight another day. Or . . .”
She shrugged, indicating the top of the containers where Russo lay cradling the rifle. Jensen didn’t hesitate, but turned to the leader of the Gold Team and bowed ever so slightly.
“Well done, Michael. This time. There will soon be another.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Crouch ste
pped warily past Jensen and headed for Alicia. The blonde sidestepped carefully as he came to make sure she never dropped her rifle, nor lost her aim. Jensen made a show of clicking fingers at his men.
“Back off now,” he said aloud.
Alicia followed suit slowly, with Healey and Caitlyn keeping their own sights up and Crouch leading the way. Carefully, they inched toward the deeper darkness.
“You have a car or something?” Healey whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
“Nope. Choppered in.”
“Even better,” Crouch said. “A safe, fast ride.”
“Not really,” Alicia said. “I sent the pilot back to Kingston.”
“Bollocks.”
“There’s always the cruise ship,” Caitlyn offered.
“Not if we want to stop this Jensen guy. That thing won’t dock for a week.”
“Hey, this is Montego Bay,” Crouch said quietly. “There will be someone willing to drop everything and take us to Kingston. All we need is a wad of dollars. Leno, are you all right?”
Their contact, the diver that had stolen the maps, nodded bleakly. “For now.”
“I’d take a long break, mate,” Healey said. “Maybe head over to the US.”
“Did you keep the maps?” Caitlyn asked Crouch as they continued to melt away, moving faster the further they went and presently joined by a panting Russo.
“Not a chance,” Crouch said. “Jensen never let them out of his sight.”
“What about—” Caitlyn tapped the side of her head.
“I saw all of them, remember most of them. But I need to get it all down on paper before it begins to fade.”
Alicia didn’t doubt that Crouch could remember much of what he’d seen. The man was one of the best trained military men on the planet, with one of the best Special Forces teams, and had been working at the highest level for most of his life. She’d trust his memory above almost all others.
At least, she’d always thought so until last week. Now wasn’t the time but she would have to challenge Crouch over Beau’s comments. And if the traitor was trying to cast a cloud over Crouch then the man needed to know. No telling how deep it went.
“I know a guy in Kingston,” Crouch said unsurprisingly. “Maybe he can suggest someone in Montego Bay.”
“Make it quick.” Alicia eyed the shadows that crawled between containers. As the team walked further toward the light, the blackness at their backs became only more ominous. “My guess is Jensen’s already pouring over those maps.”
“So what’s the plan?” Healey asked Crouch, already over his close ordeal.
“The plan?” Crouch smiled. “The plan never changes, my young friend. The plan will always be to locate the treasure before the other guy. So let’s get started.”
Crouch strode off in search of the nearest phone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The journey back to Kingston was fast and silent, the team gathering themselves and getting over the peril they had just encountered. Alicia could have happily ribbed them all about it, but was conscious of the youth around her. Healey was a good soldier, getting better with experience, and Caitlyn was basically a researcher with skills, whom nobody had the time to properly train. Alicia herself was trying to change for the better, and that included causing less antagonism within the unit. Sometimes she struggled, but oft times she succeeded. Every victory felt that little bit better.
Kingston was a fast boat ride away, the motion and slam of the boat’s hull guaranteed to send more than one of them green. Alicia had never been a great seafarer and clung on tightly until the ride was over. The team thanked their driver, paid the man his cash, and made their way back to the hotel.
Alicia sighed upon seeing it for the second time in less than twenty four hours. “God help them if they don’t have any rooms.”
“Well, you ain’t bunking with me,” Russo grumbled.
“Aw, Rob. You scared I’ll steal all the bed covers, baby?”
“I’m scared you’ll steal my soul.”
“Ah, you missed your chance there. I snagged a guy already.”
“Poor bastard.”
Alicia inclined her head as they approached the hotel’s front steps. “Now you know you don’t mean that. I’m sure all the others don’t too.”
Russo shrugged as if not quite in agreement, but Alicia was already pushing ahead into the gleaming lobby. Lights shone from all directions and it occurred to her then that she should probably have gotten a wash before trying to rent a room.
“Let’s all head up to mine,” Crouch said. “We should be able to book another by phone.”
The elevator hummed its way up and still the team stayed quiet. Caitlyn was obviously itching to start the research, but Crouch and Alicia were just as eager to get back out into the field. Every lost minute put Jensen further ahead.
