Chasing Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Dave pointed at his ears. Russo growled a complaint. Alicia shrugged. “Wanna live, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, and with my hearing intact,” Russo said.

  Caitlyn hung on to a strap with one hand and her laptop with the other. “Me too!”

  “Just stick your fingers in your bloody ears,” Alicia growled. “I’m not arsing about anymore.”

  Her return fire made the other pilot think twice. He maneuvered out of the way, pulling up and back and causing both shooters to completely miss their shots. She fired again, her bullet clunking off the other’s framework. Both choppers shifted and realigned, dogfighting in the air as they fought for supremacy. Bullets scathed both aircraft and almost smashed the enemy rotor. Once, Dave came so close to the mountainside Alicia saw a puff of rock dust fly off into the air. He’d left the thinnest of grooves behind.

  She stayed silent.

  Slowly, they spiraled, dropped or veered down and down, toward the ground. Men took potshots at them. Alicia didn’t breathe for an entire minute as both aircraft swung around so that their sides drifted closer and closer, the tips of their rotors almost touching for long seconds. At this point she fired at the nearest gunman, her bullet taking him in the side of the neck. Blood spouted out and fountained down to the earth below even as the man gripped the wound, lost consciousness and then tipped out of the aircraft.

  She aimed again.

  Nobody scrambled over to grab the discarded gun. The man on the other side couldn’t bring his weapon to bear. Alicia saw another merc and then — beside him — she saw Crouch and the two thieves. Crouch was leaning forward, staring over at her, eyes hard and face grim. She could see he wasn’t tied, but that another merc held a gun pointed at him. She glimpsed Terri and Cutler too, pushed against a window, a man with a knife to their throats.

  It wasn’t good inside that helicopter.

  Alicia fought her heart and then her head with the decision making. They had to force them to the floor, but without crashing. She aimed at the nearest merc once more. Just then the choppers parted as their enemy swooped down twenty feet and tried to come around. Dave swung theirs the other way and they faced off — the mountains all around them. Another realignment and the remaining shooter was able to line them up in his sights.

  The bullet smashed into their side door, destroying whatever remained of the hinges after earlier shots and sending it tumbling down the rest of the mountain. Austin was huddled against that door and now fell without the slightest chance to reach out and save himself. One second the support was there, the next it was gone.

  Caitlyn reached out, but missed grabbing his jacket. Austin screamed as he fell sideways, desperate and terrified as his vision opened up to show that the only thing between him and the ungiving earth below was vast quantities of thin air.

  The seatbelt arrested his fall for a second, but he was overbalanced; the top half of his body falling out; the bottom half barely restrained as his legs slipped from under a poorly fastened belt. Caitlyn pounced with all her strength, fighting against her own belt, but landing on Austin’s legs with enough force to arrest the slide. Russo grabbed her.

  Dave righted the chopper, still falling rapidly toward the ground, but making it as straight and true as he could.

  Caitlyn hung on as Russo dragged them both. His hands were on her hips, pulling hard. Caitlyn cried out in pain. Alicia swatted Russo.

  “Fuck’s sake, Rob, get off her ass. This is not time for a free grope.”

  The big man roared in anger and with sheer effort as he hauled some more. This time Caitlyn came with her jeans and maintained her deathly grip on Austin, who slid back into the aircraft. One more pull and they were safe.

  Panting. Sweating. Hurting.

  Then Dave cried out, “Look out, get a grip! We’re going to crash this bastard!”

  The ground had rushed up fast, giving Dave no time to slow or alter course as they fought to save Austin’s life. Now it was only meters way and they were rushing toward it almost out of control.

  Alicia didn’t lose an ounce of focus though. Even as they fell she watched their enemy, saw the chopper gliding away; still heading steadily downward as if intending to land. The enemy pilot kept his momentum, clearing a row of house roofs and then aiming at some unseen patch of land. Alicia fired twice more during this period, but only succeeded in smashing the pilot’s window, so scared was she of hitting Crouch.

