Crusader's Gold

TWENTY SEVEN

Alicia watched as the expression on Crouch’s face changed from incredulity to hope and determination.

“By the Pillars of Hercules. A part of the soil,” he said. “But what of the last line — to the victor the spoils. Wait…” He palmed his head, the blow audible to all. “Of course. It’s not referring to those hunting the Hercules, it’s referring solely to Wellington. To the victor the spoils. He claimed it.”

“Time to gen up on our British history,” Alicia said. “Where did Wellington—”

At that moment her text-message tone went off. A message from Beau—get ready.

That can’t be good.

A few seconds later Crouch’s cell rang. He held up a hand as he answered. “Yes?”

Again, many guises warped his features from one emotion to the next. “Now?” he asked. “Here? Where?”

Alicia didn’t like the sound of it, and liked waiting to hear the forthcoming revelation even less. The connection between Beau’s text and Crouch’s call didn’t escape her. Crouch let out a long sigh and held the phone’s speaker against his chest.

“I have intel that Riley is here in Paris,” he said. “I also have a locality. We could hit him whilst he’s unprepared.”

Alicia saw the man’s turmoil. They all sensed how close they were to the prize, yet here was an opportunity to rid themselves of a new and extremely deadly disease.

“Do it,” she said. “It’s worth the time and effort.”

Russo grumbled in agreement. Crouch was already nodding. Quickly, he thanked the person on the other end of the phone, took a few notes and then ended the call.

“Out of interest.” Alicia raised her chin. “Who was that?”

Crouch eyed her keenly. “I think you already know.”

Alicia couldn’t hide her surprise. “Now that’s a shocker.”

“I can’t explain now but I will explain later. When all this is over.”

“Can’t?” Russo repeated in bewilderment. “Explain? Over? What the hell are you two talking about?”

Couch brandished a small piece of paper. “Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “We have a job to do,”

Alicia watched Crouch work his magic, contacting Armand Argento at Interpol and finding a local contact that would be willing to help with weapons. It helped that Interpol was located not too far away and that Argento knew Crouch inside out. The two had worked together more times than either cared to remember down the years.

Within an hour, by way of a hastily commandeered governmental van, they were approaching the address Crouch’s mystery caller had provided.

A petite abandoned train station stood atop a small bridge above a fully-functioning railway line, just ten meters from the entrance to a long tunnel. The station was painted white and black, a classic destination for graffiti artists, and still had all its windows intact and sparkling clean, its roof whole and free of moss and its drainpipes freshly painted. The small staircase that ran up to its door, however, was railed off both to the sides and above. Small trees had begun to grow along its length. Alicia saw now that Riley’s men had broken the locks on the gate and made their way up the stairs and into the station. It was a perfect hiding place, central, clean and so long as they were careful, anonymous.

How had Beau…?

She didn’t want to know. Beauregard had his sinuous ways and his sneaky secrets. Alicia preferred not to dig too deep. One thing was certain — she could never hope to worm her way into the heart of a deadly, global secret sect like the Pythians. All glory to Beauregard for doing so.

The team crept along the embankment, sticking to the top where the hedges were overgrown and offered maximum concealment. Crouch pointed out there was no second-guessing Daniel Riley, the man made everything up as he went along and rarely acted the same way twice. His skills are his unpredictabilities, Crouch told them. His security his craziness. His strength his depravities. Do not expect mercy nor surety from this man.

Alicia trod lightly, guns in both her hands. One held a standard Glock, the other a HK machine pistol, both fully loaded. Other weapons were concealed about her person. The team could not know how many men Riley had recruited, though their “informant” had mentioned “more than a dozen”. Alicia was happy to be working proactively against him at last. No more running.

Ahead, the station stood atop the graffiti-covered bridge, gleaming in the sunlight. Alicia could see heads bobbing through the windows. She signaled Crouch.

“Enemy’s at home.”

“Good.”

Together, they advanced. No sentries appeared to have been placed, but Alicia knew there would be no access to the station except through the railed off staircase. Even if they could gain the roof unseen the noise would alert those inside. Crouch bent down, crawling as close as he dared, and raised high-powered binoculars to his eyes.

“Target confirmed,” he said. “I see Riley and… eight more men.”

