Rogue Angel: The Secret of the Slaves

by Alex Archer

  ****

  According to plan the mercenaries, having secured an initial perimeter, moved beyond the gap Annja had seen into the open grass to create a landing strip. The night before setting out from Feliz Lusitânia Annja had spoken briefly, almost robotically, by the camp radio-phone to Publico. He said he had finished his urgent mission overseas. He would join the party when they found the nine-trunked tree.

  She had not asked him what his connection was to the camp and its evils. It no longer seemed important. Her quest consumed her utterly.

  As the men set to work hacking and trampling the high grass, Annja decided to have a look around for herself. Walking off through a stand of trees along what she suspected was an old road leading northwest, she waved off the lieutenant's worried question, "Don't you want an escort, Ms. Creed?"

  She still wasn't sure whether the mercenaries would prove more help than hindrance. She knew, ultimately, that what must be done, she must do alone. And after two days crowded on the boat with the surly, boisterous men, she wanted little more than to be left alone.

  Unless it was a hot bath. But that would have to wait.

  Emerging from the trees, she saw a cluster of buildings standing at the edge of the clearing a couple of hundred yards away. Guessing one was the old plantation house, and feeling the archaeologist's urge to explore abandoned human habitation, she struck out for them.

  She kept an eye out for any of the numerous types of poisonous snakes that could be lurking to bite her. She kept her eyes moving all around, in fact. There were other dangers that never realistically threatened ecotourists – such as native arrows, anacondas and, of course, golden onzas. Not to mention the odd green energy beam.

  As she walked along a rutted track through more high grass she wondered what other defenses the Promessans might have in store. Whether or not this was the actual border of the settlement known as the Quilombo dos Sonhos they were near to it – she was sure of it.

  "I guess we'll find out soon enough," she said aloud.

  Small gold-headed blue birds flew up from the grass and away from her as she walked toward the buildings. As she drew closer she could see that they had fallen into ruin. The main building's walls, of stone or brick – either of which had once been expensively hauled all the way up the Amazon by shallow-draft steamboats – still mostly stood. Smaller outbuildings, presumably of wood, had mostly slumped into overgrown mounds.

  She went into what had been the plantation house. Climbing vines veined the walls. Their suckers had torn away the whitewash in irregular sheets. Inside she found the upper floor and ceiling had fallen in. She could see the sky above, blue with clouds beginning to close. It would likely rain soon.

  The floor was a jumble of broken beams and furniture, much covered by vines and grass and even brush growing through the floorboards. She wondered at the totality of collapse. Had the house been burned down?

  Looking up at a jut of beam from the wall right above the entrance, she saw rippled char on its end that seemed to confirm it had burned through. That led her to new speculation – did it burn by accident? Lightning? Arson? Had the plantation been overtaken by the collapse of Brazil's rubber market, as Manaus had? Maybe it had been a front for the quilombo and the Promessans, as River of Dreams Trading Company was today, and had reached the end of its usefulness.

  The Promessans, she thought, had a brisk way of dealing with things that outlived their utility. People, as well as artifacts, if the fates of the anonymous man in Feliz Lusitânia and Mafalda in Belém were any indication.

  She backed out and went to the other sizable building. It was a chapel. Its walls of gray granite and even its arching slate roof were largely intact. The forest had grown right up against it.

  Inside was bare but for broken pews and a layer of jungle litter on the flagstones. Buttresses mounted up the walls. Green lianas climbed them, as did chittering monkeys. Little blue ground doves pecked around the hollow altar. The windows had been broken out.

  Annja wandered deeper into the chapel. Dry leaves skittered from her feet. Small creatures stirred unseen beneath drifted debris.

  "Annja Creed," said a voice behind her.

  She spun. The sword appeared in her hand.

  "You won't need that," Xia said.

  Her black hair, bound by what looked like a thin jade band around her temples, fell around her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless top of shimmering green, and what might have been a green suede skirt, leaving her firmly muscled stomach bare. The straps of sandals twined up her bare legs like serpents.

