As Argento fell silent, Alicia held up a hand. “Is that it? I couldn’t find a mouse in Disneyland with that bollocks.”
The Italian tried but couldn’t stop a grin. “Again, you tickle me. I think it might be fun, hitting the road with you.”
“Hitting the...” Alicia narrowed her eyes at the man. “We’re not teaming up here, man. I’m not Batbitch and you’re definitely not Christian Bale. Do you have anything else?”
Argent grabbed his chest. “Ah, you hurt me. There are stabbing pains. But no, I have very little else.”
Alicia slumped a little. “Shit, then I guess we’re at Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yeah. Wait you said—‘very little else.’”
Argento smirked a little. “The bicep tattoo is a little low on the arm to be fair. Elyse’s single mistake. And she can’t hide her face too well. She registered three low key hits twice in the last month. All were around the resort of Brunnen in Switzerland. It sits at the edge of Lake Lucerne and is a hot spot for hikers and others that enjoy exploring the mountain passes. Such an activity, when done alone, is quite private and, the one pastime that Elyse loves that I haven’t yet told you about, is trekking. Rambling. Hiking.”
“I get the idea. So you think she’s hiding out in the Swiss Alps?”
“Is or was. Makes sense as well. Brunnen is a tourist hotspot, new faces every day. She can blend as she’s been taught to do. She can lie low, venturing out only when she’s hiking where, again, she can hide her identity. You have to understand that Interpol gets thousands of facial and body recs a day, all over the world. She knows that. We’re never gonna follow up on her, particularly when she and her crew have committed all their crimes in so much secrecy that we don’t know precisely what they are. In addition to that, she also knows that this Akhon and his Assyrians don’t have our CCTV capabilities and will mostly be relying on boots on the ground. He’ll never find her out there.”
Alicia took a breath. “Is it a big place?”
Argento shook his head. “No, but it’s crowded. If you’re thinking of bumping into her at the coffee shop, I’d switch to Plan C.”
Alicia thanked him and rose, galvanized once more. The four hours of inactivity were a mere nightmare memory as she planned her next move, going forward, speeding into that horizon.
In two hours, she could be in Brunnen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Year 1733
When Gabriel dragged himself out of the small, weather-beaten boat and onto Acapulco’s pitch black, gravel-strewn beach he was more dead than alive. Juan, the guard that had helped him, was even worse, cut, battered and bruised from the nightmare escape. The hurricane continued to beat up the Mexican coast and the nearby ocean. The Santa Azalea could no longer be seen, but that didn’t mean it was no longer there.
Gabriel breathed deeply with his mouth and face pressed against sand and stone. He could smell rich earth, salt, water and something like mold that reminded him of food gone bad. He could feel his body recovering slowly, starting to shiver, the bruises beginning to scream their presence. Blood trickled down from his forehead and splashed the beach.
But the reassuring bulk of the gray sack was at his side. Dripping wet, but intact.
Gabriel groaned. His eyes sighted on Juan lying several feet away to his left. Waves lapped over his boots, continuously soaking his trousers. Inside Gabriel was the will to move, but not the strength. Above, the demonic beast that was the black heart of the hurricane roared its fury at the ground, tearing apart everything within its grasp. Hell did not allow Acapulco any reprieve.
Gabriel was shifted by a great gust of wind, his body physically rolled. The shock galvanized his system into action, firing adrenaline at his nerves. With a great effort he rose to his knees, head hanging, dripping wet.
“Help... me...”
It was Juan’s voice, soft, heard only in a lull from the weather. Gabriel now saw that Juan was lying in several inches of water, drowning when the tide rushed in, spluttering softly when it receded. The guard was so drained he couldn’t move.
Gabriel crawled over. Rough gravel jabbed at his knees and shins, helping to clear his weary, confused head.
Have we really made it?
Many times aboard the small skiff he had thought his time was up. Many times, the boat had been flung to the depths or had risen to the highest crests of monstrous waves. Twice it had been lifted by the prodigious gales, plucked up by the hand of a damned and evil god, and thrown through turbulent air.
