Chasing Gold

by David Leadbeater

“No problem.” He didn’t hesitate. “Car park’s full of ’em.”

  “Comfortable and fast.” Alicia ran past the receptionist and out the doors, jumping down the steps.

  “Already on it.”

  It took just a few minutes to thank Dave and leave him comfortably awaiting the arrival of the local police, with a line open to the FBI. He would be their mouthpiece for this leg of the journey. Alicia just hoped the authorities could keep up.

  Five minutes later and they were fitted easily inside a large Mercedes; old enough to accept hotwiring but new enough not to be a clunker. Austin looked contented behind the wheel. Alicia reflected over the clue once more and realized something quite quickly.

  “There’s no time,” she said. “We don’t know when they’re scheduled to arrive.”

  “Let’s get there first,” Russo said. “We can worry about that later. It sounds like an exchange, maybe the mercs are handing the banner off?”

  “Maybe, but let’s not put words into each other’s mouths,” Caitlyn said. “Other than Crouch, the banner is clearly the main spectacle here. I believe a little more research is in order.”

  “It’s a bloody flag,” Alicia muttered as she sat back in her seat, nursing her wounds and taking painkillers.

  “Exactly right,” Caitlyn said. “It’s stained with the metaphorical blood of the Americans when they beat the English. When they won a pivotal battle. They’ve built it up as a great symbol ever since, bolstering and increasing its importance until it now gives a great upswelling to most of the population. We don’t have an original Union Jack in England, but imagine how dear we would hold it — this physical thing — if we did.”

  “I get it,” Alicia said. “Just see what you can find.”

  Late afternoon was dwindling away already as they started to drive. Everyone was tired, their eyes hooded and heavy, and Alicia soon came up with a rota to keep them all fresh. Austin looked so happy at the wheel that she didn’t want to disturb him. Caitlyn and Russo, she sent to sleep. The banner research could wait.

  It gave her time to reflect on where they were.

  Still chasing, still fighting, still confident that they would save their friend and the Star-Spangled Banner that had started this whole journey. Here they were, now halfway across America and still with many miles to go.

  Promises to keep.

  I won’t let you down, Michael.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Alicia became used to Austin’s engaged and vibrant driving style, rolling with the bends and settling in for the straights. The mountain they followed wound down the rock face, bordered by snow at the top but becoming increasingly lush as they descended. Grudgingly, and in silence, she had to admit he was good.

  Austin used the gears to slow them down more than he should, but then this wasn’t his car. He clipped the apexes of bends, giving the occupants a smoother ride. As the night darkened he only drove better, maintaining speed, able to see approaching headlights far in advance.

  Caitlyn woke and resumed her research around the Star-Spangled Banner. Russo woke too, but only because of an elephantine snore which had him sitting upright, suddenly wide-eyed.

  “What was that?”

  Alicia smiled blearily. “Wart hog got in the car. I had to fight it off.”

  Russo eyed her suspiciously, checked his body and then rubbed his eyes sleepily. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight,” Alicia yawned. “Wake me in two hours.”

  But her body clock was finely attuned and brought her awake five minutes before 2 a.m. Austin was complaining about roadworks and how they were almost as bad as those in the UK. This elicited a huge laugh from Russo and an embarrassed shrug from Austin.

  “All right, all right, maybe not.”

  Alicia checked for drool before speaking. “Have you stopped yet?”

  “Nah, we were waiting for Sleeping Beauty to rise.”

  She narrowed her eyes toward the back. “Did he go to sleep again?”

  Russo gave her the finger. She became more aware then of how slow they were going. “Have we lost much time?”

  “Maybe an hour. I guess they’re improving the roads before skiing season starts in earnest. Doesn’t help us though.”

  Time was everything. She didn’t care if they had to camp out inside the Stratosphere for days; they simply had to make that meeting. Another twenty minutes passed and then they managed to pull over for a quick pit stop.

