Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (13 page)

As the day passed, Alicia found solitude increasingly demanding. Another walk along the Seine, another coffee in a café, one more hour behind a desk trying to chart the future course of her life. One more sheet of blank paper. A distant study of “normal” people, and of how they went about their daily lives. It all seemed so alien to her. It had been said time and time again that career soldiers could never adapt to a regular life. Looking at typical habits and routines, Alicia could easily understand why.

The first man who beat her to the last bottle of milk on the shelf would end up crushed at her feet. The pushy woman who barged past her in the street would find her head in a handbag, still attached of course. The idiot wandering along in the flow of human traffic, obliviously texting or flicking at his cell screen as he walked, would run right into the point of her elbow.

As her thoughts turned darker, Alicia knew it was time to seek some company. First she rang Russo and thought,
What the hell, why not make it a threesome?

Russo and Healey turned up together. Alicia suspected they’d met some time earlier, but said nothing. Russo sat down on the bench beside her and stared at the huge Egyptian obelisk at the center of the Place de la Concorde.

“They all seem so . . . unaware,” he said, referring to the people. “Carefree.”

“They’re not,” Alicia said. “But for today, and because of people like us, they can be.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to do that?” Russo said.

Alicia stared at him, surprised how close he was to her way of thinking. Silently, she shook her head. Healey voiced an objective of one day becoming a model civilian but Russo pointed out the fact that he was barely out of pre-school.

The hours passed. The day wore on. The soldiers took stock of their surroundings and ensured all was safe. It was what they did. Sentinels watching over the living, as those who had gone before watched over them. Uncles, brothers, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters forever lost but never forgotten.

Memory preserves them all.

*

Darkness fell for the second night and Alicia was looking forward to an early start the next morning. Crouch had texted to explain what they had found, but demonstrated no headway yet. She said her goodbyes to Russo last after forcing Healey away an hour earlier and topping her quota of the expected “time you were in bed” wisecracks, then took a steady walk back to her hotel. Even before she entered the room she knew it was occupied.

Call it sixth sense, SAS training, perception by a woman at the top of her game. Call it luck. She knew. And when the door opened inwards and the figure loomed she was ready.

Lightning quick, she jabbed to the throat, poked at the eyes, kicked at the knees. The figure danced back, staggering as the lower blow struck home. Alicia followed it up with another blitz attack, slamming her knee in hard—once, twice, three times—but each blow was blocked by a raised elbow. No words were passed.

The figure rolled away, a jacket left in its wake. Alicia bounded forward, felt brief contact with the bridge of her nose, and stopped, tears blinding her eyes. The next blow struck her sternum, causing her to gasp, ripping her T-shirt. She retaliated in a second, fast blows to the body, digging her fingers into the figure’s own clothing and ripping a good chunk of it away. Hard, hairless muscles were revealed. The man attacked in a blur, all darkness and distorted silhouette, spinning around her body in a full circle and ripping the rest of her T-shirt away. Alicia didn’t let up; there was no modesty in this kind of battle.

A feint to the groin and a punch up into a falling chin made her opponent see stars. She stepped in and tore the man’s black clothing down from the chest to the waist. He recovered fast, dropping to one hand and kicking with both feet. The strikes took Alicia by surprise, made her fall flat on her ass. Before she could move, both her shoes were ripped from her feet. Alicia couldn’t help but mutter in surprise.

How the hell . . ?

But he wouldn’t get the better of her, she was determined. She knew where certain vulnerabilities lay. As the man ducked in again she rose powerfully and then dropped quickly to her knees, shredding the rest of the material that covered his body.

The man paused in shock.

“Be careful, Beau,” she breathed. “If I manage to get hold of that thing I’m gonna use it to twirl you above my head like a whirlycopter.”

The man kicked at her shoulder. Alicia forced herself to concentrate but found it hard to avert her eyes. “Oh wow, I’ve so missed—”

In a move too fast for her to comprehend, Beauregard spun her around so that her back was pressed into his body and then launched her onto the hotel room’s bed. Two seconds later he’d ripped her trousers off. Alicia, panting, lay still, then slowly turned her head to look coyly over her golden shoulder.

