Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (7 page)

Alicia listened as Crouch told his tale, at first surprised to find Crouch had such a horrific nemesis in his past, but then remembering that in the end they were all just soldiers. Could any man who had seen combat say any different? Nemeses came in many different forms and for every person who lived their lives.

Riley, it seemed, had bided his time and remembered his promise to Crouch on finding out he’d left the Army. Anyone who held a grudge for that amount of time should be taken seriously, no matter their proclivities, but in the case of Riley the threat was a thousand times worse.

Caitlyn spoke into a sudden silence. “I’ll start some research. If we can find out what Riley’s been doing since ’97 it might give us some kind of an advantage.”

Crouch agreed. “Start with Interpol. Riley’s base of operations has always been Eastern Europe.”

Alicia considered Crouch’s story carefully. It was an event she knew fleetingly through past chatter. “Seven civilians and three soldiers were killed that day.”

Crouch nodded. “Three SAS soldiers. But Riley, he is the master of disappearance. We never got near him again.”

“I have to ask.” Healey looked like he was about to burst. “What’s next? Do we abandon our search for the Hercules to concentrate on Riley? Is that what you’re saying?”

Crouch blew out a long gust of air. “Ahhh, I don’t know. Riley has to be dealt with. If we allow him to operate I guarantee you he will end us all, publicly, with the highest amount of civilian casualties he can accomplish. But as for the fate of the Hercules . . .”

“It can wait?” Alicia said.

“It has waited all these years. But when a particular ball gets rolling so, usually, does another. Take Kenzie for example, and anyone she might have told. There may well be others. Rolland Sadler has to seek various permissions from local authorities to allow us to seek these treasures out—special access and the like. Criminals get wind that something is afoot, or they pay to hear from those in the know. I can guarantee you now that from our actions so far at least a dozen outsiders know what we’re up to.”

“And it’s what some of them might do to the Hercules that worries us,” Caitlyn put in.

“So we swing both ways.” Alicia cracked a smile. “I can handle that.”

Russo shook his head. “It’s a bit of an alien concept for the rest of us,” he said. “How can we juggle two such erratic variables?”

“It’s this simple,” Crouch said. “Riley will find us wherever we go. So let’s do what we have to do and make sure we’re ready for him.”

Russo accepted this logic by clamping his mouth shut. Alicia slapped his broad shoulders. “C’mon, Robster. Is it true that men can’t multitask? Or can even a slow, witless old Neanderthal like you make it work?”

Russo shrugged her off, growling softly. Healey cast a long glance toward Caitlyn. Alicia thought about the obvious wisecrack but then decided to let the two lovebirds be. The pair hadn’t had a lot of luck just yet.

Is that me growing again? Is it? What the . . .

A weight hovered just above her shoulders, a weight that if it settled could literally crush her into dust. It lowered by the day, occasionally by the hour. Only situations like the one she faced right now kept it in the air.

“And on to business,” she said quickly, seeing Venice emerge out of the cloud cover below. The beautiful island city spread out, appearing through the right-hand window as the pilot banked and turned in. A series of curves and channels, densely packed dwellings and a huge bridge like an outstretched arm, it diverted her with its intense attractiveness. The others were also staring.

“The Hercules Tarentum, being the greatest work of the greatest sculptor, will become a free-for-all if we allow it,” Crouch said. “The chase is now on, like it or not.”

“Speaking of Lysippos,” Caitlyn said. “In school and through later studies I always believed Michelangelo or possibly Bernini were the greatest sculptors who ever lived.”

“Most famous, yes. I guess it’s arguable, but Michelangelo will always be known for the Pieta and David, both of which he sculpted before he was thirty. Bernini is known for so many works of art, including the Apollo and Daphne and his own David, the Baroque answer to Michelangelo’s Renaissance original. Now what do all these and so many more have in common?”

Caitlyn thought about it for a time. Finally, she said. “They all still exist.”

Crouch slapped an open palm down onto the table. “Exactly. They exist. All we have from Lysippos are copies, fakes and remolds. But consider this—even the copied Horses of St. Mark have been worshipped for thousands of years, fought for, and considered among history’s greatest works of art.” He paused. “Copies.”

“Add to that the Alexander the Great connection . . .”

“And the Colossus of Rhodes being made by his pupil.”

“Can’t hurt having an original ancient wonder on your pupil’s resume.”

“And to Lysippos’ stature add Eros Stringing the Bow. Agias. Hermes of Atalanta. The Alexander statues, from which the man’s very image is now taken for granted. Alexander’s horse—Bucephalus.”

