Alicia myles 1 - Aztec Gold (4 page)

Alicia listened as she studied the impressive model. “The Aztecs had all this and still they fell.”

Rivera nodded. “Staggering isn’t it? This museum, as I said, stands beside and over the old site. You can visit the catacombs below and walk straight to Montezuma’s temple and his meditation chamber and office if you like. Remember that Cortés only tore the temple down in anger when no further treasure was found. He knew the Aztecs had misled him then and reacted accordingly. Who knows, perhaps Montezuma’s chamber holds a clue.”

Alicia listened intently right up until the end. Her eyes, still staring through the glass, fixed onto the reflections of the large dark figures moving purposefully toward them from behind.

Museum visitors stumbled out of the way. Guards sprang into action.

Alicia whirled.

“Hello boys. About time our team got to kick some ass.”

Mayhem and chaos ruled inside the museum.

When the first punch was thrown, screams and surprised shouts ignited panic across the lobby. When the first antagonist smashed head-first into a display case, people began to run. When Alicia moved onto her second opponent, lifting him off the ground and throwing him bodily against a wall, the entire space exploded into chaos.

Alicia raised her head, seeing Russo cut in before her to get a load of the action, taking the next man. She took a moment to her assess her new colleague; saw him deliver a one-two-cross with a good mix of power and dexterity and decided she wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those bad boys. She moved around the grunting mountain, only to find Healey already facing up to the next adversary. This was good; Crouch had trained his men well as a team, something she should have taken for granted. Crouch himself was standing apart, also assessing the team with Lex at his side as bodyguard.

And me,
she thought.
Crouch is assessing me too.

She skipped around Healey. With three men down their unknown attackers still had five men remaining. Alicia front-kicked the knee of the leading man. He went down, crying out and holding his leg. Alicia paused for a moment.

“What is this? The local hockey team?”

Russo only grunted, hit by two at once. Healey traded punches with another. Crouch, behind her, said, “Good question. I wasn’t aware anyone knew we were here.”

Alicia stepped around the fallen, mindful of their speedy recovery times. At least these guys had had
some
training. The first head raised met a bootful of muddy, rubber sole—a nice new tattoo for his face.

“We should go.” Crouch was keeping an eye out for security. “The last thing we need here is some kind of major incident.”

Alicia heard him say a quick farewell and offer an apology to Rivera, although by his tone it was clear he didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Quickly then, Alicia pressed forward, clearing the path. Healey and Russo squeezed in behind her with Crouch taking the rear. They raced for the exit, pushing through the throng. Crouch, looking back, shouted a warning.

“They’re not giving up.”

The crowd spilled out onto the concrete path outside the museum, still running, still raucous. Alicia and her team ran with them. When they reached the roadside more paths opened up and the mass started to dissipate. A horde swarmed across the road, stopping traffic and causing even more noise and chaos. Alicia turned back.

“I don’t see why we’re still running.”

Their adversaries, eight-strong, plowed into them, bloody and bruised but eager for more. Crouch stepped back again, searching around. He was looking for a reason, a motive, a face he might recognize. So far, nothing presented itself.

Alicia wanted to end this fast. A throat punch and a kick to the groin took two permanently out of the fight. Twisting off the back of that she stiff-armed a third in the face, breaking his nose. Blood spurted. The piglike squeal was muted as he hit the ground hard on his back, all the breath smashed out of him. Russo lifted a man, slamming him down onto the front of a parked car. The next attacker he grabbed around the waist and flung into the road. Healey sought to be more clinical, trading swift punches and strikes before neutralizing his target with a blow to a nerve cluster. Laid Back Lex, though slow to start, soon warmed up to his task and began smashing heads together.

Crouch moved away as sirens sounded down the street. “Finish it,” he told them. “Time to go.”

But their attackers, though lacking skills, were certainly tenacious. No sooner did one go down, groaning, than another got back up. Alicia felled yet another, certain that it was the third time she’d put him down.

“No guns,” she said again, reminding the boss. “Takes more time this way.”

Russo glanced over at her. “They are unarmed,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair?” she repeated, taking an ineffective punch as she turned to stare. “Who said it should be bloody fair?”