  At her side stood Patrizinho, his arms crossed over his muscular bare chest. He wore loose brown trousers with gold trim and low boots with no visible seams or fastenings. Figured golden armlets encircled his forearms. His dreadlocked golden-brown hair was swept back into a brush at the back of his head by a gold cloth band. Neither bore weapons that Annja could see.

  "I think I do," she said. To her surprise her voice did not shake from her anger, or the force she was exerting to keep it under control.

  "Do I even have to point out that if we wanted you dead you'd be dead already?" Xia said. Her tone was mild, conversational. Annja understood that sociopaths were often accomplished actors. "Or that we can escape at will?"

  "If I'm alive," Annja said, "I presume it's in your selfish interest to keep me alive."

  Patrizinho's face split in a huge grin. It tugged at her heart. He was so beautiful she wanted to believe in him.

  "She almost gets it, doesn't she?" he said to his companion. "I told you, there is hope for her."

  "We shall all know very soon," Xia said.

  Annja laughed. It was a harsh sound. The laugh of a stranger. "You think I'm gullible because of how easily you tricked me before," she said. "I may be a naive and spoiled North American. I may not be as streetwise as I like to think I am. I may not even be that smart. But I am capable of learning."

  "Good," Xia said, smiling and nodding tightly. "Because time is short. So learn fast."

  "I already know all I need to about you."

  "Do you really believe so?" Patrizinho asked. He almost sounded surprised.

  "You know nothing," Xia said. "You have been misled, lied to at every turn."

  "By you!" Annja couldn't keep the metal out of her voice.

  "No," Xia said.

  "Even now, if you look deep into your heart you can see the truth," Patrizinho said. He held out a hand. "Please."

  "You risk compromising your destiny," Xia said. "You are betrayed. Now you risk betraying yourself and all that you stand for."

  "How dare you talk of me betraying what I stand for!" she demanded. "What do you know about my destiny?"

  Gripping the sword in both hands, she charged toward them. In blind, weeping rage she cocked the weapon back over her shoulder to strike.

  Xia and Patrizinho stepped backward out of the doorway and stepped to the side.

  When she ran out after them they were gone.

  They must have gone into the underbrush, she assured herself. Though she could see no sign of it – no branches asway from being displaced, no stirring of growth deeper in, no birds startled into flight by human passage.

  There was no point in pursuing, she knew. This was their forest. They could ambush her or evade her at will.

  This proves we're in the right place! she exulted to herself.

  From the southeast came the mosquito whine of airplane engines.

  ****

  The field had been vetted for relative flatness and firmness by the mercenaries. It was nothing the little aircraft, and a seasoned Brazilian bush pilot used to landing on rough fields, couldn't handle.

  Mladko and Goran emerged wearing loose long-sleeved shirts and tan trousers. Their shaved heads were covered in Panama hats. They winged out to each side of the aircraft door and stood with thick arms crossed.

  A similarly attired Publico emerged. McKelvey, alerted to the plane's approach by radio, snapped to attention and saluted.
Sir Iain acknowledged him with an airy tip of a forefinger off his craggy forehead.

  Then his blue eyes lit on Annja, walking crisply toward him across the field. His face seamed in smiles. "Ah, Annja my dear. Just the person I want to see. Carry on, Lieutenant. You're doing a splendid job."

  As mercenaries crawled into the plane between Goran and Mladko to unload Publico's luggage, the man himself walked to meet Annja. "Come," he said, taking her by the shoulder. "Walk with me. Talk with me."

  She nodded. For some reason she was too suffused with emotion to speak.

  "You've done well by me," he told her, as they walked back in the general direction of the plantation house.

  Annja held an internal debate as to whether she should tell him what had just happened in the ruined chapel. Before she came to a resolution he said, "I've a proposition for you, Annja. You're a remarkable young woman. You've achieved great things. And you're really very beautiful, you know. So here's my offer – become my consort, and we'll rule the world together."

