by Alex Archer
She glanced up, then stooped. Straightening, she raised a long implement to point almost straight upward from her shoulder. Annja just recognized it as a double-barreled hunting shotgun when both barrels went off with a giant flash and a tremendous sound that boomed around between the steel platform and the sea for what seemed like minutes.
From overhead Annja heard a scream. Then she had to sit down hurriedly as Phil cast off and Rod set the boat whining away into the brutal sea trailing a rooster tail of spray behind.
"That's our Suze," Phil shouted. "A dab hand with a fowling piece. Tally-ho!"
Gus Marshall and Louis Sulin emerged into the rain in time to see several of their men finish releasing the lines that held the helicopter to the deck. Its big main rotors were already circling and picking up speed.
"Shit," Marshall said.
Scowling, Sulin raised a walkie-talkie and began speaking into it intently.
Marshall cupped his huge hand around his mouth and bellowed, "Stop! Stand away, there!"
The storm drowned out his voice. Or maybe his and Sulin's men were too eager to show their zeal to their somewhat precarious superiors. The white-and-blue chopper rose from the deck. Bravely it turned into the wind, tipped forward, and swept off skimming the waves in pursuit.
Within seconds it exploded in a ball of yellow flame that plunged like a comet into the sea.
Annja saw the flash reflect from a wave breaking in front of them and distressingly high over their heads. As the Zodiac flew up she looked back to see what appeared to be a giant yellow comet plunging into the sea.
"The helicopter!" Jadzia exclaimed.
Half-horrified, Annja looked to Tex. He had just taken a hit from his inhaler. He shrugged.
"Isn't that just bad guys all over?" he said in a squeaky voice. "Don't do maintenance for diddly."
Chapter 18
"I still can't believe you eat like that and keep that slim figure," Tex told Annja with what sounded as much like envy as amusement.
Annja looked down at her plate and shrugged. It was piled high with smoked salmon, eggs, bacon and boiled potatoes. Back at the table she shared with Tex and Jadzia she had a plate full of fresh fruit slices.
"She's a superheroine," Jadzia said matter-offactly. "She needs to eat super amounts." Her own plate wasn't exactly empty.
After the rescue the Gannet crew had taken the three back to Papa Westray airfield. There Annja recovered the bag of scrolls, which she had left locked in the airfield safe. They then caught a small airplane Tex had chartered to fly up from mainland Scotland and carry them across the North Sea. They were checked into a Copenhagen hotel by midnight.
As she headed back to the table with her break-fast Annja's cell phone rang. It took her by surprise. Did Leo get my number somehow? she wondered. Tex had been on and off his phone all morning trying to mollify the owner of the ultralight plane they had abandoned on the drilling platform. While Annja felt sorry for the jovial former RAF test pilot, she didn't want to deal with him.
"Good morning." The voice that poured from her phone when she flipped it open and held it to her ear was British, all right. But instead of Leo's hearty country-squire tones it was plummy and more quietly cheerful. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Ms. Annja Creed?"
"Yes."
"I represent the principal in a certain negotiation in which you took part, and which you recently broke off in a most precipitous manner. You are to be congratulated for the pluck with which you carried that out, by the way. In its way, it was most admirable."
"Thank you," Annja said, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. She was glad she was sitting down so her knees didn't give out.
"What's wrong?" Tex asked, noticing the color drain from her face. She waved him to silence.
"We would like to parlay," the voice said. "Tête-à-tête, so to speak. If you are interested, please come alone on the Metro to the Radhusplads. A car will collect you. Your safety, your safe return and the safety of your associates while you are absent from them are all guaranteed."
"Why should I trust you?" Her fear hadn't quite evaporated, but only wisps remained. If they're bargaining, she thought, they no longer take for granted they can swat us whenever they please.
"Because you have something we want very badly," the voice said unflappably. "And we have paid the penalty for underestimating you. Once bitten, twice shy, my dear."
