“Nope. Some years after he stole the Horses one of Napoleon’s favorite quotes was ‘I have found the Pillars of Hercules!’ Most thought he was referring to the new Paris. He once called Paris ‘the new Rome of Napoleon.’ And, most importantly, he displayed the Horses of St. Mark just as flamboyantly as did Dandolo, but clearly kept the Hercules to himself.”
Crouch upended a beer. “He displayed the Horses? My history’s a bit fuzzy there, I’m not sure I remember—”
“Only atop one of the most famous and important sculpted monuments in French history. The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel.”
“Of course.” Crouch snapped his fingers.
“Depicting Peace riding on a triumphal chariot it is a derivative of the triumphal arches of Rome. In particular its inspiration is the Arch of Constantine. Is this enough coincidence and corroboration for you? If the Horses went to Paris it stands up that the Hercules went with them. Also, Napoleon became enamored of it and started comparing himself to Hercules in more ways than one.”
“So Napoleon built an arch and had the stolen Horses placed on top, partly to rub it in the Venetian’s noses,” Alicia recapped. “A smaller version of the main Arc de Triomphe at Place d’Etoile yes?”
“Yes, originally it was intended as an entry way to the royal residence,” Caitlyn read.
Crouch’s head shot up, as if recalling something. “Now that’s interesting,” he said. “I couldn’t quite put my finger on it just now, but what you said there — it rings an odd bell.”
“Well, if you look at a picture of the Arc du Carrousel now you will see a very close copy of the four horses, each with one hoof raised as per Lysippos’ original design and a replica of the quadriga itself. The French sure weren’t shy in showing their admiration.”
“And where was Napoleon at this time?” Crouch wondered.
Caitlyn tapped at the keyboard several times. “In 1828 he was dead, following a six-year incarceration at the hands of the British. I wonder if they knew how he cherished the Lysippos sculptures and tormented him about them. He was actually alive when the Horses were returned to Venice.”
Crouch stretched and leaned back, tipping a beer. “I think it’s worth a trip to France,” he said finally. “What do you guys think?”
Russo shrugged. “No problem here.”
Alicia sighed. “France just makes me think of one thing.”
“Beauregard?” Caitlyn smiled.
“Close.”
Crouch drummed the table top. “Hmm, perhaps we can use Reece Carrera again.” He placed a call, waiting patiently for an answer.
“Yo, man!” Carrera’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The dogs of war are back! Was followin’ your escapades in Niagara Falls, Michael. Good job, dude.”
“How did you know that was us?” Crouch wanted to know. All personal details had been repressed.
“Well, ‘cause I’m me. Eyes and ears like TNT. They explode over your antics, man.”
“Good to know. Are you in Europe?”
Before Carrera could answer, Alicia grabbed the phone. “Hey, hey, do you know who this is?”
“Nah, just put Michael back on, sweetie.”
“It’s Alicia Myles.”
“Alicia? I know Sophie. Sophie Myles. Never heard of you.”
Alicia held the handset out to Crouch, an injured look on her face. “Guy’s a knobhead.”
Crouch mouthed “with a plane”, then said, “Where are you right now?”
“London,” Carrera said. “Filming.”
“Ah, that’s not going to work. Never mind. I’ll be in touch, Reece.”
“Cool. Oh, and tell Alice I said hi.”
“Alicia!” Alicia shouted. “It’s Alicia!”
Carrera chuckled. “I know.” He ended the call.
Alicia’s look of outrage transformed quickly to one of respect. “The bastard. He had me. Maybe not all movie stars are just muscles for show after all.”
Crouch was already manually dialing a new number. Alicia zoned out for a while. This latest development — Riley — was a serious hindrance. Poor Healey was a casualty of circumstance but it could have been any one of them, and it could have been far worse. Every time she put a step forward, it seemed, life threw trouble her way. Kenzie was one problem, a combatant, but Riley was something else.
How many men did he control?
Alicia scanned her bedraggled crew. Crouch appeared quite neat, only his clumpy hair and the streaks of dirt on his face attesting to his recent escape. Russo sat hunched and solitary, a still dripping, lonesome and prickly heap of misery. Caitlyn perched in an easy chair, legs folded beneath her, worry etched deeply across her face, hair a spiky mess. This team was gelling nicely, still in its infancy but Alicia wondered how much further they could go together before a tragedy struck and forced it apart.
Crouch nodded at her. “I know a guy, ex SAS, whose business is near Venice. He’ll fly us close to Paris.”
“How close?” Alicia didn’t like surprises.
“Well, he won’t drop us off at the Eiffel Tower but we’re not going to have to jump on a train either. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Crouch rose and left the room, placing a call as he went. Alicia wondered who might warrant the private treatment. It was at that moment that the doctor stuck his head round the door.
“He’s awake. And he’s fine.”
Alicia grinned, resisting the urge to leap up and bounce all over Russo. The man just looked too miserable and needed some serious cheering up. At least a major gust of relief helped to lighten his face and those massive shoulders lifted as a great weight detached. Caitlyn jumped to her feet and followed the doctor out of the room. Alicia lingered to wait for Russo.
“You okay?”
“Bloody hell, what do you think? You’re a jinx, Myles. Whenever you’re around the whole world goes to shit.”
Alicia felt her heckles rise. “I wasn’t around when you lost the Ninth Division. Maybe if I had been some people would still be alive.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth Alicia regretted them. It wasn’t fair to put that on Russo, or on anybody else. But Russo was playing with fire and needed to be reminded. The look on his face told her she’d gotten through the hard exterior.
“I’m trying to put that behind me,” he said. “I thought we all were.”
Alicia pushed past him, saying nothing, and walked into Healey’s room. The young soldier was smiling as Caitlyn hugged him. Alicia grinned.
“You’re looking better. “
“Feeling better.”
“I bet. Well, get the hell off your arse then. Paris won’t wait around for long.”
“It’s been there a while.”
“Don’t be a smartarse, kid. We’re targets, and targets that move fast are harder to hit.”
Russo grunted from behind. “Or easier to anticipate.”
Crouch entered the room, almost certainly preventing a confrontation. The team leader seemed oblivious of the sudden tension.
“If you’re able, Healey, we should move. The plane’s waiting.”
Healey swung his legs off the bed. “I don’t need telling twice.”
“Yeah, kid,” Alicia said. “Stop messing about swimming in canals and trying to fly. We have a treasure hunt to complete.”
Alicia hurried through the night, conscious of the space that surrounded the wide-open runway. It had taken them over an hour to reach this place and the entire team were anxious to be on their way. Not since she could remember had she actually felt so vulnerable. Riley had proved that he had the resources to strike anywhere, and however he wanted. Is he out there now? Biding his time?
Lining up a head shot?
The team moved fast, exiting a spacious almost empty hangar and heading for a grimy plane. Yes, she thought, it had seen better days, but then things were always better when they’d had a little “running in” time. Including people. Mostly people, actually. Humans were built to make mistakes, collapse and cry and then come right back up swinging. Life was nothing if it wasn’t about taking chances. It was nothing if it wasn’t about living. The only time it would pass her by was when she was lying in a grave.