“Get in the damn car!” Crouch shouted as they backed up to where the limo was still parked. “Let’s get out of here.”

Crouch held the door open as Healey slid in. Russo was there next, gesturing that Crouch should go first. The boss just grimaced and shoved the big man ahead, then signaled Alicia. “Hurry!”

The sirens were almost on top of them.

The engine roared. Alicia slipped past Crouch and jumped inside, ending up on Russo’s lap which caused the big man to let out an animal-like squeal. Crouch dealt easily with Alicia’s two pursuers, tripping and pushing them into a tangle as he took one last look around.

And saw a face . . .

“There,” he muttered. “Son of a bloody bitch.”

Crouch slid into his seat. Alicia untangled herself from Russo, slamming the man’s left bicep as she went for good measure. Didn’t hurt to let the new guy know you could injure him when you chose to.

The limo raced away from the curb, swerving into traffic amidst a noisy flurry of honking horns. One of their adversaries rather ambitiously threw himself onto the car, didn’t get a grip on the windshield, and went bouncing across the remainder of the carriageway, narrowly missing a braking bus. Crouch shook his head at the display of idiocy.

Alicia grimaced. “He’s just gotta know he ain’t that good. There’s people I’ve worked with
are
that good. Drake. Mai. Dahl. I mean, the whole damn team. But these guys? Talk about amateur hour.”

“And now I know why,” Crouch said. “Greg Coker.”

“An old friend of yours?” Alicia wondered. “What’s he doing here?”

But before Crouch could even open his mouth the sound of squealing tires shattered the peaceful cocoon around them, and three black shapes swerved in close.

“You gotta be kidding!” Russo cried. “We just kicked their asses twice and they’re
still
coming?”

Alicia surveyed their surroundings. Three black Nissan Qashqais were running alongside and behind them. “Christ,” she said. “Even their cars are slow.”

As if in retaliation for the slur the nearest Qashqai veered toward them, connecting with a solid impact of metal. For a moment both cars ran side by side, connected. Alicia glared into the crazed eyes of the guy she’d already decked three times. The Qashqai leaned in hard, trying to force the limo into a line of parked cars, but their driver was no slouch. Accelerating and twisting the wheel at the same time, he swung in front of the other car, leaving it to sway under its own momentum. The limo surged ahead, instantly blocked by another black Nissan.

Crouch turned to look through the back window. “What on earth is Coker doing here?”

Russo also turned around. “Greg Coker. I’ve heard the name. Can’t place the man.”

“A heavy rival, all my life in the Army. Coker and I used to work together—” Crouch let out a lengthy sigh. “Such a long time ago I can barely remember the dates. Jesus. He was always a competitive one, but sly about it. Pleasant on top, a cauldron of rivalry underneath. Not deceitful, just contentious. Funny thing was, he didn’t mean to be so challenging. He just couldn’t help himself. Like a small child, Coker always had to come out on top. Anyway, after a few years he left the service, became privately employed. We kind of lost touch after that, but—”

“But!” Lex blurted, unable to keep a lid on his impatience.

“The name keeps cropping up. Time after time. This job, that job, another job. Coker always on my tail or just in front. It always felt a little strange, but I put it down to the job and the tight circles we all run in. You know the score. Sooner or later, we all come across the same bunch of men and names time and time again.”

“But Coker was different?” Healey asked as the next Qashqai decelerated in front of them.

“Hard to say,” Crouch mused. “I’m wondering now if he hasn’t been flying along on my shirttails the whole time.”

The limo narrowly missed ramming the lead Nissan, but the evasive maneuver allowed the other two cars to catch up. Boxed in on three sides they had nowhere to go. Alicia decided enough was enough. She grabbed hold of the front headrest and pulled herself forward. “Hey, driver, this is Mexico City. Don’t you carry a gun in the glovebox?”

The driver didn’t look back. “No guns. I do have a riot stick.”

Alicia narrowed her eyes. “That’ll do the trick. Pass it here. Time to end this fiasco.”

She climbed across Healey who blushed, then Russo who gave her a stony stare, and jammed her finger on the electric window button. As soon as it lowered sufficiently she leaned out and up so that her face practically pressed against the other car’s rear window.

