Alicia myles 1 - Aztec Gold (11 page)

Alicia groaned. “Shit, why do I keep feeling like a Friday night babysitter?”

Crouch did nothing to dissuade the sudden upsurge of excitement. “The gold’s out there, guys. I’m sure of it. Imagine—my first venture into treasure hunting yields Montezuma’s famous gold. Damn, I’ve dreamed of this my whole life.”

“Is that why you collect old things?” Alicia wondered, remembering Crouch’s affectation for past-history souvenirs and relics. He had a reputation as a sentimentalist and, when not working, often pulled out a photo album packed with snaps as wide-ranging as his Corgi Ferrari Daytona 365 GTB/4, his Lee and Ditko Amazing Spiderman #4 special edition, his working Betamax and Honda CBX motorcycle. Other favorites included desk ornaments, paintings and restaurant keepsakes—the older within his own lifetime the better.

“Maybe,” Crouch acknowledged. “There was a time, quite recently actually, when I never thought I’d get to live my dream. Now, everything has changed. We can blame life for that, or fate, but it is what it is. And it will never change. In the military it’s like—here’s the new threat, same as the old threat. The Taliban and Al-Qaeda we helped snuff out of Afghanistan and Iraq have returned as IS. The Wall Street thieves the world saw disgraced returned as high-frequency traders without spending a single day behind bars.” He shrugged. “There will always be another war.”

“So we’re better off doing this?” Alicia finished clearing her plate and sat back. “At least until the next apocalypse.”

Crouch grinned warmly at her. “Yeah. Until then.”

Within an hour the team had secured a local guide and directed him to take them to the first location—Grandview Peak and Little Black Mountain. The entire route had been mapped out to over three hundred miles, but the group wanted to follow the map precisely rather than skip straight to the last location. Crouch in particular wanted their first expedition to be defined rather than ballpark, specific rather than nebulous.

Alicia hesitated at the idea of employing a guide. Did they need one? Surely finding these locations was a pretty painless exercise. After all, people had been finding them for years.

Caitlyn made sense of it. “He wants the drama, not to mention the added credibility. It will help make the find unquestionably authentic and even more appealing to our friends at the World Heritage Committee. It’s another reason he didn’t complain too much about having Cruz here tagging along.”

Cruz nodded. “I am an unqualified Aztec historian. An intermediary. A pacifier. A librarian.”

Alicia evaluated him. “Not a lover or a fighter then?”

“Maybe one. Not the other.”

“Damn. Right now I need a man that’s both.”

After swopping their vehicle for a larger, more robust four-wheel-drive they headed out of Kanab. It was late afternoon and the team had been on the go since their last fitful catnap on the plane, but nobody requested a break. The fact that Coker and his gun-toting entourage could turn up at any minute was not lost on them.

The single road wound out of the flat town and started to climb up into the hills. At first, Alicia was as fascinated as the rest of them by the Wild West country and the once in a lifetime spectacular sights, but she soon decided that once you’d seen one stunning canyon you’d pretty much seen them all. She tilted her headrest back and closed her eyes.

*

They woke her when Grandview Peak and Little Black Mountain emerged, comparing their map to the curves of the scenery. It was hard to imagine the Aztec warriors in their hide-covered caravans, struggling gamely along the mountain passes until they found a place to hide their gold. Even harder when sat in a burbling vehicle on a straight, asphalted road with an MP3 player and a cellphone strapped to your waist.

Further along they found the Tower of Babel and then Fiery Furnace. Crouch was convinced that they were the landmarks they sought. It was after the final one, the Fiery Furnace, when his nose dipped toward the map again.

“Over the spikes of the furnace,” he said. “There appears to be some kind of plateau and a great many trees. Is that correct?”

Their guide, a weathered American with a deep accent and a dislike for communication, nodded. His name was Boots, because he never removed them.

“From up there,” Crouch pointed to the plateau, “the calendar notations begin. The good news is that it’s in footsteps rather than days. We’re very close.”

“Won’t be going that way,” their guide piped up.

Crouch did a double-take. “Sorry?”

“Militia country. Everything past that plateau. Damn fools guard their territory like a bunch of apes around a banana factory.”

