CHAPTER TWENTY
“Lift your ass up.”
Alicia crouched outside the car, leaning into the back seat. Elyse, tied at the hands and feet, lifted her body up to allow Alicia easier access.
“Now, don’t bloody move.”
Alicia slipped her hands into Elyse’s denim shorts’ pockets, sliding them as deep as they would go and feeling for any kind of tracker. She came up with nothing but a day-old receipt and a couple of euros. With that part complete, she withdrew her hands and thrust them inside Elyse’s back pockets as far as they would go.
Elyse looked over at her. “Enjoying yourself?”
“If I was on the market, you’d definitely be a candidate.”
“In your dreams.”
“Maybe tonight.” Alicia nodded so that Elyse could sit back down, then turned her attention once more to the woman’s T-shirt, sure that she was hiding something. She patted front and rear, but came up with nothing. She was about to sit back on her haunches, deflated, when she saw the thin gold chain around Elyse’s neck.
“Don’t move.”
She reached out, plucked it from the woman’s cleavage, and opened up a small locket. Inside was a tiny black object the size of a chewing gum tablet. A dim red light flashed at its center.
“Shit, Crouch was right. You are being tracked.”
Elyse struggled against her bonds. “We all are. You think we’re really gonna help you? Not today, bitch.”
Alicia rose. They’d been played. She needed to contact Russo. At that moment she caught a blur out of the corner of her eye. She whirled away from the car, toward the drop down into the valley, only a second before a figure came at her. Whilst she’d been searching Elyse—and understandably distracted to her mind—Chase had approached on her blind side. He attacked now, knife in hand. Alicia was aware all four members of Marco’s crew were ex-military, but Chase and Ralston were very different animals. Chase was the firearms expert, the muscle. Ralston was the IT guy.
Why the hell did she have to get Chase?
The knife slashed down at her face. Alicia sidestepped. Chase kicked at her ribs. Alicia spun away. Gravel and dirt flew up around their boots. Alicia moved away from the car and saw Chase give Elyse a quick look.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Oh, fine. This is how I normally travel.”
Chase came at her as Alicia smirked. He jabbed twice, both attacks passing her by. She struck out, catching him a blow across the face. She was fully aware of the gun thrust into the back of her shorts, but knew instinctively that she wouldn’t have time to reach it.
Chase gave her a little space, probably hoping she’d reach.
Alicia backpedalled some more. The drop was at her back. A quick glance showed it was a gradual descent but littered with exposed boulders and ledges of rock. No telling what you’d hit if you went down there, but none of it looked good. Alicia planted herself and waited.
“There doesn’t have to be a fight,” Chase growled. “Just let me take the car. You won’t see us again.”
Alicia sighed. “That’s the problem.”
Chase jabbed at her. Alicia batted the knife hand away. He was quick and accomplished and wanted her to make a mistake.
“Is that all you got?” she taunted.
“I know your reputation.” Chase stayed wary.
“If you knew my reputation, you’d be bringing me fish and chips and a five quid bottle of wine. I’m that easy.”
Chase blinked but stayed alert. Alicia feinted to his right and struck to the left. Chase just backed off. In the brief moment she’d gained, she reached down and grabbed a hefty rock. It was another feint. She knew a good part of Chase’s attention would transfer to the weapon. When he attacked, she stepped toward him, bypassing the knife, dropped the rock and grabbed hold of his waist. Then she heaved and turned.
Chase was lifted off his legs and deposited onto his back, hanging over the drop. He didn’t grunt when his spine struck rock, but Alicia could tell it hurt him. She dropped with both knees onto his chest, and struck at his face.
The knife slashed upward. Alicia deflected it. Chase was strong, lifting himself and her off the ground. He spun them. They hit the ground, shifted, and then started to slide off the edge, heading down the slope.
