One of the pursuing mercs grinned. “Bet that hurt, bitch.”
Alicia jumped to her feet. “Let’s see you back that comment up.”
The merc checked briefly to make sure his colleague was beside him and then pounced. Alicia executed a half-circle turn, brushing off his back, then smashed the other merc between the eyes with a stiff arm. As he blinked Alicia spun again, now facing the first merc.
“Still full of wind and piss, boy?”
The man yelled a challenge and ran at her. Alicia jumped on the spot, her front kick crashing into his chest, breaking bone. Still he came. Alicia skipped aside, found her Glock in the grass and sent both men to deal with the Devil.
Above, a frantic melee had broken out. Riley was at the center of a group that included three mercs, Russo and Healey. Two more mercs darted at the fringes, causing Russo major problems. Crouch was running full-pelt to join them.
Alicia saw this was the end. There were no more mercenaries in hiding. Digging deep, she ran up the embankment to join the fray, heading straight for the two mercs who were plaguing Russo. Below, another train clattered on by, its occupants probably raising the alarm by now even if the previous ones hadn’t. Alicia tossed her empty pistol at one merc, bringing her HK to bear on the other. The barrel spat. The merc threw himself aside, caught only by one bullet in the right arm. It wasn’t enough. Alicia saw the gritted teeth, the determined stare and knew she was up against a seasoned killer. His own gun was now aimed at her, finger tugging at the trigger. Blood suddenly gouted from his chest, the gun firing off, but the bullets flew wild. Crouch pounded in alongside, red in the face and mad as hell.
“Riley!”
The mercs were beginning to thin out. Russo took another down, but Healey took a heavy blow to the head that sent him spinning to the ground. Alicia immediately remembered his possible head trauma from the previous explosion and berated herself. Should have shielded him. Again, the generally out-of-character thought unnerved her. What am I becoming?
She sprang across to him, felling a merc on the way much to his sudden shock. Healey was groaning on the grass, his body draped half over the top of the steep slope. A merc stood over him with a knife.
“Hey.”
Spinning fast, the man slashed wide. Alicia anticipated it, ducked under and came up with a throat jab. Behind her shots still rang out. As she danced from side to side she saw Crouch engage Riley. Only three mercs remained at his side. The man who couldn’t be captured, it seemed, was about to go down hard.
Alicia evaded the knife again, jumping between Healey’s legs and then over his head. Crouch traded blows with Riley, the first time she could actually remember seeing her boss in a fist fight.
Not good.
Riley was a crazy, seasoned fighter. What the hell was Crouch thinking? Alicia almost missed her opponent’s feint and thrust, so focused on Crouch’s battle was she. The blade nicked her stab vest and ricocheted across her arm, drawing a line of blood through the thick black sleeve. As soon as the man stood back to admire his handiwork and affect a little grin Alicia moved faster than he could comprehend. Before the intense fact that he was actually dead reached his brain he was flat out on the floor.
Alicia bent over to check on Healey. “You okay, you bloody idiot?”
“Yeah,” Healey gasped, high-pitched. “It’s all good.”
“Stay there.”
She turned, scooped up the dead man’s knife and headed toward Crouch. Riley already seemed to be on top of the skirmish, bloodying her boss’s face with callused knuckles. Alicia saw the stance and actions of a man who engaged in fist fights for fun. A bare-knuckle boxer. Riley was enjoying himself. And that insight too attested to his craziness—his men were dropping faster than trees in the Amazon.
Russo smashed enormous arms onto a merc’s scalp, groaning in pain but never flinching. Alicia slid by. Riley saw her approach and immediately pushed Crouch aside. Dropping his hands by his sides he thrust his chest out.
“Take yer best shot, babe.”
Alicia couldn’t stop a snigger. “Are you for real?”
“He’s stalling. Take him out, Alicia,” Crouch gasped. “Now!”
