by Alex Archer
“This way!” she shouted. She pressed the shirt over her nose and mouth as she ran.
Annja took the steel staircase hugging the wall two steps at a time. Rushing to the end of the landing, she kicked down the door she suspected was an office, sending flame sparks flying into the smoke-filled room.
Fire roared behind and below her. Its beastly growl warned her she had to be quick. She wasn’t keen on fire. She’d had nightmares about fire. She thought it had something to do with Joan of Arc and the sword.
Ducking low and inside the office, she heard coughing. Near the door, someone grabbed her ankle.
It wasn’t Eric.
“I got him!” Slater dragged the bound man out. “It’s Brian Ford,” he yelled. “He’s alive.”
The admittance of air into the room fanned a burgeoning flame licking in the office corner near the window. Annja heard a man’s muffled shout.
She raced to the wall and beneath a boarded-up window she found Eric. His hands were bound before him, but his ankles were free. He could have walked out—unless he was drugged. Head tucked down toward his chest, he hacked and choked. Flames ate at his shirt.
She slapped the flames out. He shouted and cursed.
“Eric, it’s Annja Creed.” She tugged his arm but he wouldn’t move. Instead, he gazed up at her. His face was black from the smoke, and sweat runneled streaks in it.
“So beautiful,” he moaned. “Your wings…”
“I’m not a faerie,” she said.
“Yes, the faeries.”
“Hell, he’s high on LSD. Slater!”
The MI-6 agent crouched on the floor next to her and assessed the situation. “I can lift him over a shoulder if you help me get his head and shoulders up. The smoke has already zapped my strength. We have to hurry.”
The wall behind them exploded, shooting splinters and sparks into the room. A splinter seared across Annja’s cheek. She slapped at it and sucked at the wet shirt. But it was no longer wet, and she was now inhaling smoke.
Heaving up Eric’s head, she shoved him toward Slater, who managed to wrangle him onto a shoulder and stand. Slater stumbled and faltered.
“You’re going to make it!” Annja shouted.
“It’s too smoky in here!” he called.
Tugging up the shirt over his face, she gave the loosened knot at the back of his head a tug to secure it. “Just follow me!” She grabbed him by the belt loop and led him toward the door.
Outside, the other man sat in a daze against the stair railing. “Can you move on your own?” she asked him. He nodded when he saw Annja. “Get down the stairs now!”
He shuffled forward on his butt and took the last two steps in a leap, landing on the concrete in a belly flop. He might have broken something, but he wasn’t yelling in pain.
Slater used the railing for support, sliding against it as he stepped down, and made it to the ground. He stumbled once he reached the bottom step. Annja lunged to catch Eric’s body and he sort of rolled over her and she bent to make sure he landed more gently than Brian.
“Sorry.” Slater coughed.
“No apologies. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got Eric. You grab Brian.”
They raced to the door and outside into the gray evening sky.
Clean air infused Annja’s lungs. Slater collapsed near the water barrel, Brian’s body splayed out beside him. She tugged the shirt from Slater’s face and gave his cheek a smack with her palm.
He gasped in a breath and heaved in rapid breaths.
Annja turned to Eric to assess his condition. He was breathing and moaning about faeries. He’d be okay, but she had to get him emergency care. Brian, too. He’d passed out near the doorway.
Raindrops spattered her head and shoulders. For once, she was thankful for the weather. And yet…
“Where’s the other guy? I thought there was another one?” She gripped Brian’s shirt and shook him. “Was there another man with you?”
“Richard,” he muttered. “Think…he ran off…”
Annja could only hope it was an escape to freedom, and ultimately a local hospital.
“Five minutes to spare,” she said to Slater, who checked his watch. “Time enough for you to drop us off at the emergency room before heading to the docks.”
“Deal. I’ll find us a vehicle.” He touched his cheek and winced. “Was the slap necessary?”
“You were flirting with unconsciousness.”
“I never flirt, Annja.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
His relieved grin accompanied a shake of his head. So the man was human underneath that stoic countenance. Any other time, and any other place…
“What will you do when you find the boat?” she asked.
“I’ll take care of it, Annja. It’s not the shipment I’m worried about, as I’ve explained.”
“But after you’ve arrested the forger, you have to stop the boat, right? Can you get to Neville once he’s taken to open water? What if they’ve already departed?”
“Annja, leave things to me. All right? I’ve got it under control.”
She looked over his sooted face and chest and noted that he eased himself up slowly to a stand as if his back muscles ached. He had no weapon, no shirt, no contact with his superiors, not even a car.
“Do you think the Handy Man went after them?”
“Doubt it. The bandit knows MI-6 is involved now. That’ll keep him away, and ensure he alerts every criminal in Ireland of my identity. Thanks for that, Annja.”
“I was trying to keep us alive. I know it was stupid. I am sorry.”
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “You’re good at staying alive. I like that about you.” He winked and nodded. “Let’s find us a vehicle and get these men to the hospital. Hell, a phone to call an ambulance would be good right now.”
She tugged out her cell phone. “What’s the emergency number in this country?”
