Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (11 page)

At last, Alicia eyed Healey. “That’s a hell of a way to cop a feel, Zacky.”

Healey managed a tired smile. “Good job you’ve got some meat on your ass. Gave me something to grab hold of.”

Alicia’s eyes went wide. “Feeling brave aren’t we? If I had an ounce of strength left you’d be over my bloody knee.”

“Ooo, can’t wait.”

Crouch signaled for quiet. “So now we have Riley and Kenzie right on our tail. This is bad, folks. Not only are we in danger but everywhere we go ends up like a war zone. I’m really thinking we may need some help.”

“Drakey?” Alicia said hopefully.

“No. The SPEAR team’s busy chasing ghost ships.” Crouch shook his head. “But this feels like war.”

“It is war.”

Crouch watched the tailgate finally slam into place, his eyes deep pools of unease. “Then let’s start fighting back.”

Despite the mind-bending chaos, Crouch found himself drifting a little once the plane had reached altitude. Life as head of the Ninth Division had been peace and harmony compared to this madness. Perhaps it was the rigidity, the directness of military leadership, but since he’d returned to ‘the field’ nothing was written solely in stone. It was fluid, shocking, awash with decisions that were always second-guessed. It was living and thinking on your feet until your soles burned.

Ah, for the simple life.

Dreaming, thinking like a treasure hunter for all those years, hadn’t prepared him for this. The world had changed since he’d been a boy. Black and white, and even grey, were dead ghosts from a misplaced youth. The heroes of his boyhood would never succeed in the world of today. Imagining an old Corgi toy, an ancient Hornby train set, just a poster stuck to the wall with its edges curling up, he wondered how they stacked up to the toys of 2015. Life moved on, but not just life. Technology surged but at the same time it seemed—morality shrank. Somebody, somewhere, was always getting away with pushing the boundaries. How much further could they be pushed?

Nostalgia pricked him. He studied his colleagues, thanking his lucky stars for those such as Alicia Myles and Rob Russo. They did understand today. They knew how the world had changed and what it meant to stay alive. They knew what it took to keep the world safe—even if the people they saved never knew or even cared. At the end of the day, they were the best at what they did and knew little else. Though they craved peace and love and normality, could they ever live with it?

Crouch reflected on his home back in London. He owned a flat in Hammersmith, just off the A4 that eventually led past Harrods and Hyde Park Corner. The flat was locked, silent now, a dark shrine to things that he thought he loved –Matchbox die-cast cars, fantasy books and magazines he’d found in the old Forbidden Planet store on Denmark Street, material unavailable in the UK—that kind of spine-tingling treasure hunt in old bookstores was lost forever now after the advent of the Internet. Some said it was easier, less frustrating; he thought it took away the magic of discovering hidden treasures. But wasn’t that a boyhood thrill?

No. Even jaded adults like me love a gripping yarn. Once you pass a certain age your escapism comes through books or movies, not through real life.

He caught himself nodding, felt the crick in his neck, and came awake. The drone of the plane’s engines was enough to soothe anyone. Even Alicia had her eyes closed—though Crouch suspected she might still be watching him. Alicia Myles had been the first woman accepted by the SAS and—apart from Mai Kitano perhaps—remained the most dangerous and capable woman he’d ever met. Her fire, her passion, came from seeking the next challenge, the continuing adventure.
What would happen if she ever stopped?

Armageddon?

He shrugged unconsciously. There was only one man alive who could stop Alicia from self-imploding and that man was not here.

His thoughts turned to the dilemma at hand, and to the man who presented the greatest threat—Daniel Riley. Crouch had learned a valuable lesson the day Riley bought explosives and detonated a bomb in India. Never let your guard down. Of course, a valuable lesson sometimes had to be learned more than once but the fundamentals were there. After India, Crouch had become much more introverted, a quality that had later helped him become a leader. All that experience though, all those later encounters, never helped him understand what the hell had happened to Daniel Riley.

Life
, he thought.
It was what happened to us all.

And now . . . Kenzie. He shouldn’t underestimate her as he once had Riley. She had already proved her willingness to do brutality, her lack of morality. She was down there with the parasites that fed off sewer scum as far as he was concerned. But two enemies? Two utterly ruthless, well-equipped and proficient enemies?

They needed help.

Crouch called a number and listened to the accent. “Hello?”

“It’s me again. Did you figure out a way?”

“Oui. I can leave here for a few days. But no more.”

“Good. I think we need you.”

“And she? Does she need me?”

“We all do.”