“Okay.” Alicia thought it wise to stop Crouch as Venice grew clearer through the window. “But all we know is that Dodo brought the Horses to Venice after he sacked Constantinople.”

Crouch tried not to glare at her. “Dandolo,” he said, “stole the Horses and placed them atop St. Mark’s Basilica. And there they stand today. We must apply a well-educated guess that the Hercules was also brought here by Dandolo and secreted away. It has certainly never turned up anywhere else and, indeed, why wouldn’t it have been here? Dandolo was the Doge of Venice, it was his city to command. Of course he brought the Hercules here.”

“For himself?” Caitlyn ventured.

“Undoubtedly. But not exclusively. You remember he was blind? I believe this was merely the spoils of war for a mad, old and dying Venetian. A trophy. One-upmanship. The Bugatti Veyron of 1204. ‘Here, take a gander at my Horses. They used to stand atop the Hippodrome, you know. Do you like them? Well, here, let me show you this little secret treasure . . .’ ”

Alicia laughed. “Did you read that in a book?”

“Probably.”

“So where do you think he hid the Herc?” Alicia quipped.

“We’re about to find out.” Crouch said confidently. “But from here on in, guys, it’s deadly. No slacking off. No breaks and definitely no free time—” He gave Alicia an odd look.

Alicia frowned. “If you’re referring to my time with Beauregard I don’t count that as exactly free. If you do then try bouncing—”

“Either way,” Crouch interrupted. “Beauregard’s not in Europe. Stay close, all of you. Watch each other’s back like never before. We’re about to land and when Riley hits he will do so with devastating effect.”

Alicia nodded with the rest of them, suddenly out of breath, knocked off-kilter. She wondered if anyone else picked up on it.
How the hell does Michael know Beauregard’s not in Europe?

Saint Mark’s Basilica is the most famous of all Venice’s great churches, an outstanding illustration of Venetian-Byzantine architecture. Connected to the Doge’s palace it was once the chapel of the Doge, and thus effortlessly accessible by him. Adorned by gold-ground mosaics and seen as the status of Venetian power it was also known as the Church of Gold.

Caitlyn read that it had been linked to Alexandria since 828 on its conception, so it was no surprise that the basilica continued to be associated with Alexandria’s great lost treasures and figureheads like Lysippos. Its very construction stemmed from and was ordered after merchants from Venice stole the supposed relics of Mark the Evangelist from Alexandria. Belief and myths surround it, and wrap it in an air of mystery. The body of St. Mark was discovered inside a pillar by the then-ruling Doge. Part of it is said to be what is now left of the original Doge’s palace. Countless adornments spring from the Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople. Caitlyn immediately knew, on reading, what Crouch already supposed—that the Hercules Tarentum, if it were still in existence, would be here, behind these hallowed walls.

She already knew a little of the Horses themselves, how they dated back to Classical Antiquity, were thought to be a team originally pulling a quadriga chariot containing an emperor, and that the ones on display outside the church were fakes—the real ones now kept inside the church where the elements were far kinder to them.

Now, as the team crossed St. Mark’s Square, hemmed by snapping tourists at every step, surrounded by the ever-present pigeons, a light drizzle fell. Ahead stood the impressive basilica and, to its right, the three-hundred-foot-tall bell tower, one of Venice’s most recognizable landmarks. The square opened out to the right, leading to one of the canals. Caitlyn concentrated on the church, already able to see the bronzed Horses standing in pride of place atop the arched entrance. Caitlyn counted five huge arches ahead, or portals, as they were referred to. Seeing the size of the structure she tapped Crouch on the shoulder.

“Now would be a good time to call one of your contacts.”

Crouch nodded a little reluctantly. “I’d like to get a feel for the place first,” he said. “Nose around a bit. But Riley and Kenzie and their threats mean we’re running against the clock now. Trouble is, I have contacts in most countries, even Italy, but not with the Roman Catholic Church or the Patriarch of Venice.”

“Can’t we . . . you know,” Russo mumbled. “Have a chat with him.”

Crouch looked a little aghast. “The Patriarch is appointed by the Pope himself. No, Russo, we can’t have a word with him.”

Alicia sighed. “And there goes any chance of me being able to use my womanly wiles on him.”

Russo choked with laughter. “Oh, yeah. Really? You have those?”

“Wait a minute,” Caitlyn said, almost stepping on a pigeon. “I thought you said the basilica belonged to the Doge, not the local bishop.”

“Used to.” Crouch also had to wade through a knot of pecking birds. “I remember reading it changed over slowly, finally overseen by Napoleon during his years of control in Venice.”

