Chasing Gold

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Caitlyn hadn’t forgotten about the authorities’ lack of presence at the steakhouse and soon got on to Merriweather. The FBI agent was incredibly displeased, promising to come down hard on those that hadn’t acted. Caitlyn explained that what happened next was all that mattered and told him she’d let him know a precise location as soon as they had it. Merriweather promised not only men, but helicopters too.

“Things are looking up,” Caitlyn said. “Now they’ve got their precious capital sorted, they can concentrate on the rest of the country.”

Alicia saw that the young girl was fretting and not for the banner. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re closing in.”

“What worries me is how far they’re going.”

Alicia tended to agree. “We have to assume Crouch believes it’ll end in America. Otherwise, he’d have told us.”

“Unless he hasn’t had the chance.”

“Maybe.”

Alicia waited for Caitlyn to delve further into the clues. Eventually, the black-haired woman came up with a theory.

“All right, here we go. Black Jack is a town outside St Louis and Eagle Springs is a golf course situated near that town. I’m assuming they’re going to rest in the town of Black Jack and then head to the golf course to… fly.”

“Choppers?” Austin asked.

“Good assumption,” Caitlyn said. “Unless they have jet packs.”

“Fly to where?” Russo wondered.

Caitlyn tapped her screen in frustration. “Could be anywhere. St Louis is almost in the center of North America. There’s no guessing where they’ll go from there.”

Alicia slapped the back of Austin’s seat. “C’mon, kid. Get your foot down. I doubt even Crouch is gonna be able to leave us a clue in the middle of a bloody golf course.”

Austin complained that he was practically making them fly, but then sped up appreciably as a well-lit piece of dual asphalt opened up ahead. The engine roared loudly, the tires rumbling over the blacktop. Cars pulled out of their way or were overtaken, undertaken or practically shoved to the side of the road. Austin was taking no prisoners, barely slowing for junctions and traffic signals. The night was fully on them now; sunset had passed as quickly as sand streaming through their fingers. Time was being stolen; hours lost. They pursued and shadowed their quarry doggedly, as best they could, speeding down the straighter roads and hanging on when the bends grew sharp.

The miles flew by.

But so did the hours.