“You’re telling me that the place we want to be—the treasure site—is
inside
the perimeter set up by the High Desert Militia?”

Boots sucked his bottom lip hard. “That I am.”

Crouch took a deep breath to settle himself, then said, “Show me.”

*

Darkness had fallen by the time the small group located a parking area and hiked to the top of Fiery Furnace. Alicia took time to scan their surroundings and noted the profuse amount of twinkling campfires down below. Boots told them the Furnace was a regular tourist haunt as well as a place for serious hikers. Alicia began to wonder how the hell the Aztecs had hidden their gold from all these wandering people.

Before she could address the question, Boots was pointing across the top of the plateau. Alicia drew her jacket together against the night chill and peered into the distance. A smattering of stars and a crescent moon added a generous amount of light.

“Trees. Trees. Trees.” Boots pointed out each one. “Look between them. Look hard.”

Alicia peered. At the edge of her vision she thought she saw a high metal fence. Crouch consulted his map. “From this point.” He indicated a significant hollowed out shape in the edge of the cliff that led down to the Fiery Furnace. “From this exact point, the Aztecs turned to marking out the path in footsteps. One hundred paces and turn right, that kind of thing. We’re close. But . . . follow me.”

Crouch set off at pace, the team jumping to catch up and dragging a protesting Boots along with them. Their leader didn’t refer to the map just yet, but walked right up to the fence a hundred yards distant and stared through. Alicia stood at his shoulder.

Flat scrubland spread out to all sides, stretching away to a small collection of metal huts and buildings. Alicia could make out a central square marked by blazing trash cans, beaten-up cars, canvas-covered transport trucks, and a small central dais where a tattered, indistinct flag hung as if in defeat. Old, battered signs—handwritten—clung half-heartedly to the fence:
It’s your ass if you ignore this fence
.

She made a face. “Classy.”

Crouch evaluated the camp. “How far does it stretch?”

“Few miles. Maybe more.” Boots sucked at his lips nervously.

“How many of them?”

“How the hell should I know? But I seen at least thirty or forty at one time. So, probably more than that.”

Alicia squinted at their vague guide. “They show any signs of being dangerous?”

“Bad dudes.” Boots nodded. “Very bad dudes. I seen them chase down one of their own once, strap him to the back of one of those big trucks and drag him through the desert. Weren’t much left of the guy after that. I never seen ‘em back down to anyone. Not once. I guess they got the firepower to back ‘em up.”

“And the law?” Cruz asked. “Do they not become involved?”

“Cops leave ‘em alone. Never shown any major inclination to get involved here. Leastways, not without the Army as back up. But the militia do keep themselves to themselves mostly. Don’t cause no trouble.”

Alicia kept her eyes on the scene. She counted over twenty men lounging around, taking it easy, chatting in circles near the burning cans. Others walked between huts, carrying beer and cigarettes, laughing loudly. Somewhere a husky motorcycle started up, roaring at the night. No surveillance cameras were in evidence and the fence wasn’t electrified. The lack of a perimeter guard was all too clear.

“Easy to get in,” she said. “But still risky. And dangerous. And that sign about my ass really puts the jitters up me.”

Healey snickered.

“We’ll need to test them but not tonight,” Crouch said. “First we need a plan that centers round getting in and finding that treasure without being spotted.”

“Steal it from under their noses?” Healey’s eyes shone with excitement.

Russo stole his thunder. “Steady on, kid. We can’t lug an entire treasure trove out on our backs.”

Crouch grinned. “Maybe we can. We got into this for the action and the adventure, right? Well, let’s have a little of both.”

“I’m up for it,” Healey declared.

“We sure have the edge on technology,” Caitlyn said with a touch of irony as she stared through the holes in the fence.

“This boundary.” Alicia generally indicated the fence that stretched as far as they could see. “Is it self-proclaimed?”

Boots stared uncomprehending.

“I mean, do they own the land?”

“I guess so. But who really knows? The government build these fences all over our state, and Arizona and Nevada. Pop up like newborns they do, hush hush secret. A private military base, a so-called research center. A black site. You know how many of them are out there? One day you can walk along a path, the next you’re told to turn back or get shot. They can do that. Should they be able to do that? I don’t think so.”

