Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (9 page)

Crouch struggled to his knees. Healey and Caitlyn were inextricably entwined. Alicia feared the worst and rolled over onto her back. Blue skies greeted her for less than second. After that the light was blocked out by something the size of a falling star. Her brain barely had time to register the coming impact before Russo crashed down, driving the breath from her body and sending the gondola up onto its side. Water flooded the boat, crashing over all of them as they struggled to stay inside.

The vessel righted itself, its sides shielding them from view, waves crashing from every side. The gondolier yelled in shock and anger, his hat floating away at his back, a sad counterpoint to his fury. Alicia couldn’t even draw breath as she lay pinned beneath Russo, not for the first time in her life. Crouch grabbed hold of a red-covered seat, staring up the gondola’s sharp curve to the prow-head. Wet brick walls, fungus and decaying facades lined the canal ahead, the lesser features of a gondola ride through the sinking city. The rowing oar was gone and the highly polished craft floated uneasily amidst its own waves, going nowhere. Crouch cast around, whispering for everyone to help.

Alicia gasped, still unable to breathe and pushing at Russo with weak arms. The soldier’s face was an inch from her own, creased with surprise that he’d actually managed to land inside.

“Cool,” he muttered.

Alicia flapped at him.

“What the hell’s wrong, Myles? Are you trying to fly?”

With a deep, shuddering breath Alicia finally managed to get some air inside her body. Out of her peripheral vision she could see Crouch searching for a way forward and finding nothing. Very soon their pursuers would figure out where they had gone.

Russo knelt over her. Alicia gathered her strength and struck both hands against this chest.

“Move, ya fuckin’ bouncing bomb!” Alicia had heard the word “fuck” was the most useful and often used word in the military vocabulary and always played her part in maintaining an average.

Russo rolled away, still struggling a little. Alicia tried to sit up, saw stars and lay back down. Crouch abruptly collapsed into the bottom of the craft.

“They’re here,” he murmured. “Hide.”

Russo collapsed again without ceremony. Alicia groaned. “Bastard.”

A moment passed, a few more seconds. The gondolier was still shouting from the water, attracting attention. Alicia knew that before long even the dumbest mercenary would shoot at the drifting wooden gondola.

“Grab your gun,” she told Russo. “And be ready.”

“Wait—” Caitlyn began.

“That’d be suicide.” Alicia and Russo rose as one, instantly locking gazes with half-a-dozen mercenaries who stood at the tunnel’s exit, scanning the canal. Before their enemies could open fire, Alicia and Russo sprayed them with bullets. Two fell into the water, two more collapsed back with wounds. Everyone began to yell.

“Gotta get away from here,” Alicia said.

Crouch again scanned the area. “Don’t they have speedboats? I was hoping for a speedboat.”

“Banned them a few years ago,” Caitlyn told him. “If you’d asked before you jumped . . .”

“I’ll try to remember next time I’m in mid-flight. How’s the ammo?” he called.

Alicia threw her gun at the water. “Out.”

Russo waited and then fired a final burst. “Me too.”

Crouch eyed the canal. “Hope there’s a way out up ahead,” he said and then leapt into the water. Taking his lead, Caitlyn slipped over the side just as Healey splashed beside her. Alicia stared at Russo.

“After you, Robster. The last time I went swimming the whole ocean exploded.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Russo launched himself over the side, creating a splash like a whale coming down. Alicia appraised their enemies’ positioning before following suit. The female merc was leaning over as if she wanted to dive in and give chase, but someone was holding her back. Alicia knew that Crouch’s reasoning had been sound—if the mercs dived in after them they would be vulnerable when the Gold Team climbed out. Their only advantage was to beat Crouch to the exit point.

Alicia hit the canal, trying not to swallow its dirty water and arrowing down like a fish, then jack-knifing forward. Soon, she was in front of Russo and then catching up to Crouch. “You know where you’re going?”

Crouch flashed a grim smile. “Haven’t the slightest clue.”

“Fantastic.” Alicia studied the way ahead. Sheer brick and stone walls reared to either side, festooned with green fungus just above the water line. Another bridge spanned the canal but there was no access to street level. Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Maybe that’ll shake them off,” Alicia said.

