Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Not Riley’s boys, she thought. They’d have nuked the place by now.

  A voice enquired about their business. Crouch replied quietly, mentioning his name and what sounded like a password. Alicia suddenly knew where they were—one of the many MI5 safe houses around the world, most maintained with fully equipped dorms, cells, medical facilities, surveillance and interrogation rooms, and unmarked vehicles. A normal civilian would never be admitted, but a man like Crouch, with the password, and Caitlyn—ex MI5—might just pass muster.

  The door opened. A head popped out. “Don’t hang around then,” the gruff Scottish tones rumbled. “They’ll have your fecking bollocks off in ten seconds flat.”

  Alicia considered a reply, then decided better of it. Healey needed help not a smart-mouthed colleague. They followed the Scotsman into the bowels of the building, feeling for the first time in many days that they were surely free of observation.

  “In here.” The Scotsman opened a door and motioned toward a man wearing a white coat. “This here’s Jack Hyde. We call him Jekyll. He’ll take care of your man.”

  *

  Later, over a microwaved plate of stew and several cans of John Smiths the group found time to relax. Crouch’s password, it seemed, was good enough to allay any suspicions. The team were left to their own devices. Healey’s initial exam and treatment would go on through the night so, unable to wind down enough to actually grab some sleep, they decided to ignore Riley and review their options. They settled roughly, sprawled around the tiny room with boots and gear on, drying out as best they could; the worry over Healey preventing any of them from trying to do anything normal. To a team member all they wanted to do was talk and be close to their fallen comrade.

  “We are at an impasse,” Crouch said. “We just can’t prove that Napoleon took the Hercules at the same time he forcibly removed the Horses and transported them to Paris.”

  “Not an impasse,” Caitlyn said through a mouthful of beef stew. “A standoff with known history. There’s always something you can do about a standoff.”

  “For instance?”

  Caitlyn indicated the laptop she had borrowed from the Scotsman. “Napoleon saved the French government from collapse by firing on Parisian mobs with cannons. He became General of the Army at twenty six. And he was beaten by Lord Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar and the Duke of Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo.”

  “And this proves what?”

  “He was a warlike figurehead, just like Dandolo, and no doubt a man of similar persuasions. He was an aficionado, a collector, a plunderer. He escaped exile in Elba and was, of course, married to Josephine.”

  “This proves nothing.” Alicia, like Crouch, preferred to act as Devil’s Advocate.

  “All right, what about this? Napoleon ruled an estimated seventy million people and all of Europe, a level of political consolidation that had not been known since Roman days. I’m reading Constantine. Napoleon also produced medallions to commemorate his successes. Considered the most important by historians were the Five Battles Series, the first of which depicted Hercules holding a club and the Hydra’s head.”

  Alicia flashed on the sculpture outside the basilica. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Some years after he stole the Horses one of Napoleon’s favorite quotes was ‘I have found the Pillars of Hercules!’ Most thought he was referring to the new Paris. He once called Paris ‘the new Rome of Napoleon.’ And, most importantly, he displayed the Horses of St. Mark just as flamboyantly as did Dandolo, but clearly kept the Hercules to himself.”

  Crouch upended a beer. “He displayed the Horses? My history’s a bit fuzzy there, I’m not sure I remember—”

  “Only atop one of the most famous and important sculpted monuments in French history. The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel.”

  “Of course.” Crouch snapped his fingers.

  “Depicting Peace riding on a triumphal chariot it is a derivative of the triumphal arches of Rome. In particular its inspiration is the Arch of Constantine. Is this enough coincidence and corroboration for you? If the Horses went to Paris it stands up that the Hercules went with them. Also, Napoleon became enamored of it and started comparing himself to Hercules in more ways than one.”

  “So Napoleon built an arch and had the stolen Horses placed on top, partly to rub it in the Venetian’s noses,” Alicia recapped. “A smaller version of the main Arc de Triomphe at Place d’Etoile yes?”

  “Yes, originally it was intended as an entry way to the royal residence,” Caitlyn read.

