Galleon's Gold

by David Leadbeater

  The other man landed on her back, grabbing her around the neck. She caught a glimpse of silver as he raised a knife. Alicia thrust back, but he moved with her. Then, in full flight, she saw Cam leaping the irregular gap between both boats and landing sure-footedly just a few inches to her left. Cam still had the handgun and aimed it at the man with the knife before pulling the trigger.

  Alicia was free. “Thanks.”

  “I’m with you.”

  She spun, taking the scene in. Akhon was on his knees. Duggan was down. The boats were drifting closer together. Russo had another RPG lined up.

  “We gotta move!” Alicia cried.

  She set off like a sprinter out of the blocks, smashing into Akhon. It was like tackling a boulder. Akhon was big and solid. But Cam followed her without fail, also striking Akhon, who finally toppled onto his side. Alicia threw herself over Duggan just as Russo unleashed a second grenade.

  Below the waterline, it blew a great hole in the boat into which seawater immediately poured. Alicia picked up Duggan, shouting for him to stay alert. The man’s eyes were wild, his face twisted in terror and pain. Alicia held him close.

  There was no time. The Assyrians were converging even as their boat sank. Weapons were aimed at her. Akhon was already on his feet.

  She whirled to Cam. “Go.”

  Together, they raced for the side of the boat and then leapt over, plummeting into the sea. Alicia had Duggan in her arms. They sank below the waves and then kicked, rising fast. Alicia broke the surface just a few seconds later, spluttering.

  Cam flailed to her right.

  “The boat,” Alicia cried, indicating the craft where Crouch and Caitlyn still fired on Akhon’s vessel. “Get to the boat.”

  “I can’t swim!”

  Alicia gaped. “Well, why the hell did you jump into the fucking water?”

  “You told me to.”

  Alicia gripped Duggan with one arm, holding his head above water, tilted back, and swam toward Cam. With her other hand she hauled him up until he was essentially floating on her arm, his blond hair splayed across her shoulder.

  “Now kick,” she said. “Kick us toward the boat.”

  Above, Crouch and Caitlyn kept the attention off the swimmers with constant fire. Akhon could be heard bellowing. But when Alicia managed a quick glance at the motor launch, she saw it listing, already going down. Ironic really, since another boat she’d been on recently had also sunk.

  She could just hear Mai Kitano’s annoying question ringing in her ears. Do you sink every ship you sail on?

  At the moment, yes. It was a clear two out of two. They approached Crouch’s boat. Caitlyn threw a rope ladder over the side. Alicia maneuvered Cam onto it and then, whilst he climbed, patted Duggan’s face.

  “You alive, mate?”

  Duggan’s eyes flew open in shock. He didn’t speak, but Alicia saw the life in them. She hauled him out of the water, a dead, wet weight, and shoved him at the boarding ladder.

  “Climb as if your life depends on it,” she shouted.

  She turned, treading water, and watched the bullets being sent by Crouch, Caitlyn and now Cam. They blasted Akhon’s boat as it sank, smashing chunks of timber and splinters from the bow and sides, catching careless men, making sure the enemy kept its head down whilst it died.

  To the left, Russo was coming around in the boat where they had Chase secured. The mountainous figure had exchanged the rocket launcher for a Heckler and Koch.

  For a moment, it seemed as if they’d won.

  But there is a tipping point close to death, a short span of time where a man or woman weighs the lesser of two fatal evils. It happened right then on Akhon’s boat. Those that were about to go down with the ship saw a better alternative; they saw Crouch’s boat as an escape route.

  Alicia saw at least twelve surviving men running to the top edge of the listing, sinking motor launch and then leap right off the edge, aiming for the side of Crouch’s boat. Many made it, gripping the deck rails or other protrusions. Some hit the water and then swam for the sides and even toward her.

  Alicia started up the boarding ladder, prodding Duggan from below all the way up. When he reached the top, Duggan collapsed onto the deck with a cry of pain. Alicia couldn’t spare the time to comfort him. They were beset from all sides.

