Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Crouch headed Kenzie off at the cargo door, planting his bulk before her advance. With a handgun steadied at his side he paused for a moment. “This isn’t your game. Not anymore. Get out whilst you can.”

  “What? Go back to robbing Arabs of the petty treasures they’ve unearthed in the desert? To laying in the sand and dust for hours? To slogging through scorching sunshine and coughing my lungs up every night? I think not.”

  Crouch uttered a grunt of shock when Kenzie produced a gleaming weapon.

  “A sword? Are you kidding?”

  “It’s a katana. Reforged from several swords originally made of true Damascus steel. My sweetheart.”

  Alicia staggered toward the confrontation. “Your sweetheart’s a sword? And you melted down old Damascus steel to make it? Lady, you truly are a crackhead looney.”

  Kenzie swiped the sword through an arc as the plane’s engines roared. The pilot’s face could be seen through the open cockpit door and his voice drifted out.

  “Get the fuck on! Now!”

  Crouch dodged another swipe, pushing Caitlyn behind him. He raised his gun but in a flash Kenzie had smashed it out of his hand with the edge of the katana. Alicia saw him flinch and grab his arm in pain. Alicia found herself having to leap aside as the blade cleaved air where she had just been standing. The strike, as much as anything, confirmed Kenzie’s willingness to do bloody murder . . . if it had landed it would have taken Alicia’s face off.

  As fast and deadly as a warhead, Kenzie barged both Alicia and Crouch out of the way and faced Caitlyn.

  “Where the fuck’s the treasure, bitch?”

  The sword came down. Caitlyn threw herself to the side, landing hard on the plane’s lowered cargo door. As Alicia whirled she saw that it was moving, slowly picking up speed.

  Shit! This pilot’s lifting off with or without us!

  Russo and Healey struggled hard, first depriving the mercs of their bikes and then battling them hand to hand. Alicia smashed a fist into Kenzie’s back, then lifted her own weapon. Before she could fire Kenzie had flicked a knife in her direction. The first Alicia knew the blade was wobbling in her arm, barely piercing her flesh.

  “You’re faster than you look.”

  “And you’re slower than I expected.”

  Alicia eyed the roaring plane, the cargo door already slowly closing. Crouch sprinted and caught hold at the same time as Caitlyn, pulling himself aboard. Alicia looked around for Healey and Russo.

  “Get a bloody move on!”

  Pivoting, she blew Kenzie a kiss and launched herself over the rising door, slamming her shoulder on rigid metal but refusing to release a yell of pain. She tumbled down the short slope, then caught hold of a strut and immediately scrambled back up to see if Healey or Russo needed help.

  It was worse than she expected.

  Healey lay on his back as a bearded merc kicked at his thighs. Russo struggled in the process of throwing another off and dealing with an approaching Kenzie. The sword flashed, floodlights glinting off the sheer blade. Russo rolled onto the merc, breaking the man’s arm in the process. Healey was up on one knee, fending his attacker’s brutal kicks to the side, skill and purpose helping him overcome his disadvantage. Alicia climbed up on to the edge of the rising tailgate, shouting, feeling the thrum of the engines picking up speed by the second, now at walking pace, now at jogging pace, accelerating.

  “Slow it down!” Crouch told the pilot. “We have men out there!”

  “Not a chance,” the pilot called back. “I didn’t get paid to fight Uma fucking Thurman.”

  Alicia made to jump over the tailgate but Crouch grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

  The sound of a dirt bike caught her attention, then another as she looked up. Russo had climbed aboard one of the discarded bikes and hauled Healey up behind him. Kenzie was in hot pursuit on her own bike, holding the handlebars with one hand and wielding her sword with the other. Russo leaned over the front tire, obviously sensing every reason to tilt his body forward. Healey twisted around behind him, watching Kenzie’s approach.

  Russo gunned it, streaking toward the quickening plane. Alicia desperately sought a way to halt the ascending door. On the floor she found a thick wrench, probably used on this rust bucket for bolting the wings back on, and jammed it into the mechanism. There was a shriek of metal and a long groan, but the door did stop climbing.

