Chasing Gold

CHAPTER THIRTY

Crouch fought and gasped for breath, doubled over as the elevator fell. Something like a jackhammer pounded in his head. Blood dripped onto the floor at his feet; he knew that it was Terri’s because Omar had cut her with his weapon for enabling Cutler’s escape. Even now, the crazed mercenary was promising worse and threatening to sell her to the Far East’s worst slave-trade merchants. Ricci was ordering his two remaining men to make ready with the banner; restating its importance for the hundredth time. Crouch massaged his throat gingerly — he had never felt such strength. This man Ricci was a clandestine ninja it seemed, and even he had been thrown off by the bouffant haircut.

Now Ricci turned to Omar. “Leave her alone. You will devalue her.”

“You think I care?” Omar fumed. “All my men — captured or dead.”

“Get a grip. You will have to spend all that money yourself now, no? All that remains is for you to keep your head and get away. I will help you.”

Crouch found the pounding was easing up now and looked up at the inflection of tone in that last line. It wasn’t nice, but Omar missed it, focusing on the cash.

“All right, we will help each other. Just the casino and then we’re out of here.”

He righted Terri and took a look at her neck. The gash he’d purposely made wasn’t too large and had already congealed over. Terri stayed quiet as he adjusted her coat and pulled the collar up to hide the wound. Then, he glanced over at Crouch.

“Stand up, soldier.”

Crouch had been faking it, bent double in a corner of the elevator, scribbling a quick note, breathing as if his throat was still on fire, and he now rose with an apparent effort. “I’m fine.” He decided to lean against the side of the elevator, resting against the sign that somebody had positioned there.

Omar hauled him around and checked for injuries. “A bit crimson around the gills, but he will pass.”

Crouch made sure he stayed with his back to the sign.

Ricci nodded as he watched the floors flash by. The elevator only stopped once, and the man’s violent glare was enough to stop anyone from joining them. In less than a minute it had reached the casino floor.

“Remember,” Ricci said. “You will both obey. If I am forced to chase you or if I lose you, my men and I will kill every innocent person in sight. That will be on you.”

Crouch heard the words of a madman and knew he spoke the truth. Ricci was far beyond the real deal and into the realm of lethal fanatic. When the doors slid apart he stood and waited for Ricci to give the order.

“Get out. My men will bring the banner last.”

They walked steadily through the casino, the noise of slot machines growing louder and louder. He was terribly aware that there was nothing more he could do. Not now. The note had been planted, but it was touch and go whether Alicia and the team would figure out where to look for it. They were inside a casino, for God’s sake; every surface was gold!

But… the surveillance cameras might help.

He stayed central along the path, wandering nowhere. An incessant dinging drowned out his thoughts; someone winning at the slots. Similar noises assaulted them from every direction. Crouch saw the watchful glare on Ricci’s face and knew he was simply waiting for the FBI agents upstairs to get in touch with the security downstairs. Every muscle was a coiled spring, the fists clenched just waiting and wanting to be unleashed.

They were three quarters of the way through the casino before blood began to spill.

Terri found the worst of all possible problems plaguing her mind.

Did Cutler have even the slightest chance to help me too?

There had been a moment, a split-second that she just couldn’t shake, when Cutler broke away from Omar’s shadow and then… right then… had almost appeared to lean toward her. Had he been about to throw himself into the fray? Had warning bells sounded at the very last instant?

Did he make a choice?

Ordinarily, she’d say no. It wouldn’t matter so much, and she’d be able to brush it under the table. But today was different — today was all about clinging on to life.

She replayed the moment over and over in her head, but it had happened all too quickly. The problem was — she had seen something and now needed to refute it.

The descent in the elevator flashed by. The fact that her neck was bleeding barely registered. Her head was in a different place. Damn Cutler. She’d chased and chased him, halfway across the world, from country to country and through dangerous cities — helped him out with a violent gang — and was now a marked and hunted woman. Part of her knew that Ricci would ensure she was sold to the old gang. Part of her knew he’d prefer to sell her to some slave trader. He was a cruel, violent man with no sense of humanity.

And Cutler… did you leave me here to save yourself?

The sheer hell of the idea made her legs go weak. It was only then that she realized they were walking through the casino. She heard slots jangling everywhere, and the shouts of winners and losers. The yelling of tourists. The low rumble as a money cart rolled by.

She turned introspective again. It didn’t matter now, this new, horrible reality. If the man she had sacrificed her entire life to be with had just sacrificed her, then almost thirty years of living mattered for nothing.

