The Relic Hunters

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cassidy Coleman dried her long red hair with a towel, then used the damp material to dab cold droplets from her shoulders and arms. The shower had steamed up her room, obscuring all the windows, but she knew didn’t have to check that she was alone because none of the security procedures she’d put in place had been tripped. Naked, she stood for a moment, clearing the glass of her second-floor window so she could stare out across the golden beach and shimmering Acapulco Bay, far across the Pacific, taking in the calmness and the breadth of it all, the natural wonder of the vista.

Outgoing, loud, confident, she enjoyed the quiet moment before dressing, then grabbed her gear. They were ready for tonight; all they needed was to assemble and get going. Cross had suggested 9 a.m. in the lobby. The plan was set. They would hit the prison hard tonight and retrieve Bodie. Finally, their critical inaction was at an end.

She exited the room with no intention to return, found the elevators, and made her way down. The lobby area was busy, conversation rolling in from every corner. Cross, Gunn and Jemma were waiting for her over in the far corner, the quietest place they could find and one from which they could keep an eye on the parking lot.

“All good?” She sauntered up to them, stopped, and planted her hands on her hips.

“Yeah.” Cross was studying the vehicles outside, squinting hard.

“You forget your contact lenses, old man?”

Cross didn’t even look around. “Fuck off.”

“I just got here.”

“I think we all need to move out,” Jemma said. “Once we get close we’ve some setting up to do.”

They hefted their rucksacks, lowered their caps, and headed out into the sunny parking lot. A bellboy stared over but made no move to follow. A large SUV crunched up to a free bay, reversing in. The skies were bright blue and the temperature already climbing.

“Idyllic days,” Jemma remarked.

“I prefer London,” Gunn grumbled. “There’s nowhere like the place you were born, and it’s too bloody hot here.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Cassidy jibed. “Nowhere like a fume-choked, overpopulated, underfunded hive of wealth, poverty, greed and dog-eat-dog. I love it there.”

Gunn glared. “Where were you born, Miss USA?”

“Look at me, fool.” Cassidy lowered her voice. “Where’d you think I was born?”

“Hollywood,” Cross said.

“Close enough.”

Gunn made a neutral face. “I never actually knew that.”

“Well, I never actually tell anyone.”

“You get any movie parts?”

“A few. Bit parts, you know? Mostly after I learned to fight. Catwalk model turns to MMA, that kind thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was shit, and I was much younger.”

“Forty?” Cross sent over a bold grin.

“Ooh, says the pensioner over there.”

“Age doesn’t impede you, Cass. It’s an experience that enables you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Grandpa.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing one of those movies,” Gunn persisted.

“I bet.” Cassidy laughed. “Maybe one day I’ll reveal a title. Maybe. You gotta prove yourself to me first, Gunn.”

The tech geek turned away. “So I understand. Being the only non-fighter in a group really pisses me off.”

“Yeah, sucks don’t it? You gotta put yourself in harm’s way to get real respect from soldiers, dude. Sitting behind a desk, no matter the results, just ain’t gonna do it.”

The van they’d hired was large, powerful, metallic gray, and comfortably held five people with an abundance of room in the back. They’d left it far away, parked in a quiet corner. Cross flicked the remote at it and a double-beep sounded. Lights flashed. Cassidy shrugged off her pack and prepared to stow it in the back. The soft, warm breeze and glowing sun-rays caressed her shoulder for a moment.

Nice to have the sun on my back again. We’ve been to far too many places, crawling in and waiting for the darkness, risked too much, not to enjoy a moment like this.

The roar of an engine brought her back, snapping instantly to the present. She pulled the pack close, opening the zipper, and turned around.

A black van, similar to their own, roared up their part of the parking lot and swung in alongside them. Two men wearing sunglasses occupied the front. There was no telling what might emerge from the rear. It could be innocuous, but their team hadn’t avoided capture and death for so long without taking immediate precautions. Cassidy pulled her pack to her stomach, unzipping the top. Cross slipped to the rear of their vehicle, taking Gunn with him. Jemma was as streetwise as any of them, and followed Cassidy’s lead.

Side doors were flung open, legs emerged. Cassidy pulled out a brand new, unused Glock and fell to one knee. Jemma covered her. The legs wore black trousers and belonged to a male that also sported an expensive jacket and mirrored sunglasses. He jumped to the ground and made no other moves. Then another male that looked exactly the same hopped out.

Cross covered them from the rear, Cassidy from the front. No words were passed, but then neither were any threatening movements. It was all very neutral. Cassidy had seen it before in the ring, when a fighter wanted to call a truce. What came next surprised them all though — three soldiers dressed in camo, weaponless, fanning out to the sides of the first two men.

Cassidy glanced down the line at Cross and mouthed: What the fu—

Then Jemma squealed.

Cassidy snapped back, finger tightening on the trigger. Only to see Guy Bodie step down from the side of the van. Her initial reaction was open mouthed shock, her secondary one to put away her weapon.

Bodie just stared at them.

“Nice hotel,” he said.

“We were coming to get you.”

“How many days?”

“It wasn’t that easy.”

“Probably not. My own poolside margaritas weren’t quite as nice.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Cassidy said. “Quit the whinging and get in here for a hug.” She spread her arms wide.

Bodie looked like he wanted to, but hung back. Cassidy looked properly at him for the first time. Bruises, grazes, dried blood in several places. The man looked beyond weary. And yet he stayed with the people that had clearly rescued him.

What else is going on? More importantly — who are these guys?

Their team didn’t move, still cautious. Bodie sat himself down half-inside the van. They must have driven him straight here after the breakout. Cassidy decided to hell with it and started to walk forward, choosing to talk to Bodie.

It was at that moment that the final pair of legs swung out of the van; these belonging to a woman. The legs kept coming, clad in typical black trousers. When she stepped into view Cassidy saw a tall woman with curly blond hair, an attractive and well lived-in face, offering up a worldly expression. Perhaps that was her standard expression. Who knew? But at the moment, Bodie was referring to her.

“Hey,” she drawled in an American accent. “I guess you guys are the team.” She accented it only slightly, and not in a malicious way.

“Cassidy Coleman.” She walked in close, staring hard into the new woman’s eyes, gauging the mettle there.

“Most of the time I’m referred to as Agent Moneymaker. Some prefer simply Special Agent, which I understand and don’t mind. You can call me Heidi.”

Cassidy shook her head slightly. “So your name’s Heidi Moneymaker?”

“Since the day I was born.”

“Wow. That’s cool. I like it.”

The two women shook, still sizing each other up. Neither moved a muscle as the warm local breezed played through their hair. To every side, the teams’ other men and women watched carefully, but with a relaxed air.

Bodie rose now, pushing off from a pair of bruised knuckles. He breathed shallowly, the aches having set in and making him groan. “The long and short of it is that Heidi and her special ops team broke me out of that prison just a few minutes before I would have died. I owe them my life.”

Cross came over. “And who do you work for, Heidi?”

A tight smile came over her face. “America.”

Cassidy blinked. “Fuck me, you’re CIA! Are you kidding me? You mean to say that the fucking CIA broke master thief, Guy fucking Bodie, out of a Mexican prison? I don’t fucking believe it.”

Cross looked equally flabbergasted. “And the big question of the day is — why?”