Crouch looked unconvinced. “I’m sure this is Riley’s doing and believe me, nothing will ever shake him off.”

Alicia curbed a sudden outburst, wondering why the hell Crouch had suddenly turned into the world’s worst pessimist. Truth was, she didn’t know how many complex, random lines their boss was trying to thread together. Or why. Instead, she concentrated on swimming, the cold water beginning to bite at her senses. To her left both Healey and Caitlyn shot by, reminding Alicia of Flipper. Before she could say anything a gout of canal water entered her mouth, making her cough and splutter. Then, as she broke the surface again, trying not to imagine the germs she’d just ingested, she caught sight of what the two Flippers were aiming toward.

A wooden jetty dead ahead.

In fact a series of wooden jetties on both sides of the watery passage, where gondolas could dock to take on passengers. Alicia looked back, gauging their distance from the mercs. It would be close but they should have enough time to climb up and disappear. Did Riley know where they were headed next? She tried to remember the figures around them back at the café. Had anyone been listening?

Soldiers were good at spotting surveillance. But in a place like that one tourist just looked the same as another, innocent or not. And Caitlyn’s revelation about Napoleon hadn’t exactly been on the down-low . . .

Alicia watched as Healey reached the jetty first and began to climb the low wooden structure. The moment he reached the top he spun and held a hand out toward Caitlyn.

Alicia saw the merc appear out of the archway behind him, saw the gleeful smirk, the utter menace and opened her mouth to shout a warning. As she did so the merc threw a grenade in Healey’s direction. The sound of its first bounce seized the soldier’s attention.

“No!” Crouch cried out.

Healey’s first instinct was to let go of Caitlyn, allowing her to fall back beneath the water. His second was to face the bouncing bomb alone, trying to gauge its terminus. Alicia could only watch, heart pounding, wondering why the hell he hadn’t just jumped—

Healey leaped for the canal.

No time!

The grenade exploded in mid-air, fragments flying, its blast reaching Healey’s airborne body, flinging it like a rag doll. The jetty itself shattered, timbers and spars bursting in all directions. Alicia dipped under the water for a moment, cursing herself for not having imagined that Riley would have the cunning to cover all exits. When timbers started landing on top of the water she waited a few seconds and then broke the surface again. Ahead, the jetty was collapsing, groaning to a watery extinction.

Healey!

She spotted the unmoving body a moment before it started to sink. With a kick and a sharp dive she shot down and forward, speeding toward Healey. Caitlyn, she could see, was already underneath the young soldier, trying to support his dead weight. From out of nowhere came another explosion, but this one deep, sonorous. The mercs were flinging grenades into the water. Alicia reached Healey, took hold of his jacket and hauled him above the surface.

Caitlyn grabbed his other side, her face a mask of anguish.

Crouch swam up. “Behind you!”

Alicia wasted no time trying to determine Healey’s condition. Crouch pointed to a jetty on the opposite side of the canal. “If we’re quick.”

It was vulnerable, but their only means of getting Healey out of there quickly. Alicia immediately had an idea, handed Healey off to Crouch and grabbed hold of one of the jetty’s timbers. Climbing fast, she glanced over to the ruined jetty.

Shit.

A merc was watching her, grenade in hand.

Crouch bobbed in the water below. “What the hell?”

“Climb!” Alicia shouted. “Just climb!”

Crouch urged Russo up first, shouldering Healey’s weight until the big soldier gained ground. Healey was not moving, his limbs unresponsive, head hanging. Crouch heaved him up toward Russo’s dangling arms.

Alicia gained the top of the jetty as the merc prepared to lob his grenade toward her. Crossing her fingers she cast around, hoping her outlandish plan would work. Seeing a meter long, thick plank of damaged wood at her feet she quickly scooped it up, whirled and eyed the suddenly airborne bomb.

Russo hauled Healey over the edge, eyes momentarily on her.

“Navratilova’s got nothing on me,” she said, swinging the plank and batting the grenade back in the mercenary’s direction. It reached the middle of the canal before exploding in mid-air, shrapnel slamming into brick walls and shattering through windows.

Russo climbed up, dripping wet. “Nah, I’d say John McEnroe was more your role model.”

