Chasing Gold

by David Leadbeater

  It fit in line with the DC attack.

  Which brought him back to the new task he’d had many hours to figure out. An idea had flashed inside his head as the men dragged him away. He’d know instantly that he was lost, along with the thieves and the banner, so the light-bulb moment was most welcome. Even captured, he’d thought. He could still lead his team in the right direction.

  Chase the gold had been the first thought to enter his mind. Now, he had to come up with something to complement those words.

  First, as he was dragged away, he’d overheard a snippet of observation between two men.

  “Get him and settle in for the ride.”

  “Hawaii’s a long way to go, friend. Do we need him?”

  “Yes. It will pass.”

  That, as they dragged him along the asphalt between several men, gave him time to alert his team. It was clear they would have to stop for fuel, food and rest at some point.

  And now they had.

  Crouch waited with bated breath. It had been some time since they lost sight of the pursuing car, but losing the man with the automatic weapon had gained them all a little room in the back. The gas station was eight miles ahead.

  Twice now, he’d tried to engage the enemy in conversation. The first time resulted in a blow to the cheek; the second a short standard curse. He was hoping the third time might be even more lenient, or revealing.

  “How’s the mercenary pay these days?” he asked.

  An elbow struck his face, thrown by the man at his side. Angry words followed: “We are not mercenary scum.”

  Well, Crouch thought, worse than I hoped for, but at least slightly revealing.

  “On a different note,” he said. “Unless you want a pool in the back seat you’re going to have to let us use the restroom ahead.”

  “You will not speak.” Another blow to the head.

  Crouch protested silently, and Cutler found the courage to raise the issue too. The man seated in the passenger seat ahead simply raised a hand.

  “Do not worry. There is a long way to go. We will tend to your needs.”

  Crouch didn’t particularly like the sound of that, and neither did Terri or Cutler judging by their expressions. He risked one more smash to the forehead.

  “So many of you died back there in DC. And all for a two-hundred-year-old flag.”

  As he’d hoped, the passenger commented before his subordinate could strike. “Our sacrifice, and theirs, will lead us to a better truth.”

  They sounded like fanatics. Terrorists then, as he’d initially thought. That put the Star-Spangled Banner in even more peril. Of course, the chance that they were only playing a terrorist role remained strong. Crouch would have to dig more.

  But not now.

  Still considering his next move, the real breakthrough came for Crouch about an hour ago. The driver quietly asked his passenger to program their next destination into the satnav. Crouch had seen it all perfectly, easily. Clearly now, these men knew they had escaped DC and the pursuit of Crouch’s team, and were concentrated on prearranged stopping points to their destination.

  It was why Crouch had chosen to become a sponge.

  Use this information, use it. But how?

  Chase the gold.

  There was a chance. A clever idea, but something that required all the other members of his team to be on the same wavelength. The gold was the Star-Spangled Banner, but it could also be something else. It could be him. And it could be metaphorical too. The next step was figuring out what kind of clue to leave them.

  The car slowed as it pulled off the highway and approached a set of gas pumps. Crouch looked for cameras, already considering every move he could make to help his pursuing team.

  Before they stopped the man in the passenger seat turned. “You will make no commotion. If you alert anyone I will put bullets in one of your limbs and kill the people you talk to, and their companions. Do you understand me?”

  Crouch agreed, as did Terri and Cutler.

  “The woman must use the men’s restroom, and we will guard you all. Then we will all walk into the shop, buy food and drink, and leave. Now, move.”

  Crouch stretched his legs for the first time in hours, groaning. Pain shot from his bruised ribs to his brain, making him bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The fresh air was a boon though, awakening his senses and sharpening his mind.

  “There.” Quickly, he made a beeline for the restroom, which was built onto the side of the filling station.

  Terri was by his side.

  “I need a distraction,” he muttered. “Something fast two minutes after we get inside the shop. That’s all. You won’t see a benefit, but it’ll help.”

  He didn’t expect her to trust him, but she was aware that he was an authority figure and friends with the FBI. Right now, the FBI were preferable to these apparent terrorists.

  She nodded.

  Crouch made use of the restroom along with everyone else and then headed, in a large group, into the shop. The area was extensive, lined along the walls by refrigerators and freezers, with a large coffee machine in one corner and rows of confectionery in another. Crouch saw a Shaved Ice machine, Slurpee dispensers and an indoor ATM. He spent the next minute discreetly finding a pen and some paper.

  Then Terri dropped a shaved ice cup and fell over, landing on her tailbone. She grunted heavily, but their captors were right there and joined in helping her stand.

  Crouch saw a window of just a few seconds.

  Quickly, he scribbled a short, coded note and then folded and slipped it into the only place in the entire shop where four like-minded people might be able to find it.

  And make sense of it.

  It was Crouch’s only chance. It was Terri and Cutler’s only chance. It was the only chance that America had of saving its ultra-precious, symbolic national treasure.

  Crouch prayed that it would work.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They reached Wardensville just thirty minutes after Crouch had left.

