“It’s possible,” Crouch said.
Alicia saw him glance at the driver as if debating whether they should stay put. They were currently cruising past two rows of houses with palm trees waving in the gardens, white walls and white gates bordering the properties. Green refuse bins lined the sidewalks and cars were parked in haphazard fashion up and down the road. A woman dragged a shopping trolley on wheels across a junction ahead, slowing the cabs, and a man worked under the raised hood of an old Buick. A lethargic air hung over the city as it waited for the sun to begin its descent into the west.
“We can check for movements,” Crouch said, “aliases. But remember, Jensen sees himself as a pirate captain. Wouldn’t he escape using the sea?”
Alicia shrugged. “You can’t count on a madman acting predictably.”
“Good point,” Russo said from the front seat. “We could spin around and put a watch on the museum.”
“How many ways could he get in?” Alicia wondered.
“Normal routes,” Crouch said. “Smugglers’ routes. We can’t watch them all.”
“But wait,” Caitlyn’s low voice stopped their speculations in their tracks, “there is another possibility.”
Crouch nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“Anyone care to inform us?” Russo asked.
Caitlyn was already speaking. “Jensen already knows where the island is,” she said. “And sent us off with an authentic clue to get us out of the way. Remember, he actually did my research for me.”
“Knowing,” Crouch added, “that we would eventually find the location and head straight for the island. It’s a tactic I should have foreseen.”
“Where he’ll be waiting?” Alicia asked, a tad hopefully.
“Either that, or long gone. Pawing through his ill-gotten gains.”
The team reflected for a few minutes before Crouch made the decision. “We’ll inform the local cops,” he said. “Put them on the museum and the access routes. We need to find that island.”
“Not to mention the treasure,” Russo said.
“No.” Alicia glanced at their driver. “You’re right. Only a knob-end would mention that.”
“But where to now?” Healey asked. “Back to Panama? Jamaica?”
“Our goal remains the same,” Crouch said. “We find a man that knows that island. The passage said look between Haiti, Panama and Port Royal. I think Jamaica would be the perfect place to ask around.”
Alicia thought the plan had merit. Judging by the satnav, they were starting to get close to the airport now, though it was screened behind a row of houses and tall trees to their right. They passed a driveway inhabited only by a speedboat, and a white house built on stilts so a fleet of cars could be parked easily in the shade underneath.
Ahead a black SUV approached.
Alicia squinted toward the blacked-out interior. “You see that?”
Crouch spoke into the cellphone. “Healey? How are we back there?”
“Black SUV just pulled out of a side street. Approaching fast.”
“Shit.”
Alicia told the driver to put his foot down just as the man started to slow. The SUV swerved into their path. Russo leaned over and wrenched the wheel out of his hands. “Get down.”
“How did they find us?” Caitlyn asked.
“Easy,” Crouch breathed. “They were watching the bloody museum.”
“That’s some forward planning on Jensen’s part.”
“Well, like it or not, the guy’s good. Or at least, he was. You don’t lose that kind of training.”
Russo turned the wheel so that their vehicle bounced up onto the narrow, barren patch of earth that ran parallel to the sidewalk. Rutted, it played havoc with their tires, sending Alicia slamming into the doorframe and Crouch against the back seat.
“C’mon, Robster. You ever drive before?”
“Not with my head in this guy’s lap. You wanna jump over and try it yourself, be my guest.”
“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Alicia managed to find her gun as the SUV slammed by to their left, sideview mirrors crashing together and shearing away. The smoked-glass windows in the other car remained closed, adding to the mystery as it slewed around in the road just behind Healey and Caitlyn’s cab. Dust plumed up into the air and tires squealed. Onlookers jumped back into their gardens.
“Slam the accelerator!” Russo shouted at the driver to a look of utter confusion.
“The gas,” Crouch said. “Hit the bloody gas.”
The car lurched ahead, sending out a smoke-plume of its own. The SUVs were more powerful, though, and were soon all over the back ends of their quarries. Alicia looked back and knew they had a matter of seconds.