  It disappeared as homes got in the way and their own chopper came down hard, skids first, on a wide patch of concrete. Something broke, the metal crunching and shattering with a sickening sound. The whole aircraft bounced about eight feet, finding the air again before once more crashing down. The passengers were thrown against the bulkhead, skulls and shoulders striking bruisingly hard. Dave wrestled with the controls. The chopper tipped first one way and then the other, took off once more and then came down again, this time mostly nose first. Shards of metal sheared off; one of the skids ripped away and then the helo was tilting once more as it came to rest, engine roaring, glass mostly shattered; the entire aircraft so battered it would never again take to the skies.

  Alicia shrugged it off rapidly, but only because she had the life experience. Gritting her body and nervous system against all forms of pain and danger, she unbuckled her belt, threw open her door and reached across to check on Dave. The pilot was fine, so she climbed up into her doorframe, gripped the struts and jumped down to the asphalt below. She rolled, trying not to see the world spin as her eyes closed. Again, she compartmentalized, not letting it take control.

  She gripped her gun, looked up for the others.

  Russo’s big, worried face was staring over the top of the frame. “Are you all right? Where the hell did they go?”

  Alicia indicated the ground. “Get down here fast. We have to move!”

  Her tone was laden with infectious anger, galvanizing the others. Bleeding and still with their heads spinning, they jumped down and lumbered over to her. Austin was first, glad to be back on terra-firma. Dave was last, staring at two gashes in his right arm.

  “Hold tightly on to that.” Alicia nodded at the blood. “We can’t stop here. If we lose them now we kill Crouch.”

  “And lose everything else,” Caitlyn murmured.

  Dave nodded gamely. “Go, just go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  With the burning wreckage behind them, still ticking and shedding metal, glass and plastics, they pocketed their weapons and ran fast, dripping blood and nursing wounds as they went, chasing a deadly enemy and the life of someone they held dear, taking it straight to the enemy once more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Michael Crouch found that he was gripping his seat hard enough to turn his knuckles white and stop the blood flow to his fingers. He was leaning well forward, trying to catch a glimpse of what had become of Alicia’s helicopter. All he could see was dust and a huge chunk of metal that appeared to hurl itself toward the sky.

  Frustrated, he slumped back into the seat.

  Across the way, Terri and Cutler regarded him with increased fear. It had been a traumatic trip from St Louis, but every time they reached another destination both of them began to fear it might be the end of the line. Crouch wished he could tell them the final destination, but didn’t dare risk it for now. Out of the two of them, Terri was his best chance; the most switched on. Cutler appeared to be mostly out of it — traumatized by everything that had happened. Crouch wasn’t impressed with the well-built American.

  Faith was everything now. The fact was — Alicia and the others had followed him this far, picking up on all of his hastily scribbled clues. He couldn’t let them down now.

  Wouldn’t let them down.

  Another merc had died back there. That left six in total, the pilot and the boss, Omar. Crouch wondered if this mountainous stop was planned, but the pilot brought the chopper drifting in gently and touched down onto a manicured lawn.

  Between the mercenaries, however, there was
no calm.

  “Damn, we lost ole Vinny back there. That bitch shot him between the eyes!”

  “Nah, it was the neck, mate.”

  “You sure? I thought it—”

  “What does it fucking matter?” another cried. “We gotta move fast. Gonna be a long fucking drive to Vegas with those assholes on our tail!”

  Omar leaned over, all six-foot-six of him, elbow draped across the seat as the chopper came to total stillness. “Keep it professional. This is the plan, and we can’t deviate. Driving, flying, driving again, whatever. It was planned and necessary. It’s what the bosses wanted. Our pursuers are… irritating, yes, but to get that pay day we have to earn it.”

  “He’s right,” a man seated beside Crouch said as the Englishman sat in absolute silence, as unobtrusive as an ant. “We’re almost there, guys. We’ll hand the banner off to the real terrorists, then let ’em burn it in their fuckin’ propaganda video. And whilst America quakes and moans and burns, we’ll be sipping mai tais on a white sand beach.”