Alicia eyed another grenade as it fell toward the jetty. “Hurry the fuck up, Russo. It won’t be long before the bastards’ brains catch up with their throwing arms and they time one to explode on impact.”

Russo hefted Healey with a grunt. “Doubtful,” he said, “from what we saw earlier.”

Alicia batted another grenade away just as Crouch slithered over the edge, helping Caitlyn at the same time. The sudden explosion rocked the surrounding walls, echoing backwards and forwards inside the canal’s narrow passage. Russo sprinted headlong toward their archway. Alicia hefted her wooden spar, trading jeers with their enemy.

“Is he . . . is he . . .” Caitlyn was spluttering, drenched and miserable and terrified. “Healey? Is he . . .”

Alicia’s face turned grimmer than the pillars at the entrance to Hell. “If he is someone’s gonna wish they were never born.”

Crouch beckoned Alicia into the tunnel. “Hurry up! I’ve carried out my fair share of missions in Venice. I know just where to go.”

Alicia ran, following the team onto Calle Frezzeria, still only a few street changes away from St. Mark’s Square. Within minutes they were passing a vaporetto stop. Crouch slowed drastically for the water bus.

“Rio del Mancanton,” he said. “Other side of the Grand Canal, and hurry!”

Money flashed, changed hands quickly. Russo didn’t even try to explain Healey’s situation, just laid the young soldier onto the bottom of the boat and hunched over him. Alicia analyzed their perimeter, as sure as she could be that they hadn’t been spotted. How far did Riley’s nasty little feelers reach?

Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Caitlyn was on her hands and knees beside Russo. “Zack! Can you hear me?”

Alicia dropped down. Healey’s face was ashen and, oddly, even more boyish than usual. Alicia had heard reports of soldiers looking peaceful in death, fresher, but had never seen one until now.

“Oh, no.”

Coming on the back of Komodo’s shocking death this was almost enough to tip her over. Black spots started to fill her vision. Her breath shortened and a sense of rage began to take control.

Then Russo said, “He’s alive.”

Alicia felt a rush of hope. “Get down there, Caitlyn,” she breathed. “Just snog that little bastard back to life if you have to. Whatever it takes.”

Russo gently turned Healey’s face away from the darkening skies. Alicia observed the tender gesture and fought down a surge of affection for the rough soldier. Now wasn’t the time.

Their craft was cutting swiftly through the waters, closing in on its destination. Rio del Malcanton was situated in one of the seedier parts of Venice, not entirely safe during the nocturnal hours, but even that was not without its benefits. Crouch directed their gondolier where to dock and urged them all into the shadows as quickly as possible.

“It would be easier if all our phones and equipment hadn’t just drowned,” he said. “But I think I can still find my way around.” After a moment he added, “Hopefully this place is still functioning.”

Russo hefted Healey. Crouch led the way, threading through an ever-darkening series of streets before pausing outside a dilapidated bakery. Alicia could hear footfalls behind them, and smell the ever-present scent of decay in the air. The bakery stood at the top of a short flight of steps, its windows barred and its door strengthened with metal strapping. When Crouch knocked Alicia saw a face momentarily loom at the window. The footfalls at their backs had paused for now, but she sensed a presence, more than one, watching and waiting.

Not Riley’s boys, she thought. They’d have nuked the place by now.

A voice enquired about their business. Crouch replied quietly, mentioning his name and what sounded like a password. Alicia suddenly knew where they were—one of the many MI5 safe houses around the world, most maintained with fully equipped dorms, cells, medical facilities, surveillance and interrogation rooms, and unmarked vehicles. A normal civilian would never be admitted, but a man like Crouch, with the password, and Caitlyn—ex MI5—might just pass muster.

The door opened. A head popped out. “Don’t hang around then,” the gruff Scottish tones rumbled. “They’ll have your fecking bollocks off in ten seconds flat.”

Alicia considered a reply, then decided better of it. Healey needed help not a smart-mouthed colleague. They followed the Scotsman into the bowels of the building, feeling for the first time in many days that they were surely free of observation.

“In here.” The Scotsman opened a door and motioned toward a man wearing a white coat. “This here’s Jack Hyde. We call him Jekyll. He’ll take care of your man.”