“So? You waiting for an invite or are you gonna pound that?”

Beauregard needed no second request. Falling atop her he put his lips close to her ear. “Are you ready for me?”

“Fighting my boyfriend always turns me on.”

“That is what I thought.”

Alicia propped a cushion under her hips. “For fuck’s sake, be careful.”

“Ah, if only I had a franc for every girl who asked me that.”

“Fuck you.”

“No.” Beauregard pressed into her hips. “I think you have that backward.”

*

Later, bruised and spent, Alicia rolled over to create some space between herself and the Frenchman. What had promised to be a spectacularly boring evening had turned into something far more satisfying, but there were still questions to be asked.

“Beau? What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” The master assassin thrust his hips at her.

“Quit that. I’m serious. Who are you working for, Beau. And why are you in Paris?”

Beauregard pulled the sheet across his body, giving Alicia a moment’s regret. He plumped the pillows behind his head and sat up. “Look, Alicia, I cannot answer your questions yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes. The time is soon, but it is not my decision.”

“Shit Beau, you had better be working for the good guys. If you turn out to be working for those asshole Pythians I’m really gonna have to kill ya.”

“Your patience will be worth it.”

“Now you sound like one of those business answering machines.” She switched to a tinny accent. “We appreciate your call. It is important to us. You are fifth in the queue. We are currently servicing Trevor. Please bend over and let us take you—”

“Look.” Beauregard interrupted her and leaned forward. “I have never been this far on the inside, undercover. Every moment I remain with you my life is in danger, but I did remain.”

“In danger?” Alicia repeated. “Is that why you finished so quickly?”

Beauregard turned away, frustration flashing across his features. Alicia relented and reached out to him. “So tell me this then. What are the Pythians up to now?”

“Nothing but their usual megalomaniacal bullshit. Tyler Webb’s incessant needs center around ghost ships and Saint Germain. I fear if he does not get what he wants then he will turn our world to ashes. And his needs—they’re demonic to put it mildly.”

“Demonic?”

“Subjugation. Domination. Societies in chains. Death squads. I could go on.”

“Please don’t.”

“And if he becomes frustrated . . .” Beauregard let it hang.

“So you’re the inside man. And you won’t tell me who you work for. All right. I can live with that but only for a short while, Beau. You get me?”

Beau nodded, his powerful body shifting slightly beneath the sheets and drawing Alicia’s attention. “Already, the Pythians are recruiting new primary members. I have only two names so far—Julian Marsh and Zoe Sheers. But it is a start. The names have been . . . passed on.”

Alicia sensed that her lover wished to tell her more. Wanted to. Her intuition was rarely wrong and she truly believed Beauregard was genuine. Despite the fact that whenever they met she always seemed to end up with a set of fresh bruises.

“And now to a more serious issue,” she said, leaning forward. “Never, ever, try to cover yourself up when we’re alone again. I like you naked.”

Beauregard gave an exaggerated sigh. “Of course.”

Alicia hesitated. “And just so we’re clear this time. You wanna fight first or fuck?”

“It is up to you.”

Alicia laughed. “Oh, I know that, Beau. I really do.”

She climbed on top.

In the shadow of the great Arc de Triomphe the Gold Team regrouped. Though surrounded by light, noise and groups of locals and tourists they felt as unobtrusive a crew in Paris as they were ever likely to get. Alicia knew none of them had had time to process the Riley or even the Kenzie angle yet. A team like theirs simply couldn’t disappear off the grid forever.

Action would have to be taken.

“It’s a clue buried deep within the Congress of Vienna.” Crouch pitched his voice below the timbre of the crowd. “But on the same page that ceded the Horses back to Venice. Listen up and tell me what you make of this:

‘From an Ancient Wonder’s home to the Domus,

‘From the Golden palace to the Emperor’s Circus,

‘The First riding above all,

‘The Second supporting the wall.

‘From the Floating City to the New Rome,

‘Undivided as Lysippos intended,

‘The Tarentum—the strength, the bolster,

‘The Quadriga—the show, the vision.