  She laughed. He frowned. To her utter astonishment he seemed genuinely annoyed.

  "I thought you meant to give the whole world the gift of immortality," she said half-facetiously.

  "Are you daft? To hold such power, only to give it away? I'd have to be a fool."

  It was her turn to frown. "You can't be serious."

  "I'm deadly serious," he said, although he smiled once more. "You've put the power of the ages into these hands." He held them up before her.

  "Why me?" she asked, to give herself time to think. Or more accurately, to try to bring her whirling thoughts into something resembling order. "What you said about me is very nice. But I don't have any illusions I'm anything special. Especially in the looks department. You've got to see that. You have beautiful women throwing themselves at you all the time."

  "Don't sell yourself short," he said, not bothering to deny her assertion. "Your appearance is quite striking. And intelligence as incisive as yours is an aphrodisiac. That and tenacious will and competence such as you've displayed. They'd set you apart from a sea of pretty faces, if those eyes and those cheekbones didn't do the job."

  He stopped. They stood at the border of field and brush. A stand of trees stood between them and a derelict field that adjoined the old plantation house. He ran the back of his right hand down her left cheek.

  She thrilled to the contact. There was a magnetism to the man, she had to admit. And yet – what he was saying went beyond bizarre. If he meant it, it was monstrous.

  But she couldn't believe. Wouldn't believe. Surely we didn't go through so much – surely Dan didn't die, for some kind of B-movie megalomaniac?

  She reached up, took his big hard hand, pulled it gently but definitely away from her face.

  "What are we really talking about here, Sir Iain?"

  "With the secrets we're about to wrest from these selfish holdouts come power. Infinite power. With it, quite frankly, I shall force the world to put me in charge."

  "You really think – "

  "Who better to lead the Earth into a new era than an immortal philosopher king, an undying humanitarian? I shall use the carrot of eternal life – and the stick of denying it – to make myself undisputed ruler of all humanity. And then – "

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Well, the human race wants paring back. The Earth demands no less. It will all be for the best. You'll see."

  "You mean you'll promise the masses immortality," Annja said, "and not deliver?"

  "Oh, bloody hell. Of course I won't. It would be like giving an infant an automatic weapon. The height of irresponsibility."

  "So all this happened – all these people died – Dan died, he died in my arms – " for a moment the words clotted in her throat, choking her, but she shook tears from her eyes and plowed on " – just for your ambition?"

  "If you care to reduce it to such sordid terms."

  "You lied to me."

  He shrugged. "You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."

  "I'll stop you."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Please, dear child. You're a girl alone in the wilderness. I have a squad of armed men at my back. Don't let my glowing assessment of your capabilities go to that pretty head!"

  She stepped back. The anger was ice within her now, not fire. The sword sprang into being in her hand.

  "I have capabilities you've never dreamed of," she said.

  He laughed in her face. Then before she could react he flowed forward, quicksilver, and punched her in the sternum.

  She was stunned for a moment. Her back slammed against a tree. The wind was blasted from her lungs. The sword had vanished as consciousness flickered.

  Publico stood twenty feet away, grinning a wolf's grin.

  "So have I, my dear."

  It was agony to breathe. The effort sent hot needles through her chest. She didn't know if she had broken ribs. She felt broken. She slumped like an abandoned rag doll at the foot of the tree.

  He strode up to her. "I may not have the secret of rejuvenation yet," he told her. He reached down, grabbed her beneath the chin, raised her up, sliding her back up the tree's rough bark. She grabbed his forearm to try to ease the pressure on her windpipe. It was like grabbing a steel tube.

  "But as I think I've hinted, love, I do have access to certain technologies you've been told were decades in the future – if they were possible at all. Among these are the means to give a human extraordinary strength and speed and endurance, temporarily. How very fortunate that, unsure what I might be flying into out here on the very fringe of the enemy's domain, I thought to dose myself right before landing."

  She kicked him in the crotch.

