Caribbean Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Then, to his left, Healey saw Alicia’s intention.

  Fuuuuuu . . . ran through his head even as he ran for his life.

  With Caitlyn directly before him and flat even ground, he turned his head to watch as Alicia depressed the rocket launcher’s trigger and let loose the grenade. A streak of white smoke denoted the bomb’s trail and then it struck the side of the cathedral with stunning force. The entire wall buckled. A hole blasted through the side. An explosion rocked the dying day. Healey leaped as the entire structure wobbled.

  He heard Alicia’s groan: “Ah, shit.”

  The lower part of the tower came down in a cascading, fragmented shale whilst the top half collapsed to the right, groaning as it leaned and then fell, its last moments becoming a roar and then a blast like a detonation. Smoke and dust marked its final resting place and the graves of the mercs that had been chasing Healey. The entire team slowed as they were then faced with three gun-toting mercs.

  Alicia was already sprinting their way.

  Healey pulled Caitlyn to the side as he lifted his gun and fired in one swift movement, leaping left. The action sent the mercs scrambling and Caitlyn flying, but it helped gain them precious extra moments. Healey had been a badly bullied younger brother until he joined the Army at the age of eighteen. Now, he reveled in the new experience and the incredible responsibility. He hit the grass and rolled, rose fast, took a punch to the jaw because he hadn’t reckoned on the proximity of his opponent. Rookie mistake. He survived it, though, stumbling on purpose, creating space and shooting the man. Alicia was then at his heels.

  “C’mon, Zacky, stop praying. The bloody cathedral’s gone.”

  Funny. He stood up and immediately looked for Caitlyn. She was struggling on her haunches as a merc strode toward her, pointing his gun. Caitlyn couldn’t raise hers and Healey set off on an impossible sprint, screaming, “No!” as he went.

  The merc grinned.

  Caitlyn turned her eyes to Healey.

  No.

  Russo came out of nowhere, hitting the merc with a rugby tackle that almost broke him apart at the waist. The gun went flying, the man’s headset too as he all but folded in half. Russo pounded down as he landed, the arms descending like a full-size gorilla’s upon a small animal, breaking bone and shattering teeth with every strike. He would not stop. He could not stop. The rage was a living thing that encompassed all and sent the world away for a time. Healey helped Caitlyn up and then raced over to Russo.

  “Rob, stop! You’re killing him.” He tried because he knew Russo would regret it later, only for his teammate. He got in close and risked a battering.

  “It’s not worth all the self-loathing, mate,” he said quietly. “Not this brain-dead animal.”

  Russo flung arms down twice more. The merc’s face was bloody, misshapen. Alicia arrived at that moment. Russo hesitated with his fists in mid-air, blood dripping down, and drew in a deep, wracking breath.

  “Oh, hell. Oh, bloody hell.”

  He collapsed face first beside the unconscious figure, rasping for air and coughing at the same time. Healey moved in but Alicia held up a hand.

  “Let me.”

  He delayed, allowing Caitlyn to draw him away. It was easy to forget that Alicia, having overcome some major crisis of her own recently, was fast becoming a deeper, more caring person and trying to help in every way she could. The more she succeeded the more she would try.

  Healey draped an arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders. “I was worried there.”

  “You didn’t see Russo. That merc never stood a chance.”

  “Still . . . it was too close.”

  “Aw, still looking out for me?”

  “Always.”

  She hugged him briefly. Healey allowed her that few moments even as he cast around for what they should do next. Caitlyn would need the close companionship even if they weren’t together. Her recent move to the Gold Team had been due to an early-twenties burnout. Devastating, and all down to the revelations surrounding the fact that her father beat and killed her mother. A lifetime of love could never put that knowledge to the side, but Healey would be happy to try.

  Crouch had now finished off the last merc. He glanced over to their little party. “Is Russo aware?”

  Healey knew he was questioning how deep the rage-state had affected the soldier. Healey caught Alicia’s eye.

