Chasing Gold

CHAPTER TWELVE

Michael Crouch became a sponge, hearing everything.

Since the final scuffle in DC, he’d been battling with every emotion and instinct, trying hard to make the call as to which decision was best. His capture had been entirely opportunistic, he was sure of that, but these were men that capitalized on chance and turned it in their favor.

The one time he’d tried to escape — aboard the chopper — they’d beaten him badly for it. So now he moved with a bruised rib and aching leg ligaments, a black eye and a bloody nose. Every shuffle was painful. Even sitting down hurt. Best to become a sponge.

And listen.

So far, car journeys, helicopter rides and crashes, had proven most revealing among the enemy. In particular, when there were times of stress. Crouch kept his cool and his quiet demeanor, taking it all in. He usually sat on the back seat, choosing the driver’s side window whenever he could, just in case.

Crouch had always been a hands-on man. In charge of the SAS, he regularly accompanied his men, sometimes against orders. A founder of the Ninth Division — a secret, elite unit within the SAS — he rarely missed a mission. And now, the commander of a treasure hunting team, he rejoiced in every quest they undertook. Crouch had worked his way up from the very bottom, so knew the game inside out. He studied the enemy and studied the thieves, reading body language and even more that they sought to keep hidden.

Early on, he decided he could temporarily trust the thieves. Which meant they were on the same side — at least until they were done with their captors.

Or vice versa.

Crouch gradually introduced himself to the people he knew were Terri Lee and Paul Cutler. They weren’t allowed much chance to talk, but Crouch gleaned that the pair knew what they were doing when they stole the banner, but hadn’t been aware of what would happen afterward.

Crouch respected them more for admitting it.

In truth, the thieves were open books. Promised a great deal of wealth, the future ability to pick and choose jobs or retire, they figured they deserved the score. Crouch didn’t condone it, but he did understand it.

Through the last several hours he had done a lot of thinking. Why bring the thieves along? Their job was done and now they were nothing more than extra weight. Why not cut them loose, or even kill them? The answer came to him some hours after listening to the enemy interact.

They were constantly talking and thinking about where the next payday would come from. The banner — that would be huge. But now they had two of the world’s best thieves — who might also bring a pretty penny from the right buyer.

Greedy men, then. Power-seekers. They were all violent individuals, and they loved to show it. Repressed, maybe. Brainwashed too. Crouch saw a terrorist regime among them, something less subtle than most others he’d seen but something present beneath a thinly veiled surface.

It fit in line with the DC attack.

Which brought him back to the new task he’d had many hours to figure out. An idea had flashed inside his head as the men dragged him away. He’d know instantly that he was lost, along with the thieves and the banner, so the light-bulb moment was most welcome. Even captured, he’d thought. He could still lead his team in the right direction.

Chase the gold had been the first thought to enter his mind. Now, he had to come up with something to complement those words.

First, as he was dragged away, he’d overheard a snippet of observation between two men.

“Get him and settle in for the ride.”

“Hawaii’s a long way to go, friend. Do we need him?”

“Yes. It will pass.”

That, as they dragged him along the asphalt between several men, gave him time to alert his team. It was clear they would have to stop for fuel, food and rest at some point.

And now they had.

Crouch waited with bated breath. It had been some time since they lost sight of the pursuing car, but losing the man with the automatic weapon had gained them all a little room in the back. The gas station was eight miles ahead.

Twice now, he’d tried to engage the enemy in conversation. The first time resulted in a blow to the cheek; the second a short standard curse. He was hoping the third time might be even more lenient, or revealing.

“How’s the mercenary pay these days?” he asked.

An elbow struck his face, thrown by the man at his side. Angry words followed: “We are not mercenary scum.”

Well, Crouch thought, worse than I hoped for, but at least slightly revealing.

“On a different note,” he said. “Unless you want a pool in the back seat you’re going to have to let us use the restroom ahead.”

“You will not speak.” Another blow to the head.

Crouch protested silently, and Cutler found the courage to raise the issue too. The man seated in the passenger seat ahead simply raised a hand.

“Do not worry. There is a long way to go. We will tend to your needs.”

Crouch didn’t particularly like the sound of that, and neither did Terri or Cutler judging by their expressions. He risked one more smash to the forehead.

“So many of you died back there in DC. And all for a two-hundred-year-old flag.”

As he’d hoped, the passenger commented before his subordinate could strike. “Our sacrifice, and theirs, will lead us to a better truth.”

They sounded like fanatics. Terrorists then, as he’d initially thought. That put the Star-Spangled Banner in even more peril. Of course, the chance that they were only playing a terrorist role remained strong. Crouch would have to dig more.

But not now.

Still considering his next move, the real breakthrough came for Crouch about an hour ago. The driver quietly asked his passenger to program their next destination into the satnav. Crouch had seen it all perfectly, easily. Clearly now, these men knew they had escaped DC and the pursuit of Crouch’s team, and were concentrated on prearranged stopping points to their destination.

It was why Crouch had chosen to become a sponge.

Use this information, use it. But how?

Chase the gold.

There was a chance. A clever idea, but something that required all the other members of his team to be on the same wavelength. The gold was the Star-Spangled Banner, but it could also be something else. It could be him. And it could be metaphorical too. The next step was figuring out what kind of clue to leave them.

The car slowed as it pulled off the highway and approached a set of gas pumps. Crouch looked for cameras, already considering every move he could make to help his pursuing team.

Before they stopped the man in the passenger seat turned. “You will make no commotion. If you alert anyone I will put bullets in one of your limbs and kill the people you talk to, and their companions. Do you understand me?”

Crouch agreed, as did Terri and Cutler.

“The woman must use the men’s restroom, and we will guard you all. Then we will all walk into the shop, buy food and drink, and leave. Now, move.”

Crouch stretched his legs for the first time in hours, groaning. Pain shot from his bruised ribs to his brain, making him bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The fresh air was a boon though, awakening his senses and sharpening his mind.

“There.” Quickly, he made a beeline for the restroom, which was built onto the side of the filling station.

Terri was by his side.

“I need a distraction,” he muttered. “Something fast two minutes after we get inside the shop. That’s all. You won’t see a benefit, but it’ll help.”

He didn’t expect her to trust him, but she was aware that he was an authority figure and friends with the FBI. Right now, the FBI were preferable to these apparent terrorists.

She nodded.

Crouch made use of the restroom along with everyone else and then headed, in a large group, into the shop. The area was extensive, lined along the walls by refrigerators and freezers, with a large coffee machine in one corner and rows of confectionery in another. Crouch saw a Shaved Ice machine, Slurpee dispensers and an indoor ATM. He spent the next minute discreetly finding a pen and some paper.

Then Terri dropped a shaved ice cup and fell over, landing on her tailbone. She grunted heavily, but their captors were right there and joined in helping her stand.

Crouch saw a window of just a few seconds.

Quickly, he scribbled a short, coded note and then folded and slipped it into the only place in the entire shop where four like-minded people might be able to find it.

And make sense of it.

It was Crouch’s only chance. It was Terri and Cutler’s only chance. It was the only chance that America had of saving its ultra-precious, symbolic national treasure.

Crouch prayed that it would work.