  Evidently his wonder drugs didn't armor him there. Nor render the target impossibly small, the way steroids were reputed to. He doubled over with an entirely human – and entirely satisfactory – gasp, clutching at himself with both hands.

  The sword, she knew, was more powerful than all of treacherous Sir Iain's wonder drugs. But not even it could shield her from a couple of dozen mercenaries with automatic weapons. They were boiling out of their riverbank cantonment now, weapons ready. Goran and Mladko were running toward her from the aircraft with guns in their hands.

  She turned and ran. Through the underbrush and the stand of woods, out again into the long-fallow field. The soil beneath her soles was black – the black Indian earth, so rich and mysterious, in a realm where no natural topsoil existed.

  Ahead of her rose the jungle, shore of a green sea that stretched unbroken as far as the eye could see. If she got into the dense brush of the transition zone she could lose herself. Clumsy Western mercs and Croat war criminals could never match her in the bush. She'd eluded such before.

  But she could not outrun bullets. As she reached the far side of the field, the green refuge mere tantalizing steps away, a sledgehammer force struck her back. Only then did she hear the rippling snarl of the shots that hit her.

  Momentum carried her on into the brush. She crashed through. She fell down a short slope, rolled. She felt nothing. She scrambled up. Her limbs obeyed reluctantly, almost at random, like a newborn foal's.

  Another burst of gunfire. She felt another powerful impact low in her back. Lightning agony flared through her right side. She got up, ran up the far side of a small gully with a trickle of stream down the middle, into more brush.

  She ran and ran, desperate, incapable of thought. Until she ran head-on into blackness, and knew no more.

  Chapter 28

  Annja opened her eyes. "I'm not dead," she said.

  "Not yet," Patrizinho said with a wide smile.

  He and Xia sat beside her bed. Both wore long loose robes. His was maroon in the center and black down the sides. Hers was shades of blue in diagonal swirls. Her hair was twisted into a complicated knot atop her head, and she wore large turquoise earrings. His dreads hung loose about his shoulders.

  Annja sighed. "Are you going to say 'I told you so'?"

  "
No," Xia said. "We only tried to tell you so."

  Annja sat up. A moment later she felt the bed press itself gently against her back, mold to her ever so slightly, so as to continue to support her. She raised an eyebrow.

  The bed lay at one side of the room, in a sort of alcove. The floor and bedspread were deep maroon. The walls were pale tan that showed a pearlescent undertone in the sunlight streaming in the pointed-arched window. Rain forest plants, or so she took them for, sprang up in profusion about the room. It was comfortable, warm rather than hot. For the first time in what felt like forever she was aware of not being oppressed by a humidity a percentage point or two less than the bottom of a swimming pool. Yet the window apparently stood open – gauzy cream-yellow curtains moved slightly in a breeze, and the air smelled fresh.

  She let herself relax back into the bed. "How?" she asked.

  "How is it you're still alive?" Patrizinho said. He crossed one long leg over the other. "We healed you, of course."

  She sat bolt upright.

  "Relax," he said with a smile, holding up a pink palm.

  "But, my God! They shot me! I'm – I'm sure I felt bullets hit."

  "Not to put too fine an edge on it," Xia said, lounging like a cat in her chair, "you were mortally wounded."

  The bed had not angled up to meet her this time. She let herself fall back to what she realized was a very comfortable angle, one that didn't put undue pressure on her lower back and tailbone. "Smart beds," she said softly. "This is what Moran was willing to kill for?"

  "Very possibly," Xia said. "Among other things, I'm sure."

  "How long have I been here?"

  "Three days."

  "Three days? I must be dosed to the eyeballs on painkillers!"

  "No need," Xia said. "Patrizinho told you – we healed you. You might feel some residual pains. We can block those. If they keep recurring, we can teach you meditation techniques to make the pain go away. But you should feel no lasting effects."

  "But that's – "

  "Impossible?" Patrizinho looked at her blankly for a moment. Then he laughed.