  “All good?”

  Alicia blinked. “Give me a few.”

  Healey held up three fingers. Crouch nodded and then started to survey the area.

  “We have to find Jensen,” he called over. “Did they find anything? And this will never be over until he’s out of the picture. Not for us.”

  “Sorry?” a British accent called out. “Did someone mention my name?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Alicia didn’t move a muscle, but studied the scene from beneath hooded eyes. Jensen had finally emerged from around the side of the devastated cathedral, four men flanking him. All had machine pistols trained on the Gold Team. Jensen staggered a little, still clutching what looked like a bottle of rum in one hand and a Glock in the other. The gun faced the floor whilst the bottle’s rim approached his lips.

  “Well, here I am.” He swallowed deeply and wiped his chin. “Come get me.”

  Russo stopped breathing, constantly trying to get a grip on his anger. Alicia reviewed the options. It was a short list. They still had their weapons, but without a distraction some of them were going to die.

  Crouch walked steadily toward Jensen. “What did you find?”

  The Englishman took a moment to turn an ironic eye upon the fallen, still smoking building. “Would you believe—nothing at all?”

  “I’d say you were full of shit.”

  A shrug. “No matter. We found the usual—a strongbox full of trinkets that are worth nothing at all.”

  Crouch sighed. “But of course they’re worth something to someone, that’s the whole point of what Morgan has been doing here.”

  “Eh?” Jensen raised the plastic bottle and drank some more.

  “Don’t you see? This is his atonement. Only a pirate could express his regret this way and only Morgan did it. These treasures, returned to their rightful owners—are a four-hundred-year-old act of contrition.”

  “You’re saying Morgan became a pussy?”

  Crouch continued to engage Jensen as his team moved inch by inch to attain better positions. An elbow moved here, a knee there, a better grip on the pistol. A clear way in which to roll. A better line of sight. The minutes passed and the odds lessened.

  “You never committed an act you regret?”

  Jensen shrugged. “Plenty.”

  “And you never tried to atone.” Crouch was now between his team and two of the shooters. Alicia silently berated him for such idiocy.

  “You can’t take it back,” Jensen spat. “And they never, ever believe you. You take what you can in this life, Crouch, and you never give back.”

  “Spoken like a criminal.”

  “Maybe. But this criminal outsmarted you and is about to kick your damn ass.”

  “Maybe . . .” Crouch let it hang.

  Tension fell over the cathedral grounds like a thick blanket, cancelling out any other noise. The thin air itself seemed to curdle with a jittery energy. Nobody wanted to die that day, but nobody wanted to back down either.

  Alicia moved first, decision made minutes ago and as good as she was going to get. She fell flat alongside Russo, sheltered somewhat by the dead mercenary’s body and pulled her trigger. At the same time two of the four mercs shot at them, bullets slamming hard into the dead flesh, shooting up two separate red mists. Alicia didn’t flinch, but kept firing. Her second bullet found her target’s chest, her third his heart and he was falling away.

  Alicia ducked as a line of ammo stitched across their shield. She dug in closer, head below his body and pushed against the grass. Russo returned fire but the rage had left pockets of fiery adrenalin within him that a
ppeared to be affecting his aim.

  Healey had body-slammed Caitlyn out of the way; she landed among the fallen cathedral’s stones and struck her head, but the swift movement saw bullets pass them by. The only person that didn’t move at all was Michael Crouch.

  Nobody fired on the boss. Alicia never knew for what reason; she assumed because he was the object of conversation for Jensen, but his position between two shooters and Healey and Caitlyn helped save their lives.

  Jensen raised the Glock.

  Crouch bounded, still fleet of foot despite his age, and caught Jensen’s gun hand. The two came together struggling hard. Ex-SAS training brought to bear on both sides, and neither was better. Both men fell to their knees.