  Crouch’s head shot up, as if recalling something. “Now that’s interesting,” he said. “I couldn’t quite put my finger on it just now, but what you said there—it rings an odd bell.”

  “Well, if you look at a picture of the Arc du Carrousel now you will see a very close copy of the four horses, each with one hoof raised as per Lysippos’ original design and a replica of the quadriga itself. The French sure weren’t shy in showing their admiration.”

  “And where was Napoleon at this time?” Crouch wondered.

  Caitlyn tapped at the keyboard several times. “In 1828 he was dead, following a six-year incarceration at the hands of the British. I wonder if they knew how he cherished the Lysippos sculptures and tormented him about them. He was actually alive when the Horses were returned to Venice.”

  Crouch stretched and leaned back, tipping a beer. “I think it’s worth a trip to France,” he said finally. “What do you guys think?”

  Russo shrugged. “No problem here.”

  Alicia sighed. “France just makes me think of one thing.”

  “Beauregard?” Caitlyn smiled.

  “Close.”

  Crouch drummed the table top. “Hmm, perhaps we can use Reece Carrera again.” He placed a call, waiting patiently for an answer.

  “Yo, man!” Carrera’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The dogs of war are back! Was followin’ your escapades in Niagara Falls, Michael. Good job, dude.”

  “How did you know that was us?” Crouch wanted to know. All personal details had been repressed.

  “Well, ‘cause I’m me. Eyes and ears like TNT. They explode over your antics, man.”

  “Good to know. Are you in Europe?”

  Before Carrera could answer, Alicia grabbed the phone. “Hey, hey, do you know who this is?”

  “Nah, just put Michael back on, sweetie.”

  “It’s Alicia Myles.”

  “Alicia? I know Sophie. Sophie Myles. Never heard of you.”

  Alicia held the handset out to Crouch, an injured look on her face. “Guy’s a knobhead.”

  Crouch mouthed “with a plane”, then said, “Where are you right now?”

  “London,” Carrera said. “Filming.”

  “Ah, that’s not going to work. Never mind. I’ll be in touch, Reece.”

  “Cool. Oh, and tell Alice I said hi.”

  “Alicia!” Alicia shouted. “It’s Alicia!”

  Carrera chuckled. “I know.” He ended the call.

  Alicia’s look of outrage transformed quickly to one of respect. “The bastard. He had me. Maybe not all movie stars are just muscles for show after all.”

  Crouch was already manually dialing a new number. Alicia zoned out for a while. This latest development—Riley—was a serious hindrance. Poor Healey was a casualty of circumstance but it could have been any one of them, and it could have been far worse. Every time she put a step forward, it seemed, life threw trouble her way. Kenzie was one problem, a combatant, but Riley was something else.

  How many men did he control?

  Alicia scanned her bedraggled crew. Crouch appeared quite neat, only his clumpy hair and the streaks of dirt on his face attesting to his recent escape. Russo sat hunched and solitary, a still dripping, lonesome and prickly heap of misery. Caitlyn perched in an easy chair, legs folded beneath her, worry etched deeply across her face, hair a spiky mess. This team was gelling nicely, still in its infancy but Alicia wondered how much further they
could go together before a tragedy struck and forced it apart.

  Crouch nodded at her. “I know a guy, ex SAS, whose business is near Venice. He’ll fly us close to Paris.”

  “How close?” Alicia didn’t like surprises.

  “Well, he won’t drop us off at the Eiffel Tower but we’re not going to have to jump on a train either. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  Crouch rose and left the room, placing a call as he went. Alicia wondered who might warrant the private treatment. It was at that moment that the doctor stuck his head round the door.

  “He’s awake. And he’s fine.”

  Alicia grinned, resisting the urge to leap up and bounce all over Russo. The man just looked too miserable and needed some serious cheering up. At least a major gust of relief helped to lighten his face and those massive shoulders lifted as a great weight detached. Caitlyn jumped to her feet and followed the doctor out of the room. Alicia lingered to wait for Russo.

