by Alex Archer
Marcos seized her by the shoulders, lifted her off the ground and smashed her against a wall.
Even through the pain she knew he was coming for her and she tried to push herself up, tried to get to her feet, but her head was screaming, the pain mesmerizing in its ruthlessness, and all she managed to do was a kind of stumbling half crouch. She tried to summon her sword again, tried to will it back into her hand like she’d done so many times before, but the pain was so intense that she couldn’t seem to connect.
This time he grabbed her by the back of her shirt and the waistband of her pants and hurled her across a crowded counter. The sound of metal clanging made her think of her sword again and she tried to call it to hand. She could feel it in the otherwhere, straining to answer her summons, but she was dizzy, and it was like trying to see through cloth, hazy and indistinct.
Had her head injury done something to her? Had it cut off her connection with the sword?
Panic swelled and her hands shuffled fearfully about the countertop, searching for something that she could use to defend herself with as Marcos stalked closer.
“I told you,” he mocked as he came toward her. “Told you that you’d get your own. Now it’s time for you to understand just who’s in charge of this expedition!”
He grabbed her and spun her to face him, which was precisely the kind of targeting she needed. With him directly in front of her, she couldn’t miss.
Her arm came up and the paring knife that she’d scooped up off the counter came thundering down into Marcos’s shoulder.
He howled and then backhanded her across the face, sending her stumbling across the room to the launch’s industrial-size oven.
His blow had either knocked something into place or else the effects of his original strike were finally wearing off, for the pain in her head began subsiding. The thick blanket that had wrapped itself about her senses was fading, and as she stood there, arms braced on the stove, head hanging down, she realized that she could see. Those scratched and bloody things attached to her arms? Those were her hands. And if she could see her hands...
Behind her, she heard a grunt and then a clatter as Marcos pulled the blade from his shoulder and tossed it aside.
“I’m going to make you suffer for that.” He let loose a roar of rage and she could hear him rush toward her.
Not this time....
She stayed where she was, letting him think that nothing had changed, that he was about to vent his fury on a helpless, wounded woman, and then, when he’d committed himself, when he’d generated too much forward momentum to be able to stop, she spun, calling her sword to hand as she did so.
The last thing Marcos saw was the smile on her battered face as her sword appeared, the blade practically humming with eagerness to avenge the wrongs done to her that night.
She had to give him credit—he tried to stop. His mind sent the command to his feet to slow down, turn aside, but his feet never actually received the order because Annja’s blade had already slashed through his neck.
Annja completed the turn, stepping out of the way as she did so, so that she could watch Marcos’s lifeless body slip to the ground.
The only sounds left in the room were the ticking of the clock on the stove and Annja’s breathing.
Annja wiped her blade clean and tossed the bloodied cloth aside when she was finished.
Oh, Claire, come out, come out, wherever you are.
All she could hear was the faint sound of a boat’s engine starting up.
The noise was probably louder than she realized, given the messed-up state of her hearing, but nonetheless it was recognizable to her.
Then it hit her—Claire had just fired the engine on the boat’s launch.
Her mind flashed with possible actions. There was no way she’d make it down three decks and across half the ship in order to stop Claire before they cast off. Nor did she have a long-range weapon—like Hugo’s rifle, which she’d carelessly left behind on the dive platform—that she could bring to bear from a distance. No, this was going to have to be up close and personal, and there was only one way she could think of doing that.
Hopefully it wasn’t too late.
She ran for the stairs to the deck above.
Her feet felt clumsy, infinitely too slow, as she threw herself up the stairs hoping that desire alone would make her get there faster. Fifteen steps in all and then she was out on the open deck, turning, turning, searching for the sound, trying to pinpoint its location....
There!
Starboard side, moving stern to bow.
She raced in that direction, cut across the boat to the other side just in time to see the launch headed forward with Claire at the helm.
Claire was too involved in piloting the boat, something she apparently wasn’t all that accustomed to, to look up to the deck above and see Annja racing along ahead of her, sword in hand.
You are only gonna get one shot at this....
Don’t think, she told herself, just do.
Annja raced forward, stepped up onto the gunwale of the ship and threw herself into space without a thought to the consequences.
39
Her fall lasted mere seconds at most, but to Annja it felt like an eternity as her mind tried to calculate trajectories and relative speeds and weight-mass ratios against landing surfaces.
The simple fact of the matter was that she was either going to hit the boat, which would be good, as that was the end result she was hoping for, or she was going to miss and go for a drink in the ocean blue, leaving herself vulnerable to any number of counterattacks—from getting shot by Claire to being run over by the motor launch.