“Then that is good. Where she is involved I will always help.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Crouch said a little drily.

“You are welcome, Michael. Where do you want me?”

Crouch moved to the furthest part of the plane and proceeded to convey everything he knew about Bridget McKenzie and the barest details about Daniel Riley. After a few minutes he paused.

“Is that it?”

“Yes. Now, are you sure the Pythians won’t miss you?”

“I’m sure it can be done, mon ami. The downside is that I can only spare a few days. I will be in Paris when you are.”

“Excellent. And you’re not here to, um, make contact. Do you understand?”

Laughter emanated across the airwaves. “She will not even know I am there.”

“Good. Perhaps we can find a few hours to debrief. It has been a while.”

“We should. I have completed many undercover jobs for you before, Michael, but this . . . this one is the hardest.”

Crouch was genuinely surprised. He had never heard Beauregard talk this way before. “In terms of?”

“In terms of craziness. I truly believe these rich fools want to blow up the world. Especially their leader. This Webb, if he can’t get what he wants he will go nuclear. And he has the means.”

“The Z-boxes?”

“Yes. And more.”

“Okay, I’ll find a way to pass the information on to Drake. We shall speak soon.”

The line disconnected. Crouch watched Alicia and the others, pretty confident they hadn’t heard any part of the conversation. Nevertheless, it had been imperative. Beauregard Alain was the world’s master assassin. In theory, he could take Kenzie and her entire crew out in one night. The only problem with Beauregard was his penchant for powerful women—the Frenchman just couldn’t help himself.

Crouch wondered if he should explain it all to Alicia. How Beauregard Alain had been a Ninth Division asset all along. How Crouch had recognized early the threat of the upcoming Pythian cabal and ordered him to go dark, to go rogue and get inside. Even Shelly Cohen—revealed later to be Coyote—had not known about Beauregard. Indeed it was she who had invited him to the Last Man Standing tournament and brought him to the attention of the Pythians. A masterstroke.

The rest was history.

Crouch sighed deeply and felt the stirring of an acidic stomach. Telling Alicia wouldn’t be easy. He’d let her sleep. Yeah, that would be best.

Let sleeping Amazonians, um . . . sleep.

For Alicia, Paris lost much of its allure when she was forced to break into the Louvre. Nothing was ever the same after that, and she constantly wondered if her face remained on somebody’s watch list. That said, if the hunt brought them here then the risk was immaterial. The chase would go on.

After landing they took a taxi into the city, found a café with rows of outside seating and commandeered three of the small round tables. It was late afternoon, the sun sinking but still warm. Droves of people wandered the streets, passing by in constant waves as if herded together by some unseen force. The smells of the city surrounded them, petrol and diesel mixed with strong coffee and garlic. Alicia took one look at the crowds and eyed Crouch.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re right,” he said.

“Then what are we doing out here?”

Crouch paused as a waitress wearing a smart white shirt and black trousers squeezed by. “They know we’re in Paris. The plane at least would have to file a flight plan. Who knows how many other methods both Riley and Kenzie might employ, but they’re criminals at the top of their game. If they’re not in the city yet they soon will be. We should quickly make a plan, and then go dark.”

Alicia watched the waitress deliver a round of coffees. “Dark?”

“Split up,” Crouch said easily. “It will make us harder to find, easier to hide. I suggest we meet again in two days.”

Alicia took a moment to ponder, staring at the chalkboard menu without really seeing it. Crouch had a point. The trail that led them here was reliable but also relatively thin. Crouch and Caitlyn would have some deep investigations to implement if they were going to uncover more clues. And besides, she’d had her fill of staring at old churches and monuments.

“Sounds good,” she said. “I could do with some alone time.”

Crouch nodded quickly. “We’ll meet up in two days at the Arc du Carrousel. Midday. Don’t be late.”

Alicia finished her drink and walked away before Russo or Healey could suggest anything. The sun was sinking rapidly now, throwing shadows across the city, and though the last thing she wanted to do was wander the darkening romantic haunts they did at least offer anonymity. Her mind flashed on Claire Collins—the FBI agent she’d recently worked with who looked after the Disavowed guys—that girl worked hard and partied harder and, if caught in this city, would already be stoking up the dance floor. Alicia felt she might be approaching a turning point in her life, and needed time to compute and choose which of many options she might take.

Many options?

Sure, that was perhaps putting it a bit ambitiously. But her future did have opportunity, even if she couldn’t quite see it yet. She took a narrow alley, enjoying the closeness of the walls and the phony darkness. Randomly, Laid Back Lex came to mind, she hadn’t heard from him since Vegas. Her biker days had ended with the departure of Lex. She would never go back. Perhaps he had sensed that even then.

