Crouch knew she meant well, but winced at her choice of words.
CHAPTER NINE
Alicia Myles left Crouch’s house with Russo and went straight to the pub.
It was a quaint, out-of-town, amber-lit affair that sold real ale and had bowls of pork scratchings on the bar. Alicia ordered two pints and grabbed a bowl to take to their table.
She sat down with her back to a small rectangular window that was divided into nine equal panes, the darkness pressing against the glass. Russo took the seat opposite her. Together, they reached out for the savory food.
Alicia pulled her hand away. “You go.”
Russo slid the bowl toward her. “After you.”
Alicia sighed. “Don’t be a dickhead, Rob. Just grab a damn handful.”
Whilst the big man ate, Alicia placed a thick folder down on the table and opened the plastic cover. Inside, was a rough table of contents, the main highlights being four names: John Marco, Elyse, Alan Ralston and Chase Talbot.
“These are our targets? The four treasure thieves?”
Alicia nodded, flicking to the first.
“John Marco. English. Ex-SAS infiltrator supreme.” Alicia arched an eyebrow. “He’s their leader. Adrenaline junkie. Mid-thirties.”
“Way after your time in the SAS,” Russo said with a sly smile.
Alicia pinned him with a stare. “We’re about the same age, but I’ve never heard of him. Different regiments, different divisions. Feels like my SAS days were decades ago.” She was speaking under her breath, staring wistfully into the middle distance.
“First woman?”
“You know it. Paid my dues.”
Russo nodded respectfully. “Who’s next?”
“Elyse.” Alicia glanced down at the sheet. “A one-name woman. Like Shakira.”
Russo sat up. “I wish.”
Alicia showed him a photo of a physically fit woman with short black hair and tattoos. “She’s ex-FBI. Specialist in leverage. She blackmails people. Or at least, she used to.”
Russo grunted and took a long swallow of ale. “Next?”
Alicia showed him the other two. Ralston was a smart-dressed tech guy that enjoyed lauding it over others and Chase was a firearms expert, ex-marine and highly trained martial artist.
“They did the job,” Russo said. “Stole the treasure. Realized they got burned. Hid the loot and then split. They know they’re running for their lives because they’re connected to the same underworld figures as Akhon.”
“Conversely,” Alicia said, “that’s one of the reasons they’re able to evade him.”
“They split up,” Russo said. “Had to. I know it’s an assumption but it’s the right one.”
Alicia watched him think it through. It had been some time since she’d set eyes on the craggy-faced man-mountain but Russo appeared to be even more introspective than before, if that was possible. He was a thinker, a quiet figure that liked to build up to his decisions. Quite the opposite of Alicia.
In their time apart she had been running with her official team, now called Strike Force, and operating all over the globe, from Devil’s Island to Paris and London, Las Vegas and Tokyo. They’d escaped nuclear explosions, foiled a Fabergé heist, saved the US President’s life and fought samurai and shinobi warriors whilst searching for four sacred treasures. For Alicia, it had been a character building several months. She’d taken charge of her own mission, at first hesitant but then realizing she wanted this. She wanted to lead. The revelation, whilst enervating and eye-opening, had planted a niggling seed in her head, a question that needed answering.
Do I need my own team?
Need, rather than want. The difference was clear to her. It had been on her mind ever since Tokyo.
“Plan of action,” she said before Russo could say anything. “We can’t chase all four. If we grab two, we can’t then lock them down and go after the other two without some serious backup. I say we go after Marco and Elyse, who appear to be the most influential. The other two are tech and muscle, essentially.”
Russo shoveled a handful of pork scratchings into his mouth. “I agree,” he said, munching. “It saves our resources too. Shall I take Elyse?”
Purely because he suggested it, Alicia switched it. “I’ll take Little Miss Blackmail. You take the adrenalin junkie.”
Russo grunted. “Don’t expect me to climb Mount fucking Everest to catch him.”
“We need to talk to them, not hurt or kill them,” Alicia went on. “They’re on our side, at least until we get Duggan back.”
Russo agreed. “And they should know that,” he said. “Clearly, they don’t want to be on the run forever. They want to return to what they do best. Perhaps they’re even running out of money, or goodwill. The reward we’re offering them—is freedom.”
“You’re assuming we’re gonna double cross Akhon when he gives us Duggan back?”
Russo frowned. “That’s a given.”
“Is it? Duggan’s an Oxford professor, an innocent in fear of his life, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Marco and co are four career thieves, helping to bankrupt a company with thousands of employees.”
“So you’re saying we might sacrifice them?”
Alicia shrugged. “Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. An op’s always a fluid situation, Russo. You know that.”
“Back to the job.” Russo didn’t look convinced. Alicia had to lean forward since the two of them were talking under the general hubbub that filled the pub. To her right and over Russo’s cliff-like shoulder, men and women meandered through tables on their way to the bar or moved chairs around tables. They drank alone or in groups. They looked at each other briefly, either looking for friends or searching for mates. Alicia watched them all. She catalogued them all. She was never off her guard.
“Marco and Elyse obviously know they’re being hunted,” Russo was saying. “They’ll be next to impossible to find.”