As she dropped unexpectedly out of the sky, Annja really hoped it was the former.
The launch rushed forward, Claire intent at the helm, and Annja saw that she was going to miss her target. Instead of landing in the launch, she crashed down right in the middle of the forward bow, directly in front of the windshield.
And then she bounced.
The speed and forward motion of the boat sent her body soaring right over Claire, where she stood at the controls. Then like a stone skipping off the surface of a lake, she bounced again....
Her sword flashed out, her hands locked on the hilt and the blade buried itself into the deck of the launch, stopping her dead in her tracks the way an ice ax would stop a climber’s fall.
Annja had a second to breathe in a sigh of relief and then she released the sword and rolled away from the center of the boat. Just as she did so, Claire turned and put two shots into the very spot where Annja had been.
The muscles in Annja’s body ached from the abuse she’d put them through, but she didn’t let that stop her as she rolled in the other direction, spoiling Claire’s aim another time as she put three more shots into the teak decking.
When Annja discovered the edge of the boat by crashing against the starboard gunwale, she knew she couldn’t roll any farther. Claire would have her in her sights in seconds and would be anticipating the move to port. Rolling toward starboard would only put her into the sea, something she’d just worked pretty hard to avoid.
As Claire lined up a final shot, Annja grabbed a metal tool chest and flung it forward, smacking Claire hard enough that she let go of the gun. As the boat tipped and met a strong swell, the gun slid and then disappeared somewhere in the stern of the boat near the engine.
Claire threw herself after it.
Oh, no, you don’t, Annja thought and threw herself after Claire.
The two women collided roughly, each trying to gain the upper hand. Claire ended up on top, and she reared back and pummeled Annja with one fist after another.
Annja twisted away. After the beating she’d taken at Marcos’s hands, Annja wasn’t up for a repeat performance.
Now Claire was
off balance and on all fours, trying to fight to get back to her feet. And Annja took advantage of the opportunity to land a massive front kick to the underside of Claire’s chin.
The move put Claire flat on her back.
Annja stood over her, hands bunched into fists, waiting for Claire to get up, but the other woman stayed down, unmoving.
Finally! Annja thought.
She stalked over to the stern of the boat, looking for the gun. A sound caught Annja’s attention and she turned, straightening up just in time to take a flying kick with both legs right to the chest.
The momentum of the blow carried Annja over the rear gunwale and she scrambled to grab hold of something, anything, as she toppled backward. Her fingers snatched at the edge of the engine cowling and stopped her slide.
With a grin of triumph, Claire scooped up the gun, pointed it at Annja and mouthed, Goodbye.
Annja didn’t wait around. Staring down the barrel of a .45 was all the motivation she needed to get the heck out of the way as quickly as possible. She let go of the engine cowling, and the wind carried her right off the back of the boat into the water.
The water felt like a brick wall when she hit it, leaving her dazed and confused. Her fingers had a hold of some kind of rope or cord hanging off the back of the boat and she instinctively tightened her grip. The line, whatever it was, unfurled, spooling out behind the boat a short distance before snapping taut with a suddenness that nearly took her arm out of the socket. She held on for dear life, knowing that this one little cord might mean the difference between life and death.
The boat’s wake kept trying to force her head under the water and it was all she could do to keep her mouth and nose out of the depths in order to keep breathing.
Annja knew she had to do something. She could already feel her strength starting to wane from the constant battering she was taking behind the boat; if she waited too long she might not have the strength to do anything at all. She needed to get back into the boat.
Fighting against the current, Annja brought her left hand up and put it on the rope. Holding on with her left, she brought her right a bit higher and then repeated the process. Inch by inch, hand over hand, she pulled herself back toward the boat.
She had managed to close about half the distance when the launch hit a particularly bad swell and Annja lost her grip. The launch leaped away from her as if shot from a cannon and only a feverish grab for the very end of the rope saved her from the ocean depths.
Annja hung there, at the very end of the rope, the salt water stinging her eyes, the wind whipping at her face, her arms aching. She was so tired; all she wanted to do was let go.
But then the image of Dr. Knowles and his excavation team rose in her mind and she found a renewed strength.
Hand over hand, she started to inch toward the boat again.
With every passing second Annja thought Claire would look up, see her hanging on and put a bullet through her skull. To her great surprise, it didn’t happen. Claire kept the launch on a north-by-northeast heading and was scanning the horizon, obviously looking for something. It wasn’t until Annja had dragged herself all the way to the back of the boat that she realized what it was Claire was headed toward.
The Sea Dancer.