  Alicia wrenched her eyes away from the individual battles and focused on her own. Russo had finally started to focus, and wounded their opponent. Alicia jumped upright and emptied her magazine into the man before he could react further. Russo followed her. Over to the right, Healey and Caitlyn slipped among the rubble, falling hard as more shots rang out. The shots arrived a moment later than both Alicia’s and Russo’s however, so ended up being aimed at the clouds as the shooters fell over backwards, already dead.

  Alicia put two slugs into the dirt beside Jensen’s left knee.

  “Game’s up, fool.”

  She didn’t add but thought: At last.

  Jensen eyed her and the others and then sighed loudly. He gave up his battle with Crouch and his grip of the gun.

  “We solved nothing,” he said wearily. “Nothing.”

  “You can recite that lament whilst you rot in jail.”

  “A lament? Yes, I have failed.”

  Alicia watched as Crouch moved back and Russo went over to help Healey and Caitlyn gain their feet. Both were bruised and sported small cuts but were otherwise okay.

  She now saw the approach of local authorities, noticed the destroyed cathedral once more, and winced.

  “Crap, this is gonna take some explaining.”

  Crouch shook his head. “That just won’t work,” he said. “We’d better start running.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Hours later, the running stopped.

  Outside the new Panama City they found a refuge, a small clearing among the trees of a dense forest. Of course, Crouch could never go against the authorities; it would besmirch his reputation and endanger that which he loved the most—the treasure hunt—so he made sure to call people in authority that might be best placed to ease the team’s way forward. The calls took time and then those people had to make more calls which also took time.

  Hence, the team’s decision to find a safe haven.

  Alicia found herself wondering if it might be time to return to her primary team, and her new boyfriend, now that the bulk of the quest was out of the way. She felt a heap of disappointment, but also a little excitement at the thought of seeing Drake and the others again. She sat back on a blanket as Healey started a campfire and Russo took first watch. The night was black above, studded with twinkling pinpricks of light, and a thin sliver of moon barely crested the tops of the trees. A faint, fresh breeze played between the branches of trees and fanned the flames of their little fire.

  Crouch finally returned from making his raft of calls.

  “That’s about all I can do,” he said hopefully. “We have until morning.”

  Healey sat back and put an arm around Caitlyn. “For what? I mean, what’s next? This is our third failure in a row.”

  “Look, cheer yourself up,” Alicia said. “Take Caitlyn into the trees for ninety seconds or so. Come back with a smile on your face.”

  Healey ignored her, but sent a smile toward his girlfriend. Alicia thought she’d maybe lightened his mood and wondered if Russo might want a little company.

  Then Crouch addressed the other member of their party. “So, Jensen? What happened to the final strongbox?”

  The thin, dark-haired man held up his hands, rattling a pair of cuffs. “Take these off first.”

  Alicia chortled. “The stupidity is strong in this one.”

  “Do you know how many men you led to their deaths?” Crouch asked. “How much your little quest cost? How many ancient keepsakes you lost? You should take this chance to make some amends.”

  “It’s still there,” Jensen finally said. “Beneath the ruins. I have no use for baubles.”

  “Had,” Alicia corrected. “You’re all washed up, crazy man.”

  “It can’t be over,” Jensen rambled on. “It doesn’t end this way. There has to be a treasure. Morgan wouldn’t make all those damn maps for no reason.”

  “Where are the originals?” Crouch asked.

  “Same place,” Jensen said. “I left them in the car.”

  “And where is the base of your operations?”

  “I won’t tell you that. It has nothing to do with Henry Morgan. Does it not strike you as strange, Michael, that we have found not the barest hint of real treasure?”

  It did. Alicia could see it in the boss’s eyes. Crouch made a point of fixing a sandwich into Jensen’s hands. The two men sat opposite and bolt upright, eyeing each other.

  Alicia sensed trouble brewing. “What are you doing?”

  “A little man to man,” Crouch said. “That okay with you?”

  “That’d take two men. Not a liar and a cheat.”

