Alicia Myles 2 - Crusader's Gold by David Leadbeater Page B

mountain laid down some covering fire. Alicia stood at his side. Mercs dived every which way. The one who reached them met Alicia’s front kick—a blow that broke ribs, yet still he forged on. Alicia smashed his face with the rifle’s butt before kicking him over on to his back.
    “Lay down and beg,” she said. “There’s a good boy.”
    Russo pushed her backward and she jumped over the lip of the window, into the narrow Venice street. Ahead of her tourists stared, most with backpacks or hand in hand with their partners. Another gondola plied the canal, with Caitlyn leaning over the metal railing toward it as if planning to flag it down.
    “A fucking gondola?” Alicia shouted. “Are you mad? We could walk faster.”
    Healey dragged her away, flushing a little as if the idea had actually been his. Probably had. Alicia backed away from the devastated café fast, weapon raised as Crouch took point and led the retreat. Tourists jumped out of the way. The street was narrow enough to rub shoulders with most of them. Alicia and Russo shouted at them to lie down.
    As if to prove their point mercs poured out of the café window, some shooting without caution even as they fell to the floor. Bullets hissed everywhere. A youth took a hit to the backpack, staggering but uninjured. Another screamed as bullets smashed into the wall beside his head. Alicia leapt over in an instant, took him by the scruff of the jacket, and hurled him shrieking over the railing and into the canal. Better there than dead. Russo dropped to one knee and returned fire. Crouch shouted that there was a bridge ahead, a way across the canal and off the deadly street.
    Alicia took a glance. A bridge in Venice of course wasn’t merely a bridge, it was an ornate arch spanning the greenish water, most of them imitating the Rialto Bridge of the Grand Canal. Alicia pushed people against the nearby walls as she backed toward it. The mercs followed in a group, and non-military part of Alicia’s brain now caught up with the action. Who had orchestrated this? Kenzie? Riley? A brand new maniac?
    Take your pick.
    She reached the bridge with Russo a step behind and rushed across. Bullets pinged all around and cracked stone. Puffs of mortar dust floated through the air in front of her. They were fortunate the mercs were running and shooting at the same time, because if one of them suddenly grew a brain and stopped to take aim . . .
    That made Alicia focus again on who might be following them. The abruptness of the attack surely ruled Kenzie out. The team hadn’t come close to deciphering where the Hercules was yet, so why would the barmy bitch attack them so violently? Also, she had shown restraint back at the Hagia Sophia.
    Then why did she go and kill poor old Naz?
    The term “bug fuck crazy”, came immediately to mind, but maybe that was just her. Terms from her army days constantly spun around her head. And there was another—“army” which some said stood for Ain’t Really a Marine Yet. Alicia shrugged it off as the bridge ended, its easy steps leading to yet another of Venice’s tiny streets. Crouch picked up speed, shouting at people to get indoors. Buildings flashed by to both sides, most of them constructed of imposing stone. They entered a small square with a large parasol set in the center, tables and chairs all around. Other tiny streets led off in all directions.
    “Only way to win is to lose them,” Crouch said as loud as he dared. Alicia saw he was still bleeding at the wrist, the flow constant enough to leave a trail on the floor. They twisted down two streets, both mere alleyways with crumbling stonework to both sides. At the end stood yet another street full of shops, graffiti-covered walls, and a herringbone patterned pathway. Crouch set off at a sprint. Alicia glanced behind them and, over Russo’s immense shoulders, saw their pursuers about twenty meters behind.
    “Take one of ‘em out,” she said. “That’ll slow ‘em