She fingered the hilt of the knife. “Turn around and hold your arms out,” she said. “You’re beaten.”
“Never.”
Riley ran at her, taking the knife in the stomach but succeeding in knocking her off her feet. As she fell backward she heard the sound of an oncoming train. Riley’s fleeing feet never faltered. He battered Russo aside, even the living mountain momentarily destabilized. Russo fell to one knee, aghast.
Riley ran as if pursued by demons, and perhaps he was. The train barreled down the tracks, its horn blowing. At first Alicia thought he was about to throw himself at the train rather than be taken alive, but then she saw.
The bastard had timed it to the millisecond.
He couldn’t plan for lateness, but he’d certainly spent enough time here to plan for punctuality. Alicia could only stare as Riley sprinted hard, looking for all the world as if he was about to smash to pieces against the front of the train, then hurled himself across the tracks. A split-instant later the train swept by. Riley raced up the other embankment, gaining the top in seconds.
Crouch shouted for a gun. Alicia cast around, seeing nothing. Russo continued his collapse and shoveled up a Glock between both hands, throwing it over to Crouch.
“Bollocks!” their leader swore. “You should have taken the bloody shot. Look at me!”
Already, his face was swollen, one eye swelling. Riley didn’t hang around over the other side. Already, he was disappearing around the far edge of the abandoned station. Alicia made to chase after him as the train passed.
A shot rang out, stunning Alicia. A puff of mortar exploded beside Riley’s right ear, making him stumble. Alicia turned to see Caitlyn holding a rifle.
“Good try,” she said. “Now let’s go get him.”
“Forget it,” Crouch said. “Bastard will already have had an escape route planned. Three or four even. He’s a part of the landscape.”
“But he’s severely debilitated,” Caitlyn said, coming up now. “Alone. Badly wounded. He won’t last long.”
Crouch closed his eyes tightly. “You don’t understand. Riley has as many contacts as I do, only all his are bad. He’ll survive. And he’ll be back. Maybe alone, but even that’s a vicious prospect.”
Alicia squinted over at Healey. The young man was sitting up, listening. “Well,” she said. “What say we gather up our wounded and our motivation and get on a plane to London?”
“I say let’s just get the hell outta Paris,” Russo mumbled, still on his knees.
“Need a hand, Robby?”
“No I friggin’ don’t.”
“Haven’t seen you knocked over before.”
“Shut it.”
Crouch placed tentative hands on his face. “How do I look?”
“My first thought is pepperoni pizza,” Alicia said graciously. “But no. No. Seriously, it’s not that bad. The facial swelling will ease in an hour or two. The eye—a bit longer.”
“Think I’ll survive passport control?”
“Meh. Just bribe ‘em.”
“So what are we waiting for? London’s calling.”
TWENTY EIGHT
Crouch tried to force his mind away from Riley and their checkered past by concentrating on their unfolding treasure hunt. The Hercules Tarentum had evidently been designed alongside Lysippos’ Horses and had remained almost undivided throughout history. And once Napoleon had been defeated at Waterloo, clearing the way for the Horses to be returned to Venice, who would stand in the way of the victor claiming the spoils?
Admittedly, Crouch didn’t know an awful lot about the Duke of Wellington. The enormous arch that sat at the center of Hyde Park Corner was named after him and the house just across the road—Apsley House—had been his residence. With an address of Number One, London it was clear how high in esteem the B
ritish had held him. But, standing at the heart of London and a true British Heritage site, what did it have to do with Hercules and Napoleon? Maybe nothing . . . the arches were still their main focus. It would take much further delving but Crouch did know that the Wellington and Marble arches had been moved sometime in their history and that the foremost had been designed as some kind of grand entrance to London.
And of course, there was a quadriga on top—a four-horse chariot.
With the plane in the air, Crouch and his compatriots found themselves drifting. Exhausted through battle and city-hopping and mind-draining deliberations they fell into deep, dream-filled sleep. Crouch achieved no such release. After dozing for a few minutes he came wide awake, agitated by memories he had thought long dead and buried.