“Then what you’re saying is the High Desert Militia popped up out of nowhere a few years ago and nobody knows if they’re here legitimately?”

“That means,” Crouch pointed out. “That we wouldn’t be trespassing on private property if and when we cross that fence.”

“P’raps,” Boots agreed. “But ain’t nobody that’s bothered about it been tough enough to ask ‘em.”

Alicia turned to her team with a smile. “Well, my friend, that’s about to change.”

The team wrestled with the problem all the way back to Kanab. How to distract a badly organized but well-armed militia? Crouch came up with the sensible suggestions—distractions or a raid; Healey came up with the thrilling ones—bombarding them with mortars. Russo jiggled his massive head from side to side, suggesting they send Alicia in to drive them crazy. Caitlyn offered a few high-tech alternatives but it turned out they had none of the equipment she required and local supplies weren’t as plentiful as they’d hoped.

In the end, it was Lex that fired Alicia’s imagination.

“We employ the bikers approach,” he said into a lull. “Works every time.”

“What?” Crouch half turned in his seat. “How?”

“Militia groups have more than their fair share of bikers in their ranks. For whatever reason.” He shrugged. “Some are in hiding. Others just wanted by the law.” He grinned at his own joke. “Of all new recruits or visitors, bikers are one of the most likely groups to be allowed inside.”

“So you’re suggesting
you
head on in there alone?” Russo grunted. “I don’t think so.”

“I have my jacket. My tats. I’m genuine. All we need to find is a good bike. Or two.” Lex eyed Alicia, raising both eyebrows.

Alicia’s grin held weight. “Now you’re talking. Trouble is, two of just ain’t a gang.”

“We could be a splinter group.”

Alicia bit her lip. “We’d need to sell it. A gang would sell it and escape without a scratch. Just the two of us? I’m not so sure.”

“If it helps there’s a biker bar restaurant in town.” Caitlyn held up her cellphone showing a search result. “It couldn’t hurt to try there.”

“Let me get this straight,” Crouch said. “You two are going to what?
Rent
a few bikes and a gang for the night? Shit, can you get any crazier?”

“Oh, Michael.” Alicia smiled quickly. “I’m just getting started.”

*

It took the rest of the night and part of the day after, but by late the next afternoon Lex’s plan was shaping up. The biker bar had turned out to be a diluted version of the real thing but Lex did find two bona fide articles, both wearing vests embroidered with various patches. The bikers called them their colors, and attached to them a mass of meanings.

“They good?” Alicia asked him.

“They sure ain’t waxers,” Lex said. “Let me double-check.”

“What’s a waxer, dare I ask?” Caitlyn wondered aloud as he walked away from their table.

Alicia watched him go. “Real bikers call weekend riders ‘waxers’. Riding isn’t their lifestyle. The furthest their bikes go is to the end of the driveway every weekend where it gets washed and waxed until it shines like the sun.”

The group watched Lex work for a while, coming clean with the bikers as much because they were his kin as to preserve their safety. After a while he beckoned Alicia over.

“This here’s Wrench. And this is Red Head.”

Alicia evaluated them. Wrench sported old scars and sunken eyes. A beard covered his lower jaw. The stare he gave her searched for expertise and she saw a hard, experienced brother hiding behind the gaze.

“Army?” she asked.

Wrench grunted. It was enough. Red Head was younger but no less tough or sharp. It was he that spoke first.

“Lex calls you Taz. How’d that come about?”

Alicia flinched. She’d almost forgotten the biker nickname. “Not something I really talk about,” she said. “Our boys didn’t make it . . .”

She paused. Wrench put up a hand. “We heard. Don’t worry. Lex here says you two are all that’s left.”

“All that’s left running,” Alicia admitted.

“So who you running with?” Wrench indicated the team seated at a far table.

“Military group,” Alicia told them without hesitating. “Has Lex explained?”

Wrench nodded. “I’m always up for a blast at the militia. Red Head here though, he ain’t so on board.”