"Don't go," Tex and Jadzia said simultaneously when she recounted the conversation to them in an undertone. The restaurant was well peopled with tourists, loudly chattering in mostly accents of English, but not so crowded anyone was sitting near them.
"Not alone, anyway," Tex added.
The corners of Annja's mouth whitened ever so slightly as her lips compressed. She ducked her head to her coffee cup to hide the grimace, slight as it was. Despite – or maybe even because of – the gratitude she felt for Tex going to such lengths and taking such risks to help two near total strangers, she still felt abashed by how much she had needed to depend upon him. Even perhaps a touch resentful of his easy, self-assured competence.
She knew that was silly.
Annja tried to hide her discomfort with a laugh. "They reminded me we have something they want," she said. "And they know what a bad idea it is trying to hold one of us as hostage."
Jadzia sighed and scowled ferociously. "So then they maybe just kill you to frighten us," she said. "Stupid."
Maybe Jadzia was right, Annja thought, watching downtown Copenhagen slide by outside the tinted windows of the limousine. When she emerged into the late-morning sunlight from the city's main underground station into the expanse of City Hall Square, the car slid smoothly to the curb right before her as if timing her arrival. It was a normal-looking limo, a modestly stretched white Mercedes with dark gray interior. The young blond man in the gray uniform and cap who popped out the driver's side to open the rear passenger door for her was polite, even quietly affable.
All the same she checked the inside of the door to ensure it was no trap before she let him close it on her. It had a handle. The chauffeur resumed his place, and the car glided smoothly forward, sending a flock of fat pigeons flapping up into a pale blue sky whisked with white clouds.
The central square was half surrounded by quaint old buildings flanking the city hall itself and half by somewhat dingy looking modern glass-and-concrete boxes. The limo left it quickly behind. What she saw of the city as a whole consisted of older buildings interspersed with relatively few and smallish skyscrapers.
The car made several turns and approached a great gleaming spear that resembled a Gothic cathedral faced in green glass, whose topmost mast threatened to snag the clouds. It had a newness and a brashness about it. And more than a little arrogance – it seemed by far the tallest building in the city.
The car stopped in front of it. A man strode from the covered entryway. As the chauffeur helped Annja out he approached, beaming with white horsey teeth out of a dark face and extended a hand that seemed to consist entirely of knuckles.
"And you are the most charming Ms. Annja Creed," he said in the ripe voice she had heard on the phone. By his tone, meeting her was the thrill of his entire year if not his life. He took her hand, bent low, kissed it with dry lips.
"I am Mr. Thistledown," he said. Despite the Jeeves accent he looked Middle Eastern to Annja, possibly Turkish. His dark suit was double-breasted and immaculate. He had cheeks like doorknobs and big dark eyes that sparkled with some secret amusement. Though she guessed he was in his fifties his hair was dark, thinning slightly and slicked back. It might have been dyed. "So good of you to join us."
"I'm charmed, Mr. Thistledown." Which was at least colorably true, so far as he personally was concerned. His charm did not persuade her to forget for whom he worked, nor to trust him.
He escorted her into the building, chatting about the weather. She tuned him out, contenting herself to nod and make occasional polite noises and only paying enough heed to ensure sh
e didn't agree to anything outrageous. The building was modern, all mirror-polished red marble, enormous sprays of tropical fronds and a profusion of gleaming chrome. Soft ambient music flowed from concealed speakers. The air smelled faintly of forest, apparently to reinforce the corporate image of almost painful ecoconsciousness.
A discreet door to one side of the lobby opened to a private express elevator. As it rose it proved to have glass walls. Rising past the three-story height of the atrium-like lobby she found herself on the outside of the building, rising as if on a magic carpet.
She checked Thistledown surreptitiously. He did not seem to be scrutinizing her for signs of fear of heights. Nonetheless she took for granted the elevator was designed to intimidate anyone who rode in it for the first time.
Despite the smiling faces of every Euro Petro employee she had encountered, she couldn't help noticing a fairly subtle intimidation was a force in the company's physical manifestations.