Following the bombing in India, Riley had once again dropped off the grid, leaving Crouch with nothing beyond infinite scenes of horror. Trying to reconcile that night with the man he had previously liked and worried over took years, and even then doubts remained. Not excusable, but had Riley acted under duress? Was a terrorist cell holding someone he loved, someone Riley had never disclosed? Crouch didn’t see Riley again for many years after that night but heard about his further exploits through the interdepartmental grapevine. Riley always remained high on the watch list but never again came to the in-field attention of the SAS.
Now Crouch doubted himself. What the hell had he been doing allowing this man to roam free all these years? Should I have pushed it? Certain terrorists needed making an example of—Riley was surely one of those.
Crouch tore his mind back to the present as their pilot announced the descent into London. Focusing again on the arches he thought that the links were good, the final resting place of the Hercules close at hand. If these treasures continually passed into the hands of conquering leaders—which history said they did—then the Hercules would still be somewhere in London. The Duke of Wellington’s descendants would never give up such a magnificent treasure. And to think of all the many thousands who passed through those arches every single day . . .
Crouch felt a tremor of excitement, pushed all thoughts of Riley and Kenzie aside, and watched the descent into London City Airport.
TWENTY NINE
Kenzie wondered silently as to the perils of folly. She had found it relatively easy tracking Crouch to France, but after the fiasco back in Vienna she’d had to quell a little revolt. The men of her inner circle helped, those who survived, and she put her survival down to the ruthlessness with which she had subdued the rebels.
Pacing a hotel room, she waited for news.
Windows looked out across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower, the view not even a small distraction for Kenzie. She lived to acquire wealth and desirable objects, not to stare at them. Since arriving in France she had recruited more men, and another to listen to the newcomers’ conversations, a little mole. It was her way. She kept order and she kept her life. Everything was good.
Except for Crouch and his little band of brothers.
In a normal world they might even elude her, but this was not normal, this was her world. Kenzie had kept it quiet even among her inner circle, but one of the men she employed was a previous Ninth Division operative. Battered, bruised and left for dead in the ruins of the old HQ he had risen disgruntled, resentful, and sought out some extreme alternative employment. After bumbling around for several months he had been brought to her attention. Kenzie recognized the potential and snapped him up in a minute—ex-government employees always came in useful.
Three men shared the hotel room with her, two of the three remaining members of her inner circle and the Ninth Division traitor—Jaden Sheppard. The latter was privy to several of Michael Crouch’s lines of contact and was monitoring them all.
“London,” Sheppard told her. “We couldn’t find them in France but I know where they will be in London.”
Kenzie stared sightlessly out of the window. “When? Are they already in the air?”
Sheppard nodded. “Even if we left right now we’d be two hours behind them.”
“Luckily,” she stared hard at him, “I have people in London. Ancient relics are big business among the city’s greedy bankers and businessmen. Crouch can’t have found his treasure yet . . .” she tailed off, her mind flicking back through the years and to the events that had led her to this. Once a loyal operative of Mossad she broke hard and went rogue when an op went wrong. The fallout had killed a man she loved and, later, her family. At twenty eight she had seen the faults inherent in government, officials on the take, and people who should be looking out for her, mentors, superiors, equals, reveling in all their squalid dishonesties. Breaking from her heart to her brain she made the decision to work only for herself and to never trust one single person ever again.
There was a knock at the door, an intrusion. One of her acolytes rose, checked through the peep-hole, and opened it. Her missing inner-circle member entered looking a bit red in the face.
“Everything okay?” Kenzie asked.
“Aye,” the rough-looking Scotsman growled. “Everything’s great. Just a wee problem to sort, that’s all.”
“More dissension among the ranks?”
“You got it, Kenzie. New boy by the name of Gilmore. Thinks he’s gonna be running the whole crew soon enough, he does.”
