Aztec Gold

THIRTY ONE

Zack Healey felt more alone than at any time since being the youngest member of a family consisting of two brothers, a sister, a father and a mother. He’d quit on the family at age seventeen, sixteen years after they’d quit on him. Their father had never been interested, their mother absorbed by her own friends and tea parties; his brothers only ever beat and humiliated him, and his sister found it better to keep a low profile. Only on Christmas Day did they come together, and even then it was a spartan, forced, loveless affair.

A high-school dropout, a video-game freak, Healey needed not only a team but also a father figure to succeed. The luck of his life had been to cross paths with Crouch in the second year of his stint in the Army.

Now, even trained and battle-hardened as he was, the sense of separation he felt on being left behind heightened his feeling of insecurity. Once the team departed all he could do was stare fixedly from left to right for ten whole minutes, the numbness overcoming him. Never had he been left alone before; even on missions through enemy territory the team had always stuck together.

Was Crouch testing him?

When a security guard gave him the eye, Healey progressed to slotting a few coins into a nearby machine. The sound of the elevator doors gliding open refocused his mind.

Coker’s vicious boss was here at the Venetian. Upstairs somewhere on one of the top two floors. Speculation would say the penthouse suite but then Healey had never been one to presume. To him life was black and white, not gray. For instance, he didn’t just like Caitlyn and want to dart around her for several weeks, he wanted to take her out to dinner, flirt and see if they might have a solid future together. He was only waiting for the operation to end before he broached the subject.

The slot machine sang out. Healey won four dollars. Alicia’s suggestions finally came back to him and he figured she might have given him the most legitimate way to scope out the upper floors. He drifted over to the check-in desk and managed to secure one of the more expensive rooms on a low-thirty floor using the team’s AmEx card, that was registered to Redway Enterprises. Taking only his shopping bag, Healey marched toward the elevators and punched a button. Rising fast, he fingered the smooth key card, trying to decide on a plan.

The room was vast and lavish, gleaming and clean. He threw his bag on the bed and plonked down in an armchair. After a moment, feeling more tranquil, he decided that this just wouldn’t do. His colleagues were in harm’s way, fighting Coker. Besides, he should start walking the halls to determine which door his target was lurking behind.

Outside, the halls were quiet and sumptuous, the carpets patterned and colorful. From door to door he walked, excuses on the tip of his tongue in case he were caught, but this game of chance didn’t sit well with him.

Despite his surroundings.

He mulled it over. Even if one of the South African’s goons did put in an appearance how the hell would he even know? Surely most of the type of people that rented rooms up here, wealthy men and women, had an array of bodyguards — that, once squeezed into a suit, all pretty much looked the same.

Case in point. A door opened ahead and a bald head jutted out, catching the corridor’s lights. On seeing Healey, the man frowned, but Healey smiled and sauntered past. A quick glance inside revealed none of the inner room, but confirmed that the man was a bodyguard and carried a gun.

Still didn’t tell him anything.

Twenty minutes after leaving the room, Healey was beginning to feel a little incompetent. Already on his second surveillance loop he was thinking the hotel security might be watching him. It wouldn’t do to get to the point where they came into his room and found the shopping bag.

He picked up the pace, thinking of Crouch, Russo and Caitlyn, chasing the treasure through the busy, benighted Vegas streets, and he envied them. The thrill was out there. His eyes glazed over as he felt the excitement rise, taking his focus away. A soldier for long enough to know better, but still young enough to be naïve, Healey smiled to himself as he imagined taking down Coker and regaining the Wheel of Gold.

Lucky bastards.

Outside his room, he paused. The sound of heavy footfalls signified at least three men coming along the corridor behind him. Could be nothing. A sudden thought hit him as he stared at the security cameras dotted at intervals along the ceiling.

What had Russo said? If we had time we’d juice up one of the security team to help out…

“Oh shit.”

It hadn’t occurred to him until now that the opposite could also be true.

The door opened inward. A gun was thrust into his face.

“Don’t move, asshole.” The guttural South African intonation made him flinch. “Or I will blow your fucking head off.”