“Speaking of your contacts,” Alicia said. “Who else do we have on board?”
“Too many to mention.” Crouch shrugged. He had major contacts in virtually every region of the world. “But our main source of operational Intel will be Armand Argento. Do you know him?”
“Not as well as I’d like.” Alicia grinned. “I heard he’s a looker.”
Russo grunted. “I guess your reputation is well deserved.”
Alicia looked over with an air of innocence. “What reputation?”
Crouch broke in quickly before the confrontation could escalate. “He’s the very best at what he does. And whilst Interpol aren’t particularly happy to be committing resources in our direction they aren’t forbidding it either. It’s all about the payoff.”
“I thought you said we’d be ‘donating’ the treasure.”
“That’s true. But the monetary proposals from various organizations will still be tremendous. And we don’t need any of that. Hence—”
“Interpol gets a slice of the pie.”
“Technically.” Crouch waved his hand carefully. “Not officially of course. But they would certainly get a say as to where the treasure ended up, and if it was all kept together or separated. In addition to that we’ve drafted a very careful official policy relating to what happens if and when we locate any treasure, now or in the future. The policy is a public document, forwarded to all the relevant governmental and historical organizations, and must be adhered to. It helps to validate our efforts, adds sincerity and seriousness to our roles, and covers our asses in case anything gets out of hand. Generally, a treasure found belongs to the country whose land it was found on… but whilst not definitive we have set in place an international strategy.” He sighed. “Of course, time will only tell if each nation follows it.”
Russo grunted. “Huh, time and the worth of the treasure, I’m guessing.”
Alicia nodded, impressed and relieved Crouch had delved so deeply into the real-world politics and laws of treasure hunting. “So the same goes for whoever helps us along the way? I get it. The scratching-of-the-back scenario. Preserve your contacts. You listening to this part, Russo? It pays to be nice.”
The man’s face remained rock solid.
Crouch pushed his plate away and studied her. “So what do you think? Can this team pull it off?” He didn’t need to say — can you even work together?
Alicia studied them one by one, sipping wine. The Gold Team was a mismatch and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Healey was young and inexperienced but lively and willing to learn. If handled right he could become a major asset. Lex was feisty but loyal to the point of torture, a fearless bodyguard. And Russo? Well, the ex-soldier looked seasoned and capable and was just going to have to learn to follow her orders. There were two ways that particular scenario could go, and Alicia preferred the tough one.
She shrugged. “What can I say? It’s the perfect team.”
FOUR
As the small jet bumped and grumbled its way through waves of turbulence in its descent into Mexico City, Alicia thought about the irrational follies of men. Cortés, when he set out from Spain, surely hadn’t harbored the desire to raze a nation, but he’d ended up doing just that. For Spain. For glory and wealth. Tenochtitlan had been destroyed and a new city built in order to erase all traces of the old. A two-hundred-year-old culture shattered and expunged for the advancement of another.
Did the world ever change?
Not in my lifetime, she thought. Whilst old religions still clashed there would be no respite from bloodshed and mayhem. Whilst greed and envy still existed there would be no reprieve from the actions of bitter and twisted men.
Through the small window she watched the unfolding sprawl of the country’s largest city. The gray and white mass of thousands of dwellings stretched for untold miles, swelling over hills and down into valleys, an unending, dreary expanse of concrete. Even the higher hills, untouched as yet, appeared to be brown, almost lifeless blots in the landscape. In the center the high rises rose like towering stalagmites, carved from the heart of the city. Roads were dark, straight slashes, their occupants contributing by the minute to an air pollution rate that had earned the city the moniker ‘the most polluted city on the planet’.
The plane dropped fast, aiming for Benito Juarez International, the landing point only about eight kilometers away from their first prearranged appointment. Carlos Rivera, a local Aztec historian that had worked on many exhibitions and dig sites, had agreed to meet them at his place of work — the renowned museum Templo Mayor, which had been built to house and assist in the excavation of one of the most famous Aztec temples of the same name in 1987. The excavation continues to this day, so with the history and the kind of people it attracted, Crouch theorized that it might be a good place to start.
Alicia put up with the landing and immigration procedure, finding solace in the fact that she was back on the road, on the trail where new experiences and encounters helped focus her mind on the way ahead, not on the past. With careful, well-trained eyes she studied every face, every man and woman standing at a newsstand or queuing up for coffee. Training of the kind she’d been subjected to never allowed you to let your guard down. It was all and everything, an extension of your body as much as your right arm and far more important. Without it she’d have died a thousand times by now.
They exited into what for Mexico City was the warm period with temperatures roaming around seventy one degrees. A man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform caught Crouch’s attention and led him to a parked limo.
“So,” Alicia said as they climbed into their seats. “Who do we have to fuck to get hold of some guns around here?”
Healey made a shocked noise. Alicia turned on him. “Stop squeaking, Zack. Feels like I’m part of a Mouseketeer parade.”
Crouch smiled reassuringly at the driver who had also raised disbelieving eyebrows. “She’s kidding.” He turned away.
“If we need them I’ll find a supplier,” he mouthed quietly close to Alicia’s left ear.
“I prefer to have them close at hand from the kick-off,” she returned. “They tend to work better that way.”
Russo cracked big knuckles, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot itself. “Do you actually expect to use them, Myles? This mission ain’t exactly Iraq.”
“I’ve been to Iraq. More than once. They have those big bloody sand spiders there. Got legs on ‘em that’re bigger than anything you’ve got and no mistake.”
Russo shrugged and turned away. “Sure.”
The taxi peeled out onto a black-topped highway clogged with traffic, slamming almost instantly to a stop. Alicia sighed, still happy to be moving but feeling a little like she was missing out on the action, and leaned forward to study the limo’s half-hearted array of goodies. Boiled sweets and sticks of gum filled one cup-holder, whilst fresh, cold bottled water and Pepsi sat in the rest. Although the tops were clearly sealed, Alicia didn’t feel confident enough with her surroundings to try one. Her companions were similarly reticent, Healey to the point of taking a short nap.
Alicia shook her head at him. “Kids. Don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
Russo was also gazing at the young man. “Kid’s been through a lot,” he rumbled. “He needs all the R&R he can get. Zack may look fresh and young but he sees this world through an old man’s eyes.”