by Alex Archer
“A cargo ship carrying artifacts stolen from an Iranian museum that was destroyed and looted during the war,” she read instead, “was detained by the Syrian authorities a few days ago.”
“Is that so? Doesn’t sound like the weather to me.”
Ignoring him, Annja read more. “The captain was shot dead, and the rest of the crew was missing. Sounds like someone was shipping stolen artifacts and got caught. Good for the authorities. Too bad they didn’t catch the bastards behind the shipment.”
Garin grunted, and Annja eyed him curiously. She would not put such an escapade past him. And just when she started to ask him about the possibility of his involvement, a tinny jangle inside Garin’s suit pocket prompted the man to pull out his cell phone.
He looked at the caller ID, made a face, then with a heavy sigh answered it. “What do you want, Roux?”
“Say hi from me,” Annja chimed in, faking great enthusiasm because it got her a head shake from Garin in return.
“Annja says hi....He says hi right back at you.”
“Such a dear.”
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?...Ah. Of course, you’re welcome. But I didn’t throw the auction. There was trouble with my credentials. I hope you enjoy the pearl.”
Annja could just make out Roux’s voice from where she sat and heard him say, “...plan to use it in the same manner the sultan once did.”
That made Garin growl. The man was very growly today. “Is that all you wanted, old man?” He paused, listening. “No, we found each other’s company entirely by accident. I’m tracking...” Garin looked at her.
She offered him a sweet smile, much sweeter than she could normally manage. She was getting loopier by the second sitting here doing nothing.
Turning toward the driver’s side window, Garin didn’t lower his voice, but his tone was clipped as he added, “Bracks.”
So, apparently Roux knew him by name, as well. Interesting.
“No, I’m not going to get her involved any more than she already is. Goodbye, Roux.”
He snapped the phone shut and tucked it away. He cast her a dark glare. “I can hear your thoughts screaming at me, Annja.”
“Yes, well, then I won’t have to repeat them if you can hear them loud and clear. Answer?”
“The men who took you to the hotel, the men we followed here, are...or were...my men.” Tension laced his tight voice. “Except for Bracks.”
“Huh.”
“I thought they were working for me, but whatever was going on in that hotel room was not my call.”
Definitely tension. “If you say so. What happened? Have a falling out with the fedora gang?”
“They are not my gang, nor are they in any way employees.”
“But if they were your men...?”
“I have occasion to deal with freelancers.”
“And those freelancers did something that wasn’t ordered by you.”
“Like you, I’m trying to figure this out. What’s going on with the men I had dealt with, and how the hell Bracks is involved.”
“A man you know well.”
Jaw pulsing and fingers squeezing the steering wheel, he finally conceded, “Well enough.”
“Does this have something to do with you being so grumpy the other night when I stopped by?”
“Annja, that morning I missed a...shipment...because the double agent who was spying on us wouldn’t talk. Later, the munitions I ordered from Kabul were shoddy and filled with sand. I lost an auction for the Sultan of Brunei’s black pearl to Roux—of all people. And then the men I thought were taking care of tying up some loose ends for me are also doing something on the side that I don’t want to be involved in. And they are apparently also working for―”
“Bracks,” she said. “Sounds like Garin had a very bad day.”
He sneered at her condescending tone. “Let’s call it a bad couple of days, and leave it at that. Okay?”
“Fine by me.” She’d had days as bad as they could get—fending off sharks, getting swept out to sea by a tsunami, fighting ninjas on the streets of Tokyo, the associates who had died because they’d got involved with her—so she wouldn’t push. “So the shipment you missed... Did the Syrian authorities detain it?”
The look he cast her chilled her blood. And answered that question.
“Okay.” She turned in her seat to face him full-on. “And this something on the side you don’t want to be involved in, it has to do with vampires and Romani coming after you with stakes?”
“You keep bringing up vampires, which surprises the hell out of me, knowing you to be a skeptic.”
“I’m using the term facetiously.” She turned off her phone and tucked it in a pocket. “The belief in vampires is strong in this region of the world. And Bracks apparently wants to capitalize on that belief for his gain.”
“Did he say that to you?”
She nodded. “He was forthcoming in the hotel room. Wanted to take the skull from me, or at the very least damage it.”
“The skull with the brick in it. The one everyone thinks belongs to a vampire?”
“Yep. Yet if the man wanted to perpetuate the belief, I don’t understand why he’d want to destroy the skull. He almost shot a hole right through it. And how is he of concern to you? You said he wasn’t one of your freelancers.”
“Never. He’s just gotten mixed into a vicious tangle that I am trying to unweave. The two of us...”
“Yes?”
“Annja, why are you so damned nosy?”
“It’s what I do,” she replied cheerfully. “Archaeologist. We dig deeper.”
He lifted an eyebrow at that one.
“Bracks and I have been dancing around each other for some time. It’s not your concern, Annja. Even though we find ourselves sitting together right now, waiting for the same men, I believe it’s for vastly different reasons.”
“No vampire for you?”
“No. And yet...”
The man scrubbed a hand through his hair and then clenched the steering wheel so tightly Annja prepared to dodge the pieces.