“We both have our contacts. Best start using them.”
“We’ll need to be clever.”
“Ah, shit. Sorry, I guess that rules you out.”
Russo rattled the folder. “Special Forces. Ex-FBI. Ex-marine. These guys are ghosts if they want to be.”
“But this isn’t the first job they’ve pulled off.” Alicia smiled. “And I’d stake my ass that it isn’t the second or third either. To pull this off, they need the smarts only long experience can build. You can be sure somebody in the Intel game knows them.”
“Likes. Dislikes. Habits. Loves. Hates.” Russo sat back and folded his arms. “Sounds like a good place to start.”
“Speaking of that.” Alicia finished her pint and handed Russo the information sheet pertaining to Marco before standing up and nodding at the door. “We’re short of time. We should get moving, mate.”
Russo finished the dregs of his ale. “Keep in touch.”
They shook hands. They might not be the best of friends but they both had the greatest respect for each other’s skills. Alicia would have preferred to stay with Russo, to work together, but Crouch and, mostly, Duggan, needed the swift conclusion to this search that tugging at two threads rather than one could achieve.
Alicia walked out of the door and into the parking lot. A cool, snappy wind whisked by her. The pub had outdoor lighting, but she shunned it, heading around the back and the darkness of a closed beer garden. She sat on a wooden bench, looking out over a black, still lake, staring at a distant horizon and wondering where it might take her.
Years of chasing it and then letting go had led her to this point. Friends had vanished and died and gotten lost. Loves had come and gone; they’d fooled her and betrayed her and then made her whole again.
It was time to make a call.
Alicia didn’t know where Russo had gone. She’d let him go his own way, make his own moves. Was that the right thing to do? Was that what a leader would do? Either way, it didn’t matter now. She was starting a manhunt and needed every ounce of focus.
The clock was ticki
ng.
CHAPTER TEN
Crouch paced the room, glancing up at Caitlyn when he passed her.
“You know what we want?”
The young analyst nodded. “For the fourth time, I’m on it.”
“Sorry. I can’t stop thinking about Duggan and what the poor man’s going through.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well, it kind of is. I brought him into this. They abducted him purely because he’s non-military, not trained to withstand interrogation as I would be. They were watching me, my house, and I didn’t even see them.”
Caitlyn chose not to answer that directly, instead pointing at her screen. “Your friend, Sally Hope, has sent us the galleon’s manifest. As well as being hard to decipher there’s a clear lack of anything too valuable declared. I mean, there are silks, porcelain and spices, but nothing that stands out.”
“We know the Spaniards failed to gain control of the shipments. They couldn’t insist on an accurate manifest.”
“Yes, so we’re stuck with local accounts and legends.”
“You’re saying we have to go to Acapulco?”
“Not yet, but it may come to that.” Caitlyn ran a hand through her short black hair before continuing. “The galleon trade was buoyed mostly by merchants from Asian ports, traveling to Manila to sell the Spaniards their spices, ivory and much more. The Spaniards then used the galleons to take these goods and sell them across the Americas in return for hoards of silver, which they sailed back later in the year. The treasures aboard the Santa Azalea were probably of Asian origin.”
“Probably,” Crouch agreed. “But not definitely. They could be Spanish. Hell, any European individual could have paid to ship them across the ocean.”
“They’re lucky they made it so far. Twenty galleons were wrecked in the Philippine archipelago alone. They were captured by the British. Attacked by pirates. And here’s another thing: the route they plied for 250 years took them south of the Hawaiian Islands, but no historical accounts of the two cultures ever crossing paths exist. The Spanish discovered Guam, the Marianas, the Solomon Islands and New Guinea. It’s certainly possible that the Spanish discovered Hawaii many years before Captain Cook’s first visit in 1778.”
“They kept the route secret,” Crouch recalled. “To avoid the attentions of pirates. That would be why they never published the fact that they found Hawaii. What a shame.”
Caitlyn sat back and stared at him. “What have you found out?”
Crouch was reluctant to say. Whilst she had gotten a start on the treasure hunting, he had been looking into Akhon.
“It’s not good at all. This Akhon character, he’s an Egyptian working in the Middle East. He heads a group calling themselves The Assyrians. They have a bad reputation, happy to send any goon out to do any job. Everyone’s expendable, from employees to victims. Some say they’re a terrorist group, most say they are a mongrel mix. Parts of everything. Akhon has the resources to do exactly as he pleases.”
“Where’s he based?”
“Don’t know. He moves around a lot, or at least his organization does. My guess is, for this, he’s stationed over in Mexico somewhere, ready to move at a moment’s notice. He probably has Duggan with him.”
“We’ll save him, Michael.”
Crouch didn’t respond. Words were easy. Deeds were harder. “The Assyrians run a network of criminals engaged in assassination, smuggling, prostitution, terrorism for hire, luxury goods’ theft and much more. They aren’t subtle. They’re blunt instruments armed to the teeth. Akhon is a ruthless leader. My contacts at Interpol and inside the Mabahith tell me he’s about as bad as bad gets.”
Caitlyn scrunched up her nose. “Mabahith?”