  Russo leaned hard over, swerving the bike as Kenzie drifted in close, swinging her sword at the same time. The blade sundered air that they had just occupied. Healey cried out, venting pent-up fear and frustration like a perforated exhaust. Kenzie sped up again, chasing the tail of the first bike, twirling her blade around her fingers like a cheerleader twirls her batons. Alicia saw a mad glint in the woman’s eyes. In another second she had set her sights on the bike but knew even that was useless. The plane was bouncing and jolting, the bikes swerving and jarring. She’d be lucky to come within three meters of her enemy.

  Russo cleverly veered right across Kenzie’s bows, cutting her off and forcing her to brake hard. Kenzie came an inch from flying over the handlebars, but held on to her sword. Russo turned sharply again, opening the throttle now and racing hard for the plane. Screaming engines filled Alicia’s ears. Tarmac flew beneath the wheels, rumbling past, a growling, unyielding river.

  Crouch joined her at the top of the tailgate, gripping down hard to hang on, their feet barely touching the floor of the plane. The wrench twisted slightly within the operating mechanism, causing the door to shudder. Alicia motioned frantically toward the approaching Russo.

  “Come on! You’re so close I can make out your wizened little eyes! Now push it!”

  Russo couldn’t have heard her, but he certainly understood. With a twist he opened the throttle to its fullest, forcing the bike to spring ahead. Kenzie followed suit half a second later, keeping pace. Alicia stared hard into Russo’s eyes.

  How the hell is he going to . . .

  Russo said something to Healey. The young soldier reacted instantly and with complete trust. As Russo raced as close as he dared to the rattling tailgate Healey climbed his body, discarded his gun and crouched on the man’s shoulders. Then, with an extra moment to steady himself he sprang from Russo’s shoulders, crossing the space between the bike and the plane, hitting the top edge of the tailgate and sprawling over. Crouch clutched him by the arms, pulling hard, and Healey slid into the plane, taking Crouch tumbling with him.

  Alicia stared at Russo. Already the plane was starting to out-accelerate the bike and would soon reach take-off speed. Russo was out of time.

  Kenzie swung in from the right, sword flashing as she came in close. Russo deliberately braked so that she shot past, the sword clipping his front mudguard, and then juiced the bike for the last time.

  All or nothing. Alicia saw the knowledge in his face.

  The plane boomed, traveling faster by the second. The bike screamed at the edge of its capabilities. Kenzie wheeled around and attacked again, crazy for blood. This wasn’t just about determining their destination, Alicia knew. Kenzie surely had the organization in place to be able to track a plane. The local council could track a bloody plane. This was about territory and one-upmanship and fear. It was a terrible challenge.

  Russo stood up on the bike, balancing on tiptoes, then brought his feet up to the seat. The wheels hit a small ridge, making the whole skeleton bounce. Russo held on, hunched and with his teeth bared. The time came when the bike was as close as it was ever going to get. Alicia knew it. Russo knew it. The plane was starting to pull away.

  “Slow down!” Alicia cried. “A few more seconds!”

  “Can’t,” the pilot shouted back. “We’re almost out of runway!”

  Russo visibly gathered himself and then jumped. Alicia saw immediately that he wasn’t going to make it. The runway was hard and brutal and landing on it at this speed would kill Russo immediately. Alicia flung most of her body over the top of the tailgate, balancing with the top of her hips, arms
outstretched.

  “Russo!”

  A hand gripped hers, a disembodied, desperate hand. Russo clamped on, feet bouncing momentarily off the tarmac and drawing a bellow of pain from the large man. Alicia’s other hand seized his other arm and pulled.

  Dragging Russo was like dragging a full-grown walrus, and Alicia’s body started to slip over the tailgate. Determined, she held on. She wouldn’t let him go. Her eyes locked onto his and she could almost hear the conversation.

  Let me go, Myles. Don’t be an idiot.

  Not a chance, asshole.

  No point both of us dying.

  Shut your stupid mouth.

  Alicia slipped further. Russo’s boots slammed against the tarmac again. The discarded bike bounced along with them for a moment, throwing sparks into the night before falling behind. Kenzie pulled up broadside, showing no emotion. The plane shrieked as it reached take-off speed and suddenly Alicia felt the angle change.