Crouch? The old soldier was at her side. Had he planted the next clue? She couldn’t remember in that moment where they were headed next. Yet again, Cutler broke her down. She recalled Omar flinching as she feigned an attack, hoping to make him lose focus or make a mistake. The flinch had given Cutler such a small window of opportunity, a mere extra meter of space. The American had fallen himself, grabbing a side-bar, but that fall had opened up the escape route that little bit further.

It was then he darted for freedom, but somehow Terri had seen his entire body pause in mid-flight as hesitation set in; she had seen the eyes flinch in her direction but not quite make it all the way around; she had seen some instant decision to carry on. It passed in the blink of an eye, but it had been there.

Fundamental.

Set in Cutler’s psyche as firmly as the need to draw breath. The American had always looked after himself — even from the very beginning. Terri recalled her old quest, but now wondered if she’d been duped her entire life.

Pain wracked her body. Nothing physical. She tried to put it aside, tried to focus on the moment. Wasn’t this their best chance of escape? Who cared, right? Well… Crouch seemingly did.

Warning shouts burst from every direction.

Crouch saw the security guards coming even before Ricci did. As usual though, they shouted their cautions way before they should and gave Ricci all the warning he needed.

The banner-bearers, as Crouch thought of them, took a good hold of their burden, put their heads down, and ran for the exit. Ricci met the first guard that came up to him, grabbed the man’s wrist and wrenched his baton away. A quick flick and the guard’s face exploded with blood; the baton suddenly sheathed in the stuff. The second guard swung his own baton from a high vantage point. Ricci parried it and then swiped his own three times across the man’s ribs before he could take a breath. Bones broke, and the man collapsed.

Omar jabbed his box cutter at Terri’s throat and then beckoned Crouch. The one surviving merc backed him up. They picked up speed as the doors approached. Another guard hustled in from the right. Ricci barely broke stride as he relieved him of his Taser and sent him shuddering uncontrollably to the floor.

Crouch found the time to admire Ricci’s fighting prowess. Special Forces training was obvious, but it was something else too. Something even more advanced — an elite form of combat that only the best aspired to.

They burst out of the doors, dashing toward their vehicle. Crouch saw two black vans angled across the road a hundred meters to the right suddenly start to disgorge both men and women.

FBI agents.

It was looking good. He counted at least twelve, all armed. Surely that would be enough to take these bastards out.

Ricci saw it too, probably faster than Crouch. He sprinted on, passing his men carrying the banner, jabbing furiously at a remote that eventually triggered the tailgate release of a large black Range Rover. By the time he skidded around the back of the car, the trunk was wide open.

Crouch kept pace as Omar jabbed the box cutter at Terri, nicking her now for the third time. It was no accident, and Crouch saw how Omar would love to permanently injure her. It was written all over his face.

The banner-bearers staggered on, drawing close to the Range Rover. The FBI agents started to run, spreading out, shouting their cautions but unable to shoot for fear of hitting civilians.

Ricci had no such compunctions as he swung a wicked, black semi-automatic rifle that Crouch recognized to be a Dragunov SVD — a shortened variant with folding stock — out of the Range Rover’s rear compartment and toward the approaching agents.

Without any warning he opened fire.

Even Crouch flinched as the weapon started to make a thunderous deadly sound in the casino parking lot, bullets screaming through the warm morning air. Unprepared agents took shots to the chest, head and legs, sprawling in all directions as Ricci sprayed the area without restraint. Most dived to the floor or scrambled behind cars and walls and even hedges. Ricci didn’t let up once as he retreated around the side of the large vehicle, taking cover but maintaining the upper hand.

The banner was shoved through the tailgate, balanced across the rear seats, folded almost in half to make it fit. The men who’d been carrying it practically collapsed with exhaustion as they finished, but somehow managed to climb inside the car.

Omar forced Crouch into the back, squashing his face against the banner and making him fold his body so that it fitted. The other merc practically threw Terri in beside him.

“Get it started!” Ricci yelled.

Omar and his remaining mercenary now regarded the trunk, which was the only place left with some room. Crouch looked through the far door and saw Ricci firing the semi-auto with one hand as he pulled out a small handgun with the other. The front of the casino was littered with bodies, the wounded and the dead. The façade was pockmarked with bullets and smashed windows. The FBI vehicles were badly damaged.

Quickly, he threw the Dragunov onto the floor and raised the handgun. Crouch ducked. He heard the words: “You betrayed me. Brought the cops to my door. This is what I do to traitors.”

Two shots rang out. Crouch looked up in time to see Omar and his colleague shot through the head and falling backward.

Ricci jumped inside. “Now, go.”