Chasing Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Alicia gave the kid some slack, aware by now that he knew how to take a corner and a racing line. Hopefully, he wasn’t a street racer too, but even that might help them now. The bends came thick and fast at first as they sought to keep the other car in sight, red tail-lights and white paint always the giveaway. They left the DC area, passing towns called Seven Corners and Jefferson. In the end they joined a long, straight road, the only clear, discernible route passing through small towns where they could easily become lost or get caught. In the end, the journey became so long that Caitlyn finally took a deep breath, swigged a big gulp of water, and started the long job of locating the right person inside the FBI that she needed to speak to.

  “We hoping they run out of petrol?” Russo asked.

  “Gas,” Austin corrected. “Over here they call it gas.”

  “Why? It’s liquid.”

  “Short for gasoline, man. But to answer your question — if they have a full tank they’ll outrun us. They have a seventy-liter gas tank in that thing. We have a fifty. Chances are, we’ll run out first.”

  “Umm, thanks for the info. You getting anywhere, Caitlyn?”

  “Slowly, slowly,” she responded in a whisper.

  The miles flashed past the window, first open fields and then another barely lit town nestling off the highway, followed by more monotonous scenery. Alicia had already checked and rechecked her gun three times.

  The bullet count wasn’t increasing.

  We can’t stop because we’ll lose them. We can’t attack because that’d put Crouch and the thieves in danger. We can’t get hold of the FBI.

  No good choices presented themselves. But soon, the decision would be made by one of the vehicles.

  Alicia found herself reminiscing over their earlier adventures. Russo, whilst often presenting the gentle-giant persona, sometimes, uncontrollably, turned into a berserker, unable to control his rage when confronted with a deadly, difficult situation. Russo hated losing it, hated himself for being unable to restrain the beast inside. Alicia had seen it once — in fact it had saved their lives — but that didn’t placate Russo.

  He saw it as a weakness.

  Caitlyn had gone from strength to strength since joining the Gold Team. Once an MI6 whizz, she had burned out after learning the truth about her parents’ abusive relationship, then been put in contact with Crouch through a mutual friend named Armand Argento, who worked for Interpol. Caitlyn was intelligent, geeky and a gym-queen. Before he died, Zack Healey had been training her in unarmed combat and in the use of firearms. Alicia had no idea how far she’d come.

  And then there was Michael Crouch. Such a larger-than-life figure, she didn’t have the time nor patience right now to think about him.

  “Dawn’s breaking.” Austin pointed at the eastern horizon. “Should make it easier to track them.”

  “Or harder.” Russo yawned. “And easier for them to see us.”

  “Pessimist.”

  Alicia tried to stave off the infectious yawn. “It’s the only thing he’s good at.”

  The car ahead jammed its brakes on, and then swerved toward the side of the highway. It stopped briefly though Alicia, squinting, couldn’t see why as it stood in a pool of shadows made by overhanging trees, and then roared off once more, laying rubber down on the asphalt.

  “What was all that—” Russo started to say.

  “Slow down,” Caitlyn said.

  “Yeah.” Alicia leaned forward, but Austin was already feathering the brakes, cutting the speed at a gradual rate.

  Before they could make anything out, bullets started peppering the side of the car. The windshield exploded. Austin jammed on the brakes and then controlled the skid, letting the tail-end slide out. Now they could see the man on one knee, automatic weapon balanced and sighted on them. Alicia ducked as the side window imploded.

  A tire burst, and then the rear of their car side-swiped the shooter, sending him flying backward into the air. The car tipped at that point, both tires now collapsed, and rolled over onto its roof. Alicia hung on, finding herself upside down, her eyes searching for the shooter.

  Hopefully, he was dead.

  He wasn’t. Limping, dragging one foot and clutching his chest, he staggered across to the place where his gun had come to rest. With difficulty, he tried to bend down to scoop it up.

  Still upside down, Alicia aimed her handgun and shot him through the left temple. Finally, she looked around.

  The fear on everyone’s face wasn’t for themselves, it was for the man they had now lost.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was a somber few minutes as the team dragged themselves out of the wrecked vehicle. Caitlyn doubled over with a fit of coughing whilst Russo nursed a head wound, and Austin rubbed bruised knuckles. Alicia made sure they were all armed and that the shooter was dead before grabbing their attention.

  “Crouch is gone. The thieves are gone. Our enemies… well, guess what?”

  “The Star-Spangled Banner,” Caitlyn said quietly, “is gone.”

  “We’re down, but not out,” Alicia said. “Did you get hold of the right feds?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “Just as we crashed.”

  “They still there?”

  She shook her head, but then redialed the last number, reconnecting with the agent that had originally asked Crouch to join the security cordon around the Smithsonian. After a while she ended the call.

  “It’s utter chaos back in DC. The press are making it worse, sensationalizing everything. Nobody even knows if anything was taken yet, and a few terrorists are still on the loose. It’s a house-to-house search, every man on the job. They’re sorry about Crouch and livid about the banner, but civilian safety comes first. One good thing though, if we get into any trouble with the cops he says he’ll vouch for us.”

  Alicia wandered over to the side of the road and sat down on the grass-covered bank. “I don’t see a way forward.”

  “Crouch is gone without a trace, and with no clues as to where he’s going.” Russo joined her. “We’re fu—”

  “There’s always a chance,” Caitlyn said. “Don’t be so pessimistic. This reminds me of those movies where someone has to find a family member that went missing at a gas station or something, in the middle of nowhere.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Austin asked. “Print flyers?”

  “For a start,” Caitlyn said, “we can find out a little more about those damn thieves. And, guys, we need another car.”

  “There was a gas station a mile back,” Austin said. “I guess I can acquire us one from there.”

  Russo shook his head. “No more stealing.”

  “It’s either that, or say bye-bye to Crouch. And the banner.”

  Alicia helped Russo up and they started walking back down the highway, keeping to the low curb. Caitlyn used her cellphone to check into the history of Terri Lee and Paul Cutler during the eight-minute journey.

  “Like we were told,” she said, “they’re ghosts. Yes, there are jobs attributed to them but no proof, no DNA. Not even a hair. The only reason they’re on the radar at all is because of their younger years working for and then against a couple of crime lords. Seems they served their time, learned their craft and then went solo.”

  “And all that gets us precisely nowhere,” Russo grumbled.

  As soon as they found the gas station, Alicia and Russo grabbed food and drinks whilst Austin scoped out the best car parked next door in the lot of a twenty-four-hour Waffle House. By the time they emerged he was waiting with the engine ticking over, calm at the wheel of a ten-year-old Cadillac CTS.

  Alicia and Russo jumped in. The car roared off, back onto the highway, soon passing their old overturned vehicle and now following in the long gone tire marks of their enemies.

  “Crouch said ‘chase the gold’. What the hell does that even mean?” Alicia asked.

  “Don’t know, but they have to stop sometime,” Caitlyn said. “We’re on the right road.”

  “Next gas
station?” Austin punched it into the satnav. “Thirty miles.”

  The knowledge made him push the gas pedal down just a little further.

  “Just a slight problem,” Caitlyn said. “Between us and the next gas station is one rather large town. It does have a decent railway station.”

  Alicia swore, but knew they couldn’t ignore it. “Quick diversion,” she said. “Can you see their ticket sales?”

  “I don’t have the correct equipment with me,” Caitlyn said. “We were only called in to observe the museum. The cell’s nowhere near powerful enough and, even if we bought a laptop, we’d be at the railway station before I could do anything meaningful. Best bet?” She smiled. “Contact our friendly FBI agent.”

  Alicia smiled. “Nice.”

  “Can I ask?” Austin cut in before Caitlyn dialed. “This banner thing that was stolen from the museum. The banner that started all this. What the hell is it anyway?”

  Caitlyn made the call first, asking for facial recognition and ticket information to be condensed and forwarded to her cell as soon as possible. The agent, of course knew the urgency of their situation and promised it quickly.

  “The Star-Spangled Banner,” she said, “is the flag that flew over Fort McHenry in the war of 1812. During the Battle of Baltimore, Francis Scott Key saw the flag, and was inspired to write a poem he titled Defense of Fort M’Henry, which renamed the flag and later became the national anthem of the United States. It was a huge flag, prominent, a statement, inspiring all those that fought, the largest ever flown at the time. And it still inspires, I guess,” Caitlyn looked wistfully ahead, “in the form of a song.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Austin said. “National pride and all that.”

  Caitlyn nodded. “The fort withstood 5,000 British soldiers and nineteen ships for more than two days. In the end, the battered flag still flew and the British went away.”

  “Here,” Alicia said a few moments later. “Park up there, Austin, close to the station. Russo — with me.”

  They waited for the car to stop halfway along a quiet street and jumped out into a cold, ill-lit morning. Noise was at a minimum, just a few murmurs from one man talking into a cellphone as he passed. Alicia saw car lights ahead, moving around a parking area and sauntered toward the railway station with Russo at her side. As they neared a platform area and a bridge that crossed the tracks they smelled coffee and fresh baking, saw the stalls open ahead. The bright lighting illuminated every man, woman and child on both platforms.

  Alicia and Russo climbed up to the bridge to get a better look.

  “Not here,” Alicia said. “Waste of time.”

  “And the FBI info just came in,” Caitlyn told them through the comms. “No bulk tickets bought in the last two hours. Nothing above four, and no multiples. Facial recognition does not show anyone resembling Crouch or the two thieves.”

  “I think we can safely say we just wasted thirty minutes,” Alicia moaned.

  “It had to be done,” Russo said. “Austin, turn the car around, we’re headed your way.”

  “I’ve asked them to check every gas station along the 66,” Caitlyn said. “Obviously with a priority on the nearest. The truth is — we have to get a hit. They will have to stop. Maybe Crouch will work something out.”

  Alicia and Russo jogged back to the car. Austin stepped on the gas pedal. Two minutes later they were threading efficiently through the streets, and ten minutes after that racing hard back down the highway.

  “It’ll get harder as it gets lighter,” Russo said. “More traffic on the road.”

  “We have technology and we have Crouch,” Caitlyn said. “Keep chasing, Russo. We have to keep chasing.”

  “Hey, I’m all up for that,” the big man said. “Never surrender, right?”

  “One life, live it,” Alicia said. “Never look back and fuck regret. I’m all for what’s around that next bend.”

  Austin propelled them hard toward a distant horizon as did, somewhere ahead, a deadly enemy that held their boss captive.

  Grim glares greeted the new dawn.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Highway 66 became Highway 48 and they continued to follow the most direct route. The only real route — unless someone wanted to cruise through a few small, sleepy American towns. Alicia didn’t believe that was the robbers’ end game.

  “Why the terrorist attack?” she wondered. “I mean — that was a flat-out terror strike on Washington DC. At the very least — it was meant to look like one. But why? To cover up the robbery?”

  “I guess,” Russo said. “You need to stop shooting them all dead and try to wing one for a change.”

  “Oh, says the child with the tiny peashooter that can’t aim unless he’s a mile away.”

  Caitlyn spoke up. “The attack covered up the robbery for a while. It facilitated an initial escape and it covered a much longer break away. It’s an odd way of causing distraction but who knows what criminals will do these days?”

  “I wonder if anyone would pay for the banner,” Austin said.

  “A thousand unknowns. A terrorist leader could hang it inside his home just to gloat. A cell could hang it on the wall of a cave, and broadcast it to the world as they kill another innocent. An enemy of America, political or financial maybe, could keep it in a vault. Someone may even get off on just depriving America of it.”

  “Could be the British,” Caitlyn said. “Finally getting their revenge.”

  “For the Battle of Baltimore? An ancestor?” Alicia asked. “I doubt that.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Alicia knew it to be true. Austin gave them a quick update, interrupting her thoughts. “Fifty miles since we left the railway station,” he said.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of space,” Caitlyn looked dubiously at the varying landscape. “A lot of roads and a few towns.”

  “But only one major thoroughfare,” Alicia said. “Trust your instinct.”

  “I’d rather trust my own intelligence and research,” Caitlyn said. “That’s how I work best. But I can’t do it here on a cellphone.”

  As if by magic her phone started to ring. She held up the flashing screen for all to see. “FBI Dude.”

  Alicia smiled. Caitlyn answered the call.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Nash. Agent Merriweather. Our people ran the facial recognition software on all gas stations within a fifty-mile radius. Unfortunately, our range of forecourt cameras is limited and so are our options.”

  “Do you have access to all of the cameras at all the locations?”

  “No, but vehicle recognition noted your car at pump two of the Texaco close by Wardensville. That’s all we got, I’m afraid.”

  “Vehicle rec!” Caitlyn pumped a fist into the air. “Never thought of that. How long ago?”

  “Twenty three minutes.”

  “Well, we’re about eighteen away,” Caitlyn told him. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Good luck, Miss Nash.”

  Alicia thumped the dashboard with excitement. Vehicle recognition was present at all gas stations. It helped that Russo had snapped a picture of the getaway vehicle.

  “How’s that for a good shot?” he told Alicia a little smugly.

  “Not bad for someone with thumbs the size of tennis rackets,” Alicia allowed. “Now Austin, get a bloody move on. We’re still in the chase!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Michael Crouch became a sponge, hearing everything.

  Since the final scuffle in DC, he’d been battling with every emotion and instinct, trying hard to make the call as to which decision was best. His capture had been entirely opportunistic, he was sure of that, but these were men that capitalized on chance and turned it in their favor.

  The one time he’d tried to escape — aboard the chopper — they’d beaten him badly for it. So now he moved with a bruised rib and aching leg ligaments, a black eye and a bloody nose. Every shuffle was painful. Even sitting down hurt. Best to become a sponge.


  And listen.

  So far, car journeys, helicopter rides and crashes, had proven most revealing among the enemy. In particular, when there were times of stress. Crouch kept his cool and his quiet demeanor, taking it all in. He usually sat on the back seat, choosing the driver’s side window whenever he could, just in case.

  Crouch had always been a hands-on man. In charge of the SAS, he regularly accompanied his men, sometimes against orders. A founder of the Ninth Division — a secret, elite unit within the SAS — he rarely missed a mission. And now, the commander of a treasure hunting team, he rejoiced in every quest they undertook. Crouch had worked his way up from the very bottom, so knew the game inside out. He studied the enemy and studied the thieves, reading body language and even more that they sought to keep hidden.

  Early on, he decided he could temporarily trust the thieves. Which meant they were on the same side — at least until they were done with their captors.

  Or vice versa.

  Crouch gradually introduced himself to the people he knew were Terri Lee and Paul Cutler. They weren’t allowed much chance to talk, but Crouch gleaned that the pair knew what they were doing when they stole the banner, but hadn’t been aware of what would happen afterward.

  Crouch respected them more for admitting it.

  In truth, the thieves were open books. Promised a great deal of wealth, the future ability to pick and choose jobs or retire, they figured they deserved the score. Crouch didn’t condone it, but he did understand it.

  Through the last several hours he had done a lot of thinking. Why bring the thieves along? Their job was done and now they were nothing more than extra weight. Why not cut them loose, or even kill them? The answer came to him some hours after listening to the enemy interact.

  They were constantly talking and thinking about where the next payday would come from. The banner — that would be huge. But now they had two of the world’s best thieves — who might also bring a pretty penny from the right buyer.

  Greedy men, then. Power-seekers. They were all violent individuals, and they loved to show it. Repressed, maybe. Brainwashed too. Crouch saw a terrorist regime among them, something less subtle than most others he’d seen but something present beneath a thinly veiled surface.