by Alex Archer
“One of the sleeping kings.”
Annja thought instantly of Wenceslas and how she’d been investigating the history of the man and the legend he’d inspired. Had she mentioned something to the old man about it? She was sure she hadn’t, but she couldn’t positively remember. There’d been a lot of talk about history in the museum. It was possible.
“One of the sleeping kings is going to end the world?” Annja asked.
“Yes.” Charlie smiled as though she were a particularly bright pupil who’d made an overdue breakthrough.
“The mythology of the sleeping kings is that they’re supposed to save the world,” Annja said.
“Well, these things sometimes go astray,” Charlie said. “That’s why heroes—and heroines—like you were mixed into the weave. To keep everything on track. That’s what you’re going to have to do this time.”
Annja sat and tried to figure out which way to direct the conversation next or even if she should bother. Charlie, as much as she liked him, wasn’t in full possession of his faculties. It was a disheartening thing, but there it was.
How did he know about the sword? a voice in her head shouted.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” Charlie said in a low voice, “but do you happen to know where the men’s room is?”
Annja pointed the way to the sign and watched him walk away.
As soon as Charlie disappeared, Annja made notes about their conversation. The small bells over the door rang. One of Luigi’s servers went to the new arrivals and told them that the restaurant was unfortunately closed for the evening.
“Get out of my way,” an accented voice ordered.
The sharp tone drew Annja’s attention immediately. When she looked up, she saw three men in dark street clothes gazing directly at her.
The server, one of Luigi’s young cousins or nephews, put a hand in the center of the man’s chest to halt his forward movement.
“I told you, we’re—”
The man caught the young server full in the face with a back-fist, then spun and delivered a roundhouse kick. The server sailed backward and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
The man’s eyes focused on Annja. “Ms. Creed, if you come with me, you won’t be hurt. My master has asked that you be taken without harm.”
In that moment Annja caught a flash of a scimitar on the chain at the man’s throat.
“If possible,” the man added. “It doesn’t matter to me.” He reached under his jacket and pulled a pistol free from a shoulder holster.
23
The van jerked violently to the side, then flipped and rolled. Unfettered by a seat belt, Garin slammed against the vehicle’s sides with bruising force. The front of the van was on fire. He felt it through the metal plate that cut the front section off from the cargo area. He didn’t doubt that the men up front had died instantly.
Without warning, the van struck something and went sideways. Despite the reinforcement struts, the vehicle started to come apart. Smoke from the burning front section coiled inside the van. His nose and lungs burned with the noxious fumes.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the vehicle stopped flipping, skidded a few more feet and smashed against something solid. Garin remembered the trees that lined the estate grounds.
They’d smashed into the trees. Garin saw them through the rents in the roof. A branch stabbed into the cargo area.
He also realized they were targets for a second attack.
“Take out the rocket launcher,” Garin commanded. He wasn’t sure if his radio was still operational. He hoped that it was. He also hoped that his snipers had already eliminated the rocket team. If they hadn’t, he was overpaying them.
He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a penlight. Before he could turn it on, another light came on with dazzling brightness.
Incredibly, Roux stood there looking for all the world as if he were out for a Sunday walk. Even standing amid the tangled sprawl of the mercenaries, he looked grim and capable.
“Get them out of here,” Roux ordered. “If you don’t, you’re going to get them all killed.”
Garin didn’t bother with a response. He turned his attention to the doors. The van had come to a stop on its side. One of the mercenaries stood. Blood spattered the man’s face from a broken nose. He looked unfocused and unsteady on his feet.
The doors were jammed. Garin pushed against them, but they wouldn’t open. He stepped back, hampered by the sheer number of people inside the van. Then he braced himself and kicked at the doors. Nothing happened. He kicked twice more before the lock shattered and the twisted hinges screeched.
Conscious of the time passing and grimly aware of how quickly a rocket launcher could be reloaded, he grabbed the semiconscious man and heaved him through the open door. Then he reached for another. In the next second, Roux was there with him, helping him get the men out.
Two were dead. One’s neck lolled at a sickening angle, and the other had a chestful of metal shards from the side of the van that had caught the rocket round blast.
Roux helped Jennifer through the door. The woman seemed dazed, as well. She had a large cut over her right eye.
Roux looked back at Garin.
“Go,” Garin said gruffly. He shone his light around the cargo van’s interior and found the pistol he’d dropped, as well as an H&K MP-5. By the time he’d grabbed his prizes and turned around, Roux was through the door.
Garin looked out the door. The mercenaries began to recover and took up positions among the trees. Flames licked at the front of the van.
Then a spark leapt from one of the second-story windows again. Evidently the snipers hadn’t picked off the rocket team, who’d managed to launch another rocket.
“Garin!” Roux shouted hoarsely.
Garin started to respond, but the missile struck the middle of the van. The explosion knocked him from his feet. Everything turned black.
CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED to Garin in a rush, as if he’d been deep underwater and suddenly surfaced. A face, blurred and indistinct, hung above him. He clenched a big fist and threw a punch. Almost at the same time, he realized the face belonged to Roux. The old man was kneeling beside him. His face was stretched tight in worry.
Roux slapped the blow away as if it were a bothersome insect. Garin thought he must really be out of it if Roux could block him so easily, but he also knew the old man excelled at self-defense.
“Can you get up?” Roux demanded.
Garin read his lips more than he heard him.
“Yes.” Garin tried to get to his feet, but his coordination was shot. He kept expecting another rocket to strike them. With the twisted wreckage of the van burning nearby, he knew the darkness held no safety for them.
Roux stepped forward and Garin felt himself being wrenched to his feet. He groaned in pain. Fiery agony wrapped his midsection, and he wondered if he’d broken his ribs.
In the next instant, a disturbance raked the ground where he’d been. Clods of black earth flew up and left small craters.
“Evidently Salome hires better killers than you do,” Roux groused.
“Look, if all you’re going to do is criticize, I’ll save myself,” Garin replied. He looked at the carnage spread over the estate grounds. “Some of these men worked for me for years. And I bought into your troubles. This is no trouble of mine.”
“You’re right,” Roux said. “I apologize.”
The announcement stunned Garin enough that he forgot about his pain and the fact that bullets tore through the trees around them. Roux rarely apologized for anything.
Roux put Garin up against a tree and looked at him. The old man’s eyes held deadly intensity. “If possible, you need to regroup your men. We can’t let Salome escape with that painting.”
Garin put a hand to the side of his face and adjusted his earpiece. He quickly sorted the living from the dead. Most of the team in the van were alive. Two were dead and three were out of the action. The other groups h
eld their positions around the main house.
“The snipers are still in position,” Garin said. “Salome and her people know they’re out there, though. The snipers took out the men with the rocket launcher.”
“That’s good. Let’s just hope no one else picks up the damnable thing.” Roux glared through the leafy branches at the big house. “True warriors fight with naked steel and close enough to see their opponents’ faces. This is a sacrilege to honor.”
“Honor gets you killed on the battlefield,” Garin said. “It’s better to have superiority. That way, if the other side can see your show of force, maybe no one has to die.”
“Generals have thought that for centuries. It’s not any more true now than it ever was. If a man has to fight you—if you’re going to take something precious from him or threaten his life even if he surrenders—he will. And it won’t matter who he has to go up against to do it. That’s the measure of a man.”
Garin forced the pain from his mind. Survival was all that mattered.
“Can you stand?” Roux asked.
“Yes.”
Roux released him and stepped back.
Garin stood unsteadily, but he stood.
A shadow stepped out of the darkness and closed on Roux. Garin brought up the pistol in his fist and took aim automatically. His finger curled around the trigger.
Roux knocked the pistol aside as Garin fired. The bullet went wide of the target. Garin saw only then that it was Jennifer. She stared at him in shock.
“Sorry,” Garin said. “Didn’t know it was you.” For a moment, he was back in that old mind-set, when it had been Roux and him against the world. Plenty of people had been willing to kill them in those days. Looking back on where he was now, Garin realized things hadn’t changed much.
“Next time, look,” Jennifer snarled.
Chastened, but only a little, Garin reached out for her at the same time Roux did. They both pulled her to the ground just before a fusillade of bullets slammed through the trees.
“The muzzle-flash of your pistol—” Roux said.
“Alerted the shooters still inside the house,” Garin finished.
“Rocket launchers and machine guns,” Jennifer whispered. “We never went up against people like this when we were together.”
“That’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay,” Roux said. “Things in this world insist on getting decidedly more dangerous.” He hesitated. “I do apologize for the way I left.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for an apology?” Jennifer replied.
It was a night for wonders, Garin decided. They still lived in spite of everything, and he was witnessing a side of Roux that he didn’t think he’d ever seen.
“That’s up to you,” Roux said.
“Late or not,” Garin told them, “this is an entirely inappropriate place. Maybe you could shelve the reunion until after we get out of here alive and are one step ahead of the police.”
In minutes, Garin organized his men and they armed themselves again. He set himself with his back to a tree and called out to the snipers. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they responded.
“Sir,” the leader of the security team said, “you don’t have to do this. One of the other men—”
“None of the other men on this side of the main house are in any shape to draw fire,” Garin interrupted.
Four of the men from the van remained mobile. None of them were capable of a hundred-yard dash at the moment. Garin just hoped they could help provide covering fire.
“Let’s do this,” Garin said.
“Yes, sir.”
Garin took a deep breath and ignored the flaming claws that raked his left side. He held the MP-5 in both hands.
Roux’s hand fell on his shoulder. “They’re going to be looking for you.”
“That’s what we’re counting on,” Garin stated.
“Be careful.” Roux squeezed his shoulder and took his hand away.
Garin turned his attention to the seventy-plus yards that separated him from the next copse of trees.
Three snipers had the front of the main house in their field of fire.