Every time it had landed on its hull, its occupants intact.
Now, Gabriel reached Juan and dragged him further up the beach. In all his years at sea Gabriel had never experienced this level of hurricane. He wished never to see it again. He would never return. Tonight had proven that he would rather die on land than under black, terrifying waters. The seas had lost their bright lure.
Gabriel sat upright, still hurting. He faced the sea. It sent waves at him as if it could sense his thoughts, rippling surf that attempted to claim him, drag him back to die. The winds raged. Though the hurricane had struck at sundown, it was now many hours later and full-on night. Gabriel looked all around, but saw no landscape, no sign as to where they’d landed in relation to Acapulco. Without the moon and stars to guide him he was lost... But he was on land. That was the saving grace here.
Gabriel turned Juan over. “Are you badly hurt?”
“Ribs. I don’t think they’re broken but they came close. And my head... hit a rock, I think.”
Gabriel clutched the gray sack a little tighter. “Can you walk? We have to get off this beach and find shelter.”
The moral dilemma he now faced was a deep one. His heart hoped that other sailors had survived and would make their way to shore. His head told him that if even just one of those sailors knew what he’d done aboard the Santa Azalea, they would kill him. How many had seen him row away in a workboat? Possibly even steal the contents of the gray sack? How could he face them?
Being a lifelong sailor, Gabriel often trusted it all to Lady Luck. Tonight, it was his only choice.
“Come on.” He grabbed at Juan. “I need to get my bearings.”
Juan nodded, but couldn’t stand. He seemed happy to crawl. Gabriel rose and found he had to bend almost double against the wind. Debris whipped through the air. A tangle of tree branches lashed the side of his face, drawing blood. A boulder swirled past his head, missing by inches.
Gabriel dropped to his knees, copying Juan. Maybe crawling was the answer. A long while later they both ascended a short slope that appeared to border the beach.
Gabriel peered over the top, his eyes half shut against the wind and rain that flayed his body. Ahead, across a flat plain, he saw a swirling mass, a roiling black wind that ate up everything it touched. He saw lighting inside the vast funnel. It was the only light he saw. It seemed a devil had come to claim Acapulco, marching in from the ocean. Gabriel gasped as trees were uprooted, as mounds of stone and soil were shifted, destroyed.
At his side, Juan cursed. “I think we’re better staying here.”
Gabriel agreed. He sank down. All they could do was wait it out and wonder what might happen. After a time, he began to doze, safe as the hurricane moved away but cold and desperately needing warmth.
It was dawn before they moved again. Gabriel found that he was shivering uncontrollably as the rain pelted him and last night’s soaking penetrated through to his bones. But there was a faint light in the skies now, and the damnable roar of the mighty hurricane was present no more.
He shook Juan. “I think it passed.”
Again, they looked over the rise. A scene of devastation met their eyes, destroyed trees and fields stretching as far as the eye could see. Gabriel despaired for a moment but then Juan pointed off to the far right.
“I see torches flickering, many of them. The town must have lighted them when the hurricane passed.”
It made sense. The lighting of tor
ches would offer comfort, not to mention warmth, especially in the half light of a new dawn. Gabriel looked once more at the devastation before him.
“Its path did not take in Acapulco,” he said. “Perhaps it missed.”
Together, they crawled and then staggered in the direction of the port town. Gabriel clung on to the gray sack but had already seen Juan eyeing it. Gabriel carried no weapons. Even if he did have a sword or dagger, he wouldn’t know what to do with them. Apparently, there was a pointy end and a handle but beyond that, he was clueless.
An hour later, they reached Acapulco. It was a muddled sprawl of store houses, ale houses and homes. It was a muddy, lawless den where sailors, pirates, lawmen and criminals mixed with civilians and the king’s guard. The place was a powder keg, always simmering. When Gabriel and Juan showed up, they were greeted warmly. The story of the sunken Manila galleons had passed through the town very quickly. Gabriel clung to his sack of ‘belongings’ and accepted rum and watery soup with untold gratitude. Anything to warm his soul, his heart, his black conscience.