Alicia scrabbled for earth and stone, trying to get a firm grip. Chase let himself fall, using the opportunity for a free attack. His knife grazed Alicia’s bare skin over her ribcage, drawing out a bleeding wound. Alicia ignored the sharp pain. Her spine glanced off a boulder. Her exposed skin scraped the ground as she slipped. Chase struck a larger boulder, turning his body halfway around. Alicia was in a world of hurt as she picked up momentum, her vision turning from sky to ground to the distant vista, her body battered by the landscape. She reached and clung and dug her hands and fingers in but couldn’t break the fall.
Chase was in similar straits. He’d lost the knife. He flew over a ditch, in mid-air for long seconds, before striking the ground hard and starting to tumble. He was picking up momentum, rolling faster than her.
Alicia dug her boots in the next time they were beneath her, pretty sure that was her best and only chance. The soles of her feet met loose ground but under that, hard earth. Her fall stopped momentarily. Her body rose. She leapt up acrobatically, hoping to kill the rest of the momentum.
It worked, but she came down hard on a big boulder.
Her knees struck it first. Alicia cried out. Her shin scraped down the jagged rock, sending a blaze of pain from her head to her toes. But she was still alert, still fighting. She threw herself off the boulder and right into the path of the rolling Chase.
She hit him like a rugby player, smashing him off course and to the right.
She went down with him, both figures crashing and rolling across the slope, but slowing down. When they both came to a stop they lay there, shocked, relieved and panting for three long seconds.
Chase met her eyes. “Thanks,” he said.
Alicia pointed her gun at his crotch. “Walk,” she said as her cellphone rang.
*
Russo spun into a harsh blow. The man he knew by photo as Ralston had come up behind him brandishing a two-foot-long plank of wood and smashed it across his face. Russo felt a numb lance of agony and saw the ground rushing up toward him. He was disorientated, on his knees. The plank of wood was still in use, crashing down several times onto his exposed back.
Russo shook his enormous head like a dog shaking off water.
The timber smashed down again, harder than before. There was a gasp as Russo felt it break across his back.
Russo looked up. “Now what you gonna do, asshole?”
Frantic, Ralston swept the ground with his eyes. Russo shook off the pain, ignored the disorientation in his brain, and rose to his feet. He towered over Ralston. The IT guy jumped back and plucked two decent-sized rocks from a pile near the cliff edge.
“If you hit me again,” Russo growled, “you’ll be flying without a parachute. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
Ralston glanced furtively at Marco as if asking for advice. Russo gave the leader a chance to comment but no words came out of Marco’s mouth.
“Time to step up, computer guy,” Russo said and moved forward.
Ralston swung. Russo evaded the attack with ease and gave Ralston a shove in the solar plexus. The man backpedalled until his heels stuck out over the drop at his back. He was panting, looking scared.
Russo held his right hand out. “Give me the bloody rocks.”
Ralston held on bravely.
Russo turned to Marco. “You gonna let this guy die?”
With an effort, Marco shook his head and sighed in resignation. Russo dug his phone out of his pocket to call Alicia. If Marco was being followed by Ralston, then maybe Elyse was being followed by Chase.
He prayed he wasn’t too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The Year 1733
Gabriel clutched the gray s
ack as he and Juan fled the dark and violent town of Acapulco. Together, they left the dirty outskirts behind and entered a deeply forested area before deciding to follow the coastline to the south. Perhaps they could find a more hospitable, smaller town after hiding the sack.
After that, they could decide what to do.
“The Americans,” Juan said as they traveled. “They paid you well. They would pay you well again.”
Gabriel didn’t doubt it, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Sores and infections he’d picked up from being aboard the disease-rife ship for four months had been on fire for the last hour or so. His teeth hurt and he was soaked through. All he wanted was rest and a good fire.
“Can we stop?” he said. “I need to sleep.”
Juan looked as weary as he, and nodded. “Yes, I think we’ve come far enough for one night.”
Together, they found a clearing and scraped two patches of ground free of twigs and rocks. They lay down within eight feet of each other, staring up at the vault above their heads. Gabriel put his head on the sack and closed his eyes.
It had been the worst night of his life, the hardest experience he’d ever gone through. Hurricanes were merciless; they ripped everything to shreds and just passed on through. Tonight, it had helped the sea take hundreds of souls. Gabriel was glad they’d made it through Acapulco though. The sense of menace that lay over the Mexican town was deep and palpable and had taken on a life of its own.