Alicia scrutinized the man. With short-cropped blond hair, a white complexion, and a fuzzy day-old growth it was hard to see the reason behind his nickname.
Always a story,
she thought. And most bikers liked to tell it.

“So, Red Head,” she said. “What’s the problem? And the name? You want to tell me how you came by that?”

“No real story,” he said. “It’s the flavor I prefer,” he smirked, “in women.”

Wrench chortled. “No story? ‘Course there’s a story. Red Head ain’t never been with any other kinda flavor. Blond, brunette, black hair—never. Gets himself very upset when a redhead turns out to be a fake—if you get my drift.”

“Wrench,” Red Head said warningly.

“Checks early on.” Wrench laughed. “Then sometimes storms off leaving the little lady a tad confused.”

Alicia turned to the annoyed biker. “I guess I’m safe then. Blond all the way, head to my toes.”

“Shit.” Wrench stared at her. “Now you’re in my head.”

“Wait till you see my leathers.”

Lex leaned into the discussion. “Did I say you’ll be well rewarded? That guy over there, the serious looking one, he’ll set you up for a month.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Red Head was staring at Alicia.

“Is there any other way?” she asked.

“Got a plan?”

“Never do. Always see what comes up first.”

Red Head shook his head. “All right, stop the flirting. Lex here had me at reward.”

“Flirting?” Alicia snickered. “I hadn’t even started.”

Wrench looked a little mortified, but quickly asserted his attendance. Alicia walked back to Crouch.

“Four bikers in total,” she said. “It will have to do.”

Crouch nodded at the others. “Let’s get ready.”

*

Alicia pulled on her tight leather pants, enjoying the feel of the soft leather easing up her bare legs. Since it wasn’t the most dignified of operations, especially when you got nearer the ass area, she elected to perform this one alone, in her hotel room. Once complete, she took a moment to walk over to the window, taking in the dying ball of the sun as it spread across the horizon.

Where next?
she thought. From place to place, country to country; crisis to crisis and adventure beyond adventure. The road stretched ever on and its beauty was that it immersed you in all the various pit-stops along the way, engaging you in a constantly moving picture of diverse life.

The next horizon was always only a day away.

Alicia quelled her wanderlust for the time being and exited the hotel room. The team met with Wrench and Red Head, and looked over the other two bikes they’d managed to rent from occupants of the diner. One was a passable Harley, the other a Honda, nicely outfitted but hardly a biker’s bike. Lex stared at it with disdain.

“Shit.”

“Roll with it,” Alicia said. “We’ll think of something.”

She straddled the Harley, blipping the throttle to get a feel for the bike. When Crouch and the rest of the team were ready she peeled out after them, making sure Wrench, Red Head and Lex were ahead of her. The mountains came quick and soon they were roaring along the narrow roads, leaning into the corners and letting the engine roar down the straights. High cliff faces echoed with the monsters’ roar, replicating and throwing it back at them in a respectful, spirited way. For a few miles there was nothing but the road and the darkening skies, the black ribbon ahead and the feel of the other bikes and their riders, all accomplished, chasing the end of the day until the next dawn.

Then Crouch sent out a warning call through their comms. Alicia, feeling a little self-conscious, slowed immediately and helped rein the rest in. By the time the bikers were under control Crouch had called a halt for a final interchange.

“Good luck in there,” he said in closing. “As soon as you have their attention we’ll breach as near the map’s coordinates as we can.”

“Coordinates?” Alicia laughed. “Really?”

“Well, they’re as good as coordinates,” Crouch said a little huffily and turned away. Despite her words Alicia had complete faith in their boss and trusted him to find whatever was out there.

If anything.

As the treasure team melted away, the biker team took a last moment to remember their stories.

“Hang on tight, boys. This is gonna be a tester.” Alicia wasted no time in roaring toward the militia’s only gate. Lex followed immediately with Wrench and Red Head bringing up the rear. Red Head muttered something about this not being such a clever idea after all through the comms. Alicia promised to keep him safe. That galvanized the man’s masculine pride a little, prompting a spurt of speed.

