Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold (8 page)

Alicia turned away, the piece already forgotten. “And the other?”

“Hercules with the Boar of Erymanthus. The fourth labor. Hercules captures the boar and returns it alive, but the tale is generally accepted to portray how Chiron surrendered his immortality to the great man. A tale of how the Centaurs died.”

Crouch chewed his lip, considering the facts. Alicia studied the sculpture. This time, Hercules carried the huge boar over his shoulders and appeared to be threatening a man, his tormentor, with it. Again there were no other images to consider, no hidden words or depictions.

“They say pictures convey a thousand words,” Alicia grunted. “Well, these sculptures “portray two, maybe three. And I am totally—”

“No swearing in church, Alicia,” Russo said. “I’m sure you’re already booked into Hell when you die so no need to make it worse.”

“She’s right though,” Crouch looked around, disappointed. “Our best clues point to nothing. Nothing at all. Look people, we’ve been tramping around in here for hours now with nothing to show for it. How about we take a break?”

“With our competitors so close?” Russo asked.

“Better they hit us in a coffee shop than here.” Crouch shrugged.

Caitlyn looked around the despondent crew.
We failed
. They had failed Naz, failed Sadler, failed themselves. “There’s nothing upstairs?” she pressed. “Near the Horses?”

“It’s all stone and marble,” Crouch said. “No secret rooms that I can see. No disguised entrances. No floor marks where a statue might occasionally be dragged out on display for the privileged to view. We’ve by no means searched this entire place yet, but I’m also thinking that that’s an impossible feat. My contacts have said they may be able to get us a night in here but even that may take some time to arrange.”

Caitlyn fell in line as the group carefully and despondently exited the church. Nobody needed to mention their desperate need to conclude all this. Riley and Kenzie could be out there among the milling crowds, watching them even now. She actually thought Crouch’s idea a sound one—they couldn’t wander the halls and hope for the best. Somebody, one of them, had to come up with a plan, a breakthrough, a new development.

Were the Hercules sculptures adorning the façade really useless?

“Maybe it’s in the legend,” she said aloud. “The Labors. Maybe we should research them some more.”

“We will,” Crouch said. “But it could be any of the other balls we are juggling right now too. In particular, Dandolo. That clever old blind man knew exactly what he was doing as Doge of Venice and he most definitely won’t have squandered such a magnificent treasure.”

Caitlyn stopped in the piazza, casting a glance backward. The spirits of the famous Horses of St. Mark watched her, dripping in history, awash with memories of olden times. What secrets did they yet hold?

“Y’know,” Alicia said at her side. “There are horses like that on top of the London Hippodrome too.”

Caitlyn laughed. “Yes, I know, but not exactly steeped in so much history.”

“I mention it only because most people don’t look up. Most Londoners wandering Leicester Square don’t realize the horses are there.”

“And there,” Crouch walked momentarily backwards, pointing even higher. “Stands St. Mark, flanked by six angels, above a large gilded winged lion. His symbol and the symbol of Venice.”

“We get it,” Russo said. “The dude’s important.”

“Yet another reason to believe the most important lost statue in history is right here.” Crouch winked and led the way.

Alicia settled at the small round table with an iced Maple Macchiato in one hand. Their chosen table afforded them a clear view of the street outside, some ten minutes’ walk from St. Mark’s Square. The soldiers among them were feeling a little somnolent from all the sightseeing.

Alicia said as much. “I think I need more than a drink, guys. All this aimless walking makes me more tired than a rapid action battle.”

“I have to agree.” Crouch stretched his legs and looked drained. “Time for a break.”

“So speaks the relentless tomb raider.” Alicia smiled affectionately. “Your life’s dream has been to inspect dusty old churches.”

“In a manner of speaking—yes. Ancient treasure doesn’t find itself. And it’s not always easy. If it were there would be nothing left to find.”

“Perhaps we should be looking from a different angle,” Caitlyn speculated.

“It’s not always there either. It’s already been looted or destroyed,” Healey spoke up. “Hence the reason most people don’t bother looking.”

“You saying we’re on a wild goose chase?” Alicia pounced on the young man’s intimations.

“I dunno. We were inside for three hours and have nothing beyond two boring old Hercules sculptures to show for it. Don’t forget we have other problems on the way.”

