Chasing Gold

by David Leadbeater

  In the end though, surprisingly it was Merriweather that finally came through. Aware of their destination he’d called ahead and warned the casino and its security detail, expressing the importance of the mission but not the objective. Guns were agreed upon by a very nervous management committee.

  Caitlyn would join them to a point, as would Austin. FBI agents were also in attendance; although, again, Merriweather had erred on the side of caution — too much police presence would draw attention.

  It was a dangerous, taut and narrow line that Merriweather walked.

  They took the elevators to the correct floor and headed for the only conference room that was known to be occupied at this time. The double doors were closed, so Alicia waited until everyone got into position.

  “Ready?”

  A tap on her shoulder signified the affirmative. Alicia had no idea what she might find on the other side of this door, but fervently hoped the scenario would involve Michael Crouch.

  It all came down to this.

  Taking a breath, steadying herself, she gripped her handgun and reached for the door handle.

  It was wrenched open from the inside and four men came rushing out. Somehow, they had been warned. She recognized two immediately as mercenaries she’d already tangled with. The view beyond was blocked by their bodies. They weren’t armed, so she couldn’t fire on them, but they hit her bodily and bore her to the ground. The men behind her were struck too, falling this way and that, trying to shrug off the attackers.

  Alicia rolled against the far wall, bent her legs into it, and pushed off. Her momentum rolled her attacker back and she tumbled right over the top of him. Another pair of legs brushed her face, shins striking her cheekbone and making her grunt in pain. From this vantage point she saw back down the corridor to where Caitlyn and Austin waited halfway to the elevator bank.

  She scissor-kicked her legs and jumped up, landing on both feet. Her opponent was rising so she brought an elbow down hard onto the back of his neck, sending him down in a heap on the floor. The doors to the conference room were wide open now and she edged inside.

  The room apparently ran the length of the entire floor, but could be partitioned off. She saw a half-raised partition to the right and then another; also doors flung wide open that were built into the fake walls. Mercenaries were hurrying underneath and through; she saw Omar and two more she recognized and then a whole bunch of others that had to be the terrorists taking charge of the banner. The flag itself wasn’t in sight, but she saw Crouch and Terri far to the right.

  “Hey!”

  Nobody acknowledged her. She didn’t fire on fleeing, unarmed men, but she did put her head down and run in pursuit. A couple of FBI agents were at her side, but Russo appeared to have been caught up in the corridor tangle.

  She slid under the first partition, letting the highly polished floors do the work, regaining her feet a moment later. Three more strides and she was behind the last man, leaping and delivering a flying kick to the small of his back which sent him tumbling forward into the next two men in a bone-clattering game of human skittles. Alicia leapt over them all, momentum taking her clear, and sped after the next in line.

  Even now, she was chasing Crouch.

  Ahead, she saw more mercs and then the tall man who appeared to be their leader. Crouch and the two thieves were just in front of him, running among mercs and terrorists. Alicia saw small things catching the light in the hands of her enemies and assumed they were makeshift weapons, ready to kill at a moment’s notice.

  She caught the next man up within seconds, who turned as he saw her arrival in the glass reflections to his left, then lashed out at Alicia. Still running, she caught his wrist, snatched it down and then backward, coming in close to ensure she broke the limb. The man screamed and fell away, one more in her wake. A quick glance behind showed that several FBI agents were tending the injured, or securing them, as three more tried to keep up with her. Russo was visible now too, his forehead smeared with blood.

  Alicia slid under a second partition, veered her run toward the glass vista to her left, and hooked a boot in front of another man’s running foot. This sent him sprawling headlong whilst she bounced off the floor and continued her sprint. She saw him reach desperately for her as she rushed by and narrowly missed stamping on his fingers.

  You can’t win ’em all.

  This time she leapt through a door, sensed a man awaited her on the other side, and threw her body forward. The dive caused his quickly lowered weapon to slice the back of her jacket rather than her face, but she was forced to halt and confront him.