  Crouch tried to remain still as a terrible surge of fear and hatred swept through him. Sell the banner to terrorists… let them burn it… no, no, no!

  “Beach?” A man laughed. “Nah, boy, I’ll be staying right there in the Stratosphere. Doubling up my dough.”

  Laughter greeted that statement as the mercenaries slowly began to extricate themselves from the chopper. “Don’t be an ass, Rick,” someone said. “At least take a vacation before you give it all back.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Crouch, so far, had gleaned that these men were the hired mercs he had initially thought they were, tasked with grabbing the banner and handing it over to real terrorists. Terri and Cutler were simply extra remuneration — an unexpected payday. The exchange appeared to be happening at the Stratosphere Hotel in Las Vegas, which was the next stop. He played good prisoner as he was pulled out and made to wait for the rest of them. Once they had grouped, Omar looked around.

  “There,” he said simply.

  Crouch saw a large hotel with discreet signage, something a little more upper class expensive than usual. The parking area was half full, but Omar started off toward the far side, where a pair of black Cadillac sedans were waiting. Inconspicuous, powerful and roomy they would prove ideal for the long trek to Vegas.

  “We still on target?” another merc asked.

  “Very much,” Omar replied. “We’re two hours ahead thanks to the chase.”

  Laughter greeted that one. Crouch understood that these men were only talking about their situation, their current job, and exactly what was coming up. It was natural. Everyone did it. He waited as long as he could for more information, but when it didn’t arrive felt an urge to force it.

  “The Stratosphere?” he said quietly. “I can’t do heights.”

  It was simple, but in current company, stood a good chance of being effective.

  “Shut it, dickhead. And don’t worry, it’s still a couple of floors from the very top.”

  He laughed raucously, along with three of the others. Omar was too focused to hear the exchange and, when Crouch begged for a toilet stop, all the mercs hesitated and looked to their leader.

  He checked his watch. “Five minutes,” he said, and came along with them. It had been a long flight from St Louis and everyone wanted to take advantage of the break. Crouch glanced back at the chopper’s position, noting the hotel was closest but that there were a couple of houses closer still. It couldn’t matter. His team would figure it out.

  Inside, they followed the directions of the receptionist to the nearest set of restrooms. Crouch and Terri made sure they smiled and laughed enough to catch the woman’s attention, joking about a skiing accident to explain away their cuts and bruises. Omar patted his pocket warningly. The mercs refrained from dragging Crouch along but only just.

  The ‘gold’ clues were in short supply now. Crouch had a line or two in mind for the clue, but no easy place to plant them. A stroke of luck came when the gender door plaques gleamed a golden color, but it was pretty damn thin.

  He was holding on to his crew by the very tips of his fingernails. If they could just follow for one more stop — one more trip — then Omar and his mercs would be stagnant for a while, caught inside a hotel and hopefully a room. There would be no more running.

  Or chasing.

  Crouch assumed the Hawaii reference he’d heard at the beginning was where the mercs intended to meet up. Or perhaps it was where the terrorists were headed. Either way, each successive step was bringing them closer.

  Inside a tiny cubicle, he quickly scribbled the next clue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Running hard, Alicia and her team arrived at their enemy’s chopper around thirty minutes later.

  “Steady,” Alicia sighted it and dropped low, scanning the area. She saw a hotel amidst extensive grounds, parked cars, trees — plenty of places to hide. She saw houses too, closer, with hedgerows bordering them and a low stone wall. She ran to cover, seeing pedestrians ahead, walking along the street. The helicopter looked abandoned and sat in a field adjacent to the hotel.

  “Footprints in the grass.” Russo nodded at the muddy field. “Possibly fresh.”

  “Car park.” Alicia saw their direction. “Austin? Start walking.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter if they take a potshot and blow your head off.”

  “Shit, really?”