  Fuck!

  Only her powerful thighs were keeping her aboard now. Russo couldn’t help; he had nothing to leverage with. It was a moment of utter madness, of one soldier keeping the other safe, of one friend refusing to let the other die. It was clinging on to hope until the very last thread had unraveled and the point of return was long gone.

  The plane climbed. Alicia slipped over the tailgate with no thought for herself; only the need to keep Russo alive in her head. Strong crosswinds buffeted her, whipping at her face and hair. As the rushing tarmac beckoned strong hands suddenly grabbed her own legs, holding tight and trying to haul her back inside. But Alicia refused to give Russo up. The pulling hands weren’t strong enough. A moment later a second pair grabbed hold, this time much further up, and also started to pull.

  Alicia grunted in surprise and slid back inside the plane with her aching arms still attached to Russo’s enormous hands. Both soldiers fell in a heap, exhausted and battered, too spent to acknowledge they were happy to be alive. Breathing and feeling pain were now the best sensations in the world.

  At last, Alicia eyed Healey. “That’s a hell of a way to cop a feel, Zacky.”

  Healey managed a tired smile. “Good job you’ve got some meat on your ass. Gave me something to grab hold of.”

  Alicia’s eyes went wide. “Feeling brave aren’t we? If I had an ounce of strength left you’d be over my bloody knee.”

  “Ooo, can’t wait.”

  Crouch signaled for quiet. “So now we have Riley and Kenzie right on our tail. This is bad, folks. Not only are we in danger but everywhere we go ends up like a war zone. I’m really thinking we may need some help.”

  “Drakey?” Alicia said hopefully.

  “No. The SPEAR team’s busy chasing ghost ships.” Crouch shook his head. “But this feels like war.”

  “It is war.”

  Crouch watched the tailgate finally slam into place, his eyes deep pools of unease. “Then let’s start fighting back.”

  TWENTY ONE

  Despite the mind-bending chaos, Crouch found himself drifting a little once the plane had reached altitude. Life as head of the Ninth Division had been peace and harmony compared to this madness. Perhaps it was the rigidity, the directness of military leadership, but since he’d returned to ‘the field’ nothing was written solely in stone. It was fluid, shocking, awash with decisions that were always second-guessed. It was living and thinking on your feet until your soles burned.

  Ah, for the simple life.

  Dreaming, thinking like a treasure hunter for all those years, hadn’t prepared him for this. The world had changed since he’d been a boy. Black and white, and even grey, were dead ghosts from a misplaced youth. The heroes of his boyhood would never succeed in the world of today. Imagining an old Corgi toy, an ancient Hornby train set, just a poster stuck to the wall with its edges curling up, he wondered how they stacked up to the toys of 2015. Life moved on, but not just life. Technology surged but at the same time it seemed—morality shrank. Somebody, somewhere, was always getting away with pushing the boundaries. How much further could they be pushed?

  Nostalgia pricked him. He studied his colleagues, thanking his lucky stars for those such as Alicia Myles and Rob Russo. They did understand today. They knew how the world had changed and what it meant to stay alive. They knew what it took to keep the world safe—even if the people they saved never knew or even cared. At the end of the day, they were the best at what they did and knew little else. Though they craved peace and love and normality, could they ever live with it?

  Crouch reflected on his home back in London. He owned a flat in Hammersmith, just off the A4 that eventually led past Harrods and Hyde Park Corner. The flat was locked, silent now, a dark shrine to things that he thought he loved –Matchbox die-cast cars, fantasy books and magazines he’d found in the old Forbidden Planet store on Denmark Street, material unavailable in the UK—that kind of spine-tingling treasure hunt in old bookstores was lost forever now after the advent of the Internet. Some said it was easier, less frustrating; he thought it took away the magic of discovering hidden treasures. But wasn’t that a boyhood thrill?

  No. Even jaded adults like me love a gripping yarn. Once you pass a certain age your escapism comes through books or movies, not through real life.