"You are a most remarkable woman, Ms. Creed," Thistledown said. He smelled faintly of lavender. "You have made quite an impression on Herr Direktor Sinnbrenner."
"Who?" she asked, a beat belatedly.
The smile widened. His eyeballs were slightly yellow, suggesting to her somehow that the flawless white teeth were dentures.
"Dieter Sinnbrenner," he said, "our chief operations officer."
She felt the elevator begin to decelerate as a sense of lightness. It stopped. The brushed-brass doors slid open. Thistledown gestured outward with a large hairy hand. It comported oddly with the dark coat sleeve and crisp white shirt cuff from which it sprang.
"Herr Direktor," he said, "please allow me to introduce Ms. Annja Creed. Ms. Creed – "
For a moment Annja thought the penthouse was under construction. It seemed to be entirely bare and open to the surrounding sky. Then she realized that like the elevator it had total-window walls, except for the housing of the elevator itself. A surprisingly modest desk sat near the far wall, offset to her right.
A man with a full head of silver hair stood with his back to Annja, gazing out the windows. The daylight streaming in silhouetted him so completely she could make out no detail of his appearance except the hair and dark suit. He bounced once on his heels and turned.
"Excellent," he said in crisply accented English. "Thank you, Mr. Thistledown."
Annja stepped forward onto a dark carpet. The doors hissed shut behind her. She realized her escort had stayed in the elevator.
The man strode forward extending a hand. To Annja's surprise his face was narrow, handsome and unlined as a twenty-five-year-old's. His eyebrows were carbon-black. Only when he drew near did she realize he was at least four inches shorter than her. He had a huge presence.
"Believe me when I say it is a very great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Creed," he said.
After the briefest of hesitation she took his hand. She felt that if she acted rude by refusing the handshake, she would somehow sacrifice the moral high ground. She did half hope he would try some kind of hand-crushing game. The hope was in vain. His grip was strong and dry and exactly metered.
"I have to admit I find that hard to believe, Herr Sinnbrenner," Annja said coldly.
He smiled and his age showed around the brown eyes. The skin was scored deeply at the corners, as if he had spent his life staring into blinding sunlight.
"How do you find our quarters?" he asked, pacing rapidly several steps away from her.
"Imposing," she said. "As I'm sure they're intended to be. But also surprising."
He turned back. He had a curious stop-and-go quickness to his movements, suggesting at once a machine and a lizard.
"How so, please?"
"Looking around the Copenhagen skyline it appears pretty evident they have ordinances regulating maximum building height," she said. "Which this building obviously exceeds."
He smiled again, like a camera shutter flicking. "We represent the majesty of the European Union, after all. We are exceptional, candidly. Exceptions, accordingly, are made."
He turned precisely and paced a few steps to her left. He stopped as if expecting a response. Then he shook his head once sharply. "But I waste your time with rhetoric. Let me come directly to the point. You have something. We want it. What is your price?"
"What makes you think I'd deal with you at any price," she said, "after what you pulled with my friend?" Under the circumstances, labeling the still-difficult Jadzia her friend seemed an acceptable white lie.
He rolled a hand palm upright. "Self-interest. Consider the carrot and the stick."
She inhaled sharply. "I'll make a counteroffer. We keep the scrolls and continue to conserve them properly and extract their meaning using proper scientific procedures. You keep off our backs."
He raised a brow. "And what is in this bargain for us?"
"Self-interest," she said. "All these assaults and kidnappings and murders must have cost you."
For a moment his self-control flickered. He stared at her with hatred so undiluted she felt it as a psychic blow. "Exceedingly so," he hissed.
He turned away and walked toward the window. He clasped his hands behind his narrow waist and bounced rapidly up and down on the balls of his feet three times.
"But a tiny fraction of what lies at stake here," he said to the city beneath him. "You have no idea." He half turned toward her. "You have your lives to consider, Ms. Creed. Think well on that."
"I've thought of little else since your murderers attacked my innocent friends in Alexandria," she said.