“Now,” Garin said, and he broke cover. He drove his feet hard against the ground and sprinted for the trees. Bullets cut the air around him.
24
Before the man’s pistol had time to clear the holster, Annja slung her backpack over her left shoulder and reached for the sword with her right. She had her fingers curled around the hilt when she realized that Luigi and the restaurant staff would see it.
Annja pushed out her breath in frustration. She could explain muggers attempting to rob her in the restaurant, even though it seemed she was the only one they’d come for, but she couldn’t explain the sword.
“Ms. Creed.” The man pointed his weapon at her.
Unable to go on the offensive, Annja turned and ran. She took two long strides, vaulted into the air and threw her feet forward to slide across a table. She dropped her feet to the floor just as the table started to tip, then dropped to her knees. She caught hold of the table’s edge and yanked so that it tipped over completely and formed a momentary barrier. Luigi didn’t stint when it came to furniture. He bought it once and bought it to last.
Bullets hammered the overturned table but didn’t penetrate. Annja hadn’t thought they would. She’d seen a suppressor on the pistol’s snout. That meant the pistol fired subsonic rounds, which generally meant less power.
I’m going to have to reimburse Luigi for that table, Annja thought.
“Get her!” the man roared.
Annja stayed in a crouch as she pushed herself into motion. She kept her attention riveted on the hallway off the main dining area. The hallway led to the back door that led into the alley.
She thought briefly of Charlie, feeling badly that she’d left him behind. They’re not after him, she told herself as she grabbed the partition wall and made the sharp turn. They’re after you.
Her fingers slipped from the corner of the low wall that separated the hallway from the dining area. Out of control, struggling to keep her feet under her, she slammed against the opposite wall hard enough to drive the air from her lungs. She threw her hand out and pushed off into a full run.
Bullets hammered the length of the partition wall. Wooden splinters and jagged pieces that had been colorful ceramic figurines became a dust storm in front of her. She aimed for the panic bar that sealed the door.
Feet slapped the floor behind her.
At the exit, she twisted and slammed a hip against the panic bar. The security system screamed to life as the portal swung open. She passed through and turned right immediately, away from the door as it opened.
Stale, hot air washed over her face as she stepped into the alley. Piles of trash lined the narrow thoroughfare. Homeless people were already working the bags.
“Get down!” Annja yelled. “There’s been a robbery!”
Galvanized into action, the homeless people sought shelter at once.
Annja was tempted to hide, but she knew if she didn’t allow her pursuers to see her they might search the alley and kill everyone in sight. She couldn’t allow that.
So she ran. She stretched out her stride and concentrated on eating up the distance. Her backpack thudded against her back. Despite the adrenaline filling her system and the way she pushed herself, her breathing remained under control. She wanted to reach for the sword but she held off that impulse.
You can do this, she told herself. This is your city. Your turf. They can’t catch you here.
Her phone rang. The noise sounded so loud in the alley that it jangled her nerves. She caught sight of the brightness behind her as the restaurant’s back door opened. The discordant scream of the panic bar siren filled the alley again.
There was no warning this time. The man pursuing her merely opened fire. Bullets slashed the air around her and cracked against the alley wall.
Annja ran across the street as more shots
were fired. A cab missed her by inches and slammed into a delivery van, which braked to an immediate halt.
The confusion disrupted the traffic flow and caused a sudden eruption of car horns.
Annja ran behind the taxi and cut in front of the stalled oncoming traffic.
Footsteps drummed up behind her, and Annja caught sight of a man in her peripheral vision at the same time she spotted a MINI Cooper bolting around the two cars ahead of it. She checked the distance and speed and guessed that she had just enough time before the small car sped through.
The man behind her threw himself in a dive. He managed to wrap a hand around her ankle, but he was on the ground when he did it. The MINI-Cooper driver was concentrating on Annja. He didn’t even see the man on the street.
The man had time to give one startled yelp, then the MINI Cooper smashed over him. His fingers peeled away from Annja’s ankle.
She tripped and went down, then forced herself up on one elbow. The heat from the MINI Cooper’s engine blew over her.
“Oh, my God!” the male driver exclaimed as he got out of his vehicle. “I didn’t even see him! He ran out of nowhere!”
Annja pushed herself to her feet and ran for the nearest alley. Her pursuers hadn’t given up.
LONG MINUTES LATER, once she was certain she’d outdistanced the men chasing her, Annja finally slowed her pace to a walk. When she looked around, she got her bearings and aimed for a second-story cybercafé above a Vietnamese bodega. It operated twenty-four hours and was filled by hardcore gamers, crackers and scammers.
After checking and still not seeing any sign of her pursuers, Annja entered the small stairwell and went up to the cybercafé.
“Hey, Annja,” the guy behind the counter greeted. He was in his early thirties, short and dark haired, with round-lensed glasses and an innocent face. Tattoos featuring koi and dragons covered every square inch of his arms.
“Hey, Graham,” Annja replied. “Can I get a booth?”
“Always.” Graham turned his attention to the massive control panel and performed a few keystrokes.