At that moment a train approached, clattering hard down the rusted tracks before passing under the bridge and disappearing into the long tunnel. Alicia watched the carriages flash past, their seats full of unsuspecting passengers. The noise made Riley’s mercs glance out the window. Crouch could have waited; he could have crept closer; he could even have pinned the mercs down. But instead, probably still unsettled by the appearance of an old nemesis, he unloaded his machine pistol into the train station. Even Alicia yelled in alarm, but by then the blood was already flowing.

Mercs tumbled left and right and sheets of glass rained from the windows down onto the track. Alicia had a wild, displaced thought: Good job it wasn’t leaves! and crabbed forward. Men approached the frame, bodies revealed, and she made them pay the price. Quickly, she half ran down the embankment to the train tracks, knowing the carriages thundered along at seven minute intervals.

Mercs leapt out of the windows, landing on the embankment and trying to steady their feet. One brushed by her as he landed, his momentum forcing her to her knees. Russo was at her side, snapping the unfortunate’s neck and hurling him aside.

Healey bounded like a spring lamb ahead, happy to be unleashed. A man came at him head-on. Healey upended his machine pistol into his chin, poleaxing him faster than thought. Bullets chewed up the dirt at his feet.

Alicia aimed her own weapon up at the smashed windows above. The mercs were lining the opening, four of them with smirks on their faces. Alicia dived aside. As she did so bullets ripped across the mercs’ chests, fired from Crouch and Caitlyn’s direction. Two dropped outside, two inside, and then two more jumped out. Alicia met the first as soon as he landed, dodging a wild swing. First she broke ribs, then a knee and finally a neck.

No mercy. These people had already fired on civilians.

The second man landed. Alicia disarmed him, taking an elbow to the cheekbone for her trouble. Pain flashed at the center of her brain. More mercs were appearing now from the fringes of the battle, as if they’d been ensconced in some other hiding place. Alicia saw Riley. Crouch’s weapon barked faster. A merc tumbled down the uneven slope. There was suddenly the rumble and clank of an approaching train. Alicia gripped her opponent by the throat, batted away his strong arms, and then hurled him against the flashing carriage. The body bounced and flopped and then lay still, broken.

Two men leaped onto her. Alicia fell under their onslaught, now finding herself rolling unstoppably toward the reverberating carriages. She dug her fingers hard into the grass, but came up only with soil. As she made one more revolution, her arms held out protectively before her, the last carriage raced past. Alicia bounced onto the empty track, the solid rails jarring her spine.

One of the pursuing mercs grinned. “Bet that hurt, bitch.”

Alicia jumped to her feet. “Let’s see you back that comment up.”

The merc checked briefly to make sure his colleague was beside him and then pounced. Alicia executed a half-circle turn, brushing off his back, then smashed the other merc between the eyes with a stiff arm. As he blinked Alicia spun again, now facing the first merc.

“Still full of wind and piss, boy?”

The man yelled a challenge and ran at her. Alicia jumped on the spot, her front kick crashing into his chest, breaking bone. Still he came. Alicia skipped aside, found her Glock in the grass and sent both men to deal with the Devil.

Above, a frantic melee had broken out. Riley was at the center of a group that included three mercs, Russo and Healey. Two more mercs darted at the fringes, causing Russo major problems. Crouch was running full-pelt to join them.

Alicia saw this was the end. There were no more mercenaries in hiding. Digging deep, she ran up the embankment to join the fray, heading straight for the two mercs who were plaguing Russo. Below, another train clattered on by, its occupants probably raising the alarm by now even if the previous ones hadn’t. Alicia tossed her empty pistol at one merc, bringing her HK to bear on the other. The barrel spat. The merc threw himself aside, caught only by one bullet in the right arm. It wasn’t enough. Alicia saw the gritted teeth, the determined stare and knew she was up against a seasoned killer. His own gun was now aimed at her, finger tugging at the trigger. Blood suddenly gouted from his chest, the gun firing off, but the bullets flew wild. Crouch pounded in alongside, red in the face and mad as hell.

“Riley!”

The mercs were beginning to thin out. Russo took another down, but Healey took a heavy blow to the head that sent him spinning to the ground. Alicia immediately remembered his possible head trauma from the previous explosion and berated herself. Should have shielded him. Again, the generally out-of-character thought unnerved her. What am I becoming?

She sprang across to him, felling a merc on the way much to his sudden shock. Healey was groaning on the grass, his body draped half over the top of the steep slope. A merc stood over him with a knife.

“Hey.”