  Alicia stood outside the car, breathing the early morning air. It was crisp and cold, refreshing. The darkness lay overhead in an unending dome. It felt like the whole planet was motionless around her, nothing moving, nothing living. In this place, at this time, she could almost feel worry-free, perfectly alive. The landscape stretched away in all directions: unblemished, flat lands and scrub now with mountains far behind.

  Russo broke the spell, his voice a whisper in the overwhelming silence. “Bought you a coffee.”

  “Thanks, Rob.”

  “We good to go?”

  “Just waiting for Austin. The kid has a bladder the size of a bag of Skittles.”

  “Beautiful out here, huh?”

  She took in the air and the silence once more. “Yeah, if it weren’t for Crouch and the banner this would be the perfect road trip.”

  Russo laughed quietly. “A method of getting away from it all? Well, now you know what to do. Grab your man Drake, and drive across America.”

  “I might just do that.”

  Austin appeared running around a corner, zipping up his flies and buckling his belt as he came. Alicia shook her head, climbed into the car and took a sip of coffee. Austin bounced into the driver’s side.

  “Did you wash your hands?” she asked.

  The kid grinned. “Yes, Mum.”

  “Good. Then get a fucking move on.”

  Tires spewed gravel as the car set off quickly, fishtailing onto the blacktop and roaring toward the middle distance. Alicia imagined a straight road vanishing at the horizon, marked only by a single white line.

  From the back seat, Caitlyn spoke up. “Interestingly The Star-Spangled Banner was made the national anthem in 1931. As you know, the lyrics were written during the battle of 1814, but the music came from a British song, written in the 1700s.”

  “Probably best to keep that quiet,” Russo said.

  “I won’t speak a word of it,” Caitlyn went on. “But the banner and the song go hand in hand. It was by dawn’s early light that Francis Scott Key looked through a spyglass and saw an American flag still waving over Fort McHenry in 1814 after a terrible night of British shelling. He then wrote down song lyrics, not poetry. He first wrote the words ‘star-spangled flag’ in an 1805 poem, which accompanied the melody ‘To Anacreon in Heaven’—the British tune I mentioned.”

  “It is a large part of the American story,” Russo said. “And the dream.”

  “There was no original title for the song, but Baltimore newspapers printed it as Defense of Fort McHenry. It was a Baltimore music store that later reprinted the patriot song with sheet music under the current title. It wasn’t until over a century later that it became the national anthem.”

  Alicia let Caitlyn’s words lull and relax her as Austin drove. She trusted the young man’s driving skills now, and was able to allow him free rein — at least behind the wheel.

  “And to cap it all,” Caitlyn said. “Key was a one hit wonder. None of his other compositions were successful and he was probably tone deaf, according to his family.”

  “Amazing,” Alicia said. “It’s good to see it ranked up there with the Statue of Liberty and the Charters of Freedom then.”

  Caitlyn snapped her laptop shut. “Let’s do all we can to save this American icon shall we?”

  Alicia nodded. “And our English icon. How far to Vegas, kid?”

  Austin tapped the clock on the dash. “Two hours. See, it’s lightening. The long night has passed. We’ll be seeing the city limits and dropping down towar
d that valley before you know it.”

  Alicia stared out the window. “Hang in there, Michael. We’re coming.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Crouch had never been inside the Stratosphere Hotel and Casino before, but expected it to mirror most of the other Strip resorts. He wasn’t surprised by the layout and the décor, and particularly wasn’t surprised to find it extremely busy at 6 a.m. These places never closed, and many tourists liked to sleep through the day and party at night.

  The actual building soared 350 meters into the sky and was the tallest freestanding observation tower in the United States. Crouch craned his neck to see all the way to the top, but almost walked into one of his kidnappers and received an angry glare for his troubles. Crouch held both hands up to show no ill intent.

  To the right, both Terri and Cutler were being closely watched. There was nothing to stop them bolting now and the mercenaries had made it clear that, if they were forced to, they would shoot both thieves in the leg. Crouch surveyed the parking lot for random police cars or other authority figures but saw nothing. He did spy a donut shop a hundred meters past the Stratosphere and smiled ironically.

