Crusader's Gold

ELEVEN

Bridget McKenzie stalked back to the vehicle that would return her to her headquarters, beaten and abused but only by conflicting emotions. Her plan had been one of intimidation, in true stalker fashion. Start low-key, build up steadily to the real violence — it all preyed on the victim’s mind so much deeper that way, took them down quicker. And, of course, helped preserve her anonymity from the authorities.

What now?

Never, in her seven years as a dangerous rogue sinner had she had to confront a situation like the last one. This Riley had shaken her, surprised her with his intentions, the sheer animosity that radiated from him. Crouch appeared visibly shaken and though she knew him very little, Kenzie did know that the ex-leader of the Ninth Division was as battle-hardened and experienced as any soldier she had ever known.

Ex-Mossad, Kenzie had once been considered the best of the best. Israeli intelligence agents were highly trained, capable of feats even regiments like the SAS admired. The incident that turned her against them and against authority in general, and those that led up to it, changed her forever — giving her a belly full of anger, a burning mission, and a new desire to garner immoral power of her own.

The men who surrounded her now were mere guns for hire, or at least the majority of them were. One thing she knew about power — once you’d bought and fought for it you needed a few hand-picked individuals to help you keep it. Her inner circle was comprised of four strong men she trusted almost as much as she trusted herself. Beyond that she saw her men as an unruly tribe, a paid-for gang of thugs who might just as easily turn on her as follow her orders. With that thought in mind she carefully watched them, spied on them, bugged them, even paid outsiders to come in and pretend to be one of them, just so they could report all the heated conversations and secret intimations straight to her.

She trusted no one.

Not anymore.

With her plans for Crouch and Co. upset she settled back for a short drive and, upon arriving outside a dilapidated abandoned warehouse, slipped out of the car. With a look she summoned Ajax, a powerful, bearded American and part of her inner circle.

“What’s your move, Kenzie?” he asked immediately, thinking how she expected him to think.

“For now we take stock,” she replied as she walked, long legs eating up the ground. “This Riley’s appearance is unexpected to say the very least and, judging by his extremist views toward Crouch, I’d say we really should re-evaluate our coming moves.”

Ajax gave her a sidelong glance which she interpreted perfectly.

“No, I’m not afraid so don’t presume to wonder. There is a reason I am in charge. Just carry out your orders and you will be fine.”

“Sure. And they are?”

“First, a little diversion for me.” Kenzie strode through the door, knowing Ajax wouldn’t open it for her and not expecting him to. The warehouse’s interior was sparse and grimy, just a vast cavern full of beaten, rusted relics that almost everyone had forgotten. Kenzie dealt mostly in the Middle East: stealing and trading ancient artifacts for money; murdering, extorting and torturing to find and authenticate them; then passing them through a tight organization she had helped create. Ancient relics were easy money, a tranquil and stress-free business compared to passing stolen Da Vincis and blood diamonds along. That meant she travelled often and didn’t need an established HQ.

She cast an eye through the warehouse, saw her men gathered near an alcove to the side where an old refrigerator and kettle had been plugged in. A battered outdoor patio set lay to the side, the sturdier pieces now being utilized. The main warehouse area was an untidy clutter of ancient car parts, piles of worn-out tires, corroded wings and grilles and even a rusty old hoist. Pigeons nested in the spaces above, cooing softly. Motes of dust drifted lazily through the air. Her men were into the ale already, in particular those who had taken knocks from Alicia’s crew.

“Lesson time.” She spoke quietly, heading through the chaos toward them. “Make sure Gable, Hawke and Stefanov are with us.”

Ajax motioned immediately to the remainder of her inner circle, knowing they had already been watching. Kenzie strode without fear among the rest of her crew, eighteen strong.

“An interesting time, gentlemen. A new player and one even I wasn’t aware of. Still, it changes nothing. Just a single one of Crouch’s treasure troves would set us up for life. And with that said, I want more men.” Her affirmative gaze flicked briefly to Ajax. “A far stronger crew. See to it.”

Ajax nodded.

Kenzie made a face, now including all her men in her gaze, effecting a confused expression. “So. With all these riches at hand do you think I’m leading you all wrong? Astray? Think I’m a rabid dog in need of putting down? Do you?”

Some of the older members of her team sat more upright, knowing what was coming. The newer members mostly copied Kenzie’s own mien — looking confused. Some glanced between themselves.

“Ah, I can understand a little insubordination.” Kenzie took out a thin blade and drew a thumb down its length. “I encourage it actually. Gets rid of that ridiculous testosterone. But there’s a line.” She held the thumb in the air, blood dripping along a red stripe. “You cross it you get to see my bloody side…”

Kenzie paused, gauging the reactions. Deep down, she was conscious that she was wasting time. She would be much better served by finding out what Crouch had been up to in that church and what the hell went down in the street afterwards. Her men had taken pictures of the window Crouch had seemed primarily interested in but they hadn’t had time to study it. What were they looking for? The Gold Team — as they called themselves — were clever. Surveillance had turned up nothing, and had been scratchy at best. Every moment she wasted with her motley crew further worsened her chances of catching up to them.