‘Then sundered materially as never in spirit,

‘One always the show,

‘The other below,

‘By the Pillars of Hercules he endures,

‘A part of the soil,

‘Hiding among New Arches envisioned,

‘To the victor the spoils.’ ”

Crouch finished and looked expectantly at the others. Russo grunted. Healey stared. Alicia put their expression into more eloquent words.

“Fucked if I know.”

“Well, luckily for you guys Caitlyn and I have been working on it all night,” he said. “We have some of the stanzas figured out. It’s a history, a chronology if you like, of the Hercules Tarentum and the quadriga. ‘From an Ancient Wonder’s home’ is . . .” he paused.

Alicia shrugged. “There were only seven. And I’m guessing this also revolves around their maker so I’m guessing Alexandria.”

“Yes. The Lighthouse of Alexandria was one of the seven ancient wonders and where Lysippos created both pieces. Now, through some web research we have determined that the Horses then came to Rome. The Romans certainly knew of Lysippos through the writings of Pliny—there was a huge market for his work. A big emperor needed a big Lysippos to prove his power, his manhood. So, according to the records the Horses made their way to Emperor Nero who displayed them in his Domus Aurea, which was a huge landscaped villa built at the heart of ancient Rome around AD 68. Pliny the Elder was there whilst it was being built, this so-called Golden House, and mentions it in his writings.”

“Is it also the Golden Palace?” Alicia asked.

“Yes, nicely thought out. The next two lines are a reference or a clue to the actual pieces, of course, possibly a way of covertly alluding that the Hercules goes in tandem with the quadriga. Suggestions of spectacle and strength—the Horses and the Hercules. It also hints that the Horses are for display whilst the Hercules is concealed, a suggestion that is reinforced later in the verses.”

Caitlyn broke in as Crouch took a breath, unable to curb her enthusiasm. “Right! Next verse. ‘From the Floating City to the New Rome’. It’s now you realize that they skipped Constantinople, see? Where we know the Horses stood atop the Hippodrome. We think this is because the people who wrote these verses in 1815 and ceded the quadriga back to Venice were more than a little embarrassed at themselves for not sending it back to the only place they knew positively that it actually came from. Anyway, the Floating City is naturally Venice whilst the New Rome, we think, is a dig at Napoleon.”

“Nobody’s above a good dig it seems,” Russo commented.

“Nope. And with Napoleon just defeated and jailed after referencing his Paris as the New Rome we think the theory stands up.”

Alicia racked her memory. “ ‘Undivided as Lysippos intended’. That’s pretty clear.”

“It is,” Crouch broke back in with a smile. “Lysippos built these pieces to complement each other. Spectacle and strength. The show and the unseen power at its back. They were never meant to be parted.”

“So maybe they never were,” Healey said. “And we head back to St. Mark’s Basilica.”

“Maybe.” Crouch nodded. “The next two lines are more references to the pieces’ meaning. What they signify to each other. The quadriga—”

“Wait.” Healey broke in, waving an arm and sidestepping a bungling tourist. “What is a quadriga anyway? I missed that bit.”

“A quadriga is four horses. Four horsepower. It was pretty quick back in the day.”

Alicia laughed. “Fourth century BCE? I’ll bet.”

“Now,” Caitlyn took up the metaphorical reins, “is where it gets interesting. The final stanza tells us where the Hercules is currently, or at least where it was taken after 1815. And looking at the big picture, that’s just a moment ago in history. It says ‘then sundered materially but never in spirit’. This points to the very real possibility that the pieces were parted. The Horses sent to Venice, the Hercules . . .”

“But why?” Russo asked.

“There must have been a very good reason. The people who wrote the congress clearly knew the pieces were meant to stay together.”

“And where?” Alicia asked.

“Read the rest of the verse. What do you think?”

“By the Pillars of Hercules,” Alicia recalled. “A part of the soil. Hiding among New Arches envisioned. To the victor the spoils.”

“This is where we falter,” Crouch admitted. “I’ve never heard of the Pillars of Hercules or the New Arches. And ‘to the victor the spoils’ seems almost to be a challenge. More like the hunt, a riddle-master saying—if you find it it’s yours.”

Caitlyn stared into the middle distance. “Well, I do know that the Pillars of Hercules are two promontories at the Strait of Gibraltar. One of them is the actual Rock of Gibraltar.”

“Lots of, um, toffs out that way,” Russo said. “I don’t think we’d fit in.”

“I know of the Rock of Gibraltar,” Crouch said. “Of course. But I didn’t realize the Pillar of Hercules connection.”

“And Napoleon’s activities in the Med are well documented,” Caitlyn added. “My only problem is the quote we found from Napoleon: ‘I have
found
the Pillars of Hercules. That doesn’t quite fit.”

“All right.” Crouch stored that away for later perusal. “Let’s concentrate on the New Arches reference for a bit. We’ll revisit the Pillars of Hercules later.”

“Wasn’t the Arc de Triomphe built after the Arc du Carrousel?” Alicia asked.

“Yes, but they were designed and begun at the same time. You think ‘arches’ refers to the triumphal arches of Paris?”

“Or Rome.” Alicia shrugged. “Wasn’t that where arches first started off?”

“Ancient Rome, yes,” Crouch replied quietly, clearly thinking hard. “As I mentioned there’s an Arch of Constantine in Rome.”

Healey jerked alert, ready to go. Alicia waved him down. “Relax, boy. We’re just guesstimating here.”

“Constantine just doesn’t fit,” Caitlyn said. “Yes, he built Constantinople but the congress washes right over the history around Constantinople and the Hippodrome.”

Crouch agreed. “All Roman arches are old,” he said. “Dating, I think from around the first century BCE onwards.”

“And they meant ‘envisioned’ back in 1815.” Alicia said. “That means they hadn’t been built yet.”

Crouch shook his head. “But that doesn’t fit either. Nobody would build a triumphal arch just to hide the Hercules. They’d secrete it in a quiet place they already have. I mean, the Hippodrome was already there. So was the Golden Palace and St. Mark’s Basilica. Even the Arc du Carrousel was built to commemorate Napoleon’s victories.”

“So maybe the arches weren’t built just for the Hercules,” Alicia shrugged, “but agreed at the secret congress to be utilized later in some way.”

Caitlyn stared at Crouch. “Something you just said.” She creased her brow. “Niggles at me. About Napoleon and his victories. I don’t . . .” she broke off, deep in thought.

“So where does all that leave us?” Russo grumbled, staring around at the erratic flows of tourists, the drifting crisp packets and empty coffee cups, the local cops trying their best to look friendly on every street corner, the ever-present, all-seeing monuments that marked eras long since absent from the world.

“Well, it leaves us with plenty to think about,” Crouch said a little grumpily. “And that’s why we’re here.”

“Not me.” Alicia looked like a caged lion. “I’m here for the mayhem. I’m just dying for some lout to bump into me so I can tear his head off.”

“Frustrated?” Russo enquired with a little smirk.

“I may be the worst woman here,” Alicia said with a tight, haughty smile. “But I’m still the best man.”

Crouch started walking away from the arch, pulling the team with him. “Do we know of any arches built after 1815?”

Alicia turned to Caitlyn. “Geek?”

The ex-MI5 agent looked flustered. “Sorry, I was . . . lost for a moment there. I’m sure the answer is staring us right in the face.”

“No,” Alicia said drily. “That’s me. And I’m not hiding any Hercules.”

“It’s not that.” Caitlyn said, oblivious to the sarcasm. “I’m thinking Napoleon was defeated. The Hercules and to some extent the quadriga always seem to have been spoils of war. So who defeated Napoleon?”

Crouch stopped very quickly. “Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley at the battle of Waterloo,” he said. “Better known as the Duke of Wellington.”

“And you’re saying the British built an arch in acknowledgement of that?” Alicia asked.

“No.” Caitlyn flicked rapidly at her Kindle Fire. “We built two. The first design was based on the Arch of Constantine,” she breathed rapidly. “and wow . . . the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. The second, complete with quadriga, was also built to commemorate Britain’s victories in the Napoleonic Wars.”

The team stared at each other, mesmerized by Caityln’s words, astonished at the breakthrough.

“Which arches?” Crouch asked. “Don’t tell me—”

Caitlyn nodded. “You got it. The most obvious ones in plain sight. The first is Marble Arch, the second is Wellington Arch.”