“How did they find us?” Caitlyn asked.
“Easy,” Crouch breathed. “They were watching the bloody museum.”
“That’s some forward planning on Jensen’s part.”
“Well, like it or not, the guy’s good. Or at least, he was. You don’t lose that kind of training.”
Russo turned the wheel so that their vehicle bounced up onto the narrow, barren patch of earth that ran parallel to the sidewalk. Rutted, it played havoc with their tires, sending Alicia slamming into the doorframe and Crouch against the back seat.
“C’mon, Robster. You ever drive before?”
“Not with my head in this guy’s lap. You wanna jump over and try it yourself, be my guest.”
“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Alicia managed to find her gun as the SUV slammed by to their left, sideview mirrors crashing together and shearing away. The smoked-glass windows in the other car remained closed, adding to the mystery as it slewed around in the road just behind Healey and Caitlyn’s cab. Dust plumed up into the air and tires squealed. Onlookers jumped back into their gardens.
“Slam the accelerator!” Russo shouted at the driver to a look of utter confusion.
“The gas,” Crouch said. “Hit the bloody gas.”
The car lurched ahead, sending out a smoke-plume of its own. The SUVs were more powerful, though, and were soon all over the back ends of their quarries. Alicia looked back and knew they had a matter of seconds.
“Faster.”
They switched roads, still running parallel to the airport. The maneuver opened up a small gap but not enough. Alicia opened her window and leaned out, gun ready.
“Stick your head out now,” she murmured to herself. “See where it ends up.”
The SUVs windows powered down in sync. Arms holding machine pistols emerged and, rather than ducking back, Alicia took potshots at them. Russo swerved the cab at every opportunity and Crouch twisted his body so he could lean out of the other window. At first only Alicia’s gunshots filled the air, but then fire was returned and the deadly sound of automatic gunfire shuddered around them. Alicia saw metal flatten and almost instantly the back window shattered. Now she ducked, feeling the impact as more bullets thudded into the car’s chassis to left and right and through the trunk.
Russo manhandled the cringing driver out of the way, depositing him into the footwell of the passenger seat. Once behind the wheel he shifted it better, zigzagging for their lives and hitting one large red trashcan so that it spun into the car behind. The tree-lined road stretched on. Alicia fired blindly through the rear window. Crouch popped his head up.
“To the left a little,” he said. “Perfect.”
Alicia glanced through the broken glass to see the pursuing vehicle’s windshield destroyed and two men wearing sunglasses revealed. The driver leaned away from the center, probably thinking the frame might give him shelter. Alicia knew he was their best chance. Before she could fire he rammed his own gas pedal to the floor and screamed at his companion to shoot. Bullets riddled the cab. Russo turned sharply again and again. Then he stepped hard on the brake pedal and the other car crashed right into their rear fender.
Alicia’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw the passenger fly through the air, land on their own trunk, and grip hold of the razor-edged glass that remained in the rear window, desperate to hang on.
Alicia rose.
Staying beneath the man’s head for shelter, she lunged at him. Her fist connected hard with his forehead, causing a splutter and a scream of pain. Still he hung on, twisting with the car’s momentum and ignoring the blood that seeped between his fingers. The spare hand, held down at his side, still gripped the gun and he brought it around now to aim at Alicia. She saw it coming — the arc of the arm and the effort required was substantial — and she leaped up to catch it. Now face to face with the man, swinging from side to side and buffeted by sudden gusts of wind, she struggled hard.
She slammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose, sending blood trickling into his eyes. She forced the gun hand as far away as she could. A bullet ripped from the barrel, burying itself into the road. He tried to headbutt her back, but Alicia had been wise to that move since high school, and dipped her skull. She let go of the rear window frame with her right hand and punched him in the cheek. Dynamite went off behind his eyes; she felt she saw it clearly. She punched again and he was out cold, gone, tumbling off the rear end and spinning away. Now the driver was vulnerable.
Crouch had already lined him up. The men in the back seat pushed their weapons forward through the gap but Crouch fired first, a perfect shot through the center of the driver’s skull. The black SUV swerved and crashed, tipping onto its side, another man thrown clear.
Alicia saw the second attacker now as it hounded Healey’s cab.
The young soldier’s driver was nowhere to be seen. Caitlyn sat behind the wheel, trying to block the following car and stop it from coming up alongside. The researcher’s reactions were slow and only Healey’s careful shooting was keeping them from being stopped. Alicia knew they had to come up with a fast plan.
“Russo. Three sixty and brake in ten seconds. Crouch — you still on that open line?”
“I am.”
“Tell Caitlyn to hold steady and hope she hears.”
Crouch complied and readied himself as Alicia counted the seconds down for Russo. On cue the big man stamped on the brakes and threw the cab into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, ending up with the nose pointing toward the two oncoming vehicles. Alicia and Crouch emptied their clips at the SUV as Caitlyn powered by on the left so close they lost another sideview mirror.
Bullets ripped apart the SUV, fragmenting the windshield and both men in the front seat. Traction was lost and the vehicle spun badly, ending up on its side. A man pushed himself up through a rear door and Alicia picked him off with ease, watched him slump still with his rear body in the SUV. Crouch told Russo to make a fast getaway.
“Move it, before any more turn up.”
“We Jamaica bound?” Russo asked as he helped the panic-stricken driver up into a proper seated position.
Crouch punched in another number that would connect him to the police. “Oh, yeah, as soon as we get this particular shitstorm sorted out.”
“And meanwhile Jensen gets closer and closer to the treasure,” Alicia said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Crouch assured her. “We’re not out of this hunt yet.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Jamaica, and in particular Port Royal, offered up a whole host of possibilities. The tricky part was plucking the genuine probability from the raft of chance that was offered. Many men knew the location of the mountain-like island with the barren tree on top. Of course they did. And they all wanted cash up front.
In the end, Crouch sought the help of his Jamaican contact and the team were directed to a Jamaican roadside bar; a ramshackle beat-up place the size of a market stall and with the only signage being a large white plaque out front that read: Cold Beer Joint. Plastic chairs and tables stood around and a tall man with thick hair leaned over the counter, staring at their approach with lazy eyes.
“Help you folk?”
Crouch nodded. “We’re looking for Ric?”
“You found him, folks. What’s up? Nice cool beer?”
Alicia found herself licking her lips. “I’d sure love one.”
Ric cracked open beers as Crouch talked to him.
“Heard you were a fisherman back in the day. Some kind of sailor too.” The boss described the island they were looking for as Alicia drank deeply, savoring the taste. “We were hoping you might be able to take us there?”