  Alicia made sure she made a quick recon of the place even as they drove through the parking lot. It was highly unlikely that a shooter would have been left behind, but they couldn’t take any risks. Both she and Russo exited the vehicle first and appraised the area.

  Eight fuel pumps stood outside a glass-fronted shop, with a toilet block to the side and a restaurant to the rear. It was fairly typical, as far as Alicia knew. The only thing different about this one was that Michael Crouch had been here less than forty-five minutes ago. Of course, they had insisted the cops put out a BOLO — be on the lookout — for the license plate, but expected the gunmen would soon change either the plate or the car.

  “Check the restrooms first,” Russo said. “Alicia, you wanna take the Men’s? I assume you’d feel right at home there.”

  “Sure, I can do that.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a retort, knowing this would work better. “Let me know what you find in the Ladies.”

  Russo was past her before she could blink. “Changed my mind. I’ll take the Men’s.”

  “Thought you might.” Alicia didn’t expect to find anything, but spent a few minutes scrutinizing every surface. There was quite a bit of graffiti, which made her smile, and she had to wait for a woman to finish, but found nothing from Crouch.

  “It would help if we knew what we were looking for,” Caitlyn said over the comms.

  Alicia agreed. All they had was a shouted message: “Chase the gold,” and their own profound certainty that Crouch would have found a way to leave them a clue at the first place they’d stopped.

  What else could there be except faith at this point?

  Alicia knew they were wasting time out here. “Has to be the shop,” she said. “Just remember— we’re chasing a man who’s been abducted. Kidnapped. What would he do?”

  They entered the shop and paused to take it all in. Eye-catching labels and colors proclaimed brand names in every direction. Every inch of the floor, it
seemed, was taken up by something saleable.

  Russo headed over to the coffee machine, grumbling that he needed a caffeine fix to stay sharp and he’d start from there. Caitlyn went in the other direction, while Austin drifted toward the aisles. Alicia stayed back, trying to put herself inside Crouch’s head.

  Chase the gold.

  Did he mean something related to the banner? Or himself?

  She wandered over to the teller and waited until he was free before pulling out her cellphone and showing him some pictures that the FBI had pinged across. The man remembered Crouch and Terri, which was good enough for Alicia. When asked though, he didn’t recall anything important expect for the fact that Terri had fallen over.

  Did that mean anything?

  She crossed over to the Slurpee machine and then took another few minutes to study the shop from this new angle. Again, the result was unrevealing. Russo and the others were slowly making their way through the shop and Alicia decided now that she should do the same.

  Rows and rows of soda, confectionery and fries greeted her at first, followed by a useful-items aisle. She saw bottles of antifreeze and coolant, air fresheners and support cushions. She moved on to small grocery items: tins of hot dogs and beans, and ready-made meals. Around the outside were arranged refrigerators with every kind of drink and ice cream she could imagine. She was surprised to see people pushing trolleys down the aisles, supermarket shopping at their local gas station.

  A shelf full of books caught her attention for a while. She searched in vain for anything SAS related, anything covering treasure hunts, but beyond a couple of fictional paperbacks she found nothing. Even then she held the spines and shook them, but nothing fell out.

  She met Russo at a six-foot-high, circular metal stand that contained about a hundred different flavors of gum.

  “Any luck?”

  The big soldier swiveled the stand with his little finger. “Nope. Would you look at this? Watermelon flavor. If I wanted that I’d buy a fucking watermelon.”

  “Focus, Russo, focus. What are you looking for?”

  “A note, I guess. Caitlyn is checking the video feed just in case.”

  “And the ‘gold’ part?”

  “Well, there’s some Gold Rush bubblegum here, but nothing else.”

  Alicia grunted, equally frustrated and stymied. “Let’s keep looking,” she said and they passed silently like ships in the night.

  Near the end of the next aisle, close to the counter and adjacent a dedicated Krispy Kreme stand, Alicia stopped before a display that Russo had just walked past. Quickly, she called him back.

  “Did you check this?”

  The big man stared. “Didn’t see it,” he admitted.

  “Shit, man, but I bet you noticed the donuts on the other side?”

  “Damn, right. The iced Krullers look incredible.”

  Alicia stared at a fake jewelry stand. The arms of the shelves were dripping with gold, festooned by bracelets and necklaces, ankle bands and earrings.

  “You think…?” Russo let it hang.

  “It’s possible, right? What else could he do? He probably gained a few seconds of privacy when Terri fell. What would you do?”

  “No way could he have known this display was here.”

  “Agreed. But he had to believe something would pop up. If not this, something else. Crouch knew they would have to stop for petrol — or gas. This is what he used.”

  Russo glared at the display as if trying to intimidate it into giving up its secret. Alicia rustled among the dangling trinkets, hoping something would fall out.

  A few seconds later, it did.

  A folded piece of paper, the size of a credit card holder. Alicia saw with interest that it had been wrapped around the only necklace that could possibly come close to an Aztec design. Her heart leapt as she unfolded the note.

  Russo craned his neck over her shoulder.

  Caitlyn joined them, sensing they might be on to something.

  “What the hell?” Alicia said.

  Caitlyn took the note and smoothed it out, laying it across a large box of chocolates so that it was flat. Slowly, she read it out loud.