  He hacked at her with a box-cutter, constant jabs which she deftly parried. Two thrusts sliced her skin, making the blood pour. Alicia treated him with respect, knowing this was a mercenary and had to have had some training, but the first time he overreached she caught his wrist, snapped it and then broke his nose before jamming the box cutter into his chest.

  He went down, groaning.

  Alicia spun and took stock. Half and fully raised partitions lay ahead all the way to the side of the tower. Most of the terrorists, along with Crouch, the thieves and two mercenaries, were already close to that edge and Alicia knew exactly why.

  A staircase, leading up or down.

  If all went as planned then, their adversaries would have only one way to go.

  She turned again, yelling at the following FBI agents to get the top floor evacuated as quickly as they could. Returning to the chase, she saw the mercenary leader yelling to another tall man that appeared to be ordering his terrorist minions left and right. At that moment Crouch also swiveled his head around.

  Alicia waved.

  Behind she heard Russo’s grumbled, outraged comment and realized the big man had caught up. Crouch turned away, running along with the two thieves.

  “He didn’t wave back!” Alicia sulked out loud.

  “Neither would I,” Russo panted back, “if I saw you.”

  “Out of shape, Rob?”

  “Saving myself.”

  “Believe me,” Alicia put on a spurt of speed, “she’s never gonna love you.”

  Russo growled at her back. Alicia counted six terrorists, three mercs, Crouch and the two thieves disappearing into an unobtrusive door built into the side of the tower. A green sign showed a man climbing a set of stairs. She dived to the side as one of her opponents flung a full-size chair at her.

  The legs struck her shoulder, then rebounded away. Pain shot through her, but only served to energize her entire body. She jumped over, picked up the chair, and sent it flying straight back at the merc. It struck the top of his shoulders and then bounced away down the stairs.

  Alicia wrenched open the door and leapt through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  The switchback staircase stretched up and up above her, echoing to the sound of stamping, rushing boots.

  Alicia caught sight of the banner for the first time. Two terrorists were lugging the long package at the front of the fleeing herd, struggling, sweating, but forging gamely ahead. Their boss, it seemed, ran right behind them, shouting every time they stumbled or slowed. The closest man to her was a mercenary she recognized, and he was running as if a hellhound was snapping at his heels.

  She was.

  Alicia flew up the risers two at a time, pocketing her gun now that nobody seemed prepared to use them. At this altitude, she thought, that’s not a bad thing. Nobody wanted to fall through a smashed window over one thousand feet in the air.

  The chase continued up, heading right for the top of the tower, and by now the less fit among them were starting to feel it. Feet slipped and tangled, sending men and women sprawling, making them lose precious seconds as they struggled once more to their feet. Alicia saw Russo at her back and then just a single FBI agent; she hoped the leaders above wouldn’t notice it.

  Surely more would be waiting inside the entertainment area.

  She caught the trailing merc, placing her hands on his shoulders, but he
spun, expecting it, and shrugged her off. A well-placed elbow to the face made her cover up in the corner, and then he was away again, pounding ahead with increased adrenalin.

  Russo came alongside her. “What the fuck are you doing, Myles?”

  “Sorting a wedgie. Get a move on.”

  Russo was so aghast he staggered up the next three steps. Alicia squeezed by him and laid on even more speed. She saw Crouch and Terri running alongside each other with Cutler just behind. The older man looked intensely white and unwell, and Alicia gritted her teeth even as she feared for him.

  Up the stairs lay the Top of the World restaurant, an intimate lounge saved for live entertainment, then the observation deck and finally the thrill ride levels. Alicia saw that already the leaders had bypassed the restaurant and lounge.

  Ah shit, that’s not good then.

  Most of the other levels were outside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Alicia burst through the doors, hot on the heels of the straggling mercenary. He’d slammed it back at her, but she took the blow on her outstretched arms and forced her way through. Beyond, a new world awaited.