“What is it? Come on, Garin. Spill.”
“Every time I think about vampires,” he conceded, “my thoughts go back to the night in the warehouse. There was blood. And lots of it.”
“Like someone had been murdered?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. The blood was in bags.”
“Ready for transport? For donation? Transfusion?”
“Yes, it looked like the sort of medical-issue plastic bags that I’ve seen holding blood. The thing that bothers me is I thought I saw...” He blew out a breath and rapped the steering wheel with a thumb. “I think I saw a child in the warehouse.”
“You mean slave labor?”
“I’m not sure of anything. It was probably a frail man. I may have imagined it. I was dodging a fist at the time. But whatever’s going on doesn’t feel right to me. And I certainly didn’t order it. I would never involve myself in anything that would bring harm to a child. You know that about me, don’t you?”
She nodded. She hadn’t seen proof of his honor, but instinctually knew the man could never bring himself so low. “So you want to control the actions of the freelancers you work with?”
He turned to stare directly at her and it wasn’t a friendly look. More chastising, and I’m going to punch you if you don’t shut up soon.
“Ah. I see. You don’t want to be held accountable for what your freelancers might be doing with children for other clients.”
“Like I said, it could have been a frail old man. I got a quick look while fighting off Canov’s thugs.”
She hadn’t heard that name before, and was pretty sure it had just slipped through Garin’s carefully monitored list of Details He Was Willing to Divulge. So she wasn’t going to call attention to that slip, but instead tucked it away for future reference.
“Okay,” she said, “so we’re dealing with assholes.”
“Good call.”
<
br /> “Assholes who also work for you. What does that make you?”
Now he tilted his head to her and she couldn’t define the look he gave her, though she could feel it melt her skin.
“I’ve never claimed to have an upstanding nature,” he said.
“That you have not.”
“We can’t all be Annja Creed, out to protect the innocent and downtrodden.”
“All right, enough of that.”
“Somehow Bracks has taken charge of them. I don’t know if it was purposeful or not. Canov is a free agent. He works for many.”
“We’re dealing with some kind of belief in vampires combined with lots of blood and maybe children. And weapons? What kind of weapons were these men running?”
“All sorts. But I don’t think it’s related to your situation in any way.”
“There were a handful of weapons in the hotel room.”
“Random pistols and grenades, Annja. It was a display of firepower, a threat to frighten you.”
“Yes, I suppose. Didn’t work.”
“I need to get inside that country house and see what Bracks is up to. I counted two going in, but I have no idea how many were inside before they got here.”
“The shapeless shadows moving in front of the windows don’t help much, either. How about I go out and reconnaissance while you stay here and keep an eye on the front door?”
“Why you?”
“I’m smaller and more stealthy.”
“Is that so?”
“Says the muscle-bound man who is a half a foot taller than me. I can slip into small spaces, like through the hedgerows. So I win. I go out.”
“I don’t even want you here, Annja. This is not your battle.”
“Right, you get to keep all the spoils. But when Bracks kidnapped my producer he made it my battle.”
“Would it matter if I asked you to stand down?”
“No. I’m in it for the win now. You got a pistol?”
With a reluctant sigh, he took the pistol from the holster under his left arm and checked the magazine. The semiautomatic gun was fully loaded.
“What is that?”
“A .380 ACP. Not for civilian ownership. Fifteen rounds. It packs a kick, so watch it.”
“Nice.”
He handed the pistol to her. “No sword?”
“Again, small and inconspicuous is the theme here.”
“Guns are noisier than swords.”
“Yeah, but bullets work better at a distance, which I’m hoping to maintain. Give me ten minutes before you start worrying. Otherwise, I’ll break out my ‘help me’ sneeze to alert you.”
“If you go missing during reconnaissance I will be better off.”
“Then you should have stayed away from my dig. You don’t think I can keep my mouth shut regarding your nefarious deeds?”
“I know you can, but there are some things I don’t need you to know about at all.”
“Fair enough. I’ll try to forget all the bad stuff you’ve ever done—wait. That could take a while.” She grinned and tucked the pistol into the back of her cargo pants. “Back in a few.”
* * *
THE VINES MUST have been growing for decades on the single-story house. Red brick only showed through here and there. Must keep the place cool in the summer, Annja mused. Thick shrubbery skirted two sides of the property, and beyond a short stretch of field she could see forest. Just another unassuming cottage on the edge of the city, set off from the neighbors by woods and an empty lot crowded with rusting farm equipment and fence posts tangled with barbed wire.
Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed.
The fresh air didn’t calm her pounding heart. Of course, she didn’t want calm, only stealth. She had to remain alert for periphery guards, even though they hadn’t seen any on stakeout.
Tracking across the dry lawn that crunched under her hiking boots, she ducked below a window and was thankful there were none of the thorned shrubs on this side of the house.
It was risky to attempt surveillance in daylight, but Garin was parked close by, and though Annja constantly vacillated on whether or not he was friend or foe, when the chips were down, the man did tend to rally to her side.
