Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold

by David Leadbeater

  “Not sure what I expected,” he said. “I realize we need more in-depth research but it’s always good to see your current nemesis in the flesh.”

  The other side of Marble Arch was as ornate and unremarkable as the first. The carvings did not reveal Hercules, or even a horse, although some did suggest a Roman flavor. It was Caitlyn who opted to form a new plan.

  “Over there,” she pointed across Park Lane, “is a small pub with free Wi-Fi.” She squinted. “Let’s hit the keys and also see if there’s a way to gain entry to these arches. We’ll check their history. Their provenance. Those who are associated with them. Something has to turn up.”

  Crouch nodded. “As ever your enthusiasm is our guide.”

  The pub appeared busy from the outside; all the small, unsteady tables were crowded with people enjoying loud conversations, each one trying to outdo the next, but once inside the shaded interior Alicia found they had their pick of tables. Crouch chose a semi-circle booth in the far corner and they were soon comfortably seated with waters and sodas in hand and nibbles on the way. This was about as close to normality as Alicia ever came and it made her slightly uncomfortable.

  “Let’s get on with it,” she said. “I don’t exactly feel safe here.”

  Russo peered at her. “In that odd way of yours I know exactly what you mean. Give me a dark alleyway, an Uzi and a set of night goggles any day.”

  Alicia raised her glass in salute. “To the simple pleasures of hunting desperados and gangsters.”

  Russo clinked. “And to destroying them all.”

  Healey joined in at the last moment, clinking hard. Caitlyn had Crouch’s attention further around the highly polished table. “So, Marble Arch was actually designed to be the state entrance to the three-sided courtyard at the newly rebuilt Buckingham Palace. Clearly, a structure given great honor. It stood there until 1851 when it was relocated here.”

  Crouch tapped at the screen. “This is interesting. Many sculptures and friezes were made for the arch which subsequently were never used. A frieze of Waterloo and the Nelson panels were later used at Buckingham Palace. Others were sent to the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square. Again, based on the Arch of Constantine it commemorated the Duke of Wellington’s victories against Napoleon. It is hollow,” he stressed excitedly, then looked disappointed. “Three rooms inside were used as a police station until 1968.”

  Alicia sipped her water. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility of more rooms.”

  “No, but it’s so small. There would be no easy way to view a statue inside so what’s the point? The inner rooms are public knowledge too. And it’s situated at the heart of a large traffic island.”

  “As is Wellington Arch,” Caitlyn pointed out. “Why would they do that?”

  “A good question,” Crouch said. “Does it say why they moved the arch away from Buckingham Palace?”

  Caitlyn flicked through various pages. “Not conclusively and not officially. Another dead end. They built a new east range on Buck Palace which today is the public façade, helping to shield the inner façades from view.”

  “These people just love creating conspiracy theories,” Healey said with a grin.

  “Unnecessarily,” Crouch agreed. “Through all their pomp and circumstance. But I do wonder about their positioning of Marble Arch . . .”

  Alicia agreed. “So incongruous,” she said. “And hard to reach for many.”

  Food arrived and talk halted for a while. Caitlyn flicked around her tablet as they ate, but came up with little else. When they were done Crouch proposed they walk down Park Lane to Hyde Park Corner and take a look at the second triumphal arch. The trip was uneventful, though noisy, and resplendent with old hotels and frontages, an odd petrol station built on a steep slope and several underground parking garages. Beyond the Park Lane Hilton the road curved toward the traffic lights that looked over Hyde Park Corner.

  Alicia followed her colleagues down the long, prominent road and then down the steps that led to the underpass, thinking all the while of their quest, their enemies, her future and her few real friends. Beauregard was also on her mind—the ally who might be an adversary or might be about to switch or . . . shit, who the hell knew who the Frenchman really was?

  Along the underpass they passed two homeless men wrapped in blankets, one conversing with a tourist about the problems faced by vagrants—how the government just refused to help them because they were too interested in housing immigrants.

  It made some sense to Alicia. There was no money in helping the destitute.