Alicia nodded, looking over to the food counter. Already Caitlyn and Crouch were tapping away on their tablets, comparing local information with what they already knew. Alicia sipped at her drink, enjoying the distinction between sweetness and ice, water and coffee. Russo, sat beside her, kept his gaze fixed on the picture window.

“No matter where we go,” he said, “what we do. Our job, our deeds, always follow us.”

“Because we’re soldiers?” Alicia asked. “Or people?”

“Soldiers first. Always.”

“So how do we stop running?”

Russo’s gaze shimmered with alarm. He didn’t move his head, but his next words were clearly carefully chosen. “We make the decision to. And stick by that decision no matter what happens.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“You make it sound easy, Russo. I’ve been skirting that easiness my entire adult life.”

“Myles,” Russo shot a fast glance her way, “is anything with you ever easy? No. Expect the worse.”

“Will do, Cap’n.” She gave the soldier a mock salute and went back to nursing her macchiato. Crowds drifted past the finger-stained glass, many with cameras swinging from their necks or fingers. More tapped on cellphones as they walked, uncaring about who they agitated. Several sat or crouched against a far concrete wall, taking a break from the dog-eat-dog world of exploration. The crowds inside the coffee shop ebbed and waned, first full to standing room only and then emptying out before another onslaught. As the day wore on the masses thinned and the light faded. Crouch and Caitlyn gave up more than once.

“All right, here’s another idea,” Caitlyn said for the fourth time that hour. “How about we take it back to the beginning. Lysippos. Then Alexandria and Constantinople. What’s our only other constant until then?”

Crouch shook his head. “I already mentioned this. It’s the Horses, of course. The bloody, silly Horses.”

“Calm down, boss,” Russo rumbled. “Won’t get anywhere with a grump on.”

Alicia took her seat again at that point, having visited the food counter, and unwrapped a roast chicken sandwich.

Caitlyn nodded, eyeing the meal hungrily. “Yes, but beyond that we know nothing. Well, here’s an interesting fact. They’re one of the most often stolen and recovered treasures in history.”

“What? Are you kidding? You mean they were stolen again? After Dandolo?”

“Well, for a brief period, yes. First stolen by Constantine, then Dandolo. And then once more—they were also stolen by Napoleon.”

“Napoleon?” Crouch echoed. “Are you kidding? That means—”

Caitlyn nodded, interrupting in her eagerness. “Yes, they were taken from St. Mark’s Basilica in 1797 and installed in Paris.”

Russo turned with a raised eyebrow. “So how’d they get back here? Galloped, did they?”

“When Napoleon was defeated in 1815 the conquering allies returned them to Venice.”

Alicia grunted. “Not Constantinople? I bet that irked.”

“No doubt, but here they stand. And the good news is they’ve not been stolen since.”

Crouch looked over at her. “Are you suggesting that Napoleon, enamored enough to dismantle and remove the Horses, might also have found the Hercules and stolen that too?”

“Why not? If he knew the provenance of one he’d have known the other. If the Hercules was hidden he’d have grasped its importance pretty quick. He spent time in Venice and he was a bona fide conquering hero like Dandolo and the Roman Emperors before him.”

“But we have no proof,” Crouch stressed. “The trail is still cold. What we need to find is something tangible.”

“Well, history states that Napoleon captured Venice and took plunder. He kept the Horses for eighteen years until Wellington defeated him. France then ceded the Horses back to the Venetians. So, did Napoleon originally keep the statue for his private collection as Dandolo no doubt did?”

“That’s not proof,” Healey pointed out.

“No, but the statue has now hit its own quiet point in history. The trail is cold. We have to somehow prove Napoleon took it to Paris.”

Crouch rose and wandered over to the food counter as Alicia finished her sandwich. “Hate to say this, guys,” she said. “But you’re grasping now.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Hey, we failed at the basilica. Where else do we go from here?”

“Their reasoning is true,” Russo said unexpectedly. “It must have cost Napoleon enormous effort to remove those Horses. He would have taken the superior treasure too.”

Alicia spotted the man moving toward Crouch immediately. She rose quickly even as Crouch wheeled toward him, and then they both paused.

“Ah.” Alicia said. “This could be awkward.”

Crouch smiled as the man approached.

“Beware of false prophets,” he said.

Crouch nodded. “Always am. Thanks.” And turned away.

The man pointed to the board that hung around his neck.
I am the way, the truth, and the life,
it said
.
The words of Jesus Christ.

Alicia had no problem with religious views so long as they stayed below the level of fanatical. She nodded at Caitlyn to pass Crouch’s tablet across. “I think the boss is gonna be a while.”

