The Other Crowd

by Alex Archer

  “I own the company that is funding this dig. NewWorld,” Garin said. “I got a call from Wesley Pierce last night. He’s not around?”

  “I haven’t talked to Wesley since Saturday night. And my understanding was that Frank Neville had commandeered this dig. Pierce was hanging around to be stubborn.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You look as though that is news to you, Mr. Braden. The site has been under Neville’s supervision for a couple of weeks now—at least, the one dig. Not sure what exactly they were looking for. Far as I know Pierce’s camp found a spear shard and some bones.”

  “What about the other camp? They find anything?”

  “Not that they’d reveal to anyone. They’ve kept tight security and have been causing a bit of trouble, if you ask me. People have been disappearing. Trucks running at odd hours of the night.”

  The imposing man ran a palm over his goatee. He looked angry and Daniel knew he was not a man to upset. In his line of business he dealt with some major players. He respected them all until they gave him reason not to.

  “Did Pierce mention anything to you about diamonds?” Garin asked.

  Daniel shoved his palms into his front pants pockets and shrugged. “No, sir.”

  “You ever hear about diamonds being found in this part of the country?”

  “As a matter of fact…” Daniel knew he could trust the man with most any information, good, bad or illegal. He’d dealt with him a time or two. The man was a closed book. “Me mum found a tiny bit of rough a few weeks ago. I think it was what attracted Neville to the dig. Probably thought he could find more. I could have told him there are no diamond mines in Ireland. It was a fluke what me mum found.”

  “Sizable?” Garin’s dark eyes squinted against the sun.

  “Five carats, maybe more. But there was a noticeable crack that runs half the length. Would reduce the value by tens of thousands, I’m sure. You want to take a look at it?”

  The man considered it for a few seconds. “No, Collins, let your mother keep the stone. I know she’s a collector.”

  “She’ll keep it tucked on her shelf until she dies. She’s not in the market to sell it. But I understand it would belong to NewWorld—”

  “I won’t mention it to anyone if you don’t.”

  “Deal. So, you interested in a tug of wine? My home is an amble away.”

  “Always interested in what you’re pouring, Collins.” Garin walked alongside Daniel as he headed north toward his land. “How has the trade been treating you?”

  “Well. Always well. I stay busy. Not a thing to complain about.”

  “Good. I like to hear when a man is happy with his work. It so rarely occurs in this day and age.” He scanned over his shoulder, taking in the dig site again. “I need to find Wesley Pierce and learn what’s gone on with the dig. This doesn’t feel right, Collins.”

  “If he’s not on to a new job, he might be in to Cork to visit the girl who wandered off and got lost for a few days. She stumbled back to camp babbling about the fair folk and looking pretty wild when they found her. I’ve got a Jeep you can borrow.”

  “That would be excellent.”

  The two trod the ground at a quick pace. Daniel found he had to increase his strides to keep up.

  “You know that Michael Slater fellow supervising the other camp?” Daniel asked.

  “No, but I’ll be checking him out. Anyone else in the area you think I might like to chat with to learn what’s up with Pierce’s camp?”

  “Shouldn’t think so. Well…there is the Creed woman. She’s a lovely duck, she is.”

  “Creed?” Garin stopped abruptly and Daniel had to sidestep to avoid a collision. The big man held off a grin at that action. “Annja Creed?”

  “You’ve heard of her? Oh, sure, it’s likely you’ve seen her on the television. Sexy bit of thing, she is.”

  “You and I agree on that, Collins. How’s she involved?”

  “Well, I understand she was in the area to film a segment for her television show. Do you know her?”

  “You could say that. Annja, eh?” Garin chuckled. “This trip won’t be so dull, after all.”

  31

  Michael Slater found a spot in the parking lot under a sycamore tree and put the Jeep in park. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and glanced at Annja. He had the cool, calm, double-agent act down pat, but she wasn’t buying his friendly demeanor. He had no reason to suddenly be nice to her.

  “I trust you can look around without bringing too much attention to yourself?” he asked.

  “Why the sneak? I’m looking for a friend,” she said. “For once I have a legitimate reason to be in the hospital.”

  “Neville’s got men guarding Beth. And if he’s taken Eric, the situation will be the same.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. If you are in on this, why not tell whoever is in charge of guarding the captives to let Eric go?”

  “It’s out of my hands, Annja. Actually, your friend was never in my hands in the first place.”

  That made her wonder. If Slater was working for Neville had he lost control of his part of the operation? The gunrunning part? If he was MI-6 shouldn’t he have Frank Neville under surveillance at all times, and know exactly where the missing men were?

  “Do you—”

  “The less you know,” he cut her off abruptly, “the better. Right?”

  She nodded. “As long as you’re not holding back information about Eric.”

  His wince didn’t speak well to that one. “Just stay away from Beth Gwillym. Promise me, Annja. You don’t have time for that trouble.”

  She eyed his cell phone. He held it ready to dial. Would he report her to Neville the moment she stepped out of the car? A means to dispose of the nosy TV reporter.

  She trusted him. Because she’d run out of options. And part of her believed he just wanted to get her and Eric out of the country and off his back.