  He caught himself nodding, felt the crick in his neck, and came awake. The drone of the plane’s engines was enough to soothe anyone. Even Alicia had her eyes closed—though Crouch suspected she might still be watching him. Alicia Myles had been the first woman accepted by the SAS and—apart from Mai Kitano perhaps—remained the most dangerous and capable woman he’d ever met. Her fire, her passion, came from seeking the next challenge, the continuing adventure. What would happen if she ever stopped?

  Armageddon?

  He shrugged unconsciously. There was only one man alive who could stop Alicia from self-imploding and that man was not here.

  His thoughts turned to the dilemma at hand, and to the man who presented the greatest threat—Daniel Riley. Crouch had learned a valuable lesson the day Riley bought explosives and detonated a bomb in India. Never let your guard down. Of course, a valuable lesson sometimes had to be learned more than once but the fundamentals were there. After India, Crouch had become much more introverted, a quality that had later helped him become a leader. All that experience though, all those later encounters, never helped him understand what the hell had happened to Daniel Riley.

  Life, he thought. It was what happened to us all.

  And now . . . Kenzie. He shouldn’t underestimate her as he once had Riley. She had already proved her willingness to do brutality, her lack of morality. She was down there with the parasites that fed off sewer scum as far as he was concerned. But two enemies? Two utterly ruthless, well-equipped and proficient enemies?

  They needed help.

  Crouch called a number and listened to the accent. “Hello?”

  “It’s me again. Did you figure out a way?”

  “Oui. I can leave here for a few days. But no more.”

  “Good. I think we need you.”

  “And she? Does she need me?”

  “We all do.”

  “Then that is good. Where she is involved I will always help.”

  “Oh, thanks for that,” Crouch said a little drily.

  “You are welcome, Michael. Where do you want me?”

  Crouch moved to the furthest part of the plane and proceeded to convey everything he knew about Bridget McKenzie and the barest details about Daniel Riley. After a few minutes he paused.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes. Now, are you sure the Pythians won’t miss you?”

  “I’m sure it can be done, mon ami. The downside is that I can only spare a few days. I will be in Paris when you are.”

  “Excellent. And you’re not here to, um, make contact. Do you understand?”

  Laughter emanated across the airwaves. “She will not even know I am there.”

  “Good. Perhaps we can find a few hours to debrief. It has been a whi
le.”

  “We should. I have completed many undercover jobs for you before, Michael, but this . . . this one is the hardest.”

  Crouch was genuinely surprised. He had never heard Beauregard talk this way before. “In terms of?”

  “In terms of craziness. I truly believe these rich fools want to blow up the world. Especially their leader. This Webb, if he can’t get what he wants he will go nuclear. And he has the means.”

  “The Z-boxes?”

  “Yes. And more.”

  “Okay, I’ll find a way to pass the information on to Drake. We shall speak soon.”

  The line disconnected. Crouch watched Alicia and the others, pretty confident they hadn’t heard any part of the conversation. Nevertheless, it had been imperative. Beauregard Alain was the world’s master assassin. In theory, he could take Kenzie and her entire crew out in one night. The only problem with Beauregard was his penchant for powerful women—the Frenchman just couldn’t help himself.

  Crouch wondered if he should explain it all to Alicia. How Beauregard Alain had been a Ninth Division asset all along. How Crouch had recognized early the threat of the upcoming Pythian cabal and ordered him to go dark, to go rogue and get inside. Even Shelly Cohen—revealed later to be Coyote—had not known about Beauregard. Indeed it was she who had invited him to the Last Man Standing tournament and brought him to the attention of the Pythians. A masterstroke.

  The rest was history.

  Crouch sighed deeply and felt the stirring of an acidic stomach. Telling Alicia wouldn’t be easy. He’d let her sleep. Yeah, that would be best.

  Let sleeping Amazonians, um . . . sleep.

  TWENTY TWO

  For Alicia, Paris lost much of its allure when she was forced to break into the Louvre. Nothing was ever the same after that, and she constantly wondered if her face remained on somebody’s watch list. That said, if the hunt brought them here then the risk was immaterial. The chase would go on.