  To the right, a double, vertical row of windows tilted outward, their clear glass giving an almost vertical view straight down the side of the tower. Beyond the windows she saw the red painted tracks of the rollercoaster that ran around the outside and huge, alien-looking green arms that belonged to other rides. A breeze blew through the place, since the doors that led to the rollercoaster were open.

  Terrorists crowded around the elevator doors. Mercs delayed in front of them. Alicia pulled up short of engaging anyone and eyed the huddle.

  Russo joined her. “What the fuck? What is this — brunch break?”

  Alicia caught Crouch’s eye, closer to him now than at any time in the last thirty six hours, but saw no helpful sign. No indication of his own intentions. What the hell does that mean?

  More FBI agents came in behind them now. One shouted: “Freeze, FBI!”

  Alicia turned and gave him a withering glare.

  As if on a prearranged signal, two mercenaries and two terrorists rushed them. They came as a mass, wielding no weapons, hitting Alicia and Russo unstoppably from the front simply because they had nowhere to go. The agents pressed in behind, fell back as Alicia and Russo staggered into them, their attackers throwing punches and using knees to gain headway. Alicia peeled away to the side, the windows at her back, to gain a little room, and found a man confronting her. Two haymakers caused her to block and retreat another two steps and then she felt a rail at her back.

  A shot was fired. One of the mercs went down. Somebody screamed at the shooter for being a goddamn fool. A melee erupted by the staircase doors, agents tripping and being herded by their aggressors. Russo stomped over to help Alicia.

  She pointed at the elevator lights that were blinking. “Stop them!”

  Russo came to a halt. Alicia took a blow to the stomach and then the chin. She rolled over the rail which appeared to be part of the rollercoaster queuing system. As she landed she kicked out, striking the other man’s shins and making him stagger. Then she rose fast, elbows striking out. If it weren’t for the rail she’d have progressed forward, but it hampered her movement. The man’s bloody visage was facing her again in just a few seconds.

  “You’re sacrificing your freedom for them?” she hissed “Give it up. Let us by. I’ll get you some leniency.”

  He struck out and they were evenly matched for a minute. Every second that passed screamed a warning to her brain. The staircase doors were still a mess. Russo was lumbering at the elevators but three aggressors were waiting to meet him, makeshift weapons ready.

  Crouch screamed something then at the top of his voice, a reiteration of his earlier words: “Chase the gold! Keep chasing the gold!”

  He conferred with Terri and Cutler as the mercs and terrorists around him pushed and huddled and fought off random attacks. Alicia saw it all even as she fought off the man standing before her. It was several seconds before she realized her mistake.

  The cold was at her back.

  “Crap and bol—”

  Her opponent pressed forward, delivering blow after blow so quickly that she knew exactly what this guy did every day from dusk until midnight. Feeling like a punch bag she pressed back. Her right foot balanced on a round rail which would be the edge of the track. High winds buffeted her, tugged at her hair and jacket. Her left leg backed up against a hard surface and she figured that would be the rollercoaster carriage.

  And this thing runs around the outside of the bloody tower.

  Fear mixed with adrenalin galvanized her efforts. She struck at the man’s weak areas, his pain receptors. She hit the nose and the eyes, the throat and the groin. He grunted and growled but came on, unstoppable, perhaps immune to everything he felt but the victory he could see just a few steps behind Alicia.

  And then he jumped at her.

  The amount of times Alicia had cried out in dread could be counted on the fingers of one hand, but this was one of them. The man launched himself fully off the floor, struck her upper body, and sent her tumbling backward, over the rollercoaster carriage. He landed short, striking his chin on the edge. She fell inside, smacking her spine against the seats, her head and shoulders leaning out of the far side.

  He rose before her. This wouldn’t be pretty. She kicked and kicked, stopping his advance and trying to lever herself up into a better position. A gale now slammed at her, flowing around the tower and funneling into the coaster station. To her left she could see a patch of ground, far below, all grays and browns and the distant, miniature tops of square and rectangular buildings that, from below, would probably seem very high indeed. To the right the coaster track curved away and around the tower as it emerged from a protective outer barrier.