Alicia stopped outside the gate, Red Head at her side. Lex squeezed past them both, the supposed leader of their little gang. With his Honda mostly hidden by Alicia’s Harley he leaned forward in the saddle and stared up into the CCTV camera, making a speech sign with his right hand.

“Now we wait.”

Not for long. The militia, on sensing any kind of potential threat, were always quick to mobilize. A high-sided, canvas-backed vehicle squealed dangerously around the square, loaded with men, and bounced down the rough trail toward the gate. Faces peered at them from every vantage point. Behind the truck came a small jeep. Both vehicles squealed to a stop near the gate, dust swirling from their tires.

A man bellowed at them from the bed of the jeep. “You’re on private property! Turn around and keep going!”

Lex kept his voice calm. “We’re just like you, brother. Looking for a night’s sleep, a few drinks, maybe a party.” He grinned.

“This ain’t a fucking rave. Turn the hell around.”

The man’s words were contradicted by at least three-quarters of the men leaning out of the truck, most with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other.

Alicia shifted, drawing their attention. “We’d be grateful.”

The shouter jumped down from the bed of the jeep. As he drew closer Alicia got her first good look at him. Unshaven, with hair down to his shoulders and wearing an open jacket that even
looked
like it reeked, he leveled a rifle at them.

“What you want with us?”

“Like I said,” Lex waved it away, “a place to sleep for the night. The chance to swop a few stories. We been on the road a while.”

“Not much of a gang,” the man sneered.

“We’re all that’s left,” Lex said truthfully. “Used to be over twenty Slayers. Got hit in Germany.”

This made a few of the men jump down and walk forward, interested. Their leader lowered his weapon. “Got hit you say. You take any of them fuckers with you?”

Lex nodded quickly. Alicia saw from the way he held himself that he was still mourning his true brothers. This gang may be a façade in itself but its back story was a very real, very dreadful truth.

“We got no quarrel with bikers,” one man said. “C’mon, Pitts. Let ‘em ride in.”

Pitts stared at them a while longer. He searched the darkness behind them. Eventually, mostly giving in to his own men’s wishes, he ordered the gates to be unlocked. “But watch ‘em,” he said. “And search ‘em. No weapons, cellphones, or any of that new-fangled crap. This is our land. Our rules. You got me?”

Lex held up his hands. “We’re just here to drink.”

The bikers rode through, following the truck and the jeep back toward the square and the blazing trash cans. Once there the gang dismounted and allowed the militia men to inspect their bikes. Following Pitts’ instructions they attempted to search the bikers. A few knives were found on Red Head, a baton on Wrench. Alicia subjected herself to a general pat down but when one of the guys ventured a little too close for comfort she spoke out.

“That hand gets any closer to that right cheek I’m gonna rip it off.”

They backed away. One of the men, a scarred, wild-eyed youngster with a swagger and a bellyful of bravado stepped up. “Your fuckin’ jackets don’t match.”

Lex showed them his own, embroidered with his colors and the Slayers’ logo. “Alicia here lost hers in the fight. Red Head and Wrench were new to the crew, just joined from the . . .” he looked around at them, eyes asking a very important and overlooked question.

“Iron Horsemen,” Wrench said without batting an eye.

Alicia stepped forward. “You gonna show us around then boys, or what? Hey, that’s a nice big gun. Can I touch it?”

A shout stopped her. Pitts was approaching. “Just keep ‘em in the goddamn square and keep your guns to yourselves. I don’t mind helping out a like-minded fellow but I’ll be damned if they’re touching my guns.”

Alicia held out her hand for a beer. “I’ll take some of that then.”

The militia men grinned and beckoned for her to follow then into the square, toward a blazing trashcan that seemed to symbolize their epicenter. Lex and the hired bikers followed. Alicia downed the beer in one huge gulp, gaining even more attention and caught another in midair.

Lex joined her. “Down in one?”

“Is there any other way?”

*

Crouch led the remainder of the team to the east, following the outer perimeter of the fence until he found the best entry point. Wearing dark clothes, flak jackets and infrared goggles they were well equipped for stalking the night, but the difference between being able to see through the darkness and search for treasure in it was vast. The team were expecting the search to test all of their abilities.