  She dropped money into an upturned hat, then found herself traversing a tiled passage on which several caricatures of the Duke of Wellington were displayed. Crouch stopped to view them but said nothing. Caitlyn went ahead with Healey, the two enjoying a private conversation and leaning into one another. As Alicia climbed and then reached the top of the steps the Wellington Arch came into sight to her left.

  It reminded her of the Arc du Carrousel, though its façade was nowhere near as ornate. It stood grand, stunning, empowering, an epic commemoration to victory, to triumph. Surmounting it was the grand quadriga, the original vision of its designer, a colossal bronze depicting Nike, the Winged Goddess of Victory, descending to the Chariot of War. The largest bronze sculpture in all of Europe. To Alicia it evoked feelings of wonder, but they were mixed with disquiet. The memorial to her right, the Royal Artillery Memorial with its list of many names was far more meaningful to her.

  “It’s also hollow,” Crouch told them. “There’s a museum inside, fairly big, but nothing more.” He turned on the spot, taking in the surrounds, the sunlight sparkling off the windows of Apsley House—the residence of the Duke of Wellington—the traffic peeling around Hyde Park Corner and vanishing up Piccadilly toward the Ritz and down Pall Mall toward Buckingham Palace.

  “This feels . . . right,” he said. “How many people standing on the grass here or passing under this arch might guess a priceless treasure lies somewhere about? How many privileged people mock their ignorance?”

  “But where could it be?” Caitlyn said. “I see nothing useful.”

  “Nor would you. It is time we dug around a bit more. There’s the treasure of a lifetime lying around London’s busy streets, my friends, I’m sure of it. And even more—I’m sure that we’re going to find it.”

  THIRTY ONE

  Alicia later found herself inside yet another disconcerting place—a public restaurant just off Park Lane. The bar area was busy, the tables full, the noise tremendous. The stage at the far end was inviting those couples who wished to dance, the queue outside stretching around the corner. The Gold Team had been settled for a while, and were determined to remain until they’d shed some light on their current mystery.

  Alicia picked at her food, a juicy steak salad. The meat was delicious, the greens splattered with some nasty acidic sauce. As she contemplated tracking down the person who’d decided the extra dressing was appropriate a familiar face approached through the throng that separated their table from the front door.

  Kenzie.

  Alicia half rose, the fork gripped in her hand.

  Kenzie laughed as she approached, holding both hands open and giving a quick twirl to show she wasn’t armed. The skintight black jeans and high, floaty white blouse she wore publicized that not even a cellphone was hidden on her body.

  “Love the jeans,” Alicia said. “But I’d work out more, love. Lose some of the fat on that ass.” As she spoke Alicia’s eyes roved the restaurant. Every face, every body was skimmed. No obvious threats registered.

  Kenzie looked a little outraged. “I didn’t come here to swop insults, bitch, I came here to offer you a deal.”

  The lithe-bodied, black-haired woman squeezed in next to Healey. Caitlyn gave her an obvious warning look but she only chuckled. “Steak looks good,” she said, sliding the plate from under Healey’s nose. “Do you mind?”

  Healey gestured helplessly and glided over the leather to Caitly
n’s side. Kenzie picked up his knife and fork, then cut and skewered a large piece of rib eye. As she chewed she eyed both Alicia and Crouch.

  Silence blanketed the table. Not even the noisy patrons nor the loud music penetrated their bubble. Crouch had an odd look on his face—one of fear mixed with disbelief and it was then that Alicia remembered the events that transpired during his old, original encounter with Daniel Riley.

  He was intersecting the two, worrying over something that Kenzie—despite her maliciousness—would never do. Kenzie wanted to retire wealthy, not spend the rest of her days being hunted.

  “Deal?” Alicia prompted. “Spit it out.”

  “I’d rather swallow, thank you.” Kenzie still chewed the lump, cheeks working hard.

  “Yeah, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Kenzie coughed, looking sick. “Oh, you certainly know how to put a girl off her food.”

  Alicia gestured toward the dance floor. “Wanna dance?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You got something to say you better whisper it in my ear. We’re already too exposed out here.”

  Kenzie watched the dancers. “Then let’s go.”