  “I’ll stay out here,” he said. “I’m calling the airport and booking a flight for you. You’ve got ten minutes. After that, I’m coming in after you.”

  SLATER DIALED REGGIE Marks, the barge captain. Everything was on time. The barge had pulled away from the shore near the dig site and would be at the Kinsale harbor in a few hours. The river was tidal and the high tide came along twice a day. They’d timed this perfectly.

  The captain also confirmed the camp was completely vacated after Slater left with Annja. All tents were packed up and the site backfilled. Wesley’s body had been picked up and put someplace where a dead body would not raise a lot of questions.

  Slater didn’t want to know, so he didn’t ask.

  A call to Neville was answered by one of his bodyguards. Slater did not like talking to the riffraff. He was given the excuse Neville was indisposed.

  Indisposed was such a big word for the IQ-lacking thugs who tailed Neville like a puppy dog.

  “We on schedule?” Slater asked gruffly. The bodyguards weren’t privy to schedules and time frames, but they liked to think they knew everything.

  “Had a dely. The last truck has been detained somewhere north of Kinsale. We’ll be tracking that soon as Mr. Neville gets…”

  Yeah, whatever. Soon as Neville gets his act together. The man was a small-time arms dealer who had delusions of grandeur and a bad case of ADD. He simply could not stick to the task at hand without seeking other projects. Though Slater had to admit the idea to raid the defunct arms dumps across Ireland had been genius. Neville had arranged a gray deal with a Pakistani contact that MI-6 was also keeping tabs on.

  “I’ll check in again to ensure the truck is back on track.” Slater slapped the phone shut and shoved it in his shirt pocket. He tipped the sunglasses down from his forehead to block the sun.

  “Babysitting an arms dealer. Chauffeuring some idiot television host. Who the hell did I piss off to get this bollocks assignment?” he muttered.

  But honestly, he didn’t mind chasing after Creed. She was n
ice to look at, yet too smart for his own good. She was the type he could work with, and enjoy it. Moral, smart and determined. Focused, too. He sensed she wasn’t eager to step on MI-6’s toes, but as well, she wasn’t about to leave the country without her cameraman. The boy would appreciate her dedication.

  When she finally got around to finding him. Which, if Slater had his way, would take just long enough for the camp back at the river to clear out.

  ANNJA ALWAYS STOOD a little taller when in the presence of a nun. She attributed that to growing up in a Catholic orphanage. But if any nun ever heard that she’d once used a rosary to choke a man intent on stabbing her, they’d whip out the ruler and wield it over her knuckles.

  She hadn’t killed the man, just choked him long enough to knock him out so she could escape whatever dire situation she’d been in at the time. Dire situations were commonplace in her life.

  She couldn’t deny she thrived on the adrenaline rush.

  “You don’t have a John Doe?” she asked.

  Annja waited, fingers silently tapping the laminate counter, while the woman checked the computer screen. She was nice enough and understood Annja was worried about her friend. She’d described Eric to her and said he’d gotten lost in the forest during an overnight hiking excursion.

  “We do have an unidentified man in intensive care, but he’s sixty,” the nun said. “Have you checked with the gardai? Missing persons are usually reported to them.”

  “I have.” She cringed inwardly. She would, as soon as she got Slater off her tail. The man was intent on getting her out of the country, and he wasn’t going to take his eye off her until he did.

  Didn’t he have better things to do? Like taking down an arms dealer?

  He’d said he’d been on the case for six months. It seemed an inordinate amount of time to collect intelligence and arrest an arms dealer. But she hadn’t a clue how the operations were done, so she wouldn’t question it.

  Collecting Eric and hightailing it out of there seemed the best, and safest, bet. Maybe Slater had contacts with the local police force? She hadn’t thought of that. That would be her first question when she got back to the Jeep.

  “Thanks for looking for me. I’ll check the other hospitals in the city,” she said, and turned to wander toward the reception lounge.

  When Slater had mentioned calling in someone to clean up Wesley, Annja knew that didn’t mean delivering him to a funeral home for a proper burial. The bad guys never did go in for funeral expenses. She should have stuck around to ensure his body was handled properly. But it would have upset her more, and wasted valuable time.

  She wondered now if Wesley had a family, and how they would eventually learn of their son’s death. She should make an effort to find them and—what would she explain?

  Right now she wasn’t sure what she could say to whom. Not without the risk of blowing Slater’s cover. She did not want to do that. She’d been admonished more than a few times by Bart for getting too deeply involved in criminal cases that a layman had no right sticking her nose into.

  NewWorld would be notified, and they could handle contacting Wesley’s next of kin.

  A big man in a dark sweatsuit shoved past her so hard, she was slammed palms-first into the wall. The sound of an alarm stopped her from shouting at him. Annja looked down the hallway in the direction he’d come from. Nurses and a few others in white coats rushed into the room she knew was Beth’s.

  “She’s crashing!” someone called.

  Crashing?

  Tempted to rush toward the room, but sensing her best bet was following the fleeing man with the wide shoulders and an urgent need to be gone from the scene, she took off after him. Down the stairwell she raced but didn’t catch him as he opened the door to the first floor.