“Faster.”
They switched roads, still running parallel to the airport. The maneuver opened up a small gap but not enough. Alicia opened her window and leaned out, gun ready.
“Stick your head out now,” she murmured to herself. “See where it ends up.”
The SUVs windows powered down in sync. Arms holding machine pistols emerged and, rather than ducking back, Alicia took potshots at them. Russo swerved the cab at every opportunity and Crouch twisted his body so he could lean out of the other window. At first only Alicia’s gunshots filled the air, but then fire was returned and the deadly sound of automatic gunfire shuddered around them. Alicia saw metal flatten and almost instantly the back window shattered. Now she ducked, feeling the impact as more bullets thudded into the car’s chassis to left and right and through the trunk.
Russo manhandled the cringing driver out of the way, depositing him into the footwell of the passenger seat. Once behind the wheel he shifted it better, zigzagging for their lives and hitting one large red trashcan so that it spun into the car behind. The tree-lined road stretched on. Alicia fired blindly through the rear window. Crouch popped his head up.
“To the left a little,” he said. “Perfect.”
Alicia glanced through the broken glass to see the pursuing vehicle’s windshield destroyed and two men wearing sunglasses revealed. The driver leaned away from the center, probably thinking the frame might give him shelter. Alicia knew he was their best chance. Before she could fire he rammed his own gas pedal to the floor and screamed at his companion to shoot. Bullets riddled the cab. Russo turned sharply again and again. Then he stepped hard on the brake pedal and the other car crashed right into their rear fender.
Alicia’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw the passenger fly through the air, land on their own trunk, and grip hold of the razor-edged glass that remained in the rear window, desperate to hang on.
Alicia rose.
Staying beneath the man’s head for shelter, she lunged at him. Her fist connected hard with his forehead, causing a splutter and a scream of pain. Still he hung on, twisting with the car’s momentum and ignoring the blood that seeped between his fingers. The spare hand, held down at his side, still gripped the gun and he brought it around now to aim at Alicia. She saw it coming—the arc of the arm and the effort required was substantial—and she leaped up to catch it. Now face to face with the man, swinging from side to side and buffeted by sudden gusts of wind, she struggled hard.
She slammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose, sending blood trickling into his eyes. She forced the gun hand as far away as she could. A bullet ripped from the barrel, burying itself into the road. He tried to headbutt her back, but Alicia had been wise to that move since high school, and dipped her skull. She let go of the rear window frame with her right hand and punched him in the cheek. Dynamite went off behind his eyes; she felt she saw it clearly. She punched again and he was out cold, gone, tumbling off the rear end and spinning away. Now the driver was vulnerable.
Crouch had already lined him up. The men in the back seat pushed their weapons forward through the gap but Crouch fired first, a perfect shot through the center of the driver’s skull. The black SUV swerved and crashed, tipping onto its side, another man thrown clear.
&n
bsp; Alicia saw the second attacker now as it hounded Healey’s cab.
The young soldier’s driver was nowhere to be seen. Caitlyn sat behind the wheel, trying to block the following car and stop it from coming up alongside. The researcher’s reactions were slow and only Healey’s careful shooting was keeping them from being stopped. Alicia knew they had to come up with a fast plan.
“Russo. Three sixty and brake in ten seconds. Crouch—you still on that open line?”
“I am.”
“Tell Caitlyn to hold steady and hope she hears.”
Crouch complied and readied himself as Alicia counted the seconds down for Russo. On cue the big man stamped on the brakes and threw the cab into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, ending up with the nose pointing toward the two oncoming vehicles. Alicia and Crouch emptied their clips at the SUV as Caitlyn powered by on the left so close they lost another sideview mirror.
Bullets ripped apart the SUV, fragmenting the windshield and both men in the front seat. Traction was lost and the vehicle spun badly, ending up on its side. A man pushed himself up through a rear door and Alicia picked him off with ease, watched him slump still with his rear body in the SUV. Crouch told Russo to make a fast getaway.