Unable to help herself she rang an old friend.

“Ay up.”

“Drakey,” she said softly. “How’s it going?”

The Yorkshireman sighed softly. “Komodo’s funeral was not easy. We miss you, Myles. Karin is taking it so hard.”

“I’m sorry.” This was not what she needed. “And the Sprite?”

“I dunno. Gone to Japan. I haven’t heard from her.”

“Do you really expect to?”

A sigh. “Nah. Not for a while.”

“Did you catch another case?”

“Yeah. The Pythians are up to their new but old tricks.”

“So,” Alicia saw a way to liven the conversation up, “you’re all missing me then?”

“Oh yeah. Every time someone doesn’t take the piss it’s like—where the hell’s Alicia?”

“I like it.”

“So why are you calling, Alicia?”

The question took her by surprise. She’d been trying to find her flow, her mojo, trying to turn a dark day and a dark outlook into a gossamer veil of silver. Drake’s question brought it all back into focus.

“No reason. Just catching up.”
And wondering who’s willing to help me through the darkness that’s coming.

“I’ll see you soon then.”

“See you soon.”

Alicia pocketed the phone, realizing now that she was staring along the River Seine and the city built around it. The rich golden glow of many lights filled the surrounding buildings, their deep radiance reflected in the waters that flowed below. The lighted balls of street lamps marched away as if marking the course she must take. Without waiting another moment she threaded her way back into the city and stopped at the first hotel she came across.

Using cash she paid for a room for two nights and made her way upstairs. Not used to and not happy about sleeping alone she crashed onto the bed and lay with her clothes on, studying the ceiling, listening to the noise of traffic and revelers outside, the bangs and clangs of the hotel and its returning guests, the sound of distant sirens.

Cities like this, they could never be still.

They possessed a soul that could never be quieted, a spirt that could never be quelled, an essence that demanded they move forward, and a heart that constantly craved for more.

As did she.

*

Crouch didn’t comprehend the passage of time. After paying for a quiet room with high-speed Internet in one of Paris’s classiest hotels he took advantage of the fact that the hotel staff clearly mistook the reason he wanted to whisk Caitlyn up to his room and made sure they would be granted privacy.

Once they were alone Caitlyn looked a little embarrassed. “Did you see the looks on their faces?”

“Sorry, no.” Crouch was distracted as he powered on the laptop and arranged his notes.

“One of them even winked at me. Made me feel kinda filthy.”

“Don’t worry about it. In reality, I’m a major catch. A most eligible bachelor.”

“That’s not exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

Crouch paused and laughed. “Yeah, sorry, I was a little side-tracked. The truth is—this couldn’t be better. Now we’re sealed off. We can work in peace, Caitlyn.”

She appeared to shrug it off. “All right, all right. What have we got?”

Crouch took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Napoleon stole the Horses and the statue at the same time. Brought them both to Paris. Not long afterwards he erected the Arc de Triomphe Du Carrousel to better display the Horses. He compared himself to Hercules and Paris to Rome, though never directly. And there the Horses remained until defeat at the Battle of Waterloo sealed his fate. Following that, France ceded the Horses back to Venice.”

“But not the statue?”

“We don’t know that. If the trail leads back to Venice . . .” Crouch allowed the sentence to hang, not liking where such a development would take them.

Brick wall? Dead end? A maze with no exit?

“We should read up on Napoleon and the Arc,” Caitlyn decided. “And again, why is this statue so valuable to everyone? I never even heard of it.”

Crouch threaded his fingers together. “Imagine this. The personal sculptor of the greatest known king who ever lived and the man who coached the creator of one of the seven ancient wonders of the world actually sculpted personal works by the hundreds. But none remain. Not one. The copies of his works are regarded themselves as ancient works of wonder. Now,” he sat back, “imagine one work survived. Considered his greatest effort, it exists and is disclosed to and displayed only for the privileged and the ultra-wealthy. And even they cannot possess it. It is Lysippos’ legacy.”

“You truly believe works of art like this exist?”

Crouch barked out a laugh. “Don’t show your naivety, Caitlyn. Of course they exist. Surely, over at MI5 you heard rumors of missing art. Freud’s
Portrait of Francis Bacon
. Rembrandt’s
Storm on the Sea of Galilee.
Picassos. Caravaggios. Even a Raphael that disappeared in 1945, taken by the Gestapo to decorate Hitler’s Berlin residence. It has not been seen since except in an episode of the Simpsons.”

