by Alex Archer
Between now and the time the gunmen reach you, you have to come up with a plan. And it had better be a good one, she told herself.
The tunnel smelled of dirt and exhaust and a thousand other things she couldn’t identify. It was dimly lit by a series of bare bulbs hanging on the left-hand wall every ten feet. There was just enough light for her to see so she hurried along as fast as she could, staying to the middle of the tracks and trying to be careful where she put her feet.
From behind her came the sound of running footsteps.
At least one of her pursuers, maybe more, as still back there.
Annja pushed herself, trying to put as much distance between them and herself as she could. The tunnel branched several times and she let intuition be her guide, making a left here, a right there, until she realized that she was no longer certain she was even on the same track. At that point she slowed down to a walk to try to figure things out.
She hadn’t yet come upon another subway station, so she had no way of knowing where she was. Common sense told her to keep moving in one direction; eventually she had to hit another station and from there she could gain access to the street. So far she hadn’t seen any trains, either—maybe traffic control had shut them down temporarily.
She kept walking.
After a few more minutes the earth around her began to vibrate with a steady rhythm and she knew that the trains were up and running again. That made her more nervous than she wanted to admit; if something happened, there wasn’t anyplace she could go. She had to find a subway station and soon.
Annja was just starting to wish she’d headed in the other direction at one of the previous forks she’d encountered when a pursuer caught up to her.
He charged her out of the darkness, ramming his shoulder into her midriff and lifting her with his forward momentum. They careered across the width of the tunnel until he slammed her bodily against a nearby column supporting the roof above.
She took the impact badly, not having had time to prepare herself and thought she heard a rib crack as she was crushed between his massive shoulders and the concrete behind her. He kept the pressure on, trying to suffocate her while using his arms to pummel her sides with his massive fists.
As she hadn’t had time to grab a lungful of air, she was already fading quickly, and Annja knew that if she didn’t do something drastic she was going to be in serious trouble.
She brought her right knee up sharply, hammering it into his stomach, but it was like hitting a concrete block with a rubber mallet. She did it again and again, but had no greater luck with her subsequent blows than she’d had with the first. They just bounced off him; the man was a human tank, it seemed. All the while he kept up the punishment with his fists.
Air started to become a scarce commodity and she knew she had to make a move or she was going to pass out. Once that happened it was all over; she’d be completely at her attacker’s mercy.
Her arms were free so she considered boxing him about the ears, but with his head pressed against her side she would have only be able to get to one. She needed something a bit more powerful than that.
Her vision began to dim around the edges, a gray haze floating at the periphery of her sight and slowly moving toward the center. He must have sensed her distress, for he suddenly shifted his feet and shoved forward, driving his shoulder another inch into her solar plexus, sending a wave of dizziness washing through her.
Now or never, Annja, she told herself.
Her hands moved spiderlike over his face, searching. He twisted his head, trying to get away, but she managed to find an eye socket with one hand and rammed her thumb into it.
He let out a howl of pain that filled the air around them like the death knell of some strange beast.
The pressure on her gut relaxed as the man stumbled backward, his hands going to his face. Annja sucked in a great lungful of breath and stumbled away, fighting to clear her head, knowing that he would be on her again in seconds.
Annja straightened up, blinking back the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her. The bald man stood a few feet away, shaking his head like a dog, trying to clear the fluids running down his face.
“I’m going to kill you for that,” he said, and charged forward.
Annja dropped into a crouch, ready for him, and as he rushed forward, she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and went over backward, using her hands and feet to toss him up and over her head as she rolled.
He slammed to the ground, dazed, and Annja didn’t waste any time. She was already there, sword in hand, the point at his throat.
“Who sent you?” she asked, still trying to suck in enough air to calm her screaming lungs. “What do you want?”
She never heard his answer, however, for it was drowned out by the shriek of a train whistle.
She spun around, looking down the tunnel. A light flared there in the depths. As she watched, it drew closer.
A train was coming down the tracks.
Right toward them.
Annja didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait to see what her opponent was doing or how quickly the train might be coming. She knew she had only moments to get out of the danger zone or none of that was going to matter at all.
Annja ran like the devil himself was on her heels.
While moving through the tunnels she’d noticed a shallow niche in the wall every hundred yards or so. She knew these were emergency nooks designed for the transit workers to use in the event that they were accidentally caught in the tunnel with a moving train. The niches weren’t much more than hollowed out spaces in the walls, roughly half a foot deep, if that, but she figured they were enough if you kept your head about you and stayed put until the train passed.
Of course, she had to find one first.
The train whistle wailed again, warning her to get off the tracks, and this time the sound was much closer. She chanced a look back, noting that her opponent was up and on his feet, chasing after her as fast as he could go and that the train had closed half the distance between them already, with no sign of slowing down.
They had two minutes, maybe less, before the train would be upon them.