“The Saudi secret police. My friend says Akhon is rarely in the country and has never been captured. He’s as wily as he is pitiless.”
“Then where are we?” Caitlyn’s direct question made Crouch realize he had fallen into a bit of a fugue. He was wallowing, worry for Duggan clouding his thought processes.
“Everyone I know is trying to track them down,” he said. “And thanks for the kick up the arse.”
Caitlyn nodded. “The feeling’s mutual. We all need a boost at times. This team has helped me turn my life around.”
Crouch nodded. “Keep searching,” he said. “The answer will be there. It always is. We just have to turn over enough stones to uncover it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Alicia flew straight to Lyon, France.
By the following morning she was seating on a bench on the outskirts of a large park, coffee in one hand, croissant in the other. She wore black jeans and a white jacket, reflector sunglasses and supportive sneakers. She looked an odd mix, but cared not one bit. Alicia dressed for herself and with an eye to her own security. The jacket covered a concealed weapon that, due to her to real job, she was allowed to carry. She also had knives and a smoke grenade secreted around her apparel, the latter of which she’d bought from a contact that morning.
Impatiently, she waited.
Armand Argento appeared at precisely the right time, as she’d known he would. He scowled at her, as she’d known he would. The Starbucks takeaway cup in his left hand was gripped tightly, the donut in his right already two-thirds eaten.
Argento was always a man in a hurry.
“Been a while,” Alicia said by way of introduction.
Argento took the space next to her. “It is my breakfast break.” He waved his full hands at her. “What do you want?”
“The info you sent Michael concerning the four suspects was pretty good, mate, but I need more.”
“Pretty good?” Argento looked aghast.
“All right, it was great, if a little thin. Turns out we’re gonna have to track at least two of them down. I need you to do a deep dive on Elyse.”
Argento looked pained. “You insult me and then ask for a favor. Don’t hurt my feelings again.”
Alicia inclined her head a little irritably. “We’re on the clock here.”
“And I could be fired for helping you. For helping Michael. Even I am not infallible.”
“We appreciate it.”
“Yes, yes. You and a dozen other people around the world. What have you fed me lately?”
Alicia held up her paper bag. “Croissant?”
“I don’t know why I like you.” Argento looked askance at her. “But I do.”
“Happens a lot.”
“Unlikely. But I can help. The four thieves in question are not high on the watch list. I think it’s because they are very good at what they do. Nobody even knows they’re committing the crimes that they do. Consequently, that means information is very scarce on this team.”
“I won’t tell you your job, Argento. You know what to do.”
“Indeed I do. Where will you be?”
“Right here. I’ll return in four hours.”
“That might not be enough time for a real deep dive.” Argento frowned. “But I can try for you.”
“It has to be,” Alicia said. “Michael’s friend’s life is in real danger.”
Argento nodded and pulled out his phone. “I can get the ball rolling,” he said. “I have a friend...”
The way he spoke on the phone told Alicia that friend might be female. A number of witticisms came to mind, but she kept her mouth closed. This wasn’t the time. Instead, she sat back on the bench, face upturned to the sun, drinking in its warmth. The park around them was quiet. People strolled or sat in couples or watched their children play on swings and slides. It was a world far removed from her own.
A world she would never know.
“It will be done.” Argent interrupted her musings and finished the last of his donut before standing up and tipping his coffee cup at her. “Be on time. Leaving the office while on shift is frowned upon. For some reason, Interpol believes it is a good way to share clandestine information with friends.”
Alicia waved her croissant at him. “Even you?”
“Especially me. The higher you rise the bigger your target.”
Alicia watched him hurry off. What the hell was she going to do in Nice for four hours?
*
It turned out that Nice was a lot smaller than she’d thought. Alicia didn’t like to linger anywhere, and four hours was about 200 minutes too long. By the time she returned to the park to meet Argento she was seriously considering kicking the kids off the play equipment and whiling away fifteen minutes recalling her youth. She started to walk over, but then spotted a familiar figure entering the park from the east.
Argento. Thank God.
“Hey, amico mio, sit down and listen.”
“You have something?”
“I have what I have.” The Italian shrugged. “I hope that is enough. The prospect of chasing ghosts is not pleasant and these ghosts, I am afraid, are very good at avoiding the radar.”
Alicia put an arm over the back of the bench and turned to face him. “That doesn’t sound very uplifting.”
Armand turned to the folder he carried. “Elyse,” he said. “No second name these days. Ex-FBI. Worked at Quantico for eight years. Worked in the field. Records say she’s thirty-two, very fit, and world class when it comes to gaining any kind of leverage. All these agencies have their little secrets, their dirty ways, but Elyse was way beyond all that.”
“There’s only so much dirt you can dig up,” Alicia said.
“Half these people... what they can’t find out they assume. Or fabricate. Elyse always wears shorts and a T-shirt, no matter the weather. She’s—”
“That’s some pretty deep diving.”
“People think their lives aren’t private anymore?” Argento shook his head. “They have no idea. She’s a martial artist, a good one, and has several tattoos that we know of.”
“How many?”
“Three. Bicep. Ankle. Buttock.”
Alicia glared. “How the hell—”
“Don’t ask, because I don’t know. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”
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