  Alicia rose, slipped out from behind the table and held out a hand. Without missing a beat Kenzie took it and the two women walked together to the dance floor. At her back Alicia heard Healey’s strangled excuse as Caitlyn rebuked him for staring too hard. In reality the move isolated Kenzie even more, cemented the knowledge that she had no backup and put her solely in Alicia’s hands. That she had accepted was more telling to Alicia than any amount of words.

  “So,” she placed her hands on Kenzie’s hips and started to move to the music, “what debauchery do you have in mind?”

  Kenzie’s eyes were centimeters away. “A deal. You help me out with half of the treasure and I help you with Daniel Riley.”

  “And if not?”

  “I’ll have every available merc for five hundred miles at your throats.”

  They moved among the other dancers, the music alive with rhythm and power, the beat that stirred Alicia’s blood.

  She placed her lips close to Kenzie’s left ear. “You ever heard of Dino Rock?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “It’s just a reference to old rock music. But I have a friend who likes to quote it, at least he used to before one of his best friends died. I’m reminded of a line now, something like—do you do more than dance?”

  Kenzie pushed away at the sight of Alicia’s smiling, knowing eyes. “Shit, stop trying to freak me out. You already have me off balance. Are we dealing or not?”

  Alicia pulled Kenzie in tight. “What do you know of Daniel Riley?”

  “I don’t know his past,” Kenzie admitted. “Or how he relates to you. But I do know he survived France and that he’s now in London. Anything beyond that you’re going to have to help me out first.”

  “Oh, I’ll help you out.” Alicia swung Kenzie around and marched her through the throng. “If I see you again it won’t be so pleasant.”

  “When I see you again it will be my blade that gets close to you, not my body.”

  Alicia pushed her toward the exit and gave her a swat. “Remember. Start hitting that gym.”

  Crouch was half on his feet but Alicia waved him back down. “She’s bluffing,” she said as she returned to her meal. “Wants to give us Riley info in exchange for the treasure. Forget her—what have you guys learned?”

  Caitlyn spoke rapidly, probably wanting to regain Healey’s full attention, “London’s two triumphal arches, Wellington and Marble, have remarkably parallel histories. Both were designed and built as great entrances to Buckingham Palace and to commemorate victory over Napoleon. Both were later moved to different positions and both were marooned on large traffic islands. The Wellington Arch is indeed hollow and houses a museum though it too housed a police station until 1992.”

  “The statue simply can’t he housed in the arches,” Crouch told her. “Now that we’ve seen them in the flesh, they’re too public. That leaves—”

  “Beneath?” she ventured.

  “Well, I was going to say ‘a different location that’s somehow tied to the arches’. But . . .” he tailed off, thoughtful.

  “You’d have a major problem,” Healey said. “There’s more than a fair chance the underground runs under Hyde Park Corner.”

  “A problem,” Crouch said carefully. “Or an opportunity.”

  “When was the underground built?” Healey asked.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Crouch said. “The statue can clearly be moved quite easily if you know how and have the appropriate wherewithal. It could have had multiple locations during its time here.”

  “We need to revisit both arches and check for tunnels,” Alicia said. “But in the meantime I suggest we get out of here. Kenzie isn’t as crazy as Riley but she’s still a bloody loon.”

  “And pissed off,” Crouch agreed. He signaled for and settled the bill. The team rose and stretched, then filed out of the restaurant, feeling the tepid air breezing down London’s busy streets. The nightlife was well and truly abuzz on such a balmy night in the capital. Alicia saw groups standing outside pubs with beers in hand, lining the streets; parents carrying sleepy children whilst they pushed empty strollers; stylishly dressed ladies prancing by on high heels, weighed down by many bags sporting the names Gucci, Harrods and French Connection. She watched the crowds.

  “We should mingle,” she said. “And find a hotel.”

  “There’s always The Ritz.” Crouch indicated a golden spectacle further up Piccadilly.

  Alicia laughed. “Yeah, right. We’ll all feel right at home there. I was thinking something a little less snobby.”