Caitlyn blinked at that. “Who? Napoleon? Of France? How did he—”

But at that moment, with the basilica before them, and the skies lightening up above to show a blanket of pure blue, Crouch’s cellphone rang. To both sides tourists glanced across as if the tinny droning of a ringtone was in violation of the piazza’s rules. Crouch answered.

“Yes?”

Caitlyn watched him as the others all checked their perimeter. Surveillance was everything now—it would keep them alive. Nobody trusted that even the sacrosanct piazza would blunt Riley’s strike when it happened.

Crouch was silent, listening, but Caitlyn saw a world of hurt enter his eyes the second before he squeezed them tightly closed. His head fell. She knew something was terribly wrong.

She stepped forward. “Michael?”

Crouch whispered something into the handset. A stiff breeze, laced with the last vestiges of the shower, swept Caitlyn’s hair aside. A darkness fell over Michael Crouch as the sun finally split the heavens that peered down upon the basilica.

“Michael?” she repeated. Alicia turned toward her, noting the urgent tone of her voice.

Crouch spoke again, his voice too low to understand. It didn’t happen often, but when Caitlyn saw the fight go out of him in such a way it disturbed her on deeper level than she cared to admit.

He saved me. Gave me a second chance.
Caitlyn had been in Hell when Crouch recruited her, wallowing, failing, drowning in grief. The subsequent weeks and months had helped her deal with the revelations surrounding her mother and father, but the horror of it all still clung and lurked like toxic shadows.

Alicia tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. He just answered his cell—”

Crouch ended his call, eyes still closed, face as tight as a photo finish. When he did finally look at them he did so under an immense strain.

“That was Interpol. The Istanbul police are reporting finding a body.” He gripped the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “One of the city’s esteemed archaeologists. Seems he was tortured for information and then killed.”

Alicia stepped forward immediately. “Naz? You’re saying . . .” she tailed off, seeing the same truth that Caitlyn saw in Crouch’s chaotic gaze.

“I’m responsible,” Crouch said. “I brought him into this. I left him alone, thinking everything would just move on—”

“How could you know Riley would go after him?” Healey asked. “You didn’t kill him—”

“It wasn’t Riley,” Crouch said.

Now Alicia grunted. “Then who? Kenzie. Not Kenzie—”

“Police report CCTV cameras show her in the vicinity of the murder around the right time.”

“Shit, did we underestimate her.” It was a statement of fact.

“Yes, we did.” Crouch let out a long breath. “She’s as psychotic as bloody Riley and now she also knows where we were headed.”

Russo continued to survey the area. “She ain’t here yet, boss.”

Caitlyn gestured toward the sheer amount of people crowded into the square. “You can’t know that for sure.”

Russo shrugged, a rock face convulsing.

Alicia pointed toward the basilica. “Keep moving. Standing in one place for too long is what gets you killed. Look, the Horses are right there, right in front of us. Bronze copies of the ones Lysippos sculpted. That’s our link. Dandolo brought them here at the same time he brought the Hercules. So where is it?”

Her words took a moment to impinge upon Crouch, but when they did he abruptly nodded. “You’re right, Myles. We should get inside St. Marks.”

He shoved past them all, now shouldering another burden. Alicia strode after him and Healey beckoned to Caitlyn.

“Hurry. We shouldn’t be separated.”

Russo appeared to be inspecting every face and feature within their vicinity. “They could be anywhere,” he finally admitted. “And they won’t hesitate. C’mon, guys. Get a bloody shift on.”

*

Once inside, the interior of St. Mark’s Basilica hit them like a warm blanket of gold. The shining yellow domes, the walls, the mosaics, all spoke of beauty, priceless art and wealth. It was laid out in the shape of a Greek cross, each arm divided into three naves with a dome of its own in addition to the main dome above the crossing.

Caitlyn was immediately stunned by the size of the place. “Wow, it’s huge. How on earth do we even start a search?”

“We simply search,” Crouch snapped. “Did you think it was going to be easy? Look for clues. For anything relating to what we know. To mosaics, murals, stained glass windows. To the Doge of the thirteenth century. To the horses. To Hercules. Lysippos, even. And Alexander. Use your bloody brain.”

Caitlyn drew back as their boss stalked on ahead. Alicia kept pace for a moment. “Leave him be. Michael’s been a leader longer than you’ve been mature. And do you know what a good leader’s worst nightmare is?”

“Losing the respect of their people?” Caitlyn said sharply.

“No. But close. It’s losing their people. Through no fault of his own Crouch lost the Ninth Division. Or did you truly think all this treasure hunt business was purely for fun?”