“How ya doing’ shitheels?”

Surprised faces glared at her, lips forming big ‘O’s. But that was nothing compared to what came next. Alicia brought the riot stick around with great force, shattering the glass, sending splintered shards spinning across the rear interior of the Qashqai. Her knees were braced and she was all ready to leap through the new gap, but at the last moment the Nissan swung away and entered the oncoming flow of traffic, slewing broadside.

“Next!” Alicia cried, waving the baton feverishly.

Again the driver stamped on the gas, making the limo lurch forward. Within seconds they were coming up alongside the next Nissan. Crouch shouted that he could see Coker in the front passenger seat.

“Get alongside him,” Crouch cried. “Alicia, wait!”

The Englishwoman grunted. “Hmm. That sounded suspiciously like
Alicia, heel!
”

Healey sniggered. Even Russo grunted. “Move over, big guy,” she said. “You’ve got twenty seconds, boss.”

Crouch waved frantically as the limo pulled alongside the lead Nissan. Coker’s face was already turned toward them, stony, forehead a creased canvas of worry lines and eyes as deep as ancient mysteries. Crouch gestured for the man to lower his window.

“Greg! What the hell’s going on?”

In answer, Coker spun toward his driver. Their car instantly changed direction to smash into the limo’s front end, sending it swerving into a parked car. The impact jolted everybody and left their side mirror lying on the road.

Alicia coughed loudly. “That went well.”

Russo glanced back. “No sign of the cops.”

“Won’t be long,” Crouch said. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“Ya think?” Alicia pointed ahead. Coker’s car had pulled away, pulling off some dangerous maneuvers to melt into the traffic ahead. Only one Qashqai now remained and it was practically glued to their rear.

“On my shout,” Alicia addressed the driver, “swing sharp left.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Lex said. “Girl’s gone mad.”

Alicia half-turned. “Says who?
You?
”

The following Qashqai nudged their rear, its occupants laughing. Slower cars flashed by to the left and right. A crazy motorcycle delivery driver tried to squeeze by them both and lost his pizzas in the crush. Alicia leaned out as far as she dared, which meant only her knees held by Russo remained in the car, and held up the riot stick.

“Hold on to yer balls, guys!”

She flung it hard, end over end, straight at the windshield and though the glass didn’t shatter this time it did crack at the impact point and cause the driver to react instantly. The Qashqai squealed to a sudden halt.

Alicia grabbed hold of the door handle. “Stop the fucking car. Let’s go!”

The limo ground to a halt as the black car shuddered in place. Alicia was first out, hitting the ground at a run just as the Nissan’s doors were flung open. She grabbed the first man around the neck and hurled him into decelerating traffic. Cars, vans and buses braked all around, and the high-pitched sound of stressed metal stung the air. Passersby lined the sidewalk, some scrabbling for cellphones. Alicia flung the next man onto the Qashqai’s front end, holding his shoulders in a vice-like grip to stop him falling off.

“What the hell do you want with us, asshole?”

“Just checkin’ your passports, love,” the man said in a decidedly British accent.

“Funny.” Alicia saw two more men exiting the car but sensed Russo and Healey coming around her flanks. She gripped her prisoner around the throat. “Maybe you should rethink that answer.”

The sun blazed down. Pedestrians screamed or watched excitedly. Angry motorists shouted from safe distances. Coming closer now, Alicia heard the approaching whine of the local constabulary.

“Damn it.”

Time for one last squeeze. One final connection. “Tell me or you won’t talk for a week.”

The guy spluttered, flailing weakly. “Dunno, love. Really I don’t. I’m just a relocated local. Coker spread the pesos around and told us to rough you lot up. Give you a few black eyes.”

Alicia snorted. “Didn’t really work out for you, did it? What’s he want with that kind of intimidation?”

“Lady, the man’s our boss. Tells us eff all. Only thing I know is he’s working for somebody else and he’s scared.” The guy’s eyes widened. “
Very
scared.”

Alicia let him fall to the ground and shouted at Russo and Healey to get back in the car. Crouch, who’d been listening from a few paces away, also climbed back in.