  Crouch cast his eye down toward Hyde Park Corner and the Wellington Arch. “Well, there’s always Knightsbridge—”

  And then Kenzie was back, full in their faces, with an unpleasant crowd of mercenaries at her side.

  “Go get ‘em boys.”

  Alicia moved faster. The lag between spotting Kenzie, analyzing her superiority in numbers, and spotting an escape route was entirely non-existent. The big red double-decker had pulled up three minutes ago to disgorge its passengers and registered immediately on her radar. Now, as the last person jumped off and others prepared to board she raced forward to the edge of the curb.

  “Get back!” she cried. “Away from the bus!”

  A large youth with spiky hair proceeded to quickly guffaw and clown his way to a set of bruised testicles and was left groaning on the floor. His hard-learned lesson dissuaded most of the others. Alicia dragged the driver clear as Crouch pulled Caitlyn up the low step. The driver then proved useful as a projectile to dissuade the first merc, Alicia yelling sorry in his wake. Russo and Healey reached the bus as Crouch slid behind the wheel, revving hard. Alicia threw the driver’s ragged backpack at the merc closest to Russo, sending him reeling. Healey jumped up.

  Crouch engaged the gears and floored the gas pedal. Russo’s face took on a look of panic as he ran. A merc grabbed his throat from behind only to be swatted aside like a fruit fly. Alicia leaned out the open door. Mercs were already chasing the bus and there was a rear door too. Most were angling toward that. Alicia knew she should go and defend their weakness down there but she would never leave a team member behind.

  If Russo failed to climb aboard she would jump clear and help him.

  “C’mon Rob!” she shouted. “It’s not hard to catch a bloody bus!”

  Crouch eased up for a moment. Russo caught hold of the pole and heaved, Alicia tugging at his enormous arm as hard as she could. The behemoth was suddenly aboard and Alicia turned her attention to the men swarming up the narrow aisle from the back of the bus.

  “Drive!” she shouted. “Don’t let any more of these bastards get on board.”

  Crouch floored it, motoring up Piccadilly with The Ritz ironically now approaching on the right. Alicia met the first merc head on, catching a blow on the shoulder as she
fought for his gun. A bullet went off, flashing overhead and exiting the front bulkhead. Kenzie clearly had no more qualms about gunfire in public areas, or at least her new underlings didn’t.

  Alicia broke the wrist and caught the gun, firing into her opponent’s chest. Russo launched his entire bulk from the first row of seats, splashing down onto two more. Alicia fired at a fourth. Still more came

  “Fucking servants of Kenzie,” she complained. “Like friggin’ cockroaches.”

  “You make them sound demonic.” Healey fought to her left, engaging a merc on that row of seats. “Behold, the servants of Kenzie!”

  “They are demonic,” Alicia said simply as another merc launched himself up the bus’s center aisle.

  “We ain’t servants,” one of the mercs blustered. “We are our own men, freelancing to Bridget McKenzie.”

  “No, mate.” Alicia said. “You’re serving her in more ways than you can imagine and she’s only gonna get worse.”

  Alicia smashed him to the ground, ducked as a gun was raised at the far end—one last merc alone. Healey and Russo fought to both sides. Crouch swung the bus intentionally hard down St James’s street, cutting off a popular black saloon car with a grin.

  “See how you like it.”

  Caitlyn blocked the way into Crouch’s little cab, holding a pistol that had scooted across the floor and landed at her feet. Fateful perhaps, but lucky too. Her first shot blasted above a merc’s head, coming nowhere near him but making him hesitate until Healey had a chance to engage. Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was—

  The merc struggled out of Healey’s grasp, leaving him trapped between two seats and unable to give chase. Caitlyn saw the smirk stretched across the attacking man’s face and knew instantly that he’d read her mind.

  I can’t shoot, can’t even hurt someone in cold blood. Not like this.

  As she vacillated the merc closed the gap. Up close he wasted no time swatting her aside as if she were no more than an annoying fly. Alicia saw it happen, saw the fear on Caitlyn’s face, fear mixed with embarrassment. She fell away, crashing into the front seat and tumbling head over heels.