Gabriel lay in a momentary peace, staring up through a tangle of branches to the distant stars. It was incredible to think a storm had passed through here just a few hours ago. He thought back on his life. The world never changed, not really. A man who’d lived and seen things and experienced happiness and strife and love and regret might think he was making a difference. But beyond his sphere of influence he was just another tiny fish in the ocean, insignificant in the bigger picture. If a man died, nothing changed. The sun still rose and fell. The moon waxed and waned. His family, his friends—they all carried on with their lives. They had no choice. If they were lucky the dead man’s soul would watch over them, help them make better choices.
So, the world turned, Gabriel knew. Where did he fit in? He became aware of the sack beneath his head. He could feel things like small boxes and something rigid. Of course, he knew what was inside. Juan didn’t.
Gabriel turned his head to see Juan watching him. The guard’s eyes glittered in the semi-dark, picked out by the stark starlight. He said nothing. Gabriel grew wary.
Just the rest of the night, he thought. Give me the remainder of the night to rest.
But Juan came for him just before dawn. Gabriel was dozing fitfully, waiting for a lightening of the skies. He was cold. They hadn’t built a fire before they dropped off last night, partly to avoid unwelcome visitors and partly because they were bone tired. Gabriel made sure the sack was squarely below his head and fell into a non-stop succession of nightmares.
The bad dreams became a waking reality when he sensed a presence leaning over him. Gabriel’s eyes sprang open to see Juan’s soiled, harsh visage hanging only inches above his own. At first, Juan looked surprised, but the shock quickly transformed into hard resolve, greed and bloodlust.
“Wait,” Gabriel blurted.
“Give me that sack.”
Gabriel bore down on it even as he shoved his arms up against Juan’s chest. The guard glared down at him.
“I wasn’t going to kill you, just leave you here. Now I’ve changed my mind.”
Juan had no weapons, but he did have a soldier’s strength. Gabriel was not his equal. But the hurricane, the escape and the fight in Acapulco, had taken almost everything from both men. The only thing keeping them going was adrenalin. Juan threw a punch at Gabriel, who didn’t have the strength to evade it. When it hit, pain exploded through Gabriel’s brain, giving him energy and the dogged spirit to fight back. He jerked at Juan’s arms, unbalancing him. The guard fell face first against Gabriel’s chest.
The seaman rolled, dislodging the guard. Gabriel had never been in a life or death fight before, but this wasn’t how he’d imagined it might be. It was two men grunting and gasping in the dirt, fists and arms striking bluntly against bone and flesh, little more than a blind struggle.
Juan tried to climb on top of him, but Gabriel swung the sack. Something solid inside it knocked Juan off his feet. Gabriel knelt in the dirt and took huge breaths, trying to summon the energy to run. Juan lay on his back, gasping, bleeding.
“Please—” Gabriel began.
But Juan was feral with greed. He wanted the contents of the sack. Gabriel realized one of them would die before dawn and, in that revelatory moment, in the new day of his life in a new country and a new world, made a powerful, galvanizing decision.
I will not die today. Not after the hell I survived yesterday.
It was a phrase he would repeat long after Juan was dead, and he’d started a new life. The guard rose and leapt for Gabriel’s throat, but his left foot slipped, and he ended up face-first in the dirt at Gabriel’s feet. Gabriel saw an opportunity. He smashed his boot down on Juan’s exposed neck, again and again until Juan’s head began to disappear into the ground. But Gabriel couldn’t let up. He was terrified. He was fired by fear, loss and despair. Eventually, as forest noises intruded, he stopped what he was doing and looked at what he had wrought.
Juan was broken. Juan would bother him no more.
Gabriel took a moment and then resumed his journey. The forest offered no solace and no food. He wasn’t an experienced hunter. In fact, the only thing he was good at had tried to kill him in a spectacularly cruel way. Gabriel walked and walked, putting some distance between him and Acapulco and the now haunted woods that bordered it.