I could do it, she thought. It would be so easy. An exertion of will. A few quick steps. A swing. Yet she could not bring herself to cut him down in cold blood.
"Also, I don't trust you, Herr Direktor," she said. "You can take your carrot and stick it where the sun don't shine."
He nodded, unfazed. "As you wish, my dear."
He faced back squarely out toward the heart of the great city. His attitude seemed to be not that of one who owns everything he sees, but of one who has just created everything he sees and is critically scrutinizing it to see if he finds it good.
The elevator doors hissed open behind her. She only just managed to catch control of herself before she leaped into the air spinning like a startled cat. She still turned more quickly than she wanted to.
Mr. Thistledown stood beaming at her from inside the car. "Ms. Creed, if you will?"
To her relief he maintained a smiling silence on the long ride down. Annja stood with her nose close to the transparent outer wall and splayed hands just touching it. The glass felt cool to her fingertips. Her mind registered nothing beyond it.
She did notice when the lower levels of the tower rushed up to envelop them. She turned to face inward.
On the trip up she had been so taken by surprise by her surroundings she had not noticed that a mezzanine ran around the upper half of the ground floor. Two men stood by the railing. One was huge and bearlike and wore a suit that looked as if it had been stamped out of cardboard. The other was slim and neat as a ferret in a long off-white jacket and trousers, with fine features and unruly white hair.
From Jadzia's description she recognized the chief kidnappers, Gus Marshall and Louis Sulin. Smiling, she waved at them.
One minute later, when Marshall and Sulin came racing out the front of the building in pursuit of Annja, she was nowhere to be seen.
When the limousine had approached the Euro Petro tower Annja made a note of underground stops close to it. A short sprint took her into one of them the moment she left the building. There was little enough foot traffic in the immediate vicinity that she could accomplish it without jostling anyone and drawing unwanted attention to herself.
Once down in the cool but well-lit station she laughed out loud. There enameled in tile on the wall was a sign clearly announcing the next stop lay beneath the city hall building itself. The rendezvous at Radhusplads and the limo ride had been nothing but theater.
She trotted up the steps of a terrace to
a side entrance of the hotel. The air blew crisp and smelling pleasantly of saltwater off Øresund, the sound separating Denmark from Sweden, which the hotel overlooked.
She trotted up three flights of stairs to the floor where she shared a room with Jadzia right next door to Tex. It wasn't so much that she felt the need for exercise. It was more that she seldom saw a point in slowing herself by taking elevators. Especially if she had the stairs to herself.
She was just about to swipe her electronic key through the lock when Tex's door flew open. Jadzia stormed out. Her face was purple and she was crying with huge sobs that racked her slender frame – which was wrapped in a towel.
Tex came right out behind her, dripping wet, wearing a fuzzy white hotel bathrobe. He halted when he saw Annja. Their eyes met.
Jadzia had the opportunity then to condemn Tex irredeemably in Annja's eyes in spite of all he had risked and all he had done for both women. But her lack of people skills betrayed her.
"I am not good enough for you, is that it?" she screamed at Tex. She batted at him with tight-clenched fists. "You don't want me?"
He had an undecipherable look on his face. Jadzia drummed her fists against his chest. "I hate you," she said, no longer screaming, but with baleful intensity. "I hope you die."
For a moment everyone froze and held a tableau. Jadzia went pale, as if her words had managed to penetrate her armor of self-centeredness deeply enough to shock even herself.
With a child's broken sob she spun away, clutching at the towel. Annja just had time to swipe the lock of the room they shared and pull the door open before the girl bolted face first into it. She vanished inside.
Tex was shaking his head. He looked as if he wanted to cry. "I didn't mean to hurt her feelings," he said. He ran a hand through his wet, spiky hair. "She just kinda caught me by surprise, slipping into the shower with me the way she did. I'm afraid I didn't handle that any too gently."
"She had it coming," Annja said with a notable lack of compassion. "Did she use that weird death-to-electronics trick of hers to burn out your room lock?"