  Crouch looked hurt. Healey stared as if missing the point, which he did. Alicia waved it all away.

  “Do what you must. I’ll be out of here in the morning.”

  “We should talk first.”

  Alicia wrestled with it briefly. “Maybe.” She wondered if she owed him at least that much.

  Crouch then addressed Jensen. “In one aspect I do agree with you. There has to be a treasure. It’s not at the bottom of the ocean unless it sank aboard one of the few ships of Morgan’s that were never found, which I find a little coincidental. So where is it? Why draw these maps alluding to a large hoard if all he wanted to do was pinpoint the . . . baubles. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “And the unquestionable fact is—there was a large hoard,” Jensen said. “It’s a documented history.”

  Alicia drifted somewhat as they talked back and forth. She tried to ignore the part where she thought Jensen acted an awful lot like Drake. She didn’t agree with the polite questioning, or especially the humanization of Jensen, almost promoted to the level of equals, and found her mind wandering. It had been a little while since she took a look at the new self she was trying to embrace. Alicia of old was a tearaway, a sunset runner that never looked back and never cared much beyond the next dawn. If a problem arose she left it at her back, often crying for help. Then something—be it age or circumstance—had changed all that and made her realize that life could only be lived to the full by staying put, by confronting every challenge and rising above it. Part of that was why she had again agreed to help the Gold Team out; another part to find the answer to Beau’s final riddle.

  Had any of it helped?

  She thought not. But it was good that she was still here and not a speck on the horizon. It was good that she had no desire to leave immediately. And it was especially good that she still felt willing to hear more of Crouch’s explanation.

  She zoned back in on the conversation.

  Crouch had been flinging his maps to the ground. “Every last one a dead end. None interlinked. If you know something, Jensen, you’d best come clean now.”

  “You think I would be here, and at Viejo and all the others if I wasn’t following the same fruitless trail as you?”

  “So what’s left?” Crouch conversed amiably with the criminal as they both sipped from bottles of water.

  “Jail time,” Alicia interjected harshly, purposely. “And plenty of it.” She didn’t want this thug to feel comfortable.

  Jensen gave her a hard look. “This is Panama,” he said.

  Alicia frowned. What did he mean? She knew exactly where they were and the extent of American influence. Before
she could question him further though, Crouch had again taken up the thread of their discussion.

  “Morgan was a well-traveled man. Perhaps he ventured further afield.”

  Jensen stared at Alicia once more, and then at Crouch. His mind looked to be working overtime.

  “If there’s something you gotta say,” Alicia said. “Do it now. ’Cause I can’t promise I won’t treat that mouth to a knuckle sandwich before bed.”

  Jensen understood the reference. “My situation,” he said. “Is impossible. If I do help I won’t get to see the outcome. Listen, have you really completed all your Henry Morgan research?”

  Caitlyn sat up for that one. “Everything I could find on the Web. Why?”

  “Well, there’s a wealth of information not on the Web, Miss, I assure you. Only that which aggrandizes, embellishes or tarnishes is usually deemed worthy of repeating. Many a tome exists on the great captain, and only a few cover every single detail. The Pirate King and Morgan, the Privateer Pirate’s Treasure are the best. Read them. I delve thoroughly into the background of my targets. We both do, right Michael? It’s how we were trained.”

  “What is it that you have?” Crouch pushed.

  “These books speak briefly of a stronghold that Morgan set up. Not a staging point, resting place or halfway stop for the pirates but a secure sanctuary he visited rarely and stayed at only briefly.”

  “You know of this stronghold but did not visit?” Crouch frowned.

  “Not when we had the maps in our hands.” Jensen shrugged. “Why would we?” He took a sip of water.

  “All right,” Caitlyn said. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth. Where is it?”

  Jensen bit his lip. “Well, that I don’t know. It’s another reason I left it alone for what I thought was the easier option. The published books don’t say where it is but . . .” he paused, thinking.