On the other hand, he was obviously keeping information from her—had even said he’d be better off without her—so she wouldn’t grow complacent. It was not out of character for Garin Braden to stab a friend in the back if it suited his needs. Or drive off, leaving her to fend on her own.
From where she knelt, she couldn’t hear voices from inside, but she did pick up the gurgle of running water around back of the house. Sounded larger than a stream. She guessed they could be close to the Jeřice brook, which she’d noted from the train as they’d neared Chrastava. Almost a river, the Jeřice provided a convenient escape route if those inside the house were suddenly pressed to leave in a hurry, and in a different direction than they had arrived. And if they were spooked by Garin’s SUV.
Annja crept along the side of the brick house. Cool vines brushed her arm and leg. The back shed, where the car they had tracked was parked, sat only ten feet from the house. She scampered from building to building, keeping low. The pistol pressed against her spine had warmed and she liked the safety of feeling it against her skin, though she wasn’t keen on guns. Murder was never right. Except sometimes she had no option but to make the kill. She never did it lightly.
A peek inside the shed through a dirt-frosted window showed her it was empty, except for a few garden implements, hoes and a rake leaning against one wall, and beside them some stacked tin buckets. This place may have once been a thriving farm or even a vast garden.
Angling around the back of the shed, she spied a dirt path that led to a narrow copse of oak trees, and beyond that...
“The brook.” Running low and quickly, she reached the tree cover and passed through to the other side where a sturdy wooden dock boasted two boats with their motors propped up at the hulls. “Getaway vehicles?”
But to where? And from what? Liberec would be the closest town, though she wasn’t sure if the brook wended that direction. The mystery of what exactly she was dealing with was driving her nuts.
Katana Man had said something about a child gone missing. Was there even a connection?
She hoped Doug and Luke had reached Luke’s hotel room safely, and with the skull intact. Doug was probably upset he wasn’t alongside her filming the action. The guy could be annoying at times with his overzealous dedication to recording the weird and wacky train wrecks that the show’s viewers tuned in to watch.
But whatever the men who had shored these boats at the dock were involved in did not include vampires, she felt sure.
Turning, Annja looked into the barrel of a gun. The arm extended beyond the pistol grip met a narrow shoulder and the face cracked a grin glossed with tobacco juice.
“You weren’t the one we expected, but you’ll do,” the man said.
She slowly moved a hand around her hip, but the guy wasn’t stupid. He shoved the pistol barrel between her eyes. “Hands up!”
Not wanting to risk reaching for her gun and taking a bullet, Annja complied, raising her hands slowly. He moved the gun across her temple and to the back of her head, and gave her a shove to walk toward the house.
She sneezed, and hoped the sound would carry.
Chapter 9
Garin saw the shadowed figure stalk toward the back of the property. Leaning across the shift, he palmed the Heckler & Koch he’d stashed in the glove compartment. With the growing darkness as cover, he made way across the gravel road and down to the house, using the high hedgerows to conceal his approach.
Annja’s signal sneeze had told him she’d been discovered. Already he heard shouts inside the house. He rushed the front door, shooting at the doorknob as he did. A bullet pierced the doorplate and, when he arrived, one kick pushed the door in.
Half a dozen shocked faces turned toward him—but not a single one belonged to Bracks.
Damn it, where was that shifty Brit?
Annja took advantage of the element of surprise to kick away the man who’d been holding her wrists behind her back. She returned with a roundhouse kick to his jaw, the force of her strength and the hard boot toe dropping him flat. He lay on the floor, unconscious.
Garin fired at a man who aimed a pistol at him. Cartilage and blood split out from the man’s knee. Another shot to the man’s bicep injured his weapon arm. The semiauto went flying.
The rest of the team rallied, grabbing weapons and shouting to kill him.
The one man he had most hoped to see wasn’t here. Could Bracks be in another room, or had he already escaped? But how and where? They had sat watching the place for over an hour. And he’d followed the car since Chrastava. Had Bracks slipped out before or after he’d begun to tail them? This made no sense. He didn’t want to take the time to go through his former freelancers one by one to get to the core of the problem, but right now, the low men on the rack were forcing him to keep Annja safe.
The sound of a sword cutting through air filled the room. Annja’s battle sword sliced a clean line through one of the thug’s thighs. He yelped, going down, gripping the wound. Garin did love it when she wielded Joan’s sword. It was an extension of her body and mind. A beautiful thing to watch.
If there weren’t a pistol aimed at him. Shifting his own aim to the left, Garin fired. When he heard the opposition’s weapon report first, he instinctually ducked. Plaster from the wall behind him spattered the back of his head.
“That one is the brains,” Annja said, nodding toward the skinny man in a red vest who was reloading a rifle. “Please try to control yourself and keep him alive.”
“The rest fall,” Garin announced, ignoring her protest. He took no pleasure in killing men, but unlike Annja felt no angst in defending his own hide.
Two men were down and wounded. Annja dropped a third and the fourth, but didn’t kill them. That bothered Garin. They would prove messy if he allowed them to live. But he wouldn’t put a bullet in their brain with Annja watching him. The woman had morals, and he couldn’t argue with them.
Because she’d just argue back.