Surrounded by the hubbub of Acapulco, Gabriel sank to his knees, praying to a distant god, happy to be alive. Men and women walked past in all directions, their boots muddy, their clothes dirty. Some looked at him, most ignored him. But there were others—others that watched him and the sack that he carried.
Cutthroats. They would carve the skin from his back if someone offered them a peso to do it.
Gabriel was faced with the dilemma of his life. Effectively, his home was gone. He had no money. No friends. No means to support himself. Everything he’d ever known was gone. The hard truth of it hit him now, bearing down like a tempest, robbing him of any volition.
What can I do?
Juan was crouched down with him and appeared to read his mind. “We should fill up on this soup. We do not know where the next meal will come from. And water. We need water to carry.”
“We need to find jobs.”
“After last night, normal people will need help putting their homes back together,” Juan predicted. “Acapulco is a wealthy port. They will pay us to help.”
For the last hour Gabriel had been searching surreptitiously for his contact, the American. The man that was supposed to collect the sack and pay him. It had been Gabriel’s one clear hope. But the man was not here. The obvious reason was the news on everyone’s lips—three Manila galleons and their supports vessels sank without a trace last night, destroyed off the coast of Acapulco with minimal survivors.
Perhaps thirty men out of more than a thousand. The contact was probably long gone.
Gabriel rose when Juan tapped his shoulder. “We have to leave. Now.”
They took more soup and a heavy cup that could be filled with fresh water. Gabriel looked for the source of Juan’s discomfort and saw two rag-clad men staring hard at them. No doubt that these men were killers. No doubt they knew that Gabriel and Juan were survivors. And no doubt they knew the nature of the goods that the galleons carried from coast to coast.
Men like these would assume the gray sack held riches of some description. Gabriel followed Juan out of the square and cut down a narrow street. Dry dust and sand lay at its edges, a churned-up mud along the center. It was bordered by wooden walls and stank of rotting garbage and much worse. Gabriel stepped lightly, his clothes already drying out and his body much warmer. The sun was rising and he was alive. It ought to be a good day to be taking breaths.
Except it wasn’t. He was the center of attention of every evil brigand inside this town. Juan threaded street after street, looking for a way out. When they crossed another square, they caught the attention of another man—a black-haired, bearded individual carrying a cutlass, currently beating an old man to the ground.
Gabriel couldn’t help but catch his eyes and then hurry on, but the damage was done. The cutlass-wielder came after them, starting to run as they pounded down another street in the direction of the rolling hills and trees that separated Acapulco from inland Mexico. Gabriel was panting and limping, still beset by the wounds of the night before. Juan was in similar dire straits, but Juan was a soldier.
They turned a corner. Juan stopped and urged Gabriel past him. When the cutlass man appeared, Juan sprang at him, grabbing the right arm and kicking at his large chest. Gabriel saw their pursuer stagger and hit the side of a wooden building with a crash. Juan didn’t let up. He darted forward, plucked the man’s knife from his belt and plunged it into his shoulder.
Gabriel picked up a stone from the ground and joined Juan. Together they beat the cutthroat into unconsciousness and left him bleeding on the ground. And then, together, they fled the city.
“We have to look inside that sack and then hide it,” Juan said when they were safe. “Right now, it’s a death sentence for the man that holds it.”
Gabriel knew he was right. He also knew that the death sentence would be his if Juan ever got a look inside that sack.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Alicia saw Lake Lucerne, she was momentarily taken aback. It was a complicated shape but boasted endless miles of sparkling blue waters, dazzling coastlines and spectacular scenery all brooded over by ice-capped mountains, glaciers and a rich blue sky. All of a sudden, she could understand Elyse’s inclination to hide out here.