“You’re saying he’s using it to cope?”

Alicia stopped at the end of a long row of chairs. “Partially, yes. Whatever he says to the contrary. There’s much more to him than meets the eye.”

Caitlyn caught a tone of warning within Alicia’s words and studied her more closely. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s deep. Deeper than even I knew. I’m not entirely sure yet but—” the Englishwoman clammed up, surprise in her eyes showing she probably hadn’t even meant to say that much. Caitlyn knew she would get no more out of Alicia Myles.

“Well, keep me informed.”

“Like an older car salesman. I always do when it suits me to.”

Caitlyn slowed, conscious that she’d already crossed a good proportion of the lower register and taken in very little. Something struck her that had seemed a little odd when Crouch proposed it. Why would this church have any references to Hercules?

Unless . . .

It was an oddity, for sure, and one that required investigation. If St. Mark’s Basilica bore any indications of Hercules it may well be a sign, a lead. Quickly, she sat down on one of the chairs and found her Kindle Fire, logging into a web browser. Healey stood over her, reminding her of the need for protection.

In here?

Terrorists, murderers and other fanatical or psychopathic killers would not stand on ceremony. Caitlyn watched Crouch passing between rows of pillars, studying the inlaid paving at his feet. Russo and Alicia studied a wall showing apostles, angels, a winged lion and St. Mark himself. Caitlyn thought hard. They already knew that at least one major work of Lysippos adorned this so-called cathedral church, but could there be any more?

The Four Tetrarchs statue stood inside, also robbed from Constantinople, as did many other objects. None of them helped. Most weren’t even sculptures, but she reminded herself not to think in such a linear way. Clues might come in all shapes and sizes.

As Caitlyn tapped away, Alicia and Russo wandered the aisles, threading in and out of the great columns and always watching. Above, the other levels overlooked them and made it harder to guarantee safety, but the pair made the Gold Team as secure as they could. Crouch stood apart, wrestling with his idea that a clue must exist inside the basilica as much as the latest revelation about Naz’s death. Their boss checked every statue, every mosaic, and came up with nothing.

More than an hour passed, the minutes ticking away. It was Caitlyn who finally made a breakthrough.

Studying page after page of information and retaining as much as she was able, she came across an article that amazed her. On reading she rose and waved to the entire crew, ignoring Crouch’s look of anger that clearly shouted: Discretion!

“I’ve found something,” she said, unable to keep a note of excitement out of her voice. “This façade,” she pointed, “is split into two orders, all overlooked by the copy of the quadriga of St. Mark. The Horses. Now listen—‘the
thirteenth century
marble facing . . .’ ” she clearly emphasized the date. “ ‘. . . includes several sculpted Byzantine slabs. Two of them are portrayals of the Labors of Hercules. Hercules with the Boar of Erymanthus from the fifth century and another from the thirteenth century’.” She paused, staring at Crouch.

“I like it,” he said shortly. “In particular that the entire façade dates from after our Hercules probably arrived.”

Caitlyn stood up. “We’re all aware of our time limitations. Let’s go.”

The team reacted to her abrupt air, marching toward the façade she had pointed out. Crouch gave her a look as he turned, one of gratitude, which she also took as part apology. Trouble was, she couldn’t stay mad at her benefactor for long. He was just too well respected and had already helped her beyond measure.

The first sculpture they looked at depicted Hercules with the Hind of Cerynea and the Hydra of Lerna; the legendary figure grappling with and wrestling both. Alicia squinted hard.

“He’s not wearing much is he? Doesn’t look like Dwayne Johnson to me. Or Reece Carrera for that matter, our pet movie star. Not that I’ve ever seen either man’s family jewels. Yet.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Family jewels?”

Alicia laughed and glanced at Healey. “Are you two really that bloody young? How about beanbag? Knackers? Clappers?”

Russo leaned in, saving Caitlyn. “She means ‘bollocks’.”

Caitlyn caught on, then retorted in double-time. “She usually does.”

Alicia grinned, studying the slab even harder. “So. What we have here is a half-naked dude in the middle of a fight—”

“His labors,” Caitlyn put in.

“Yeah, whatever. But what you don’t have is anything else. No background. No clues, love. Unless the Hydra or the Hind mean anything?”

“Third labor,” Crouch recited from memory. “Instead of slaying monsters, which Herc had already proved he could do, they made him catch the Hind which was faster than an arrow.” He thought about the reference. “He chased it for a year through Greece, Thrace, Istria and Hyperborea. It was a defiant moment for him. He eventually let the Hind go, alive. I see nothing in this carving that helps us.”