Caitlyn blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, go figure. More conspiracy theory for you. And they’re merely a snip of what’s out there. Do not tell me that wealthy individuals and secret groups all around the world aren’t acquainted with that’s going on.”

“Private showings?”

“At the very least.”

Caitlyn poured herself a glass of red wine. “Well, Napoleon conquered much of Europe through the Napoleonic Wars—a chain of key conflicts fought on an unprecedented scale. He fought sixty battles, only losing seven, most of which were at the end of his career. The most famous defeat—at least for us—is at the Battle of Waterloo. After Wellington’s victory the allies then reversed all French gains at the Congress of Vienna.”

“All French gains?” Crouch picked up on the statement. “Is that when the Horses of St. Mark were ceded back to Vienna?”

“Yes. The end of the wars resulted in the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire and,” she paused, “Britain became the world’s foremost power for the next century.”

Crouch narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

Caitlyn nodded. “The Duke of Wellington was a conquering hero as Napoleon had been before him.”

“And Waterloo? Anything there?”

Caitlyn took some time to read through a wealth of information, finishing half the bottle of red wine and starting to feel decidedly tipsy. “Fought on Sunday 18 June 1815. Wellington called the battle ‘the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life’.”

Crouch listened for a while, perusing information on the Arc du Carrousel as he listened. When Caitlyn took a breath he interrupted. “I believe the Arc is more important. Known as a triumphal arch our Horses were placed atop it. Finished many years before the more famous Arc de Triomphe it was a monument to and a focal point for Napoleon’s victories. It inspired the design and construction of London’s Marble Arch. Every one of its bas-reliefs depict Napoleon’s victory in battle.”

“None of that brings us any closer to the Hercules.”

“No,” Crouch mused. “No it doesn’t.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door, a soft rap. Caitlyn jumped, eyes wide, but Crouch appeared unnerved.

“Don’t worry.”

“You’re expecting someone?”

“Yes. I’m just surprised he didn’t enter through the window.”

Crouch rose and unlocked the door, welcoming the figure dressed all in black. When Beauregard shrugged off his knee-length woolen coat Crouch saw that he was attired, as usual, in the skin-hugging jumpsuit.

“Oh crikey, man. Does it have to be so tight?”

Beauregard slipped around him, a sinuous shadow. “We have little time.”

Crouch turned in time to see Caitlyn staring at the newcomer, a new blush creeping up her exposed neck to her face. “Oh dear.”

“I’ll say,” Crouch said. “Sit down.”

“I prefer to stand.”

Caitlyn grinned. Crouch shook his head. “Whatever. This is all the information I have on both Kenzie and Riley.” He handed Beauregard a sheaf of papers. “I think Argento at Interpol will be able to help with Kenzie’s travel plans, though Riley might not be so easy. He’s always been a slippery one. Call me when you have information.”

“Consider it done.”

“Good. And Beauregard?”

“Yes.” The well-built man half-turned toward his boss.

“No sneaking around Alicia, do you understand? You two don’t have the time or, more importantly, the necessity to be getting to know each other.”

“I think they know each other pretty well.” Caitlyn tried not to stare and gulped even more wine. “At least from what Alicia described to me.”

Beauregard turned his swarthy face upon her. “And what did she describe?”

“Ah, well, ummm . . . .”

Crouch came to her rescue. “Please just get the information, Beau. The entire team is up against it here.”

“I will do my best.” The Frenchman whirled, swept up his coat, and exited the room. Crouch locked the door in his wake.

“I guess mum’s the word,” Caitlyn said. “Which is a shame since I’ve never seen such perfect buttocks.”

Crouch shuddered. “Rein it in dear. You’re beginning to sound like a certain Miss Myles who must never know Alain was here.”

Caitlyn coughed. “Yes, I’m sure I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry, sir.”

Crouch shrugged. “Well, it is Paris.”

Caitlyn swilled the remains of her wine around the bottom of her glass. “His appearance does raise one or two questions though, sir. Nobody’s ever been sure which side he’s on.”

“He’s on my side,” Crouch told her. “And that’s all for now. I intend to explain myself soon but now is not the time.”

Caitlyn nodded. “Fine. Agreed.”

Crouch settled back down. As his eyes skimmed the screen a thought occurred to him. “You mentioned a Congress of Vienna, where all of France’s gains were returned.”

“Yes.”

“Well, a congress is a meeting, right? A great, important meeting between heads of state, perhaps. And with meetings like that there is often paperwork.”