She faced forward and kept going, her gaze frantically scanning the walls on either side.
There had to one here somewhere! There had to be!
The train closed in.
Annja had only seconds left.
Come on! Where the hell is it?
Then she saw it, barely visible amid the darkness of the tunnel, a shadowy outline that suggested depth.
She flung herself into the emergency niche against the far wall, squeezing her body in as deep as she could get it, worried that the effect of the passing train might be enough to pull her out again into the danger zone.
The man pursuing her was still ten feet away and his body was suddenly silhouetted in the harsh light of the train roaring toward them.
“Run!” Annja screamed, but she couldn’t even hear herself over the roar of the train’s whistle. She had a moment to see his face plainly in the light of the train, could see the terror that distorted his features, could see his outstretched arm as it reached for her…
Annja turned her face away at the last instant, pressing her cheek against the cold concrete behind her and trying to shrink back into the wall itself.
The train flashed by just inches from her face. She could feel the hot breath of its passage like the exhalations of a wild beast come to devour those that didn’t belong, as it had devoured her pursuer only seconds before. Her nerves were screaming and all she wanted to do was run away, but she knew if she left the niche she would be splattered from here to Pennsylvania Station. It took all of her willpower to stand still and not move. Her ears were filled with the howl of the train’s brakes as the conductor realized that there had been something more than just the usual rats in the tunnel and he tried to bring the train to a stop, but he was far too late.
It swept past her and Annja sucked a great gasp of
air into her lungs, not even aware until that moment that she had been holding her breath.
That was too close.
AS ANNJA WAS RUNNING FROM her pursuers in the tunnels beneath Midtown Manhattan, a Gulfstream aircraft under private ownership arrived at Kennedy International Airport. Aboard were Henshaw, Roux and a half dozen of Henshaw’s operatives he’d decided to bring over to help supplement the team that was already in place.
They passed through customs without difficulty and then split into two groups. Henshaw accompanied Roux to the car he had waiting outside, while his men headed for the safe house in Brooklyn overlooking Annja’s loft apartment. Henshaw would meet up with them later, once he was satisfied that Roux had been safely ensconced in his usual hotel.
For a man like Roux, nothing but the Waldorf-Astoria would do. He’d been staying there under a variety of names for more than one hundred years and saw no reason to change now. Exquisite accommodations, superb service and a devotion to the privacy of their guests were the attributes Roux looked for in a hotel and the Waldorf did not disappoint.
Reaching the car, Henshaw dismissed the driver and took over that chore himself, not trusting anyone else to do it when he was personally available. He waited until Roux was buckled in and then eased out into traffic, ready for the hour-long drive through the Queens–Midtown Tunnel and across Manhattan to where the hotel stood on Park Avenue and Fiftieth.
Along the way, Roux asked for an update on the intelligence that Henshaw had been gathering on the Dragon.
“What little information we’ve been able to obtain seems to indicate that the Dragon became operational again about three years ago. He has done odd jobs here and there during that time—nothing too flashy and certainly nothing along the lines of his previous activity. It is almost as if he was injured for a long while and is now testing his skills, learning again just what he is capable of.”
“But it is him for certain?” Roux asked.
Henshaw nodded. “I believe so, sir. The hallmarks are there. The risky, maybe even reckless, nature of the contracts he takes on. The precision in which they are carried out. The telltale symbol—the paper dragon—left behind at each scene.”
“Damn!” Roux said, and Henshaw mentally agreed. If the Dragon was after Annja, and it was looking more and more as if that were the case, then they were going to have to step up their security in order to keep her safe.
Annja was a fiercely independent person; he didn’t want to think about how angry she’d be when she found out that she was being followed, even if it was in her best interest.
Henshaw had spoken to his people on the ground right after deplaning and now he shared what he had learned with Roux.
“She went where?” the older man exclaimed, after hearing what Henshaw had to say.
“To see a hypnotherapist,” his butler repeated.
“Whatever for?”
“I don’t know. Shall I have one of the men break into the therapist’s office to obtain the records of her visit?”
Roux shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary. At least, not yet. Annja will probably tell us herself.”
“Very good,” Henshaw said, and put down the cell phone he’d just picked up. He wasn’t sure Roux was correct, but he’d learned a long time ago that it wasn’t his place to argue with his employer.
Just as he disconnnected, though, it rang. He answered it, listened for several minutes, thanked the caller and then hung up again.
“There’s been a new development,” he said grimly. “A team was waiting outside the television studios where Ms. Creed is employed. She was chased into the underground and there was apparently a bit of a scuffle.”
“Was she injured?” Roux asked. Henshaw was the master of the understatement. A “scuffle” in his view was other people’s idea of a major combat engagement.
Henshaw shook his head. “No, sir. Our people involved themselves in the confrontation as soon as they were able to and in the resulting confusion, she slipped away from both groups.”