*

Later, over a microwaved plate of stew and several cans of John Smiths the group found time to relax. Crouch’s password, it seemed, was good enough to allay any suspicions. The team were left to their own devices. Healey’s initial exam and treatment would go on through the night so, unable to wind down enough to actually grab some sleep, they decided to ignore Riley and review their options. They settled roughly, sprawled around the tiny room with boots and gear on, drying out as best they could; the worry over Healey preventing any of them from trying to do anything normal. To a team member all they wanted to do was talk and be close to their fallen comrade.

“We are at an impasse,” Crouch said. “We just can’t prove that Napoleon took the Hercules at the same time he forcibly removed the Horses and transported them to Paris.”

“Not an impasse,” Caitlyn said through a mouthful of beef stew. “A standoff with known history. There’s always something you can do about a standoff.”

“For instance?”

Caitlyn indicated the laptop she had borrowed from the Scotsman. “Napoleon saved the French government from collapse by firing on Parisian mobs with cannons. He became General of the Army at twenty six. And he was beaten by Lord Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar and the Duke of Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo.”

“And this proves what?”

“He was a warlike figurehead, just like Dandolo, and no doubt a man of similar persuasions. He was an aficionado, a collector, a plunderer. He escaped exile in Elba and was, of course, married to Josephine.”

“This proves nothing.” Alicia, like Crouch, preferred to act as Devil’s Advocate.

“All right, what about this? Napoleon ruled an estimated seventy million people and all of Europe, a level of political consolidation that had not been known since Roman days. I’m reading Constantine. Napoleon also produced medallions to commemorate his successes. Considered the most important by historians were the Five Battles Series, the first of which depicted Hercules holding a club and the Hydra’s head.”

Alicia flashed on the sculpture outside the basilica. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Some years after he stole the Horses one of Napoleon’s favorite quotes was ‘I have found the Pillars of Hercules!’ Most thought he was referring to the new Paris. He once called Paris ‘the new Rome of Napoleon.’ And, most importantly, he displayed the Horses of St. Mark just as flamboyantly as did Dandolo, but clearly kept the Hercules to himself.”

Crouch upended a beer. “He displayed the Horses? My history’s a bit fuzzy there, I’m not sure I remember—”

“Only atop one of the most famous and important sculpted monuments in French history. The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel.”

“Of course.” Crouch snapped his fingers.

“Depicting Peace riding on a triumphal chariot it is a derivative of the triumphal arches of Rome. In particular its inspiration is the Arch of Constantine. Is this enough coincidence and corroboration for you? If the Horses went to Paris it stands up that the Hercules went with them. Also, Napoleon became enamored of it and started comparing himself to Hercules in more ways than one.”

“So Napoleon built an arch and had the stolen Horses placed on top, partly to rub it in the Venetian’s noses,” Alicia recapped. “A smaller version of the main Arc de Triomphe at Place d’Etoile yes?”

“Yes, originally it was intended as an entry way to the royal residence,” Caitlyn read.

Crouch’s head shot up, as if recalling something. “Now that’s interesting,” he said. “I couldn’t quite put my finger on it just now, but what you said there—it rings an odd bell.”

“Well, if you look at a picture of the Arc du Carrousel now you will see a very close copy of the four horses, each with one hoof raised as per Lysippos’ original design and a replica of the quadriga itself. The French sure weren’t shy in showing their admiration.”

“And where was Napoleon at this time?” Crouch wondered.

Caitlyn tapped at the keyboard several times. “In 1828 he was dead, following a six-year incarceration at the hands of the British. I wonder if they knew how he cherished the Lysippos sculptures and tormented him about them. He was actually alive when the Horses were returned to Venice.”

Crouch stretched and leaned back, tipping a beer. “I think it’s worth a trip to France,” he said finally. “What do you guys think?”

Russo shrugged. “No problem here.”

Alicia sighed. “France just makes me think of one thing.”

“Beauregard?” Caitlyn smiled.

“Close.”

Crouch drummed the table top. “Hmm, perhaps we can use Reece Carrera again.” He placed a call, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Yo, man!” Carrera’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The dogs of war are back! Was followin’ your escapades in Niagara Falls, Michael. Good job, dude.”

“How did you know that was us?” Crouch wanted to know. All personal details had been repressed.