  Even as she watched, Marco appeared to her left, punching Crouch on the nose. Elyse burst out of the cabin, breaking free of the bonds she’d already mostly severed inside. Ralston was close behind her.

  Up here, on the high seas, amid the fury of the Assyrians, the twisted leadership of Akhon, the wily severity of the three thieves and with a priceless treasure on board, it was pure dog eat dog.

  Alicia leapt into the fray.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Alicia raced toward the bow. Crouch was down. Marco was standing over him. Two Assyrians were already on deck, having made successful leaps. Three more were sprawled out, recovering from a less effective jump.

  Cam hit Marco hard once more. Marco’s face fell on coming up against him again. Alicia shot at an Assyrian, her bullet pounding him off the edge of the boat. Before she could advance further, Elyse was at her back.

  “What are you doing?” Alicia cried. “We’re trying to fucking help you.”

  “It’s freedom and then the treasure all the way,” Elyse said. “You’re risking both.”

  They fought nose to nose, trading blows. Alicia’s sight blurred as Elyse connected hard with her temple. Elyse wobbled as Alicia brought a knee up into her chest.

  Close now, Russo hung off the edge of his boat. When the ladder came within reach he leapt, gripping it hard. A second later the two boats came together with a gentle nudge. Russo climbed quickly, knife gripped between his teeth, rifle slung over his shoulder and a Glock in one hand.

  Three seconds later, he landed on the deck.

  Alicia was down. Russo took over fighting Elyse, thrusting with his knife. Alicia allowed herself a four-second respite then rose, searching the prow for enemies.

  Cam was atop Marco, slamming his head into the deck. One Assyrian stood staring at them as if unsure what to do. And then, as Alicia watched, Crouch rose from his knees and shot the Assyrian point blank in the face.

  Crouch staggered, clearly hurt. Alicia bounded over to him.

  “Michael!”

  “It’s okay. I’m good. Where’s Duggan?”

  “Port side, on the deck. He’s alive but they tortured him. We have to get clear first.”

  Crouch nodded.

  A dark shape rose before Alicia, blocking out the small patch of light by which she could see. She looked up, straight into Akhon’s malicious eyes.

  “I told you that you would pay for insulting me.”

  Akhon bashed her in the side of the head with a massive, meaty paw. It was like being struck by a bear. Alicia flew to the right. Her skull struck a foot rail. Stars exploded inside her head as blood poured down her skull. The world faded. She was aware of Crouch being flung aside and then Akhon’s boots stopping right before her pain-filled eyes.

  “I will break your arms and then throw you over the side,” Akhon grated viciously. “Because I want to.”

  Alicia felt her body being lifted. She shook her head, trying to clear the haze away, but that only made it worse. She saw pinpoints of light that were pain. Everything spun. She reached out a hand but it was aimless, powerless.

  Akhon squeezed her against his chest in a mighty bear hug. Alicia’s breath slipped away. The pain actually helped this time, but she felt light-headed. She’d dropped her gun. She saw Russo, falling back against the rail as both Elyse and Marco attacked him. Saw Crouch sprawled out against a rail.

  Akhon twisted her right arm behind her, making her spin around. The pain grew excruciating. He forced her elbow up her back. He wasn’t going to stop. She kicked, struggled and used her head. Akhon wobbled but stayed at it. Alicia screamed as her bones reached breaking point.

  Cam darted in low,
passing around Alicia’s knees so Akhon didn’t even see him until the young man rose as if shot out of an elastic band, hands and arms stiffened, striking Akhon a double blow under the chin. Akhon fell backward without uttering a word, smashing into the deck and groaning, eyes closed.

  Cam reached out to Alicia. “Get up.”

  Alicia’s head was already clearing. “You again,” she said. “That’s twice now, Camster. I mean, what the hell?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “It’s what I do.” Alicia was still waiting for her head to clear. “I find cool nicknames. How about Cammy?”

  “Only my mother ever called me that.”