Later that day, he topped a hill and found himself staring down upon a small hamlet, a rough clutter of wooden buildings built in the lee of a medium-sized hill. Gabriel knew that the hamlet was his last hope. He was riddled with disease, starving, and probably had septic wounds. He wouldn’t last much longer.
But first he had to bury his treasure.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Akhon was a cold-hearted killer. He knew it. He reveled in it. He led a life of avarice and violence, of provocation and slaughter. It was a rare moment that caught him unhappy, a fact he was careful to keep from his men.
They needed to see the cruel, heartless visage that they were used to. It kept them meek, kept them subservient. It was all they had known since they were young boys and anything new would just confuse them. Akhon kept them on a short leash, punishing any that disobeyed or transgressed. The stakes were high in the hideous game he played.
Akhon currently worked out of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Acapulco. It seemed a sensible place to await the outcome of his latest enterprise. He paced up and down now in front of a man tied to a chair, his guards and employees scattered here and there, clutching their guns or cleaning their knives as they waited to carry out his every order.
The man in the chair had suffered.
Akhon glared at him now. Akhon was a large man, wide and six feet tall. Not all of his girth was muscle. Akhon had once heard of an old Russian that liked to kill people with his excess flesh, smothering them in rolls of fat. Akhon was working up to that. He wore a black Stetson and a bomber jacket. His shirt bulged at the waist, testing the skill of the tailor who’d sewn the buttons by hand.
“Duggan, Duggan, Duggan.” Akhon let out a deep, suffering sigh. “You Westerners are so weak. You cry. You bleed. You piss yourself. And here we are, just having fun.”
Duggan stared back at him through two black eyes. The pupils bulged. The man’s nose was crooked, a piece of art in Akhon’s opinion. One ear was half bitten off, the other slightly chewed. Duggan still cried though. Mewled like a fucking baby.
“If it’s any consolation, we’re just a day or two from the deadline.”
Duggan shivered. Akhon laughed. The deadline didn’t mean freedom. It might mean a ho
rrible death. It might mean something else altogether. Akhon saw the man’s hands opening and closing in fear.
“You look like a newborn. What do you know of the world? You know only what you see every day. The rest, it passes you by like a boring movie. I see so much fear in you it makes me sick.”
“Is that why... is that why you hurt me?”
Akhon drew his lips into a narrow line. “I hurt you to laugh at you. I need no reason.”
His cellphone rang. Akhon spent the next thirty minutes attending to other business. He had many around the world. He’d diversified from terror long ago, seeing where money could be made.
He turned now to his second-in-command. “What news on Crouch?”
“His team are in Europe. We lost them after they landed. Some kind of special gates they’re permitted to use at the airport which lead to a secret way out.” The man shrugged. “You learn something new every day.”
Akhon nodded. He couldn’t blame or maim anyone for that error, he guessed. “And this Crouch?”
“Still researching galleons and... well... us.”
“It won’t help him. We have what he wants.”
They both cast a glance at Duggan who was listening, terror written all over his face. Akhon shook his head once more.
“Do you have something non-lethal I can shoot at him?”
“Let me find something.”
Akhon nodded. “Any news of Marco and his crew?”
“Same as before. They’re ghosts.”
“Then we keep watching Crouch for now. Do not kill him yet. And that assistant too, watch her closely. When they move, we move.”
Akhon walked away without further comment. His orders would be carried out to the letter. Before he returned to torment Duggan, he crossed over to a plastic table and mixed himself a whiskey and coke from the various offerings. He downed it in one and made another. The length and breadth of his kingdom concerned him. It was hard to police. He had no doubt that many of his employees were fleecing him. Through drugs to the south of France, pills to Hollywood and the west coast, bullets to Syria and Afghanistan, bombs to terrorist cells all around the world, he was vibrantly connected. Through abducted men and women, put to use under threat of death in Europe and South America and Asia he maintained a stranglehold on entire economies. He was a hub, a commercial wheel. Who cared what that commerce involved? Certainly not half the world’s governments.
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