  “You okay?”

  “Bloody hell, what do you think? You’re a jinx, Myles. Whenever you’re around the whole world goes to shit.”

  Alicia felt her heckles rise. “I wasn’t around when you lost the Ninth Division. Maybe if I had been some people would still be alive.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth Alicia regretted them. It wasn’t fair to put that on Russo, or on anybody else. But Russo was playing with fire and needed to be reminded. The look on his face told her she’d gotten through the hard exterior.

  “I’m trying to put that behind me,” he said. “I thought we all were.”

  Alicia pushed past him, saying nothing, and walked into Healey’s room. The young soldier was smiling as Caitlyn hugged him. Alicia grinned.

  “You’re looking better. “

  “Feeling better.”

  “I bet. Well, get the hell off your arse then. Paris won’t wait around for long.”

  “It’s been there a while.”

  “Don’t be a smartarse, kid. We’re targets, and targets that move fast are harder to hit.”

  Russo grunted from behind. “Or easier to anticipate.”

  Crouch entered the room, almost certainly preventing a confrontation. The team leader seemed oblivious of the sudden tension.

  “If you’re able, Healey, we should move. The plane’s waiting.”

  Healey swung his legs off the bed. “I don’t need telling twice.”

  “Yeah, kid,” Alicia said. “Stop messing about swimming in canals and trying to fly. We have a treasure hunt to complete.”

  *

  Alicia hurried through the night, conscious of the space that surrounded the wide-open runway. It had taken them over an hour to reach this place and the entire team were anxious to be on their way. Not since she could remember had she actually felt so vulnerable. Riley had proved that he had the resources to strike anywhere, and however he wanted. Is he out there now? Biding his time?

  Lining up a head shot?

  The team moved fast, exiting a spacious almost empty hangar and heading for a grimy plane. Yes, she thought, it had seen better days, but then things were always better when they’d had a little “running in” time. Including people. Mostly people, actually. Humans were built to make mistakes, collapse and cry and then come right back up swinging. Life was nothing if it wasn’t about taking chances. It was nothing if it wasn’t about living. The only time it would pass her by was when she was lying in a grave.

  And even then . . .

  She followed Crouch, darkness her only ally. The gloom was so inscrutable it was like walking through a cave, apart from the slight breeze. The only light picked out the plane they were walking toward and all its flaws.

  Kenzie’s voice drifted from the murk. “Hands up and line up. I don’t want to have to chop you people to pieces. Yet.”

  Alicia instinctively lowered her body, turning sideways to the threat, hands hovering over weapons that had been supplied back at the safe house.

  Crouch looked ready to start stamping his foot. “How the hell did you find us again?”

  Kenzie sounded smug. “I have my contacts too, Michael.” She stressed the word “contacts” ever so slightly.

  Crouch didn’t respond, just looked worried. Alicia understood exactly what he was thinking. If his chain of international contacts was compromised . . . then he had no contacts at all. No trust. The world was falling down on Crouch as the enemies and victories of his past began to catch up with him.

  “I followed you this far. Now, tell me the rest.”

  Alicia cleared her mind, practically willing her eyes to pick enemies out of the darkness. They were only ten feet from the plane and its lowered cargo door. Shelter in the form of old crates and even a rusted old car littered the disheveled airfield. The problem would be after they boarded the plane. Did Kenzie have enough firepower to take it down? Would she go that far? Alicia didn’t know.

  “You murdered Naz,” she said. “You and me, we will have a reckoning for that one day.”

  “Go suck it, bitch. One day I’ll stomp you into the ground.”

  Alicia’s mouth almost fell open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been spoken to that way. A lesson was in need of being taught. She said nothing, but the expression on her face could have frozen the polar north.

  “So what do you want?” Crouch asked.

  Alicia saw the pilots now approaching through the cargo hold, both looking uncertain. She knew from experience that any kind of tinder could set off a gun battle and almost spoke up to stop them, but what Kenzie said next stopped her dead.