  The count was six mercs, the original pilot that had now joined the team, and the boss — Omar. Crouch watched three of the men struggling with the pruned banner, which was now packaged in fancy wrapping paper and sported three bright red bows. Its appearance wouldn’t raise any eyebrows among the security personnel of a high-roller casino.

  Crouch pulled his jacket closed to stave off a chill, and looked at the two thieves. “This is the hand off,” he said. “Be ready.”

  “Us or the banner?” Terri asked, still light on her toes and fresh faced despite the journey.

  “Banner,” Crouch said. “And probably us too, to be fair. This is where the real terrorists join the fun.”

  Terri frowned. “Fun?”

  “Sorry, that’s my stupid humor.”

  “This could be our last shot at freedom,” Terri muttered.

  Crouch kept it low. “This time, I agree. Try to sync whatever we do together though.”

  The mercs had been forced to leave their guns behind since all modern casinos in Vegas possessed state of the art security measures. Their overpowering threat was their number, and Omar’s ruthlessness. Crouch was a soldier, though, and willing to test their enemy at the favorable time; he assumed Terri and Cutler would be ready to help.

  Although Cutler appeared to have become even more reticent, ignoring Crouch now.

  They passed through the entry doors and followed a path between slot machines to the elevator banks. The doors were silver and comparatively narrow. Although they had arrived in Vegas early, at 6 a.m., they had waited until ten minutes before the meet to head up to the top of the tower. Omar didn’t want to appear too keen. Inside, the elevators were marked accordingly. Omar pressed the button that would take them to the meeting rooms, just below the observation and roller-coaster decks, which pleased Crouch no end. He was scared of heights; he just chose not to let the fear debilitate him.

  Silence accompanied their short journey upward. All the men knew their jobs. Omar had talked it through a hundred times; but the sudden silence was still deafening after the clamor inside the casino. Crouch found himself standing with his hands down by his thighs, pinned there by sheer weight of bodies as securely as any zip-ties.

  “Not how I imagined my first entry to the Stratosphere,” he said to ease the tension. “Any of you been here before?”

  He wanted them at ease; wanted them to discuss their plans; wanted them to think of him as just an annoyance. In an ideal world — he wanted them to discuss onward plans with the terrorists.

  Unlikely.

  But they were a talkative bunch.

  It was Terri that answered, though. “We’ve been here before, but not to gamble. It was mainly at night too.”

  Crouch sighed. “I guess it’s that kind of place.”

  “For us, it had to be.”

  The elevator slowed and the mercs growled a warning. Crouch was glad to be free of the restrictive box. He found himself in a narrow, carpeted corridor and followed Omar to the right. It was good to know your escape route, and now he had locations of all elevators and the staircase positions. Omar slowed and checked his watch.

  “Get your game faces on. This is what we came for.”

  The mercs muttered affirmations and checked for what Crouch knew were many improvised weapons. Even a credit card, cut along the edge, could be deadly if wielded by someone that knew what they were doing.

  Terri nudged Crouch. “We see what we’re dealing with first.”

  He nodded. Omar knocked at a discreet door and then immediately opened it. The entire group filed in.

  Crouch entered a large conference room — a huge wooden table at the center of a wood-paneled, wood-floored room, with eighteen chairs fitting perfectly underneath. He saw pitchers of water and pristine glass tumblers on the table, and several plates with an assortment of plain and sweet pastries, and a high-end Gaggia coffee machine. The room pervaded a strong coffee aroma, mixed with baking. Very civilized. At the far end a high bank of windows overlooked the Strip as it bent south toward the other casinos, which Crouch knew included the Mirage, Paris and Luxor. A huge horizon greeted him, sending his nerve receptors into overtime until he forced his eyes away. Still a little dizzy, he scrutinized the other occupants of the room.