“Well, ‘cause I’m me. Eyes and ears like TNT. They explode over your antics, man.”

“Good to know. Are you in Europe?”

Before Carrera could answer, Alicia grabbed the phone. “Hey, hey, do you know who this is?”

“Nah, just put Michael back on, sweetie.”

“It’s Alicia Myles.”

“Alicia? I know Sophie. Sophie Myles. Never heard of you.”

Alicia held the handset out to Crouch, an injured look on her face. “Guy’s a knobhead.”

Crouch mouthed “with a plane”, then said, “Where are you right now?”

“London,” Carrera said. “Filming.”

“Ah, that’s not going to work. Never mind. I’ll be in touch, Reece.”

“Cool. Oh, and tell Alice I said hi.”

“Alicia!” Alicia shouted. “It’s Alicia!”

Carrera chuckled. “I know.” He ended the call.

Alicia’s look of outrage transformed quickly to one of respect. “The bastard. He had me. Maybe not all movie stars are just muscles for show after all.”

Crouch was already manually dialing a new number. Alicia zoned out for a while. This latest development—Riley—was a serious hindrance. Poor Healey was a casualty of circumstance but it could have been any one of them, and it could have been far worse. Every time she put a step forward, it seemed, life threw trouble her way. Kenzie was one problem, a combatant, but Riley was something else.

How many men did he control?

Alicia scanned her bedraggled crew. Crouch appeared quite neat, only his clumpy hair and the streaks of dirt on his face attesting to his recent escape. Russo sat hunched and solitary, a still dripping, lonesome and prickly heap of misery. Caitlyn perched in an easy chair, legs folded beneath her, worry etched deeply across her face, hair a spiky mess. This team was gelling nicely, still in its infancy but Alicia wondered how much further they could go together before a tragedy struck and forced it apart.

Crouch nodded at her. “I know a guy, ex SAS, whose business is near Venice. He’ll fly us close to Paris.”

“How close?” Alicia didn’t like surprises.

“Well, he won’t drop us off at the Eiffel Tower but we’re not going to have to jump on a train either. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Crouch rose and left the room, placing a call as he went. Alicia wondered who might warrant the private treatment. It was at that moment that the doctor stuck his head round the door.

“He’s awake. And he’s fine.”

Alicia grinned, resisting the urge to leap up and bounce all over Russo. The man just looked too miserable and needed some serious cheering up. At least a major gust of relief helped to lighten his face and those massive shoulders lifted as a great weight detached. Caitlyn jumped to her feet and followed the doctor out of the room. Alicia lingered to wait for Russo.

“You okay?”

“Bloody hell, what do you think? You’re a jinx, Myles. Whenever you’re around the whole world goes to shit.”

Alicia felt her heckles rise. “I wasn’t around when you lost the Ninth Division. Maybe if I had been some people would still be alive.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth Alicia regretted them. It wasn’t fair to put that on Russo, or on anybody else. But Russo was playing with fire and needed to be reminded. The look on his face told her she’d gotten through the hard exterior.

“I’m trying to put that behind me,” he said. “I thought we all were.”

Alicia pushed past him, saying nothing, and walked into Healey’s room. The young soldier was smiling as Caitlyn hugged him. Alicia grinned.

“You’re looking better. “

“Feeling better.”

“I bet. Well, get the hell off your arse then. Paris won’t wait around for long.”

“It’s been there a while.”

“Don’t be a smartarse, kid. We’re targets, and targets that move fast are harder to hit.”

Russo grunted from behind. “Or easier to anticipate.”

Crouch entered the room, almost certainly preventing a confrontation. The team leader seemed oblivious of the sudden tension.

“If you’re able, Healey, we should move. The plane’s waiting.”

Healey swung his legs off the bed. “I don’t need telling twice.”

“Yeah, kid,” Alicia said. “Stop messing about swimming in canals and trying to fly. We have a treasure hunt to complete.”

*

Alicia hurried through the night, conscious of the space that surrounded the wide-open runway. It had taken them over an hour to reach this place and the entire team were anxious to be on their way. Not since she could remember had she actually felt so vulnerable. Riley had proved that he had the resources to strike anywhere, and however he wanted.
Is he out there now? Biding his time?