  Alicia nodded. “How well can you drive?”

  “Umm… very well.”

  She ran for cover once more, aiming for the chopper. Russo came next, both of them taking a risk but knowing it would be better to be shot at here, where there was cover, than running across the open field. Alicia grew hugely conscious of wasted time and was soon hotfooting it out in the open toward the enemy chopper.

  It was empty, cool.

  “Damn, they’re long gone. Thirty minutes or more.”

  Russo hung his big head, reminding her of a St Bernard dog. “And no clue?”

  Caitlyn jumped aboard the chopper and gave it a quick once over. Alicia was certain Crouch wouldn’t have had chance to leave it on board. Her attention was then taken by the hotel.

  “I have utter faith that Michael pulled every trick in the book,” she said. “Also, Terri and Cutler are no slouches. They’ll be helping. That place… is the best bet.”

  Russo agreed with a shrug and started off in that direction. The team were tired and glum; Dave the pilot was still bleeding. Nobody spoke as they climbed over a wall into the hotel grounds and approached the entry doors. Alicia felt cold breezes tug at her bare skin and a gust ruffle her hair. The sound of arriving cars broke the silence. As they climbed a few steps to the door a young couple emerged, heads firmly together and smiles planted on their faces.

  The world turned.

  Alicia held the door for them, then pushed inside. The lobby was dim and quiet. A reception area stood at the far end and a lady with ringlets for hair and large-lensed glasses beamed at them from behind a desk.

  “Checking in?”

  Alicia walked across as fast as she dared. “We’re looking for friends. I wondered if you’d seen them.”

  The woman eyed their cuts and bruises warily. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, we’re all fine. Skiing accident.”

  The woman just frowned. “Hmm, a lot of those today.”

  “Really? Well… this is our friend, and his colleagues. Have you seen them?”

  The woman squinted first at the photo of Crouch and then at the blurry one of Terri and Cutler. Alicia watched her face and held her breath, more distressed than she would ever reveal.

  “I think so. Well, definitely that man. The others — maybe.” She nodded at a far wall. “They used the restroom facilities.”

  Alicia thanked her and left in a rush. Faced with two separate doors, they split up, taking a moment for a brief discussion.

  “Don’t look only for gold this time. Be ready for
anything.”

  “Got it.”

  Minutes later, they were reunited outside. Alicia and Caitlyn then followed Russo back into the gents, one with a smile on her face, the other with caution.

  Russo took a quick look at them behind him. “Huh, you can tell which one of you has been in the Men’s before.”

  Alicia grinned. “I’ve wrestled a few pythons in these places,” she admitted, “and a few shameless liars that found themselves quickly kicked out the door.”

  “Of the Men’s?” Caitlyn asked, wide-eyed.

  “Hey, if they’re coming up short there’s only one thing to do. Doesn’t matter where you are.”

  By now, Russo had led them to the correct cubicle and indicated the wall. Alicia saw Crouch’s usual handwriting and couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

  “Well done, Michael,” she whispered. “Well fucking done.”

  “What’s it say?” Caitlyn tried to crowd in.

  Alicia pushed her out as the door opened and an older man walked in, just in time to see Caitlyn, Alicia and Russo fall out of the cubicle. He gave them a wave and a grin and headed for the nearest urinal, already unbuckling.

  Alicia led the charge out the door. When they were safe in the lobby she read out the latest clue for all of them to hear.

  “AM,” she said. “Amid the Mojave, find your fruit and bandits. Here are mobsters and Golden Knights. Go high to exchange banners in the Stratosphere.”

  “Bloody easy,” Caitlyn said. “It’s Vegas.”

  Alicia agreed. Even without knowing the significance of fruit and bandits, and knights and ‘go high’, she knew Las Vegas was situated in the Mojave Desert, and was home to a tall casino called the Stratosphere. It was all they needed for now.

  All they needed to take up the chase once more.

  She grabbed Austin by the shoulder. “We need a car, new boy, and we need it now.”