  “A.M. Here is the origin of fountain and chili, a home of Bengals.” She paused.

  “There’s another line,” Alicia said.

  “I know. I was letting the first one sink in.”

  “Consider it sunk.”

  “All right. Then: Sakura, Old Rybolt.”

  Alicia picked it up, turning and turning the sheet of paper but learning nothing new. “Well, what I expected was an address. You know?”

  “Crouch can only pass on what he hears,” Caitlyn said, then re-read the first line. “Here is the origin of fountain and chili.”

  “A home of Bengals,” Russo added helpfully.

  “That all means jack to me,” Alicia said.

  “I’m guessing it’s something Crouch would know all about,” Russo said. “What kind of guy is he? What does he like?”

  Alicia shrugged. “Treasure. Quests. Gold.” She shrugged. “Beyond that… I’m out. I don’t spend time with him, not like you guys.”

  “He loves sport,” Caitlyn said. “And Bengals makes me think of tigers. Or Bengal in India. Or the Bay of Bengal.”

  “That’s three more things than it makes me think of,” Alicia said. “But India is a long, long way from here.”

  “A home of Bengals,” Russo said. “Plural. I’m going with tigers.”

  “Hey, could it be an American football team? Or baseball? Or something like that?” Alicia asked.

  “There’s no Bengal Tiger sporting team in the US,” Caitlyn said.

  Austin now joined them and caught up quickly. “A.M.,” he said. “That’s gotta be you.”

  “Yeah, we get that part, kid. It’s the rest that’s screwing us up.”

  “There’s only one thing you can do with shit like that,” Austin said. “Google the arse off it.”

  Alicia inclined her head, unable to see anything clearer. With a sigh Caitlyn pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and typed three words into the search bar:

  “Bengals,” she said. “Fountain. Chili.”

  Alicia waited impatiently, flicking at the jewelry and watching the other occupants of the shop. Anxiety pulsed through her veins. Already, she guessed, they had lost another twenty minutes in here.

  The trail was growing colder by the minute.

  Then Caitlyn began to grin. “Well, well,” she said. “I do believe I’ve got it. Well done, Michael Crouch. Well done.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Caitlyn’s excitement was infectious.

  “Here, there’s a Fountain Square, a public area and location for large events. Also, it’s the chili capital of America. Crouch always did like his food. Add to that — we have the Cincinnati Bengals.”

  She looked around expectantly.

  Alicia narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying they’re headed to Cincinnati?”

  “Of course, it all fits. What else could it be?”

  “How far is it from here?”

  Austin was already checking. “I could drive it in seven hours.”

  Alicia paused before making what could be a fatal decision. “Are you sure, Caitlyn? There’s nothing else.”

  “I understand your reticence, but it fits. It all fits. The only trouble is — Cincinnati is a big bloody place.”

  Alicia pointed at the second line. “Sakura. Old Rybolt?”

  Austin spoke before anyone else. “There’s a street in Cincinnati called Old Rybolt. I have it here, on the app.” He carefully scrolled around the screen, zooming in and out as he searched for more clues.

  “That’s one more big coincidence,” Caitlyn said. “We have to be right.”

  Alicia was close to agreeing when Austin let out a sudden revelation with an excited squeak.

  “And here’s another! There’s a Sakura Steakhouse on Old Rybolt. Right there.” He jabbed at the screen. “It must be where our b
ad guys are planning their next meet. Or lunch. Or whatever.”

  Alicia needed no more convincing. “Grab some provisions, people. We’ve got a seven-hour drive and we’re over an hour behind. It’s time to dig in.”

  She glanced up at the ceiling as if seeking inspiration. They were teetering on the edge here. Close to losing Crouch and the banner, but somehow managing to hang on by the tips of their fingers. Tension was a taut wire, tugging at every nerve in her body.

  When Russo grabbed her shoulder, she jumped.

  “C’mon, Myles, get a friggin’ move on. Can’t stand staring at the pretty necklaces all day.”

  And just like that, she knew without any doubt that they were in with a chance.

  * * *

  They swopped drivers for the first few hours, giving Austin some rest and saving him for what they expected would be a fast drive through the heart of Cincinnati. Caitlyn called her new FBI contact, Agent Merriweather, and explained the situation.

  First, she asked for help.

  “We’re still putting out fires at this end, Miss Nash, but I’ll ask the police chief to get CPD to help. You say you have a location?”

  Caitlyn reeled it off.

  “Cross-agency relations are usually rocky, at best.” Merriweather affirmed something she already knew. “And, I have to say at this point that the banner theft must be kept secret. No leaks, understand? America does not need to know right now.”

  “I totally understand,” Caitlyn said. “But, sir, you should know — these people have a plan for that banner. I don’t know what it is for certain, but you can be assured it won’t be covering it in glory. We need men, cars. Preferably, helicopters.”

  “I hear you,” Merriweather said. “And I agree. I’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead. Caitlyn sighed.

  Alicia tapped her watch. “We’re gaining on them, we have to be. And this time — they’ll never see us coming.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN