Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (4 page)

Later that day the team checked into a Best Western at random, knowing a dogged enemy could still track them but still mindful not to make the task too easy. After the rooms were scanned and bags dumped the team met downstairs for drinks and snacks. Beyond the marble tiled lobby with its domed chandelier and highly polished paneling lay a compact rest area, complete with easy chairs and plush couches. The walls were covered in studded leather and the floors deeply carpeted. Drinks and canapés could be ordered from remote controls housed in the seats’ armrests. Crouch shook his head at the advanced yet sterile technology.

“One more step away from human interaction,” he said. “First texting, then scrolling mobiles and now a computer-controlled waitress.”

“I like it,” Caitlyn said. “Progress is not possible without change.”

“Change is not always progress,” Crouch countered. “As said Henry Ford.”

“Didn’t he design the Model T?”

“Yup. And he made sure you could order it in any color so long as that color was black.”

The team settled unevenly, sprawling on the couches or throwing legs over the armchairs. Russo first waved Alicia away, but then good-naturedly cleared a pile of pillows to the side. Alicia gave him a sidelong glance.

“Chivalry is not dead.”

“Oh it is. I just figure to put you between me and the lobby. Just in case your crazy friend finds us and takes a pot shot.”

Alicia patted the hidden Uzi. “Kenzie? What? You don’t like strong women?”

“Oh I love ‘em. Just not with armies at their backs and a sackful of Uzis.”

Crouch leaned toward them. “Whatever you think of her, this Kenzie person presents us with a unique problem. Our success has already spawned a complex conundrum. How does a specialized team hunt down ancient artifacts without attracting the attention of those who would destroy or steal or hold them for ransom? Truth be told it’s not difficult to track anyone—even us—if you have the right tools.”

“It’s not like you can hop over to these places under the radar,” Caitlyn said, playing with her hair. “They require investigation. Exploring.”

“And quite often the cooperation of locals,” Crouch said. “As you know I do have my contacts, but they’re contacts built over many, many years. My guess is, even these men and women are not infallible.”

“Don’t worry,” Alicia said. “Whether they’re your contacts or not I still wouldn’t trust them.”

Crouch made a face as if he wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

Naz also leaned forward, stealing their attention. “I was not done. When the crazy treasure seeker attacked I was not done. My thought process on learning that the Hercules had joined the Horses in Constantinople went straight to Enrico Dandolo, if you remember? As you now know he was the forty-second Doge of Venice and a particularly distinctive, exceptional man. Blinded in his sixties or seventies he then went on, at age ninety, to lead the Fourth Crusade and even later a foray against the Bulgarians. He died in 1205.”

“The year after Constantinople was sacked,” Crouch said.

“Yes. After successfully relocating the Horses of St. Mark from the quadriga atop the ancient Hippodrome to St. Mark’s Basilica.”

Caitlyn waited for the real-life waitress to deliver their drinks before speaking. “We all know where he stashed the Horses,” she said with a wink. “But what did he do with the Hercules? Clearly, it wasn’t in plain sight.”

Naz nodded. “The one hundred—or much more—million dollar question. Was the statue a treasure so grand it was classified—assigned to be viewed only by the privileged? Was it deigned too valuable to show? Was it coveted, yearned for, perhaps beheld only by Dandolo himself? Hell, perhaps it was even forgotten. But I’ll tell you one thing—” Naz paused for a drink, first making sure that all eyes were on him. “The clues to its whereabouts are all around us.”

“Surely they need confirming.” Caitlyn sat back.

“Yes, sure, and there is one easy way we can do that. I was ready to start today when the crazy woman attacked.”

Crouch looked puzzled. “At the Hagia Sophia?”

“Yes, at the great church of Constantinople, where Dandolo himself once stood victorious. Do you know why?”

“Why don’t ya tell us?” Alicia said soothingly.

“Dandolo’s tomb. His body is inside the Hagia Sophia.”

“No way!” Caitlyn exclaimed. “The tomb of the guy who led the crusaders into this city and practically destroyed it lies inside its greatest church?”

Naz nodded. “And that’s where I was up to in my own investigation. About to visit the tomb, or more specifically the plaque of Enrico Dandolo to see what might be there.”

Crouch closed his eyes. “I’m guessing the actual tomb no longer exists?”

Naz sighed. “Another mystery. His grave was encased in a marble tomb. Some say it was destroyed by the Ottoman Turks, others by the Niceans. And though the tomb may have been destroyed, the grave still exists.”

“So what do we all do when we get there?” Alicia asked. “A polishing? If that’s the case I sure ain’t going near any bishops.”

Naz sighed. “We investigate. I thought you people were treasure hunters. Isn’t that what you do? Investigate? Follow clues?”

“We do.” Caitlyn reached out to lay a reassuring hand atop the archaeologist’s. “Alicia enjoys a little jokery.”

“I’m not joking,” Alicia confirmed, blonde hair whipping as she backed up her words with a nod of the head.

“Hey, I’ll throw down some Jim to that.” Russo suddenly held out his tumbler and knocked it against the feisty Englishwoman’s. “No more joking around. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

“Interesting that you should do that,” Crouch said, nodding at the tumblers. “The tapping together of glasses is a custom from medieval times and a sign of trust that your partner didn’t slip you a deadly poison.”

“Crap, that’s fine,” Alicia said, drinking. “So long as it doesn’t mean I have to marry the lummox.”

Russo sniffed. “See. Didn’t last long.”

“But I do trust you.” Alicia held her glass in the air again, and this time everyone tapped it. “To the Hercules Tare . . . tar . . . crap. To Hercules and all his muscles.”

“To Hercules,” the group echoed.

Crouch settled back. “Is everyone up for an early treasure hunt inside the Hagia Sophia tomorrow morning?”

“Can’t wait,” Alicia said, slamming her empty glass down. “Wake me at dawn.”

“It opens at nine. Tourist hours.”

“Oh, all right then. Let’s see if we can’t figure out this armrest thingamajig and order us another round.”

*

The buzz of alcohol did nothing to alleviate Alicia’s pain. The power of the rain shower failed to howl down the voices in her head. Nothing could. She sat in her hotel room, at a work desk, wrapped in a towel from neck to toes, staring at a blank sheet of paper and trying to physically map out her future. It was an idea that had come to her late one night—sit there, think ahead, and try to write something down.

Anything.

Something that might prove to be an anchor. Seeing that, written down, might give her a goal to strive toward. It might turn on a light bulb inside her head, chasing the darkness away. There had never been a path, a plan. But without one she was doomed.

Get it written down, even if you throw the sheet of paper away afterwards it’s still a start. A new start.

She picked up the pen, stamped a dot in the middle of the paper. A nucleus. It was a representation of herself, surrounded by nothing, heading nowhere. Life molded and changed you when you were young, events, sometimes menial, inexorably shaping you into the person you would become. Her own past involved a drunken father and a weak mother, both dead before she was twenty and forming the root of her problem and the reason she had started on this path. She was strong because her mother had been weak. She had lived through those days and would never take that from a man. Was it so hard to change now?

I like the person I am. How many people can say that?

But did she? Staring at the sheet of paper, blank apart from an empty black circle, she wondered where to go. The first detail she made was a simply arrow, facing upward, pointing ahead. The future. Then backwards—the past. One was indeterminate, the other inescapable. If all of life’s decisions were this hard how the hell did people ever get anything done? Did they just make it up as they went along? Did they?

Making plans was one thing. But life choices? That was entirely another. The room around her was so quiet she found it a little threatening. If she made just one decision tonight then that would be enough. Just one. Behind her the bed looked inviting, promising the restful slumber that never came. Tentatively she drew another line . . . this one aimed diagonally halfway between moving forward and standing still. A progressive sidestep. If a compromise existed that might help her future then that was it. The trouble was—how could she fit it into her real life? The Gold Team were moving ahead, now engaged on another treasure trail. The SPEAR team never stopped—every day seemed to bring a new adventure for them. Was there a way to sidestep and still be a part of both crews? Because stopping was never going to be an option.

Life was too short.

One life . . . live it. Don’t fuck around, just get involved and live it.

People died all the time. Good people. Not terrorists or asshole fanatics or corrupt figureheads or depraved gang members. Not sex traffickers or drug makers or gun runners or mass killers.

The good people died all the time. Innocent lives were lost every minute from the north to the south and the east to the west. If there was something inside Alicia that spoke truly it was a desire to help the good people of the world. This was what had changed her path long ago, from following the side of evil and switching to the side of good. No compromise.

Her eyes followed the new line—just a thin, inked arrow on a white sheet of paper—and wondered if it might change the course of her life.

Even save her life.

The question was—which name was waiting to be written above the arrow?

Caitlyn Nash tried to suppress her excitement as the entire team stepped into the hallowed interior of Hagia Sophia. This current structure, she knew, was in fact the third basilica built on this site, the first and second burned down. Of the first church, inaugurated in 360 AD, nothing now remained, but several large blocks of the second church, 415 AD, could still be sought out—among them blocks depicting twelve lambs for twelve apostles and discovered only seventy years ago. Who knew what other treasures existed inside this place and indeed around the world?

As they wandered the vast interior, Caitlyn again tried to rein in her awe. The nave was covered by the grand dome, almost two hundred feet high and resting on forty arched windows. To the east and west were other half domes and its interior was sheathed with gold mosaics and polychrome marbles. Caitlyn stopped in her tracks apparently to allow a group of tourists clear passage, but her wandering gaze betrayed her wonder.

Naz chuckled at her side. “Do not even try to take it all in. You will never move again.”

Caitlyn blinked and then turned a quick gaze upon Crouch. Her boss was equally starstruck and the two gave a self-conscious laugh.

“Geeks,” Alicia muttered. “Where to, Naz? Lead the way. I’m never comfortable inside a church for too long.”

Russo practically barked. “Ha ha. I wonder why.”

Caitlyn forced her legs forward as Naz led the way deeper inside. Though the hour was yet early the church was already crowded, jam-packed with camera-touting holiday makers, as noisy and busy as anywhere in Europe. Caitlyn fell in with the team, ignoring everything else, and tried to adapt as well as she could, still conscious of her inexperience, her naivety with most things military and the sharp learning curve that lay ahead. Back at MI5 the future had been assured, the present mapped out . . . structure and regulations put in place to help keep her secure. Those who conformed and listened and remained shrewd but undemanding were what they wanted. They didn’t want James Bond. Caitlyn could have conformed until the cows came home and the heavens collapsed if all had remained stable in her personal life. Even a hiccup could have been ridden out.

But what happened between her parents was far beyond a hiccup. It was the worst unimaginable upheaval. Life stopped having meaning for her right then; the connotations of it tugged at her all the time, even now as she walked with new colleagues through this magnificent structure. How on earth could she not have known what was happening?

Ahead, Naz slowed, waiting for a knot of people to disperse. Once their constant chatter had died away he beckoned the team over, motioning at them to gather around.

“And here lies the tomb of Enrico Dandolo, leader of the Fourth Crusade and the man responsible for the sack of Constantinople.”

Caitlyn looked at the ground. A simple plaque, a grave-marker bearing the name ‘Henricus Dandolo’, laid between rough borders of cement, lay humbly before them, protected by a simple rope and pedestal barrier. The marble floor all around it was cracked and worn as if parts had been uplifted or intentionally broken at some point in history.

“Somewhat unassuming,” Crouch noted. “This is Dandolo’s tomb?”

“Yes, or once was. Stories abound on this point as much as they do with most of history’s accuracies. Some say his bones were later dug up and scattered, possibly destroyed. Some say the Ottomans later desecrated his tomb. Some even say his body was quickly removed in anticipation of what may happen later. None of this matters. All we need to know is that once this was Dandolo’s tomb and it was put here, inside this church, for a reason known only to him.”

Caitlyn didn’t take her eyes from the grimy-looking marker. “Why?”

“Because we’re on a treasure hunt, Miss Nash,” Crouch said. “And if Dandolo stole the Hercules along with the Horses and wanted the worthy to know about it, then he will have left us a clue. Don’t forget, he ruled this place when he died.”

Caitlyn searched the floor with her gaze. “Certainly there’s no clue down there.”

“No. He would have wanted it to remain forever,” Naz said. “At least the life of the church.”

“Which leaves us with . . .” Healey, close to Caitlyn’s side, raised his head to take in the walls. The pale marble stone gave nothing away, jealously guarding its secrets now as it had for fifteen hundred years. Naz laughed.

“What did you expect? A poem? A map? A secret passage? The secret of the Hercules has lasted since 1204. Do not expect it to succumb so easily.”

Caitlyn quickly scanned their surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The team allowed another group of tourists to pass by, listening to their chatter of Dandolo and Istanbul, and then came together again.

“Do we know anything else of this man?” Caitlyn suggested. “Something that might give us a clue.”

“Mostly what you have heard is all that is relevant,” Naz said.

“Then we already know,” Crouch said. “We already know the answer.”

“But where . . .” Caitlyn turned full circle. Sunlight fell across the grave from one side, its bright shafts catching her eye. No way would that old trick work—a time of day and a shaft of light pointing a way to the ultimate treasure. A tourist with a camera lens almost as long as his arm leaned past her, shielding the light as he took a close-up snap of the tomb. Beyond him a darker doorway led to even more of the second-floor loge. Crouch backed away, affording more people a view and recognizing that the thing they needed would need more thought.

“Dandolo,” he mused. “Constantinople. The Horses of St. Mark. Venice.” He absorbed the display afforded by the tomb and its surrounds, the passageways leading off, the ceiling and the extensive floor. In truth the entire area was oddly bland, offering little in the way of mystery. Indeed, a wooden guard cabin stood behind them, inappropriate but probably necessary.

Crouch let his gaze wander.

Alicia and Russo, remaining distant, continued to guard the team’s perimeter. Caitlyn entertained a moment of irrationality where she questioned the need for a guard inside this church, then again understood just how far she had to go to become a true team member.

Stupid girl.

“Ya see that statue?” Alicia was bantering with her large companion. “Bet you can’t break it apart with your bare hands.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Only when I’m fighting.”

Russo placed his hands together as if wishing for an adversary to turn up.

“Careful. You do that inside here too often they’ll bronze you and stick you on a pedestal.”

Caitlyn’s attention wandered again, back to Crouch who was staring into the middle-distance, then to Naz who was kneeling beyond the rope line, hands resting against Dandolo’s grave marker as if it might be persuaded to reveal its innermost secrets. A beam of sunlight penetrated the clouds for a moment, filling the windows and glancing across the tomb.

The windows.

Crouch turned to her, his face alight, sunshine not the only glow lighting his features. “The windows!” he said.