Aztec Gold

SEVENTEEN

The team wrestled with the problem all the way back to Kanab. How to distract a badly organized but well-armed militia? Crouch came up with the sensible suggestions — distractions or a raid; Healey came up with the thrilling ones — bombarding them with mortars. Russo jiggled his massive head from side to side, suggesting they send Alicia in to drive them crazy. Caitlyn offered a few high-tech alternatives but it turned out they had none of the equipment she required and local supplies weren’t as plentiful as they’d hoped.

In the end, it was Lex that fired Alicia’s imagination.

“We employ the bikers approach,” he said into a lull. “Works every time.”

“What?” Crouch half turned in his seat. “How?”

“Militia groups have more than their fair share of bikers in their ranks. For whatever reason.” He shrugged. “Some are in hiding. Others just wanted by the law.” He grinned at his own joke. “Of all new recruits or visitors, bikers are one of the most likely groups to be allowed inside.”

“So you’re suggesting you head on in there alone?” Russo grunted. “I don’t think so.”

“I have my jacket. My tats. I’m genuine. All we need to find is a good bike. Or two.” Lex eyed Alicia, raising both eyebrows.

Alicia’s grin held weight. “Now you’re talking. Trouble is, two of just ain’t a gang.”

“We could be a splinter group.”

Alicia bit her lip. “We’d need to sell it. A gang would sell it and escape without a scratch. Just the two of us? I’m not so sure.”

“If it helps there’s a biker bar restaurant in town.” Caitlyn held up her cellphone showing a search result. “It couldn’t hurt to try there.”

“Let me get this straight,” Crouch said. “You two are going to what? Rent a few bikes and a gang for the night? Shit, can you get any crazier?”

“Oh, Michael.” Alicia smiled quickly. “I’m just getting started.”

It took the rest of the night and part of the day after, but by late the next afternoon Lex’s plan was shaping up. The biker bar had turned out to be a diluted version of the real thing but Lex did find two bona fide articles, both wearing vests embroidered with various patches. The bikers called them their colors, and attached to them a mass of meanings.

“They good?” Alicia asked him.

“They sure ain’t waxers,” Lex said. “Let me double-check.”

“What’s a waxer, dare I ask?” Caitlyn wondered aloud as he walked away from their table.

Alicia watched him go. “Real bikers call weekend riders ‘waxers’. Riding isn’t their lifestyle. The furthest their bikes go is to the end of the driveway every weekend where it gets washed and waxed until it shines like the sun.”

The group watched Lex work for a while, coming clean with the bikers as much because they were his kin as to preserve their safety. After a while he beckoned Alicia over.

“This here’s Wrench. And this is Red Head.”

Alicia evaluated them. Wrench sported old scars and sunken eyes. A beard covered his lower jaw. The stare he gave her searched for expertise and she saw a hard, experienced brother hiding behind the gaze.

“Army?” she asked.

Wrench grunted. It was enough. Red Head was younger but no less tough or sharp. It was he that spoke first.

“Lex calls you Taz. How’d that come about?”

Alicia flinched. She’d almost forgotten the biker nickname. “Not something I really talk about,” she said. “Our boys didn’t make it… ”

She paused. Wrench put up a hand. “We heard. Don’t worry. Lex here says you two are all that’s left.”

“All that’s left running,” Alicia admitted.

“So who you running with?” Wrench indicated the team seated at a far table.

“Military group,” Alicia told them without hesitating. “Has Lex explained?”

Wrench nodded. “I’m always up for a blast at the militia. Red Head here though, he ain’t so on board.”

Alicia scrutinized the man. With short-cropped blond hair, a white complexion, and a fuzzy day-old growth it was hard to see the reason behind his nickname. Always a story, she thought. And most bikers liked to tell it.

“So, Red Head,” she said. “What’s the problem? And the name? You want to tell me how you came by that?”

“No real story,” he said. “It’s the flavor I prefer,” he smirked, “in women.”

Wrench chortled. “No story? ‘Course there’s a story. Red Head ain’t never been with any other kinda flavor. Blond, brunette, black hair — never. Gets himself very upset when a redhead turns out to be a fake — if you get my drift.”

“Wrench,” Red Head said warningly.

“Checks early on.” Wrench laughed. “Then sometimes storms off leaving the little lady a tad confused.”

Alicia turned to the annoyed biker. “I guess I’m safe then. Blond all the way, head to my toes.”

“Shit.” Wrench stared at her. “Now you’re in my head.”

“Wait till you see my leathers.”

Lex leaned into the discussion. “Did I say you’ll be well rewarded? That guy over there, the serious looking one, he’ll set you up for a month.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Red Head was staring at Alicia.

“Is there any other way?” she asked.

“Got a plan?”

“Never do. Always see what comes up first.”