  Alicia was reminded she knew nothing about this man’s presumably volatile past. “Is that okay?”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

  Cam guarded her a little longer as her head cleared. Akhon was groaning, coming around slowly. Crouch was crawling toward her. Alicia took it all in, particularly how the rest of her team were faring.

  Russo was holding his own against Elyse. Caitlyn was bothering Marco who appeared to be struggling after his encounter with Cam. Ralston was standing alone in a corner, hands up, overwhelmed by the violence around him.

  Akhon rose to his knees. Cam started toward him but then three more Assyrians appeared, knives in hand. They must have climbed aboard and made their way quietly toward Akhon. Now they leapt to save their leader, three attackers slashing their blades at Cam’s exposed chest.

  Alicia forced the pain away, gritted her teeth, and jumped in front of Cam. She let the knives strike her in the chest, knowing they would glance aside off her vest and unbalance their owners. The blades hit hard, plunging with harsh force. Again, pain exploded through Alicia’s body. She fell, grimacing. Behind her, Cam hadn’t moved, but his eyes shone with relief.

  “Two-one,” she whispered, grimacing in pain.

  Cam fell on the men with the knives, disabling one and breaking another. When the third attacked, Cam was ready to throw him across his shoulder and manhandle him over the guardrail.

  Alicia rose to her knees.

  Akhon faced her on a level par.

  “If I only kill you...” Akhon began.

  Marco stepped around Alicia, into Akhon’s eyeline. He held a gun. He looked over to Crouch and then back at Elyse. “You sure?” he asked her.

  “I think Crouch is our only chance for a quiet life.”

  Marco killed Akhon with one bullet. He watched the body slump, then gave the gun to Crouch. “Team decision,” he said. “We’re with you. And we’ll help you find the real treasure.”

  Crouch nodded, pocketed the gun and ran past Alicia. “Duggan?”

  Alicia met Elyse’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.”

  Alicia sighed and sat back on her haunches, aching, bruised and bloody. Her head still rang; her vision remained blurred. But she was alive, and they had beaten Akhon, which was reason enough to celebrate.

  “Who’s got the fucking rum?” she grumbled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Alicia took her rest in the back seat of a large SUV, driving down winding hills into the heart of modern day Acapulco. First homes and then restaurants with the names Senor Frog’s and Hooters went by and then a row of high-rise hotels marched along the beachfront.

  They headed for the old town which boasted many buildings from an era when Acapulco was one of the jet set capitals of the world, passing the lovely town square where small shoeshine booths were set up and a striking bronze statue of a shoe shiner stood. Old Town had character. Alicia could see it even resting her head against a car window. She could imagine going back to an older, simpler time here.

  Theirs was a nine-seater vehicle. They spent some time at a hospital first, getting Duggan squared away. Alicia stayed outside the room, looking in as Crouch conversed quietly with his old friend. As a group, they looked ragtag at best; in fact they had the appearance of people who’d gone through a civil war. Russo and Caitlyn took time to head out into the streets, find a touristy area, and buy new T-shirts and shorts for all.

  When they returned, Russo handed Alicia her new outfit.

  Alicia sniffed. “You got me pink fucking shorts? Really?”

  She wore them, nevertheless. She was still processing, still recovering. It had been an intense battle. Several times she had almost died or taken a bullet. One of the reasons she was still alive sat close to her—Cam.

  They lined the corridor outside Duggan’s room for a while, heads down. Marco and his crew were lost in their own worlds. No one spoke much. After a while Crouch emerged from Duggan’s hospital room and nodded.

  “Thanks for waiting.”

  That was the signal to get going. Alicia was pleased. She liked hospitals about as much as she liked Rob Russo. Her new clothes consisted of an I Love Acapulco T-shirt in bright orange, and hot pink shorts. Both items were a size too big. Russo could barely keep the smirk off his face.

  Thirty minutes later, they were driving through the old town in search of the historical museum and its wealth of local archives. When they’d parked up, they walked across a parking lot that was a suntrap, bathed in nourishing warmth. Alicia started to relax for the first time since Duggan had gone missing. To save time, Marco caught them all up as they approached the building.