“So she still doesn’t know that we are watching her?”
Henshaw shrugged. “She clearly knows someone is watching, sir, but whether or not she has figured out that it is us is another question entirely. If I had to guess, I’d say no, though it won’t take her long to figure it out if we have to interfere again.”
He waited a moment while Roux digested the new information and then asked, “Shall I call off the surveillance?”
“Heavens, no! Clearly she needs it. Tell your people to stay close.”
“Very good, sir.”
They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Arriving at the Waldorf, Roux stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel, heading directly for the main dining room, intent on a late supper. He knew Henshaw would deal with the various details while he ate—take care of checking him into the usual suite he reserved each time he stayed there, seeing that his bags were brought up and unpacked properly, even arranging for breakfast at the proper time in the morning. After all, it was what he paid Henshaw for and Roux was not stingy with his personal comfort.
Later, Roux was relaxing with an after-dinner brandy when he heard the door to the suite open. A moment later Henshaw entered the room.
His majordomo had changed out of his usual perfectly pressed suit into casual slacks and a windbreaker, both of which, as well as his athletic shoes, were a very deep blue in color. Roux nodded appreciatively. The color wouldn’t look entirely out of place in a crowd and the deep shade would actually help him to better blend in with the shadows than a pure black outfit.
“Are you all set, sir?” Henshaw asked.
Roux nodded. “I take it you are off to see our girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need to find this Dragon character before he finds Annja, Henshaw. Her life may depend on it.”
Henshaw nodded. “We’re working on it.”
Roux waved a hand in dismissal. “All right, I won’t keep you.”
“Good night, sir.”
THERE WAS LITTLE TRAFFIC AT this time of night and Henshaw made good time crossing from Manhattan over to Brooklyn. He located the correct street, then parked in the garage below the apartment building where his team had set up shop two days earlier.
He rode the elevator to the fifth floor and knocked on the entrance to apartment nine. After a moment the door opened slightly and Henshaw found himself looking down the barrel of a 9 mm handgun. Its owner recognized him and let him through the door.
The surveillance team of eight individuals allowed them to box the target and handle the job properly. If one of them was in danger of being seen, then another member of the team could either step up or fall back, preventing them from blowing their cover because Annja had made some sudden move or change of direction.
They thought she might have seen them the day before, because she’d suddenly gone crazy, sprinting down side streets and dashing across traffic. But when she stopped right next to Olivia, and didn’t realize that she was part of the surveillance team, they knew she must have caught wind of someone else. That was when they figured out they weren’t the only team on the job.
They had relayed the information to Henshaw before he’d left France and he’d given them explicit instructions what to do should they discover who, besides themselves, was following her.
As it turned out, it was a good thing he had.
He went into the kitchen where several of the team were congregating around a fast-food dinner. Pulling up a chair next to Marco, his team leader, he said, “Give me an update, please.”
Marco did. He took Henshaw through the entire evening’s operation, from when they had picked up Annja that morning outside her loft, all the way to their involvement in the confrontation between Annja and the Dragon’s hit team in the subway tunnels hours later.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s back in her apartment. You can see her from in there,” Marco said, nodding at the closed bedroom
door on the other side of the living room.
“Who’s got the watch?” Henshaw asked, getting up.
“Jessi and Dave.”
“All right, good.” Henshaw addressed everyone around the table, and not just Marco, when he said, “Good job, everyone. Get some rest while you can, as I think things are going to start heating up and we want to be ready.”
With a chorus of “yes, sirs” at his back, Henshaw crossed the darkened living room, knocked once on the bedroom door and then slipped inside.
The lights in the room were off, to prevent what they were doing from being backlit and allowing someone outside to see in, but there was a little light coming in through the window, at least enough to see the shapes of Jessi and Dave over by the window.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Jessi’s soft voice came floating out of the darkness and over to him. “That woman’s obsessed. You’d think she’d be exhausted after what happened down in the subway, but she acts as if it was just a walk in the park. She started practicing those crazy martial-arts moves she does the minute she returned and she hasn’t stopped since.”
Henshaw joined the two of them on the other side of the room. Without saying anything, Dave handed him the binoculars he’d been using to keep their charge in sight.
Annja’s building was across the street and one over from the one they occupied. They were on the fifth floor and she was on the fourth, giving them an excellent downward viewpoint into the loft she called home. She had the curtains open at the moment and through them Henshaw could see her working out in the large open space in the middle of the room. She was dressed in a white tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her feet bare. In her hands she held her sword and even as he watched she threw herself into another sword kata with deadly concentration.
Henshaw remembered the way she’d handled it that night at Roux’s and for the first time he realized just how good with it she had become. It was like an extension of her body and as she twisted, turned and flowed around the room in the midst of her practice; he sometimes had a hard time recognizing where the sword ended and she began.
