The Relic Hunters

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

“Where is the first waypoint?” Heidi asked.

Jeff closed his eyes, remembering the words. “We returned something new to Spartacus, and 1776.”

Heidi blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, is that not helpful?”

Heidi narrowed her eyes this time. “It better be if you value your ass, bud.”

Jeff gulped and realized he’d overstepped the mark. Bodie tried to hide his own amusement.

Gunn saw a chance to make himself useful. “I could start a search. Maybe combine the—”

“Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “I already did it.”

“Kirk Douglas was great in Spartacus,” Cassidy said wistfully.

“Shit, you’re older than you look,” Jeff said. “But this has nothing to do with the movie.”

The SUV suddenly ground to a halt, faced with an obstruction ahead. Cross cursed at the large white van that had crossed their path, shooting out of a side street.

“ ’Kinell,” he muttered. “Guy’s got a death wish.”

The van roared, inching past. Cross waited, drumming the wheel with two fingers. Bodie watched it carefully, giving the high, rusty side his full attention. Cassidy checked the rear and Jemma the sides. For a moment everything looked authentic.

Then, Bodie saw the man they had chased through Thessaloniki bus station. “There!” he cried. “Shit, I’m getting out, keep it running, Cross.”

“Got it.”

Bodie cracked the back door open. Then the Hood, passing along the sidewalk and still carrying his backpack, looked over and smiled.

“No, it’s a—”

Somehow the enemy had tracked their route. The Hood leapt at Bodie, expecting surprise, but Bodie was made of far harder stuff than that. Moving forward, he met the Hood and exchanged blows.

What are the chances? Why would the Hood wait here?

The answer soon became obvious.

Cassidy and Jemma piled out of the car, racing to Bodie’s aid. Heidi threw open the passenger-side door. It was Cassidy that yelled out a further warning.

“More! To the left!”

Three more Hoods came around the large white van, which now completely blocked their way. Cross made to remove his seatbelt but Heidi cried out: “Stay there. We may need you!”

The older man complied with unease. Bodie glared into the Hood’s hard, ungiving eyes. There would be no talk. No compassion. And just like his colleague from Istanbul, if he saw no way out he would certainly try to kill himself. The man was skilled, possibly more than Bodie. He landed blows where Bodie could not, but the wily thief knew tricks the Hood hadn’t even heard of.

Using a nearby newsstand he flicked magazines at the Hood, threw bottled water and soda at him. The Hood struggled to adapt at first, unsure where the next attack was coming from or even what it might be, but then blitzed through Bodie’s onslaught, butting heads with the man and pummeling his chest with iron-like fists.

Bodie fell back, breathing hard. The Hood was so skillful; but then fighting was all he knew. Seemingly unhampered by the backpack, he bruised and battered Bodie, and forced him back onto the road.

Then everything happened at once; the wide-ranging battle coming together. Cassidy launched an attack at the main Hood just as the other three joined. Jemma put herself in front of their attack, competent, not at their level, but willing to protect her friends.

Cross sat inside the car, engine roaring. The white van finally moved out of the way, giving him a clear road. Cross blasted on the horn to let the team know. Pedestrians lined the street, some running, others huddling either for protection or to take photos. A market stall ahead was disgorging even more people as they came over to find out what the commotion was all about.

Bodie spun as a car, undeterred by the melee, drove past about thirty miles per hour, clipping Cross’s side-mirror and continuing on.

“Madness.” Cross glanced from man to woman, from skirmish to skirmish. “This it utter bloody madness.”

Cassidy fought toe to toe with the main Hood, forcing him back. Cassidy was no tip of the knife, no perfectly trained fighter, indoctrinated from a young age. Everything she’d learned was either in a steel cage or on the meanest street. Combine that with world-class martial arts training and you got Cassidy Coleman — she could use every weapon from the tip of her finger to batons and a sword, and though many had tried she’d never been beaten.

Somebody’s out there, she once told Bodie. Somewhere. Maybe one day I’ll meet them.

She’d said it like she looked forward to it.

Blood ran from above the Hood’s right eyebrow and left cheek. To the left Jemma blocked one Hood and tripped another, falling herself but halting their attack. Gunn launched himself atop another, using his weight to stall the man rather than any kind of fighting expertise which he totally lacked. Bodie was a small surge of pride for the geek.

Gunn soon received an elbow to the nose, which he rolled away from, groaning. Bodie took it back. The kid was a fucking pussy, after all.

Jemma grappled with the guy she’d tripped, holding on to him and taking him out of the fight. Bodie met the Hood she’d blocked, coming at him before he’d fully recovered. Three swift blows and the Hood was gasping.

Then Heidi came around the side of their car.

“All right,” she said. “The fucking gloves are off. Who wants to get shot first?”

In her right hand she held a trusty Glock.

The melee continued unabated, blood splashing boots and concrete and curdling in the dirt.

The first shot rang out.