Spinning fast, the man slashed wide. Alicia anticipated it, ducked under and came up with a throat jab. Behind her shots still rang out. As she danced from side to side she saw Crouch engage Riley. Only three mercs remained at his side. The man who couldn’t be captured, it seemed, was about to go down hard.

Alicia evaded the knife again, jumping between Healey’s legs and then over his head. Crouch traded blows with Riley, the first time she could actually remember seeing her boss in a fist fight.

Not good.

Riley was a crazy, seasoned fighter. What the hell was Crouch thinking? Alicia almost missed her opponent’s feint and thrust, so focused on Crouch’s battle was she. The blade nicked her stab vest and ricocheted across her arm, drawing a line of blood through the thick black sleeve. As soon as the man stood back to admire his handiwork and affect a little grin Alicia moved faster than he could comprehend. Before the intense fact that he was actually dead reached his brain he was flat out on the floor.

Alicia bent over to check on Healey. “You okay, you bloody idiot?”

“Yeah,” Healey gasped, high-pitched. “It’s all good.”

“Stay there.”

She turned, scooped up the dead man’s knife and headed toward Crouch. Riley already seemed to be on top of the skirmish, bloodying her boss’s face with callused knuckles. Alicia saw the stance and actions of a man who engaged in fist fights for fun. A bare-knuckle boxer. Riley was enjoying himself. And that insight too attested to his craziness — his men were dropping faster than trees in the Amazon.

Russo smashed enormous arms onto a merc’s scalp, groaning in pain but never flinching. Alicia slid by. Riley saw her approach and immediately pushed Crouch aside. Dropping his hands by his sides he thrust his chest out.

“Take yer best shot, babe.”

Alicia couldn’t stop a snigger. “Are you for real?”

“He’s stalling. Take him out, Alicia,” Crouch gasped. “Now!”

She fingered the hilt of the knife. “Turn around and hold your arms out,” she said. “You’re beaten.”

“Never.”

Riley ran at her, taking the knife in the stomach but succeeding in knocking her off her feet. As she fell backward she heard the sound of an oncoming train. Riley’s fleeing feet never faltered. He battered Russo aside, even the living mountain momentarily destabilized. Russo fell to one knee, aghast.

Riley ran as if pursued by demons, and perhaps he was. The train barreled down the tracks, its horn blowing. At first Alicia thought he was about to throw himself at the train rather than be taken alive, but then she saw.

The bastard had timed it to the millisecond.

He couldn’t plan for lateness, but he’d certainly spent enough time here to plan for punctuality. Alicia could only stare as Riley sprinted hard, looking for all the world as if he was about to smash to pieces against the front of the train, then hurled himself across the tracks. A split-instant later the train swept by. Riley raced up the other embankment, gaining the top in seconds.

Crouch shouted for a gun. Alicia cast around, seeing nothing. Russo continued his collapse and shoveled up a Glock between both hands, throwing it over to Crouch.

“Bollocks!” their leader swore. “You should have taken the bloody shot. Look at me!”

Already, his face was swollen, one eye swelling. Riley didn’t hang around over the other side. Already, he was disappearing around the far edge of the abandoned station. Alicia made to chase after him as the train passed.

A shot rang out, stunning Alicia. A puff of mortar exploded beside Riley’s right ear, making him stumble. Alicia turned to see Caitlyn holding a rifle.

“Good try,” she said. “Now let’s go get him.”

“Forget it,” Crouch said. “Bastard will already have had an escape route planned. Three or four even. He’s a part of the landscape.”

“But he’s severely debilitated,” Caitlyn said, coming up now. “Alone. Badly wounded. He won’t last long.”

Crouch closed his eyes tightly. “You don’t understand. Riley has as many contacts as I do, only all his are bad. He’ll survive. And he’ll be back. Maybe alone, but even that’s a vicious prospect.”

Alicia squinted over at Healey. The young man was sitting up, listening. “Well,” she said. “What say we gather up our wounded and our motivation and get on a plane to London?”

“I say let’s just get the hell outta Paris,” Russo mumbled, still on his knees.

“Need a hand, Robby?”

“No I friggin’ don’t.”

“Haven’t seen you knocked over before.”

“Shut it.”

Crouch placed tentative hands on his face. “How do I look?”

“My first thought is pepperoni pizza,” Alicia said graciously. “But no. No. Seriously, it’s not that bad. The facial swelling will ease in an hour or two. The eye — a bit longer.”

“Think I’ll survive passport control?”

“Meh. Just bribe ‘em.”

“So what are we waiting for? London’s calling.”