  “Earlier we spoke about the Sword of Peter and how seriously Britain took its role in the sword’s defense. If you remember I mentioned that the sword spent years in Britain, a gift from Joseph of Arimathea. As Britain waged a war in North America, a plan was hatched. American agents stole the sword and other items and tried to send them by Manila galleon to Acapulco and then to America. The plan was to use Peter’s sword as a bargaining tool.”

  “How do you know all this?” Alicia asked.

  “Two months of non-stop research by the four of us. See, the manifest lists the sword. Those manifests are open for all to see, right now, in Spain; they’re housed in a library. It’s a matter of fact that the sword moved in the eighteenth century and a fake copy manufactured to keep the original safe. But there is no actual record of it ever leaving England or having been stolen. George Washington spoke of St Peter’s sword before he became president.”

  The group entered the museum, looking for a sign that would lead them to the archives. When it wasn’t apparent, Russo went off in search of help.

  “So... we had the sword and the treasures it sailed with. The very crate that it sailed in. All from the manifest itself.” Marco seemed to be warming to his tale. “All we needed next, was the American agent that stole it, that brought it to Acapulco.”

  “That’s all?” Crouch smiled.

  “All old towns, especially famous ports, have been written about and spoken of since people could talk and write. They’re all famous. Think of Tortuga, Port Royal, Alexandria, Nassau. Many people don’t know where they are, but they’ve all heard of them through books and movies. It was clear to me that the old accounts would either be in the National Archives or a more personal archive. Some ports have them, some don’t. But Acapulco does, right here. These days, everyone chases the old stories and either puts them on a blog, on Trip Advisor, or simply uploads them...”

  “You mean to the Internet,” Caitlyn said.

  “Bloggers are the best. They record everything. You just have to piece their tales together with the official papers. That night in 1733 was notorious. Everyone that could write scribbled some sort of account—the killer hurricane, the sunken galleons, the lost gold, the lost lives. It was a terrible disaster. So, the residents and clergy committed much of what they saw to paper: the colossal hurricane, the enormous ships torn apart and thrown from wave to wave, the countless disease-ridden dead bodies washed up along the shoreline, cannon, muskets, swords and silks and jars all washed up. Most importantly, the records tell of many sailors that survived the sinking. All were starved, unable to walk or even speak. There are several stories of
two strangers coming into town that night, one wearing the helmet of a Spanish guard and the other a striking, tall, blue-eyed man carrying a great, gray sack. They were of the galleons, that much is clear. I mentioned before that these men ran from anyone showing an interest in that sack when, and I quote, ‘my eyes fell upon two flea-bitten sailors, a guard and another, who clutched this sack as if it were the very heart of the Manila galleon itself, fleeing all that saw them, all that asked about the sack, and all that tried to help.’ That is one account. Here’s another: ‘My faith in God was restored when I saw these bedraggled sailors, survivors all, struggling to walk our streets. We helped them, bound and bathed them, made them well. We fed and watered them. But the blue-eyed stranger and his guard carried their big gray sack jealously, big as it was it could hold swords and daggers and many treasures saved from the ocean, but they shied from us. They ran. And they murdered.’”

  Marco looked up as Russo reappeared with a front desk manager. Without a word she led them into the basement—a grimy, vast room full of dust and cobwebs that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Alicia found a long table, brushed off a seat and sat down, stretching her legs out luxuriously. The others copied her, sitting around the table.

  “This blue-eyed man was the American agent,” Marco went on as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “Tasked with bringing the sword and the treasures to Washington himself. Or perhaps he wanted the treasures to keep and sell. But the fact is, he never did. So where did it all go?”

  “You’re searching for this man’s descendants?” Caitlyn asked.

  “Well, first we have to narrow it down,” Marco said. “I could do with your help.”

  Alicia was both happy and surprised to hear Marco asking for help. It sure made a difference from his threats. Maybe he’d realized that his team couldn’t run forever and running from Michael Crouch just wasn’t an option.

  Since she’d already found Elyse once and could do it again.