THEY WEREN’T COVERT; that was sure. Four men loaded heavy wooden trunks onto a yacht moored at the end of the Kinsale dock. They did work efficiently. They’d done this before, Garin assumed. He liked experience and always sought to work with men of a certain talent in his own endeavors.
He lowered the binoculars. He wasn’t sure he wanted a piece of this action, though. If MI-6 was involved the deal was gray. He preferred things to be either black or white, no fuzzy middle stuff. And he liked to stay as far from any organized government as possible.
So long as Annja Creed didn’t show up he would let them go about their business.
38
Annja answered her cell phone on the first ring. Eric slept peacefully in the hospital bed to her right; he didn’t wake from the noise.
“How many times does a man have to leave a message to get your attention?”
“I never realized how desperate you were for attention from me, Garin. What’s up? You’ve called half a dozen times.”
“Where are you?”
“Where are you?”
“In the same damned country as you. I’m looking for Wesley Pierce. Are you okay, Annja?”
“I am. How do you know Wesley? You’re in Ireland?”
“He was managing a dig my company NewWorld was supervising.”
“You own NewWorld?” She knew the man owned corporations and companies like some people owned pets, but this was a surprise. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you owned an archeological dig management company?”
He sighed. “Is it so important right now? Where can I find Pierce?”
“In a cooler.” She winced at the awful remark. “He was shot this morning by an arms dealer named Frank Neville.”
“And you are investigating? Sticking your nose into places it probably shouldn’t be stuck?”
“It’s been stuck since before Wesley’s death. I’m here in the country, officially, to chase faeries.”
“You know, I believe that.”
Delivered with such deadpan sincerity, she had to smile.
“Neville’s running guns, and I got stuck in the middle when he decided to kidnap Eric, my cameraman. Eric’s okay now. In the hospital, recovering. Thanks for asking. Did you know about the diamonds found on-site?”
“I got the phone call from Pierce last night. Diamonds? I thought it was singular, just one. How many?”
“Besides the one Wesley found? Neville had a rough but it turned out to be flawed. I’m not sure of any others found, though I suspect it was a treasure cache that may have yielded a couple prizes. But it couldn’t have come from the ground. This area isn’t conducive to diamond mining. The mystery of the diamonds confounds me.”
“Annja, there are some things you’re better off not knowing about.”
“Gotcha. So that means I won’t get any help from you unless I jump through your hoops?” Ready to hang up, she stopped when he pleaded for her to listen.
“Can you give me a location on Wesley Pierce?” Garin asked. “NewWorld should contact his family.”
Surprised at what sounded like genuine compassion, Annja said she wasn’t sure, but a local mortuary would be a good place to start looking. “Michael Slater might know. He was directing half of your dig. And he’s MI-6. Did you know that?”
“MI-6 is involved?” Garin exhaled gruffly, one of those sounds a man makes when he’s had enough of life’s surprises. “Then I’m out. I’m not treading on their walk. And you shouldn’t, either, Annja.”
“Don’t worry, I’m done. As soon as Eric is well enough, we’re hopping a flight back to New York.”
“What’s his condition?”
“Whoever took him gave him LSD to make him think he was seeing faeries. That’s how the local rumor got started. The doctor said he should be fine with rest.”
“And this was done to him by someone I employ?”
“I’m not sure. Do you employ Frank Neville to run guns for you when he’s not digging for diamonds?”
“I’m having the name checked out, but I haven’t heard of him before. You’re in such a mess, Annja, and still you didn’t answer my call. Didn’t you think I would offer to help you if you asked?”
“Your help always comes with conditions. I’m fine, Garin, really. Though I am still curious about the origin of those diamonds.”
“They’re from a nineteenth-century heist.”
“What? How did you—?”
“It’s called the internet, Annja. People use it when they want to find out things and do research on obscure facts.”
“Or surf for porn.”
“Let’s not bring your private habits into play, sweetie. After Pierce called me about finding the rough, I did some research at Ireland’s National Archives website because I am also aware the country does not spit up diamonds from its soil. And if you’ve been looking over the dig, you could verify my theory.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Seems in 1850, one Elizabeth Price, daughter of an impoverished land owner in your area there, decided to take her chances and hop a ship to Liverpool during the height of the potato famine. How am I doing so far?”
“Potato famine. Yep, we found evidence of the pathogen that destroyed the potato crops at the same level I suspect Wesley found the rough diamond. Continue.”
“Seems Price was only in Liverpool three days before the police grabbed her and deported her to Cork. The English were very keen on keeping the Irish out of their country. Let them starve and keep their diseases to themselves. Miss Price, though, was a crafty sort, and hooked up with one Harvel Kilmer of Kilmer Gemstone Acquisitions one night. I assume he thought he was picking up a whore. He woke in the morning absent half a million in rough diamonds he’d been carrying in packets in his valise. It was kept very low-key. The police pursued Miss Price onto the ship, but never found her. Kilmer put a bravo on her tail to follow her home.”
Annja nodded, loving this story. That it made a lot of sense always put the cherry to the top of any archaeological question she muddled over.
“The company never reclaimed the diamonds. The bravo was discovered dead on a Cork dock a week later. Seems he had syphilis and was in a bad way even before embarking after Miss Price. My research places the Price family land in the dig area, very close to the Bandon River. You didn’t know that?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far. Wesley told me about the diamond, and then he was shot. As I was standing beside him.”