Red Head shook his head. “All right, stop the flirting. Lex here had me at reward.”

“Flirting?” Alicia snickered. “I hadn’t even started.”

Wrench looked a little mortified, but quickly asserted his attendance. Alicia walked back to Crouch.

“Four bikers in total,” she said. “It will have to do.”

Crouch nodded at the others. “Let’s get ready.”

Alicia pulled on her tight leather pants, enjoying the feel of the soft leather easing up her bare legs. Since it wasn’t the most dignified of operations, especially when you got nearer the ass area, she elected to perform this one alone, in her hotel room. Once complete, she took a moment to walk over to the window, taking in the dying ball of the sun as it spread across the horizon.

Where next? she thought. From place to place, country to country; crisis to crisis and adventure beyond adventure. The road stretched ever on and its beauty was that it immersed you in all the various pit-stops along the way, engaging you in a constantly moving picture of diverse life.

The next horizon was always only a day away.

Alicia quelled her wanderlust for the time being and exited the hotel room. The team met with Wrench and Red Head, and looked over the other two bikes they’d managed to rent from occupants of the diner. One was a passable Harley, the other a Honda, nicely outfitted but hardly a biker’s bike. Lex stared at it with disdain.

“Shit.”

“Roll with it,” Alicia said. “We’ll think of something.”

She straddled the Harley, blipping the throttle to get a feel for the bike. When Crouch and the rest of the team were ready she peeled out after them, making sure Wrench, Red Head and Lex were ahead of her. The mountains came quick and soon they were roaring along the narrow roads, leaning into the corners and letting the engine roar down the straights. High cliff faces echoed with the monsters’ roar, replicating and throwing it back at them in a respectful, spirited way. For a few miles there was nothing but the road and the darkening skies, the black ribbon ahead and the feel of the other bikes and their riders, all accomplished, chasing the end of the day until the next dawn.

Then Crouch sent out a warning call through their comms. Alicia, feeling a little self-conscious, slowed immediately and helped rein the rest in. By the time the bikers were under control Crouch had called a halt for a final interchange.

“Good luck in there,” he said in closing. “As soon as you have their attention we’ll breach as near the map’s coordinates as we can.”

“Coordinates?” Alicia laughed. “Really?”

“Well, they’re as good as coordinates,” Crouch said a little huffily and turned away. Despite her words Alicia had complete faith in their boss and trusted him to find whatever was out there.

If anything.

As the treasure team melted away, the biker team took a last moment to remember their stories.

“Hang on tight, boys. This is gonna be a tester.” Alicia wasted no time in roaring toward the militia’s only gate. Lex followed immediately with Wrench and Red Head bringing up the rear. Red Head muttered something about this not being such a clever idea after all through the comms. Alicia promised to keep him safe. That galvanized the man’s masculine pride a little, prompting a spurt of speed.

Alicia stopped outside the gate, Red Head at her side. Lex squeezed past them both, the supposed leader of their little gang. With his Honda mostly hidden by Alicia’s Harley he leaned forward in the saddle and stared up into the CCTV camera, making a speech sign with his right hand.

“Now we wait.”

Not for long. The militia, on sensing any kind of potential threat, were always quick to mobilize. A high-sided, canvas-backed vehicle squealed dangerously around the square, loaded with men, and bounced down the rough trail toward the gate. Faces peered at them from every vantage point. Behind the truck came a small jeep. Both vehicles squealed to a stop near the gate, dust swirling from their tires.

A man bellowed at them from the bed of the jeep. “You’re on private property! Turn around and keep going!”

Lex kept his voice calm. “We’re just like you, brother. Looking for a night’s sleep, a few drinks, maybe a party.” He grinned.

“This ain’t a fucking rave. Turn the hell around.”

The man’s words were contradicted by at least three-quarters of the men leaning out of the truck, most with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other.

Alicia shifted, drawing their attention. “We’d be grateful.”

The shouter jumped down from the bed of the jeep. As he drew closer Alicia got her first good look at him. Unshaven, with hair down to his shoulders and wearing an open jacket that even looked like it reeked, he leveled a rifle at them.

“What you want with us?”

“Like I said,” Lex waved it away, “a place to sleep for the night. The chance to swop a few stories. We been on the road a while.”

“Not much of a gang,” the man sneered.

“We’re all that’s left,” Lex said truthfully. “Used to be over twenty Slayers. Got hit in Germany.”

This made a few of the men jump down and walk forward, interested. Their leader lowered his weapon. “Got hit you say. You take any of them fuckers with you?”

Lex nodded quickly. Alicia saw from the way he held himself that he was still mourning his true brothers. This gang may be a façade in itself but its back story was a very real, very dreadful truth.

“We got no quarrel with bikers,” one man said. “C’mon, Pitts. Let ‘em ride in.”