“Beware of false prophets,” the man reiterated, turning to address the entire café now. “Which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”

Alicia knitted her brows. Russo glanced away from the window. “Is he talking about us?”

“Why, Rob? Are you false?” Alicia’s comment was off-the-cuff, because she was actually thinking about Crouch and his previous statement concerning Beauregard. False prophet? Never.

Russo tapped the table, drawing the man’s attention. “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”

“Good quote,” Alicia said, wondering if there was more to Russo than she had previously thought.

“Old quote,” Russo said. “Not mine. And one of the best.”

Crouch turned to them just as the man grinned; just as the café door swung open so violently its glass smashed; just as windows on all sides shattered; just as all hell broke loose in the city of heaven.

War had come to Venice.

Alicia reacted with pure animal instinct. As a razor-edged waterfall rained down to her left, she upended the table and shoved it through the new gap. Two men, already leaping through, smashed head-first into the makeshift weapon, instantly collapsing. Alicia reached down for one of their discarded weapons; Russo scooped up the other. Behind them, Crouch shoved the false street preacher backwards so that he fell over a table. Tourists scrambled aside as he fell, arms and legs pinwheeling. Through the ruined front door came a swarm of operatives, all carrying weapons with barrels aimed at the floor.

Alicia knew that wouldn’t last.

“Down!” she yelled. “Get the fuck down!”

Most of the café’s patrons were already scrambling to the floor. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t, gawped. Alicia snatched a fleeting glimpse of a man calmly starting to raise his ceramic cup to his lips as the bullets started to fly. Crouch flung himself head-first, becoming tangled among a nest of tables.

Behind the bar, shelves crammed full of cups and saucers, flavored syrups and cafetiéres, all set against a mirrored background for effect, started to bounce and shatter and break. A gleaming, expensive-looking coffee machine fractured down the middle, perforated with bullets. Staff screamed, ducking fast.

Alicia was aware that the assault was happening on three sides, but still the hardest problem here was avoiding civilian casualties. As a third man stepped through the window to her left she put a bullet into his stomach, then grabbed him and spun him around. Bullets thwacked into his body without ceremony, answering her first question. Russo was down on one knee, aiming high, showering their attackers with chunks of falling ceiling. Alicia used the dead merc as body armor to glance around the corner of the devastated window. Outside, a narrow street was bordered by a small diameter railing with one of Venice’s signature canals lying beyond, the gilded end of a gondola just passing beyond sight. There was a gap of roughly twelve feet to the sheer stone façade of the building on the other side of the canal.

No sign of mercs.

“Out!”

She crouched alongside Russo, signaling to Caitlyn to start crawling underneath the chair legs toward her. Every second that passed brought the mercs a little closer. A bullet shaved the edge of a table beside her. More barrels were starting to swing her way.

Alicia saw their moment of opportunity rapidly closing. She grabbed Caitlyn’s outstretched wrist and pulled hard, employing all her strength to fling the girl toward the jagged gap. Caitlyn squealed but spun outside, jacket snagging on a glass spike.

Crouch heaved another table toward their assailants. It was all about distraction and escape now—they couldn’t match firepower with firepower. A merc coming in from his left had already reached him. Crouch spun fast, ready to chop down at a gun hand but found himself faced by two whirling blades.

Alicia cringed. What the fuck?

One blade chopped into Crouch’s jacket, drawing blood, the other simultaneously spinning across his neck, missing by a whisker. Crouch staggered, shocked and momentarily unfocused. The merc was a woman, of medium build and height and with short-cropped hair—a black stubble. Muscles bulged around her body armor.

Chick means business,
Alicia thought and fired off a few rounds in her direction. The clip on her weapon was running low and needed saving.

Healey rolled into view from behind the bar, catching at Crouch’s sleeve and dragging the man away from the female merc. Her cry of annoyance was more than primeval anger, it was a velociraptor at play. Alicia considered taking her out of the action, but before she could decide both Healey and Crouch were with them, pushing toward the window.

“Move!” Russo cried.

The mountain laid down some covering fire. Alicia stood at his side. Mercs dived every which way. The one who reached them met Alicia’s front kick—a blow that broke ribs, yet still he forged on. Alicia smashed his face with the rifle’s butt before kicking him over on to his back.

“Lay down and beg,” she said. “There’s a good boy.”