Still, it needed to be done.

“During the last job,” she said quietly. “Somebody gave away our position at the last minute.”

All the men sat upright.

“I know.” She acknowledged them. “Goes to what I always say. You just can’t trust a mercenary or a criminal. Or anyone, actually. And that,” she flicked her thumb rapidly, spraying blood across the floor, “is how I always know who done me fucking wrong.”

With a leap she was among the men, touching no one, but springing from chair to chair, lethal blade twirling around her open hand. Within eighteen seconds she was done, standing behind them now on the opposite side, breathing slowly and smiling slightly.

The men blinked and looked shocked, uncertain what had happened.

Then, one of them toppled from his seat; somehow dead, somehow unable to voice his agony or even move until that moment of expiration.

Kenzie wiped her blade off on a piece of rag she found on the warehouse floor. “The lesson ends,” she said. “Don’t ever try to cross me. Bitch about me all you want, I like that. But plot against me and I’ll stick a stiletto through your eyeball and into your brain. Or I may use the katana. My choice.”

The men were quiet, staring mostly at the facedown man and the thin trickle of blood that had begun to leak across the floor, doubtlessly from one of his eyes or maybe both. Kenzie knew from experience that what shocked and disturbed them most was not that she had killed one of them as they watched — it was that they had been watching and hadn’t seen her do it. The fact and the fear remained lodged inside their heads that it could have been any of them.

“Lesson learned?” Kenzie asked the rhetorical question. “I have eyes and ears among you. And I will weed out the traitors. And if it’s you, you will die badly. Ajax—”

She turned to her right-hand man.

“The pictures?” He was smiling.

“The pictures.”

Kenzie turned her back on her men, allowing them time to digest and re-evaluate. There was nothing like a show of deadly violence to rally a disparate team of mercs. Nothing she knew of anyway.

Ajax hooked up a laptop to his smart phone and brought up the pictures in question. The stained glass window with the silhouetted images of Crouch and others studying it filled the fifteen-inch screen. Kenzie flicked between them for a while, zeroing in on various parts, and then asked Stefanov to link his own smart phone to the same laptop. One of the only reasons she had so far kept in the background, limiting her actions mostly to surveillance and fisticuffs, was to allow Crouch and Co. to find the treasure first. It was all a part of her plan. You don’t take an art thief down before he steals the Mona Lisa. You take him out on the Champs Élysées, or even more preferably make sure you’re flying the plane on which he later makes his escape. It was the same with Crouch. Too much action and violence now would cause her problems she could ill afford. Problems that might stop her from later acquiring the treasure. By any means necessary.

Stefanov had been filming proceedings. Video replay would work better in this situation, she thought. It would give a better indication as to exactly where Crouch and his team were looking.

“Top row,” Ajax finally ventured. “I think.”

Kenzie kept her silence but tended to agree. The treasure seekers were definitely studying something in one of the top two rows. But that was eight different choices, and at least six of them were a mystery to her.

“Disappointing,” she murmured.

Stefanov nodded beside her. “You want me to—”

“I want you to start an investigation. Find out who this new player — Riley — is. Everything about his past and future. Go now.” She waited until Stefanov stalked away, not liking assumptions being put in her mouth. Then she turned to Hawke. “Go with him. And use every contact our submissive Ninth Division mercenary has.”

Hawke looked inquisitive and this time she could understand the hesitation. One of her men was an ex-British military man and an unknown survivor of the devastation wrought on the Ninth Division’s HQ. Demoralized, discontented and wanting more he had signed up recently to Kenzie’s crew, further cementing her decision to tail Crouch.

“Go.” Kenzie watched Hawke leave, knowing she could trust him to do her bidding but slightly saddened that even among her inner circle questions and mistrust remained. Blessed and cursed with a perfect memory she had once been the brightest up-and-comer the Mossad ever had. Quick to learn, even faster to correct mistakes, respectful to her superiors and loyal to her government, Kenzie was a rising star. One of her instructors had called her “the complete trainable animal, unsullied from head to toe”. At first pleased and later highly confused, it took her a long time to understand the depths to which he was referring. Competitors called her green, fresh, but it was more than that. The military structure was one she embraced and even loved. She loved authority, reveled in the order and directness of it. It gave her purpose, stability and true resolve.

Which was why it came as such a shock and affected her so deeply when they so utterly betrayed her.

Ajax tapped the laptop’s screen. “The team,” he said, indicating Crouch and Myles and the others she knew as Healey, Russo and Caitlyn. “They left a man behind.”

Kenzie nodded and sucked blood from her thumb. “I know. Go get me that fucking archaeologist.”