  “I want your treasure and then I want you all dead. In that order. Now talk before I change my mind and we move on to the next set of sad tomb raiders.”

  Kenzie was never going to let them go. The field was isolated, the perfect death trap. Alicia saw faces now as their enemy loomed unconsciously closer, itching for action. She saw eight, maybe ten faces and that of Kenzie’s, tight with hate.

  “There’s no future here,” she said, indicating their enemy. “We’d be doing the world a favor.”

  Crouch nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’m already there, Alicia.”

  Kenzie seemed to leap forward. “What are you saying?”

  “That the treasure’s still in St. Mark’s Basilica,” Russo shouted unexpectedly. “With the Horses. They were never parted.”

  Alicia cringed.

  “Then why are you about to hop onto a plane, Einstein?”

  Russo caught flies.

  Crouch stepped in. “Even if we knew, which we don’t, we’d never tell you where the treasure is.”

  Kenzie nodded. “I know.”

  “Then what’s next?”

  “I guess you’re making me do something I love. I’ll have to torture it out of you.”

  Alicia spread her arms. “Go right ahead.”

  TWENTY

  Alicia twisted away, knowing their enemy would already have weapons drawn. The rusted car stood at her back and she ducked behind the flat wheels. The noise she heard then, however, wasn’t the expected gunfire, it was the roaring whine of a motorcycle engine. No, she thought as she lifted her head over the side. Dirt bikes.

  Swerving left and right, men burst toward them. They must have wheeled them into position, she thought. That meant somebody had known the team’s destination almost at the same time they did.

  We’re bugged. Or . . .

  Not even the slightest hint of betrayal entered her mind. Not with this team. The approaching men all held compact machine pistols which Alicia recognized as the GEN4 Glock; deadly and accurate at the worst of times.

  Her first shot hammered into a front tire, upsetting the bike’s balance and sending its rider flying into the front of the immobile car. The crunch of impact told her they would no longer be a problem. By then, a second bike was scrambling up to her position, its muddy wheels spitting gravel like tiny missiles. Alicia ducked as she heard the clatter and bang of flying stones and a rush of dirt flew ove
r the car and onto the top of her head.

  “Bastard’s gonna pay for that.”

  She rose, firing, but the merc had already leapt from his bike and crashed down upon her. Alicia felt the unexpected impact like a house collapsing and folded. Stars exploded before her eyes. The ground was a stunning, ungiving slab. Her opponent tumbled past, his momentum unstoppable. Alicia groaned for an instant and remained immobile until some sense of reality returned.

  It came in the form of Russo’s boot being planted beside her head.

  “No time for napping. We’ve a plane to catch.”

  Alicia struggled to her knees, head still spinning. The pilots had raced back to the plane’s cockpit and started the engines. Power was already starting to thrum through the wings and down into the tarmac. Russo rendered the flying merc comatose as Alicia finally rose unsteadily to her feet.

  “Wow, felt like I was hit by a truck.”

  “Let’s hope it knocks some sense into you, eh?”

  Alicia took in her surroundings in an instant. Kenzie was hoofing it toward the plane, Crouch and Caitlyn trying to cut her off. Healey stood before two dirt bike riders as bullets ripped up the road at his feet. Three more were slewing around the front of the rusted car.

  Alicia and Russo picked up the fallen merc between them and hurled his body at the new arrivals. Their combined force was enough to take two down and make the third cartwheel over their wreckage. Russo finished them off fast as Alicia vaulted the front of the rusted car, still with a ringing in her ears, and returned fire at those who assailed Healey.

  With a sudden lunge she was lucky enough to pluck one off his bike. The merc landed well though and was quickly up, confronting her. Alicia feinted, but fell to one knee, still unbalanced by her earlier collision. The merc struck at her. Quickly, she rolled on to her side firing upwards. The world spun again and a sense of nausea came over her. Healey backed up. A bike shot past, between them, a fire-breathing monster with intent to kill.