“Move it, before any more turn up.”
“We Jamaica bound?” Russo asked as he helped the panic-stricken driver up into a proper seated position.
Crouch punched in another number that would connect him to the police. “Oh, yeah, as soon as we get this particular shitstorm sorted out.”
“And meanwhile Jensen gets closer and closer to the treasure,” Alicia said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Crouch assured her. “We’re not out of this hunt yet.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Jamaica, and in particular Port Royal, offered up a whole host of possibilities. The tricky part was plucking the genuine probability from the raft of chance that was offered. Many men knew the location of the mountain-like island with the barren tree on top. Of course they did. And they all wanted cash up front.
In the end, Crouch sought the help of his Jamaican contact and the team were directed to a Jamaican roadside bar; a ramshackle beat-up place the size of a market stall and with the only signage being a large white plaque out front that read: Cold Beer Joint. Plastic chairs and tables stood around and a tall man with thick hair leaned over the counter, staring at their approach with lazy eyes.
“Help you folk?”
Crouch nodded. “We’re looking for Ric?”
“You found him, folks. What’s up? Nice cool beer?”
Alicia found herself licking her lips. “I’d sure love one.”
Ric cracked open beers as Crouch talked to him.
“Heard you were a fisherman back in the day. Some kind of sailor too.” The boss described the island they were looking for as Alicia drank deeply, savoring the taste. “We were hoping you might be able to take us there?”
Ric pursed his lips and laughed. “Oh, man, I am going nowhere. My sailing days are long gone. I know the place you mean, but I won’t be leaving this shore again.”
“We have much to offer.” Crouch made the universal money sign.
“Don’t care if you’re offerin’ me Shakira in a Lamborghini. I ain’t takin’.”
Alicia paused with her lips around the mouth of the bottle. “Really? I might.”
Ric made a shooing gesture. “Have at it.”
Crouch looked despondent. “Is there anything we could offer you?”
“Got all I need right here in this shack, man. Do I look unhappy to you?”
Crouch admitted that he didn’t.
“Had my fair share of material shit. Had money. Had women. It’s all jus’ complication. Out here—” he spread his arms “—is easy. Out here—you live long and happy.”
“And lonely,” Alicia pointed out, still drinking. “I know about running. Truth is, it gets you nowhere.”
“Who says I’m running?”
“Well, my contact actually.” Crouch smiled. “Says you owe a tidy sum in back taxes.”
“Shit.”
“But we’re not here to hassle you. We just need a little help.”
“Shit.”
“Either way, we never saw you.”
“Duppy Island, you say?”
“Is that what it’s called? We can’t find it on any map.”
“Nah. Nobody go there. Only a Yardie knows.”
“A Yardie?”
“A local. Jamaican. And a duppy is a ghost. Duppy Island be crawling with ’em.”
“Shit.” Now it was Alicia’s turn to curse.
“You believe inna duppy?”
“ ’Course not. What kind of ghosts?”
Ric shrugged. “Lotta dead there through the years. Pirates mostly.” He looked away. “Don’t want talk ’bout it.”
“If you won’t take us there, can you show us where it is?” Crouch pointed toward Caitlyn’s laptop. “Exactly?” Their contact had explained that Ric had once been a competent showboat captain and an explorer of the local area. He would have a wide knowledge of all things nautical.
“You mean real coordinates? Nah. But I can sail you close if you got a real good digital map.”
Caitlyn placed her laptop on one of the plastic table tops. “Ready to go.”
Ric slowly unstuck his body from the counter as Caitlyn raised the screen, then came around using a languid gait. For a man essentially on the run, Alicia had never seen anyone so laid-back.
“I guess police chases happen around here on a whole different level,” she remarked.