Pitts stared at them a while longer. He searched the darkness behind them. Eventually, mostly giving in to his own men’s wishes, he ordered the gates to be unlocked. “But watch ‘em,” he said. “And search ‘em. No weapons, cellphones, or any of that new-fangled crap. This is our land. Our rules. You got me?”

Lex held up his hands. “We’re just here to drink.”

The bikers rode through, following the truck and the jeep back toward the square and the blazing trash cans. Once there the gang dismounted and allowed the militia men to inspect their bikes. Following Pitts’ instructions they attempted to search the bikers. A few knives were found on Red Head, a baton on Wrench. Alicia subjected herself to a general pat down but when one of the guys ventured a little too close for comfort she spoke out.

“That hand gets any closer to that right cheek I’m gonna rip it off.”

They backed away. One of the men, a scarred, wild-eyed youngster with a swagger and a bellyful of bravado stepped up. “Your fuckin’ jackets don’t match.”

Lex showed them his own, embroidered with his colors and the Slayers’ logo. “Alicia here lost hers in the fight. Red Head and Wrench were new to the crew, just joined from the… ” he looked around at them, eyes asking a very important and overlooked question.

“Iron Horsemen,” Wrench said without batting an eye.

Alicia stepped forward. “You gonna show us around then boys, or what? Hey, that’s a nice big gun. Can I touch it?”

A shout stopped her. Pitts was approaching. “Just keep ‘em in the goddamn square and keep your guns to yourselves. I don’t mind helping out a like-minded fellow but I’ll be damned if they’re touching my guns.”

Alicia held out her hand for a beer. “I’ll take some of that then.”

The militia men grinned and beckoned for her to follow then into the square, toward a blazing trashcan that seemed to symbolize their epicenter. Lex and the hired bikers followed. Alicia downed the beer in one huge gulp, gaining even more attention and caught another in midair.

Lex joined her. “Down in one?”

“Is there any other way?”

Crouch led the remainder of the team to the east, following the outer perimeter of the fence until he found the best entry point. Wearing dark clothes, flak jackets and infrared goggles they were well equipped for stalking the night, but the difference between being able to see through the darkness and search for treasure in it was vast. The team were expecting the search to test all of their abilities.

Crouch knew the maps and notes by heart. He had read them a thousand times. Still, he treble-checked their starting point, traveling around the plateau above the Fiery Furnace to locate the exact landmark from which to start. He took his time. Healey and Russo snipped the fence, letting everyone through, then secured it afterward with metal ties. They left as little to chance as possible. Crouch waited, kneeling in the dirt.

“Eighty five paces,” he whispered through the comms. “Northeasterly. We’re looking for a totem-pole shaped hoodoo.”

The moon and stars glittered down upon them, affording enough light to help their search but also raising their chances of being spotted. Crouch fancied that the militia didn’t post outer perimeter guards, but didn’t want to test the theory too closely. Crouch took point, Caitlyn a step behind. Russo and Healey brought up the rear with Cruz between them. The Mexican guide had been unusually quiet since landing in the US, blaming his reticence on being outside his comfort zone.

Crouch didn’t babysit the man. Soldiers had to deal with that kind of shit their whole lives.

Counting softly in his head, he walked until eighty five paces had passed. At that point a vista opened to their right, its impact tarnished by the darkness, but still with enough effect to take their breaths away.

Crouch pointed ahead. “Totem-pole shaped hoodoo on the edge of the cliff.”

The thin spire of rock protruded above the rim, its length shaped into rounded columns as it climbed to its apex. Crouch knelt down and consulted the map. “Okay, so I know it’s one hundred paces west,” he said. “But that’s toward the militia compound so be careful.”

Small rocks eased their way, providing areas of cover. Crouch pointed out an ancient rock formation, a huddle of bare stones, and a sprouting of trees that formed the second landmark, then cut north again.

“The good news,” he said, “is that the landmarks are actually here. I can understand that one or two may have been lost to time and the elements, but finding none at all would have pointed toward this being a hoax.”

Cruz looked at him. “The elders wouldn’t do that. They gave their word.”

Crouch nodded, saying nothing.

“A wilderness as vast as this,” Caitlyn said. “Those Aztec warriors and whoever came after could have been lost out here for days. I wonder how they ever made it back.”

“Followed their own map probably,” Russo said a little drily but then shrugged in apology. “It is a wild place, doubly so in older times.”

Another formation passed them by and still Crouch followed his map, venturing once more closer to the perimeter fence and then stopping near the banks of a briskly running stream. The sound of rushing water broke the silent monotony, a balm to Caitlyn’s ears.

“Best sound I’ve heard in a long while.”

Crouch took a drink from a bottle of water. “Saddle up yer pony,” he said in a shocking cowboy accent. “The final landmark is at the mouth of this stream.”