Russo pushed her backward and she jumped over the lip of the window, into the narrow Venice street. Ahead of her tourists stared, most with backpacks or hand in hand with their partners. Another gondola plied the canal, with Caitlyn leaning over the metal railing toward it as if planning to flag it down.

“A fucking gondola?” Alicia shouted. “Are you mad? We could walk faster.”

Healey dragged her away, flushing a little as if the idea had actually been his. Probably had. Alicia backed away from the devastated café fast, weapon raised as Crouch took point and led the retreat. Tourists jumped out of the way. The street was narrow enough to rub shoulders with most of them. Alicia and Russo shouted at them to lie down.

As if to prove their point mercs poured out of the café window, some shooting without caution even as they fell to the floor. Bullets hissed everywhere. A youth took a hit to the backpack, staggering but uninjured. Another screamed as bullets smashed into the wall beside his head. Alicia leapt over in an instant, took him by the scruff of the jacket, and hurled him shrieking over the railing and into the canal. Better there than dead. Russo dropped to one knee and returned fire. Crouch shouted that there was a bridge ahead, a way across the canal and off the deadly street.

Alicia took a glance. A bridge in Venice of course wasn’t merely a bridge, it was an ornate arch spanning the greenish water, most of them imitating the Rialto Bridge of the Grand Canal. Alicia pushed people against the nearby walls as she backed toward it. The mercs followed in a group, and non-military part of Alicia’s brain now caught up with the action. Who had orchestrated this? Kenzie? Riley? A brand new maniac?

Take your pick.

She reached the bridge with Russo a step behind and rushed across. Bullets pinged all around and cracked stone. Puffs of mortar dust floated through the air in front of her. They were fortunate the mercs were running and shooting at the same time, because if one of them suddenly grew a brain and stopped to take aim . . .

That made Alicia focus again on who might be following them. The abruptness of the attack surely ruled Kenzie out. The team hadn’t come close to deciphering where the Hercules was yet, so why would the barmy bitch attack them so violently? Also, she had shown restraint back at the Hagia Sophia.

Then why did she go and kill poor old Naz?

The term “bug fuck crazy”, came immediately to mind, but maybe that was just her. Terms from her army days constantly spun around her head. And there was another—“army” which some said stood for Ain’t Really a Marine Yet. Alicia shrugged it off as the bridge ended, its easy steps leading to yet another of Venice’s tiny streets. Crouch picked up speed, shouting at people to get indoors. Buildings flashed by to both sides, most of them constructed of imposing stone. They entered a small square with a large parasol set in the center, tables and chairs all around. Other tiny streets led off in all directions.

“Only way to win is to lose them,” Crouch said as loud as he dared. Alicia saw he was still bleeding at the wrist, the flow constant enough to leave a trail on the floor. They twisted down two streets, both mere alleyways with crumbling stonework to both sides. At the end stood yet another street full of shops, graffiti-covered walls, and a herringbone patterned pathway. Crouch set off at a sprint. Alicia glanced behind them and, over Russo’s immense shoulders, saw their pursuers about twenty meters behind.

“Take one of ‘em out,” she said. “That’ll slow ‘em all.”

“I’m bloody trying!”

Alicia swore. “Motherfucker, if you’re not up for a shag and you can’t shoot to save your life what the hell are you good for?” Quickly, she aimed and fired. A merc tumbled, crying out, and then screaming as his comrades tripped over him. Russo cursed her.

Ahead, Crouch suddenly switched directions, turning at an abrupt ninety degree angle. Alicia reached the crossroads just as Crouch, Caitlyn and Healey put their heads down and added speed, sprinting straight for . . .

What? Oh, no . . . shit!

“That’s a canal! It’s just a fu—”

Alicia clammed up as Crouch entered a particularly slender tunnel with the words Sotoportego Catullo, emblazoned across the top. Beyond, all she could see were the still waters. Then, in mid-sprint, Crouch jumped. Healey and Caitlyn were a step behind. Alicia ran in their wake, finally seeing their purpose.

A frigging gondola.

Trusting Crouch’s judgement she readjusted her steps to make the leap as perfect as possible. The gondola was drifting along, even now tipping as Crouch, Caitlyn and Healey landed hard. The gondolier flipped over the side, too shocked even to utter a scream. Alicia jumped hard, seeing the end of the gondola already approaching, and landed inside the wooden vessel, aware that a meteor was about to strike.

Russo!