Crouch opened the door to his room and found bottles of water. Caitlyn managed a quick wash before heading over to the laptop. Healey studied his marked neck in the floor length mirror.
“Shit.”
Alicia wandered up to him. “You’re kidding, right? Looks more like a shaving cut.”
“Har har.”
“Oh, I see. No facial hair yet?”
“Alicia . . .”
She moved off after the warning, cooling her heels until Crouch finished writing down all he remembered of the maps, and Caitlyn found something useful on her computer. She found it hard to stop pacing, impossible to stop and sit. The training in her demanded action, not idleness, and the recent combat only raised her adrenalin.
“C’mon guys. Get a move on. Hey, Rob, wanna wrestle for money?”
Russo, cut out of the same cloth as Alicia, looked like he might be considering it. Then Caitlyn asked everyone to gather around. Alicia took a look out the window at the perfect Jamaican coastline, the dark outline of palm trees and the just visible rolling surf. Idyllic visions didn’t suit her either, but just sometimes she wished they did.
“What do you have?” She approached Caitlyn.
“Henry Morgan’s life. Recapping a few details, he amassed such a great fortune in a relatively short period. Nobody seems to know much about his youth, save that he spent it in Wales, UK, where his family owned a large farm that hasn’t changed an awful lot since. Morgan grew up quite hard, it’s believed, and came to Jamaica in 1658, marking himself as a man of valor. More used to weapons than literature, he took to the life of the seaman without issue. It appears he initially came to take part in Cromwell’s plan to invade Hispaniola. His first command was in 1665.”
“As a pirate?” Alicia wanted to know.
“He was never officially a pirate. England classed him a ‘privateer’, but who needs semantics? No, in 1665 he was still learning his trade. It appears when his captain was caught and executed by the Spanish, the crew elected Morgan as their leader.”
“And so it began,” Healey said, still gingerly touching his neck.
“Want me to bandage that for you?” Alicia tried to be thoughtful.
The young man blanched. “Um, no thanks. Have you even had medical training?”
“Bit of field strapping. Bit of under-fire triage. Hell, a neck’s a neck, right? Just wrap something around it nice and tight.”
Caitlyn was reading further ahead. “It appears Morgan fell into debt whilst partying in Jamaica’s Port Royal. But he still had letters of marque from England, and was able to stay out at sea and pillage until the entire crew had enough to pay them off. They must have been bloody huge . . .” Caitlyn shook her head.
“What? Why?” Russo moved his huge head like a rotating stone statue.
“Well, they already had over fifty thousand pieces of eight from the previous efforts. Now, they made the decision to strike at a city that harbored a considerable treasure. Porto Bello. And that’s where Morgan’s real pirating days begin.”
At that moment, Crouch spoke up. “I have about as much written down as I can remember and some rudimenta
ry drawings of coastlines. It’s not great, but will have to do. And Leno did tell me that the maps were more about the writing anyway, not the sketches and steps from some landmark to another as more modern day works would have you believe. There is a big gap between how pirates were and what they did, and how they were then perceived after that one famous work of Robert Louis Stevenson.”
“Treasure Island?” Russo asked.
“You can read?” Alicia gasped.
“Yes. Stevenson romanced the pirates of the old image and gave them an entirely new image.”
“And the treasure maps?” Healey prompted.
“Well there’s no dirty great X, which is a shame.” Crouch smiled slightly. “But the script, or at least that which I can remember, should set us in the right direction. One thing Leno did tell me; the maps need to be read in order. Morgan wanted whoever followed, wife, children, whomever, to follow just one path.”
“And we’re to believe this great liar, this bandit and murderer, is telling the truth?” Russo wondered.
Crouch shrugged. “Maybe there is no treasure,” he said. “But if that’s the case, my friend, where did all his loot go?”
Russo struggled for an answer. Alicia told him to relax before he burst something then turned to Caitlyn. “You got anything else?”
“Well, Porto Bello is the real starting place.”
“And where is that?”
“Panama,” Caitlyn said as if everyone should know.
“Big place,” Crouch prompted her.
“To put it into perspective, Porto Bello was the third main city in the New World at the time. And well-guarded. Morgan had balls, for sure. It’s quite a story, the attack on the town, the trip upriver because of the shallow bay, but not for tonight.”
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