  He charged through a side door marked Patient Drop-off. Dodging a parked red Ferrari with a well-dressed man helping his mother from the car, the thug ran across the street and jumped into the passenger side of a black SUV.

  The flash of a gun in the front seat, and the look from the man riding in the backseat, flipped on Annja’s intuition switch.

  “Neville.” It had to be. Who else would want Beth dead? Slater had intimated as much.

  Keeping from glancing about for the parking lot where Slater waited, Annja stopped in front of the Ferrari. The SUV didn’t pull away from the curb. Whoever sat in the backseat saw her through the blackened window screen.

  When the window rolled down, she stepped quickly up to the SUV and leaned down.

  “Annja Creed?” the man in the backseat asked.

  “You must be Frank Neville.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment.

  He had dark features and hair, and a goatee framed his narrow face. Menacing dark eyes belied his calm expression. A crisp white business shirt topped off dark trousers. The glint of a diamond cuff link flashed at his wrist. On the seat beside him sat an open laptop computer connected to a cell phone.

  “I have been wondering when I’d get to meet the infamous Annja Creed,” Neville said. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do,” she replied.

  “Get inside.”

  The window rolled up and the door lock on the opposite side of the SUV popped up. Annja walked around behind the SUV and gripped the door, pausing to consider her options. Slater wasn’t going to like this. But he was on the other side of the building, and wouldn’t have a clue.

  Besides, she didn’t need to let Neville know she knew who Slater was. She wouldn’t blow his cover. She just wanted to find Eric. She climbed in the car

  The scent of sweet tobacco lingered in the car’s interior. Annja impulsively tabbed the window button, but it didn’t move down. The driver must have her side locked.

  “Drive,” Neville said, closing the laptop and shoving it in a leather pocket on the back of the seat before him. The glass partition in the center of the front seat slid noiselessly up to fit against the ceiling. “What are you doing at County General, Miss Creed?”

  “I had hoped to find a friend there.”

  “Did you find him?”

  She noted his guess wasn’t female. “No. Then I thought I’d look in on another friend. Beth Gwillym.”

  “She’s not your friend.” Neville shifted, bracing an elbow on the back of the seat. He was gaunt, yet strapped with muscle like a junkie who did daily crunches in between fixes. “Beth disappeared days before you arrived in Ireland. It’s not possible you could have been friends.”

  “We’ve chatted online.”

  “I don’t believe that.” A tilt of his head stretched the thick muscles bulging at his neck. “You want an honest conversation? Tell me the truth.”

  “I am being honest. I had hoped to find my friend in West County General. The man I traveled here with—Eric Kritz—went missing during a hike through the forest the other night. I thought I’d check the same hospital Beth was in since the manner of their disappearance was similar.”

  “Is that so? Wandering about the forest popping magic mushrooms?”

  “So you’ve heard about her condition?”

  “I make it a point to know certain things. Like things about you. I understand you’re with a television program. You should consider gathering a more intelligent crew. Or is that how the Americans operate? Get stoned and party all night?”

  “He was forcibly taken,” Annja said sharply. She cautioned herself to maintain control of her voice. She wanted to show she wasn’t intimidated by Neville’s presumed power and presence, but she also couldn’t come off as cocky. “If you know so much about everyone, I suspect you may have an idea where I can find Eric. Once I know he’s safe, we’ll pack our bags and leave the country.”

  “If I believed that, I’d put you on a flight to the States myself.”

  “A generous offer.”

  The SUV turned onto a gravel road. Annja hadn’t realized they’d left the city limits. Green pastures and rolling landscape zoomed by the windows. “Where are we headed?”


  “I’m checking on items lost in transit. Now, back to this truthful conversation. I don’t believe you,” Neville said. “So I intend to handle matters using a more tried-and-true method.”

  “Would that be the same method you used on Wesley Pierce?”

  He studied her with emotionless black eyes, his head bobbing slightly as the car rolled over the country road. Annja felt the proverbial spiders crawling up her spine. This was not a man to joke with.

  “Just tell me about the LSD,” she said. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t something I’d originally ordered, but it did work well. The barge captain had some lying around and injected the men so they wouldn’t be so boisterous. When they started seeing faeries, well…”

  “You thought that was a perfect cover.”

  “Silly, but effective, especially in this part of the country. Ah,” he said, glancing ahead, yet not dropping the chill demeanor. “We’re here.”

  Annja looked out the window. A field of sheep grazed to the north and a brisk green hedgerow walled a portion of the south view. Another white delivery truck—no, it was an armored truck—was parked fifty yards beyond the SUV, straddling the makeshift gravel road.

  “Get out,” Neville ordered.

  32

  Two bodyguards exited the front of the SUV. Neville waited until Annja got out of the back, then he did so.

  The unexpected roadblock sat idling. Neville directed one of his men to check it out.

  She’d come this far, and expected she wouldn’t get any answers about Eric. But if she could take out the thugs, then she could even the playing field. She knew they weren’t going to let her walk away from this. The bullet hole in Wesley’s forehead pretty much ensured that.

  Neville spat on the ground, then said to the thug standing near him, “Murphy, get rid of her.”