The jammed controls would have kept the vessel moving in the same direction until it ran out of gas or hit something. With the damage to the Pride rendering it inoperable, Claire was searching for a substitute.
Excellent idea, Claire.
The boat was already rocking about because of the speed and the choppiness of the water, so Claire didn’t notice Annja standing behind her.
Annja considered calling her sword and using that to subdue Claire, but something just didn’t feel right about it. Annja reached up and touched the tender spots on her face where Claire had been wailing away earlier. This was no longer about business; this had become personal.
At that moment, Claire suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. Whatever it was she had meant to do, she never got the chance to do it as Annja snaked her forearm around Claire’s neck and under her chin, then clamped her arms on her opposite biceps. Claire struggled, but it was over almost before it had begun.
Annja spied a length of rope and used it to bind her captive. Only once Claire was tied hand and foot did Annja take charge of the launch’s engine to chase the distant silhouette of the Sea Dancer—the ship she intended to use to transport Claire back to the City of the Sun.
40
Chatham Bay
Cocos Island
The queen was waiting for Annja and her captive as she pulled the launch into Chatham Bay late that afternoon.
Annja hopped out of the launch and dragged it higher onto the beach, where it wouldn’t drift away. Claire sat on the floor of the boat. Annja had gagged her earlier, to cut off the endless stream of threats the woman spouted, but all Claire did now was stare in sullen anger.
To think she’d been so swayed by Claire’s lies.
Live and learn.
Annja took hold of Claire’s arm and helped her stand up, then tried to assist her in getting out of the boat. Claire was unable to walk, or move at all, in fact, so Annja untied the rope from Claire’s hands and feet.
Once they were on the sand, they approached the queen, who was flanked by a pair of Incan guards.
The queen was dressed in lightweight robes of bright colors that reminded Annja of Indian sarongs. She sat on a beautiful throne, a woven carpet beneath it, a canopy overhead.
The queen smiled when she saw Annja and her smile grew even wider when she recognized who it was that Annja had with her.
“Well, sword-bearer,” the queen said as Annja stepped up and bowed in front of her. “Have you fulfilled the conditions of your debt?”
“I have.” Annja gestured at Claire. “Here is your son’s killer, as promised.”
Claire’s eyes grew wide and she fell to her knees, begging the queen for mercy.
The queen watched all this for a moment and then ordered Claire to be quiet, telling her that she could plead for her life later. For once, Claire listened.
“And her companions?” the queen asked.
“They didn’t live through the confrontation.”
The queen nodded. She watched Annja closely as she asked, “And you?”
Annja raised her eyes to meet the queen’s cool gaze. “I am ready to accept the judgment passed upon me in exchange for the lives of my friends, as previously agreed.”
Annja refused to let the queen see any emotion other than stoic resolve. There was no other option; she was determined that she and the others were going to get off this island alive.
“By order of Inca Tupac, your death sentence has been commuted. You are free to go, as are your friends. They have been well cared for and are ready to leave.”
Annja didn’t know what to say. Words escaped her. Annja’s selfless act not only saved those under her charge, but ultimately her own life, as well. It was an act worthy of the sword-bearer and Annja felt a fresh sense of pride at having been chosen to carry that burden. She vowed anew to continue to uphold the principles the sword’s original bearer had held true.
She looked at Claire, huddled at the feet of the queen, and wasn’t sure whether leaving her to her fate was the right thing to do anymore.
Could she make one more deal with this queen?
Claire made the decision for her as she sprang for a dagger on the belt of one of the guards and lunged for the queen.
The queen’s face froze in terror, the guards too stunned to react.
Annja, sword in hand now, plunged it swiftly through Claire’s truly evil heart.
The queen closed her eyes and bent her head, as if in prayer. Her two guards obeyed her lead.
Annja remained where she was; she could
n’t seem to look away from the queen.
Noises in the jungle nearby broke the spell.
This time Annja had no need for her sword, though, as Dr. Knowles and his team, and the rest of the survivors, came into view, flanked by an army of Incan warriors.
Dr. Knowles waved, and many of the others cheered.
Annja smiled.
The queen clapped her hands, and as the guards prepared to escort her back to her mountain sanctuary, she paused and said a strange thing.
“Perhaps one day we will meet again, sword-bearer. And if we do, perhaps you will be willing to tell me the story of how you came to possess that sword of yours.”
And without another word, the queen went on her way, leaving Annja standing there, wondering just what other secrets the woman might be hiding in that mountain sanctuary of hers.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781460324462
TREASURE OF LIMA
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Joe Nassise for his contribution to this work.
Copyright © 2014 by Worldwide Library
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