Ric ignored her and peered at the screen. Pinpointing Port Royal, he took a virtual voyage first toward Haiti and then Panama, east then south across the Caribbean Sea, zooming in at points of interest—sandbars, reefs and unnamed islands too small to be of any interest—before sailing on. When he found a spit of land shaped like a spoon he grumbled, adjusted his positioning and started afresh from there. Half an hour passed as Ric ran a painstaking eye over their journey. At last he pointed at what could only be described as the tiniest ring of land amid the sea.
“That is Duppy. Be careful there. It is . . . overrun.”
Crouch nodded happily. “By ghosts, yes. Thank you so much, Ric.” He pumped the Jamaican’s hand and turned to the others with a huge smile on his face.
“We have it.”
Alicia grunted. “Let’s hope, this time, it’s not a local’s wristwatch.”
“Have faith. On Duppy, there are no locals.”
“Don’t forget the ghosts.”
Russo ran a hand over the back of Alicia’s neck, making her shiver. “You scared, sweetie?”
Alicia grabbed the hand and bent the fingers until their owner pleaded for mercy. “Sweetie?”
“I meant bitch. Sorry, sorry I really meant bitch.”
“That’s better.” Alicia let him go.
“If you two are ready,” Crouch started walking back toward their vehicle, “it’s time to set sail in search of the treasure.”
Alicia followed with Russo. “How the hell did he say that without using a pirate accent? I know I couldn’t.”
“I guess he’s a pro.”
“Aw, sore that I bent your likkle fingers?”
“Barely felt a thing. The noises were to help you feel better.”
Alicia slapped the man on the shoulders as they neared the car. Behind them, Healey and Caitlyn walked so close no daylight passed between them. The final hunt was on, and the team were ready.
“Let’s hope we’re not walking into a trap,” Alicia said, climbing in. “Or into hell on earth.”
“Shit,” Russo said. “Now you’ve gone and bloody jinxed it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The team planned their boat trip so that they neared the island as darkness descended in its entirety. Using their benefactor’s wealth and influence they had managed to rent a large, sleek, ocean-going yacht from Port Royal and programmed their coordinates into t
he advanced auto-pilot system. Sometimes it paid to be acting for well-off individuals known for their entrepreneurship and contributions to local governments. A man that could open the doors of power with a single phone call.
Michael Crouch found it increasingly hard to suppress the excitement as he neared what he believed would prove to be yet another historic achievement. Men had searched for Henry Morgan’s long lost treasure through the centuries, through long years lost in the mists of time; men long dead and turned to dust themselves. And none had prevailed. Crouch lived for the hunt.
Which was nearing its end.
All the years of living for the job, of training soldiers and planning missions. All the times he’d coached and planted men like Beau to go behind enemy lines, to become part of a terrible organization. Some of those decisions haunted him now. All had seemed necessary at the time.
But time itself lent a new perspective to “necessary.”
Everything changed. Even me. Even correct decisions. Even concrete chipped and eroded and faded away. We can only do what we think is morally right.
The boat began to slow and, on the digitized display before them, the team saw the details of the approaching island. Assuming they would be here well past sunup they anchored the large yacht well offshore and broke out the motorized dinghies.
Caitlyn transferred the map’s specifications from the on-board computer to her smartphone. The island wasn’t large but it would still be good to be able to find their way around and know the location of coves, beaches and places of sanctuary. Assuming Jensen would have landed at the most easily accessible cove, they plotted a course to one of the hardest and set out in two dinghies, wearing black and carrying loaded weapons, invisible in the darkest part of the night.
The sea buffeted them gently, soft swells passing by. The moon presented a thin sliver of silver that bounced across the waves and offered the barest amount of light to see by. Crouch took what he could get, embracing the dark and using the faint illumination to navigate closer to a beach bounded by rocky outcroppings. They were jarred, tipped left and right, glanced once and then twice off the thin tips of rocks, dinghies shaken but remaining intact, bounced between swells, and skipped off the top of a curling wave. They were left rousted, but safe as they finally drifted up to shore, the shifting waters giving way to a soft beach, silver in the quarter-light and happily empty.
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