Alicia and Russo climbed up to the bridge to get a better look.
“Not here,” Alicia said. “Waste of time.”
“And the FBI info just came in,” Caitlyn told them through the comms. “No bulk tickets bought in the last two hours. Nothing above four, and no multiples. Facial recognition does not show anyone resembling Crouch or the two thieves.”
“I think we can safely say we just wasted thirty minutes,” Alicia moaned.
“It had to be done,” Russo said. “Austin, turn the car around, we’re headed your way.”
“I’ve asked them to check every gas station along the 66,” Caitlyn said. “Obviously with a priority on the nearest. The truth is — we have to get a hit. They will have to stop. Maybe Crouch will work something out.”
Alicia and Russo jogged back to the car. Austin stepped on the gas pedal. Two minutes later they were threading efficiently through the streets, and ten minutes after that racing hard back down the highway.
“It’ll get harder as it gets lighter,” Russo said. “More traffic on the road.”
“We have technology and we have Crouch,” Caitlyn said. “Keep chasing, Russo. We have to keep chasing.”
“Hey, I’m all up for that,” the big man said. “Never surrender, right?”
“One life, live it,” Alicia said. “Never look back and fuck regret. I’m all for what’s around that next bend.”
Austin propelled them hard toward a distant horizon as did, somewhere ahead, a deadly enemy that held their boss captive.
Grim glares greeted the new dawn.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Highway 66 became Highway 48 and they continued to follow the most direct route. The only real route — unless someone wanted to cruise through a few small, sleepy American towns. Alicia didn’t believe that was the robbers’ end game.
“Why the terrorist attack?” she wondered. “I mean — that was a flat-out terror strike on Washington DC. At the very least — it was meant to look like one. But why? To cover up the robbery?”
“I guess,” Russo said. “You need to stop shooting them all dead and try to wing one for a change.”
“Oh, says the child with the tiny peashooter that can’t aim unless he’s a mile away.”
Caitlyn spoke up. “The attack covered up the robbery for a while. It facilitated an initial escape and it covered a much longer break away. It’s an odd way of causing distraction but who knows what criminals will do these days?”
“I wonder if anyone would pay for the banner,” Austin said.
“A thousand unknowns. A terrorist leader could hang it inside his home just to gloat. A cell could hang it on the wall of a cave, and broadcast it to the world as they kill another innocent. An enemy of America, political or financial maybe, could keep it in a vault. Someone may even get off on just depriving America of it.”
“Could be the British,” Caitlyn said. “Finally getting their revenge.”
“For the Battle of Baltimore? An ancestor?” Alicia asked. “I doubt that.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Alicia knew it to be true. Austin gave them a quick update, interrupting her thoughts. “Fifty miles since we left the railway station,” he said.
“That’s a hell of a lot of space,” Caitlyn looked dubiously at the varying landscape. “A lot of roads and a few towns.”
“But only one major thoroughfare,” Alicia said. “Trust your instinct.”
“I’d rather trust my own intelligence and research,” Caitlyn said. “That’s how I work best. But I can’t do it here on a cellphone.”
As if by magic her phone started to ring. She held up the flashing screen for all to see. “FBI Dude.”
Alicia smiled. Caitlyn answered the call.
“Yes?”
“Miss Nash. Agent Merriweather. Our people ran the facial recognition software on all gas stations within a fifty-mile radius. Unfortunately, our range of forecourt cameras is limited and so are our options.”
“Do you have access to all of the cameras at all the locations?”
“No, but vehicle recognition noted your car at pump two of the Texaco close by Wardensville. That’s all we got, I’m afraid.”
“Vehicle rec!” Caitlyn pumped a fist into the air. “Never thought of that. How long ago?”
“Twenty three minutes.”
“Well, we’re about eighteen away,” Caitlyn told him. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Good luck, Miss Nash.”
Alicia thumped the dashboard with excitement. Vehicle recognition was present at all gas stations. It helped that Russo had snapped a picture of the getaway vehicle.
“How’s that for a good shot?” he told Alicia a little smugly.
“Not bad for someone with thumbs the size of tennis rackets,” Alicia allowed. “Now Austin, get a bloody move on. We’re still in the chase!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Michael Crouch became a sponge, hearing everything.
Since the final scuffle in DC, he’d been battling with every emotion and instinct, trying hard to make the call as to which decision was best. His capture had been entirely opportunistic, he was sure of that, but these were men that capitalized on chance and turned it in their favor.
The one time he’d tried to escape — aboard the chopper — they’d beaten him badly for it. So now he moved with a bruised rib and aching leg ligaments, a black eye and a bloody nose. Every shuffle was painful. Even sitting down hurt. Best to become a sponge.
And listen.
So far, car journeys, helicopter rides and crashes, had proven most revealing among the enemy. In particular, when there were times of stress. Crouch kept his cool and his quiet demeanor, taking it all in. He usually sat on the back seat, choosing the driver’s side window whenever he could, just in case.
Crouch had always been a hands-on man. In charge of the SAS, he regularly accompanied his men, sometimes against orders. A founder of the Ninth Division — a secret, elite unit within the SAS — he rarely missed a mission. And now, the commander of a treasure hunting team, he rejoiced in every quest they undertook. Crouch had worked his way up from the very bottom, so knew the game inside out. He studied the enemy and studied the thieves, reading body language and even more that they sought to keep hidden.
Early on, he decided he could temporarily trust the thieves. Which meant they were on the same side — at least until they were done with their captors.
Or vice versa.
Crouch gradually introduced himself to the people he knew were Terri Lee and Paul Cutler. They weren’t allowed much chance to talk, but Crouch gleaned that the pair knew what they were doing when they stole the banner, but hadn’t been aware of what would happen afterward.
Crouch respected them more for admitting it.
In truth, the thieves were open books. Promised a great deal of wealth, the future ability to pick and choose jobs or retire, they figured they deserved the score. Crouch didn’t condone it, but he did understand it.
Through the last several hours he had done a lot of thinking. Why bring the thieves along? Their job was done and now they were nothing more than extra weight. Why not cut them loose, or even kill them? The answer came to him some hours after listening to the enemy interact.