She checked into a hotel right next to the water and a lively dockside area. Brunnen was bustling, a hive of tourist activity, both foreign and local. She took a short walk and found everything from world class restaurants to side-street kebab cafes and gourmet coffee shops; from tacky souvenir stores to designer stores. The footprint of Brunnen might be small, but it was incredibly full.
From experience, Alicia knew there was no point going around this in an easy-going manner. She could use the police—her international ID gave her juice here—but time was running out. She had to hit the ground running and hit it hard. Her best approach was to target the criminal element, looking to break wills and even bones if it came to that. Policy and politics dictated that she should play nice at first and give the local authorities a chance to help, but Alicia hated policy makers and politicians. Yes, they were a necessary evil, but some were just plain evil.
Alicia thought about contacting Argento and enlisting his services once more but didn’t want to overburden or jeopardize him with his bosses. She then wasted no time returning to her room and contacting her regular team securely through their internet HQ, hoping to get hold of Hayden Jaye, its leader, and the one most capable of scouring their database.
“Alicia? Is that you?”
“Yeah, I need your help.”
Hayden coughed. “Sure. How’s it going?”
“Fast, but too slow. The clock’s ticking here.” Alicia went on to describe what she needed from Hayden.
A lull followed. Alicia could hear Hayden’s fingers clicking on some distant keyboard. As she waited, a familiar voice came on the line.
“Ey up, did you forget about me?”
Alicia smiled on hearing the Yorkshire twang. Matt Drake had been her best friend for more than a decade, her boyfriend at least twice, and current lover. Despite her urgency, she took a moment to switch off. “Who is this?”
“Your bloody boyfriend.”
“Which one? Torsty, is that you?”
“Piss off, Myles.”
“Mr. President?”
“I knew you fancied him!”
“The only time I ever see the guy is when we’re getting shot at. It’s hardly a relationship.”
Drake cleared his throat. “Seriously though, do you need backup over there?”
Alicia knew the entire team couldn’t just drop what they were doing and rush out at her request. “I’m close to finding one of the thieves,” she said. “Once that’s done, we should get Duggan back.”
“Nice one.” Drake didn’t sound convinced.
Alicia heard Hayden ask for the phone. A second passed. Drake’s voice was soft as he said: “Be safe, Alicia. I miss you.”
She was surprised so, by the time she replied: “I miss you too,” Hayden was back on the line.
“Aww,” the blonde cooed. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever admitted that you want me.”
“What do you have?” Alicia was all business again.
“Brunnen isn’t exactly a criminal hotspot, but there are a couple of well-connected individuals. One is a hacker using his skills to blackmail and leverage the wealthy. He’s known by the name Phantom, and shares a lot of Elyse’s skills. I think, if anyone knows where she is, Phantom will. Especially if she’s dug in around Brunnen.”
Alicia nodded to an empty room. It made sense. Phantom would have access to Interpol’s reports and probably cased the area daily for news that might affect him. Elyse’s arrival would certainly do that.
“Where do I find him?”
Hayden laughed. “You know why he calls himself Phantom, right?”
“So how the hell am I supposed to find him?”
“Hey, you wanted to be in charge.”
Alicia thought about that. She hadn’t really considered Hayden’s feelings when she started pushing to lead the team. The capability of consideration wasn’t really part of her personality. “Thanks for your help.” She put the phone down, giving neither Hayden nor anyone else chance to help. She called Michael Crouch and put the same question to him, knowing his list of incredible contacts.
He told her he’d call her back in sixty. Alicia paced the room and then took a shower. She wandered over to the window, clad in a towel, hair wet, staring out across the vivid blue lake and the distant white-capped mountains. It was heaven on earth here. Alicia turned away from it as the phone rang. She drew the towel tighter and crossed to sit on the bed.
“It’s me,” Michael said. “Phantom is a freak of nature. The NSA have him in their pocket. No exact address though. He’s working for them on the quiet, but still a big part of the criminal world. The agencies have no qualms about doing this. The thinking is that their criminal informants will pay off big time in the event of a major crisis.”
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