“Of course. There’s always one. Always. Did you make an example of him?”
“Not yet. Thought I’d check with you first. Don’t wanna run afoul of that blade ye always keep handy.”
Kenzie eyed the shining, curved blade close at hand. The weapon gave her power over all aspects of her life—it was a deterrent, a life-giver, a confidence restorer and a menacing threat. It was her backbone in life, her perversion in passion, her twisted child.
The katana was all. It should be worshipped. Knowing what would happen she reached out and held it high, expecting her men to bow their heads and smiling when they did so.
“Make arrangements to fly straight to London,” she said. “And let Gilmore run his mouth for now. We’ll deal with him in the UK and it’ll hit any would-be insurgents all the harder.”
The Scotsman looked happy, a rare event outside payday. The thought made her think of the very near future when they caught Crouch in the act of uncovering millions of dollars worth of riches. It made her think of the worship, respect and loyalty it would implant into her men. It made her think of other things she could aspire to do outside this world of backstabbers and thieves.
It made her dream. She sliced the katana through a series of complicated moves.
The future was at her doorstep. All she had to do was cross the threshold.
THIRTY
London basked in shameful sunshine, ensuring the streets were filled with tourists and locals, businessmen out for brief walks and office workers heading for the closest Pret or Eat or any number of thousands of small lunchtime eateries. Traffic clogged the roads as much as people jammed the walkways, its roar and hum and constant throb the beating heart of the thriving city. Alicia strode ahead, exiting the underground station of Marble Arch and stopping briefly to get her bearings. Humanity flowed around her.
“That way.” Crouch pointed and she saw the ceremonial arch briefly to their right before it was obscured by several passing double-decker buses. The team set off and Russo fell in alongside.
“Sure hope the boss has a plan. It’s not like a supposed treasure that has remained hidden all these years is gonna jump up through a trapdoor somewhere.”
Alicia shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Umm, for instance?”
“Well, you not fancying a roll in the sack with me for a start.”
“You think that’s strange? Boy, do you have an odd view of the world.”
“Sure I do. You’re right, I do have an odd view of the world, but that’s what makes me me.”
“I think sometimes it’s all an act.”
Alicia gave neutral laugh. “When? And why?”
“When you want to distract somebody from discovering the real you.”
“Shit, Russo, what are you? A closet psychiatrist?”
“I studied psychology in college.”
“No way! Do not tell me you’re another freakin’ geek too.”
“Nah. I’m fucking a little with you. I dropped out of college after starting my degree. Six months. Pissed the hell outta my folks.”
“Joined the Army? I was there at sixteen and have been running ever since. Hey, look at us—both survived this far.”
“And for much longer.”
“Statistics state we don’t live long enough for this to be the right way, Russo. Shouldn’t it be about having fun? You know—one life, live it.”
They paused at a set of traffic lights that would let them cross the busy junction at Edgware Road to reach Marble Arch. Russo nudged Alicia. “I thought we were having fun.”
“I guess we are, but it’s all going to fall apart,” Alicia said seriously.
“Ah. Your breakdown. It doesn’t have to be so hard.”
“If I don’t fall hard I doubt that I’ll get back up.”
Russo hushed as they crossed the road in front of traffic that was straining at the leash. Ahead, the arch and the area around it sat waiting. Crouch and Caitlyn were striding forward, already scanning the structure as if the Hercules might mysteriously and suddenly be revealed. Healey stayed close to Caitlyn as if appreciating her energy and cheerfulness.
Alicia stopped before the white-colored arch, gazing up toward its uppermost reaches. Bright blue skies dazzled her eyes. The top was flat, no quadriga or any other statues sat up there. Four thick columns stood across its width and the only markings she could see were several carvings above the gates. The gates themselves were open wide, admitting the masses. Smaller gates stood inside archways to either side. After a while Crouch suggested they walk through to the other side.
Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold Page 15