“Neville?”
“Yes. But don’t worry—”
“Right, MI-6 is on the case. Want to make a bet your gunrunner walks free?”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s murdered two people that I know of, and I’m sure they’re not his first. Michael Slater knows what he’s doing. I trust him.”
“Sure. So I guess I walk away empty-handed. No diamonds. Not even a date with the prettiest woman on TV.”
“Kristie isn’t working this segment with me. Sorry.”
“Kristie is far from pretty, Annja. She’s more the cheerleader persuasion, which encompasses a whole different scale of beauty, and trust me, it’s a shallow beauty.”
“Whatever.” Though she didn’t mind the clarification. She wasn’t hung up on looks, and knew Kristie’s ratings surpassed her own segments on the show, but the occasional “you’re not so bad” was appreciated.
“You’re tough and smart,” Garin continued, “but you’re not keen on taking compliments. That bothers me about you.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over little ol’ me.”
“I don’t, actually. But I do wish you’d embrace your beauty more freely. Then again, your lacking vanity is refreshing. So few women are like that, Annja. That aside, you need anything else?”
“No, I think I’m good here. Thanks, Garin. And thanks for the history lesson. It helps to fill in some holes.”
“Talk to you soon.”
No sooner had she hung up when the phone rang a second time. It wasn’t Garin again, which made her a little sad. Talking to him had managed to lift her spirits. Despite the fact he was more of an adversary than friend, Garin’s brand of nemesis often took a more nuisance form. And she did enjoy talking to a man who had walked through five centuries of life.
“Yes, Doug?”
“Annja, how’s it going? Haven’t heard from you for days. I was beginning to wonder if the faeries got you, too?”
His snicker didn’t twang her funny bone like it usually did. Some faeries—kidnapping people and overdosing them on LSD.
“I’m fine, Doug, thanks for asking.”
“And Eric? How’s he enjoying the Irish beer?”
“That’s Guinness, and he’s…sleeping right now.”
“At this hour? I know it’s, like, eight in the evening there, Annja. I did the math.”
“Yeah, well, Eric spent the night in the forest filming. He’s been working very hard. I’m impressed with his work ethic. I hope his teacher appreciates what he’s doing for this report. He’s kicking back for a much-needed rest.”
She needed the lie for the moment. But it wouldn’t be right to conceal from Eric’s father that his son been kidnapped and drugged. There could be complications in his future that would require his father having that knowledge.
Of course, Eric was a big boy; he would have to tell his family that himself. Thinking of his father, there was one piece to this puzzle that still made her wonder. She’d yet to hear back from Bart.
“Doug, what does Eric’s father do for a living?”
“I told you he owns a film company, and I think he does notary stuff on the side. He financed the trip there.”
“Yes, funny you didn’t mention that to me before I left New York.”
“Didn’t think it was necessary. Why? What’s up?”
“I didn’t say anything was up. So how does Eric’s father know Daniel Collins?”
“Not sure. Maybe he sold him some wine?”
“Could be. What do you mean by notary stuff?”
“You know, he officiates important papers and
stuff. What do you call it? Notary public, that’s it. Why?”
“Just curious. Eric and I haven’t had much time for personal chat, we’ve been so busy filming.”
“So you got good footage? Actual faeries?”
“What do you think, Doug?”
“Just remember, I am the Photoshop master. Any clues on the missing people?”
“They were found and they’re doing well. The two men are currently hospitalized. Unfortunately the girl died in the hospital. Drug overdose. “
Annja swallowed the lump in her throat to think that if she had been ten minutes earlier, she could have prevented Beth’s death. Beth had probably stumbled onto the enemy dig and had seen something they didn’t want her to see—like trucks hauling weapons. That was it. She’d been volunteering, for Christ’s sake.
It always hurt when innocents were hurt or killed. And it did happen around Annja more than she cared for. Wielding the sword accompanied some fantastic yet fearsome adventures. She killed those who would kill her first. And she protected those who could not protect themselves.
But not all the time.
Did that mean her dream held truth? Perhaps she wasn’t capable of wielding the sword?
No, she wasn’t going to have this inner argument again. She’d come to terms with what must be done if she continued to follow the sword’s command.
“Annja?”
“Give us another day here, will you? Eric and I will bring home a great feature for the show. Promise. Bye, Doug.”
She hung up in the middle of his goodbye, and leaned against the hospital wall, closing her eyes. It was never easy when innocents were harmed or murdered because they “got in the way.”
But she could handle this and all that accompanied wielding the sword. Because if she did not, then who would?
Eric’s father was not going to like hearing that his son had spent a day in the hospital. Could they convince him his son had stumbled onto some magic mushrooms? She hated the lie, and decided she’d leave it to Eric to decide if he was going to be truthful or lie to his father.
A notary public? That was interesting. Especially after all she’d learned from Slater. Someone was forging EUCs and selling them to gunrunners. She figured a person could sell one of those certificates for an impressive amount. The certificates were an absolute necessity to transport arms into a foreign country.