  The so-called terrorists were seven strong and dressed like tourists. Several I Love Vegas T-shirts were in evidence, as well as the What Happens in Vegas staple. Caps hid faces. Trainers were brand new and poorly laced. Crouch observed that everyone had their hands in their pockets except for one man, who stepped forward.

  He was tall, the same height as Omar but much more solidly built. His face was open and clean shaven, but his eyes were as dark as the worst pits of sin Crouch had ever seen. His hair was cut and trimmed to designer quality and pitch black; a display of free enterprise perhaps, but maybe just part of the disguise.

  “I am Ricci,” he said. “At last, we finally meet. I wasn’t sure you would make it.”

  Omar stepped forward and poured himself a glass of water. “If I am being honest, it has been harder than expected.” He sipped a little. “But here we are.”

  His men ranged out at his side, many pairs of eyes watching many more. The tension inside the room was a living thing, crushing the rest of the world away, removing it from consciousness. Crouch, as much as anyone, was waiting for something to go wrong.

  Ricci looked them over. “Is that the banner?”

  Omar nodded and ordered his men to heft it along the floor until it lay at Ricci’s feet. In turn, the terrorist boss ordered his men to unwrap and examine it.

  “I see you have captives. Why are they here?”

  “We couldn’t exactly leave them in the car.” Omar forced a laugh. “Don’t worry, they are to be sold. They will not bother you.”

  “Are these two our world class thieves?” Ricci nodded toward Terri and Cutler.

  “Yes…” Omar said hesitantly and a little suspiciously.

  “And who is the other man?”

  “Ex-British soldier. Appears to work for the FBI now.”

  Crouch’s heart sank. How had they found out?

  Ricci’s face gained a malevolent grin and his eyes swirled with vindictive potential. “Soldier, you say?”

  “Yeah; it’s his crew that have been chasing us from DC.”

  “And you lost them?” the terrorist asked.

  “Sure did. Over the Rocky Mountains. We haven’t stopped since.”

  Ricci nodded and then spent a few minutes conferring with the men who’d been examining the banner. A nod of satisfaction followed and then an appraising glance over at Omar.

  “You know what we’re going to do with this?”

  Omar shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “Yet you are American.”

  “I support only myself, not the country that
uses me. Once I am rich, then I’ll choose somewhere to live on my own terms.”

  “Ah, an entrepreneur. Well, I wouldn’t choose America. She’s going to implode right after we make this British soldier burn their flag live on air.”

  Omar made a face. “He’s worth money, and insurance for us.”

  “I thought you said you lost his crew.”

  “We did, and he’s not bugged, but I prefer safe than sorry.”

  “I’ll pay you extra for all three. One million bonus, wired to your account right now.”

  Omar whistled. “You need the thieves too?”

  “They will make a good warm up act, if you get my drift.”

  Omar winced. “You’re able to transport them all to Hawaii?”

  “It’s not your concern. Don’t worry, I don’t need your help with that and I have many plans ready. Private jets fly from LAX to Honolulu all the time. These three may even find Turtle Bay relaxing for a short time, depending on what we do with them whilst we wait for the Shoshone Star. Do you agree?”

  “To the trade? Yes.”

  “Then all is good.” Ricci smiled and spread his hands — a manicured demon emerging from his own personal hell — just for a moment. “Make the transfer.”

  Another man laid a laptop on the table and started tapping away.

  Omar turned to Crouch, grinning, and then nodded toward the two thieves. “So, this is where we part. I must say, I don’t like the sound of your futures.”

  Crouch didn’t reply.

  It’s now… or never.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Alicia knew every plan changed once enemy contact was established, but that didn’t mean they could just wing it. Research told them that a suite of low-key, private conference rooms sat below the entertainment level near the top of the Stratosphere tower. Alicia and Russo weighed the odds of trying to iron-fist their way into the casino with guns and ammo, perhaps asking the guards to call Agent Merriweather, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. The other parties would be in the same boat, Alicia decided, and it wasn’t as though Russo and she weren’t weapons themselves.