  The man reared up again, and this time she was out of options.

  As he jumped into the carriage she somersaulted out of it, toward the drop. He landed heavily and she landed cat-like on the soles of her boots, both balanced on the outer track. He smashed his face into the hard surface and she leapt once more, coming down squarely on his neck. Even to her, battered as she was, the crunch was sickening.

  Unable to give up, she forced herself down from the carriage and back inside the tower.

  The elevators were chiming, white lights flashing. The man that she thought of as the terrorist leader was ready to push his banner-bearing men inside and had one arm around Crouch’s throat. Even from here she could tell he was a ruthless, violent individual. One other man guarded Terri with a similar threat, neutralizing both her and Cutler. And still, by the stairs, men fought and died. Russo had been felled by an attack and was even now struggling to his knees.

  Damn, it felt like I was out there a lifetime, yet it was just a few seconds.

  The elevator doors slid apart, their sudden arrival surprising even the men standing next to them. In seconds they had the banner maneuvered inside and were supporting its base. Alicia saw the end of everything right then, right there, as Crouch’s throat was squeezed; and sprinted forward with every ounce of energy that she had left.

  Like most battles she fought, it became a total melee. There was nothing clinical about battle, especially unarmed combat. Mostly it was just varying shades of chaos.

  The terrorist leader hauled back on Crouch’s throat. The merc leader jabbed his improvised weapon at Terri, forcing her toward the doors. Cutler fell at her side, catching hold of a window-rail to steady himself.

  A mercenary that had fought free of the staircase melee ran headlong for the doors.

  Alicia missed his shirt by inches. He kept on sprinting, now leaping the fallen Russo.

  Someone jabbed crazily at the inner buttons. Crouch’s face was bright red as he was hauled practically off his feet, heels dragging. The banner slipped and was then heaved back upright. Terri feigned an attack at her captor…

  Alicia saw it clearly.

  The attack made the man
focus solely on Terri, reach out a hand to steady her, and bring his weapon to bear.

  It gave Cutler precious seconds to make a move.

  The American thief darted away from the elevators, putting distance between himself and the enemy. He ran until he couldn’t go any further, pressed into a corner. Alicia reached out a desperate hand, clawing at empty air.

  The last things she saw were Terri’s boots as she was swung bodily inside, and Michael Crouch’s bulging eyes as he was choked into submission.

  * * *

  As the doors glided shut, all hell broke loose.

  Whatever fight remained in the struggling aggressors quickly dwindled away. The four agents that had been pitted against them crawled over and tugged zip-ties tight around their wrists before practically collapsing with exhaustion. On their knees, they shouted at each other and tried to unclip radios.

  Alicia figured how long it took to reach the ground floor. Half a minute? Then the walk through the casino. Another sixty seconds maybe. It would take them a little longer to subdue Crouch and Terri and make them presentable perhaps. Beyond that, it was game over.

  And here in Vegas, that expression held an ominous note of finality.

  “Is there another elevator bank?” she asked.

  Caitlyn and Austin threaded their way through the spent agents. The young woman ran a hand through her short hair and pointed at the corner wall that ran away to Alicia’s left.

  “That way!”

  With her chest heaving, every sinew burning, she heaved on Russo, dragging the man to his feet and put one foot before the other.

  We can make it. We have to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Crouch fought and gasped for breath, doubled over as the elevator fell. Something like a jackhammer pounded in his head. Blood dripped onto the floor at his feet; he knew that it was Terri’s because Omar had cut her with his weapon for enabling Cutler’s escape. Even now, the crazed mercenary was promising worse and threatening to sell her to the Far East’s worst slave-trade merchants. Ricci was ordering his two remaining men to make ready with the banner; restating its importance for the hundredth time. Crouch massaged his throat gingerly — he had never felt such strength. This man Ricci was a clandestine ninja it seemed, and even he had been thrown off by the bouffant haircut.