Beneath Still Waters

by Alex Archer

  Annja used the bars at the front of her cell to pull herself upright. Her head spun for a minute, making her wonder about a concussion, but she was going to have to get used to it if she was going to get them out of here.

  “You don’t seem too worried about things,” Annja said to him.

  “Why should I be? You’re going to draw your sword and get us out of here, hopefully sooner rather than later, and given what he’s done I wouldn’t bet on Krugmann living to see the sun come up tomorrow.”

  Annja shook her head. “I can’t kill him.”

  Garin grunted. “Please don’t give me any of that crap about taking an innocent life. That man is far from innocent, in fact…”

  She waved her hand, interrupting him. “It’s not that. I’d kill him in a heartbeat and sleep like a baby afterward if it weren’t for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We still don’t know where Doug is.”

  Garin was quiet for a moment.

  Annja knew just what he was thinking.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” she said.

  “You do?”

  “Come on, Garin. We’ve known each other long enough to be able to anticipate a few things. You’re thinking that Doug has been dead for days, maybe since the last phone call I made. But I can’t assume that. If he is alive, I’ll be condemning him to death if I take Krugmann out before I’ve had a chance to question the man.”

  Funny how he was Paul before this and now he’s Krugmann. Now there’s a coping mechanism if I ever saw one, she thought.

  “It’s your call. I’ll back you either way.”

  Annja felt tears welling in her eyes at Garin’s unqualified support. She’d certainly had her differences with this man in the past, but right now in this place and at this time there wasn’t anyone she’d rather have by her side.

  She was too honest with herself not to understand that she was valuing the very thing that she had always disliked about him, which was his utter ruthlessness. Garin wouldn’t hesitate when the time came and right now she was finding that very reassuring. Later, she’d deal with what that meant—ethically—for her; right now, they had to get out of this place and rescue Doug.

  If he was still alive.

  Don’t think like that, she scolded herself. He’s alive. You know he is.

  But if he wasn’t, she was going to be sure to make Krugmann pay.

  “So what…”

  She didn’t get any further.

  The steel door on the other side of the room opened suddenly and a squad of islanders—she decided then and there that’s what she was going to call them, for lack of a better name—came into the room, accompanied by the large warrior who had originally taken them captive.

  “Garin?” Annja asked, wondering if now was the time for them to take their chance at getting away.

  He had to have been thinking the same thing. “Your call,” he replied, backing away from the door to his cell as the islanders walked over to it.

  Five against two, Annja thought, those are pretty good odds.

  But before she could do anything, the leader pointed at Garin and said something in his own language.

  At his command, two of the islanders took the long pole-like objects that they were holding and jabbed them through the bars of Garin’s cell. He managed to twist away from the first one but the second caught him square on the thigh. There was a flash and the crack of electrical current, and Garin was suddenly on the floor shaking as if he’d just stepped on a live wire.

  Annja looked up to find the leader looking back at her.

  “Are you going to come quietly or do I have to shock you, too?” the leader asked her in German.

  Not knowing what that kind of current would do to her already fragile equilibrium, Annja decided going along with them was the best course of action for the time being. She raised her hands over her head and waited as they unlocked the door to her cell and waved her forward.

  Chapter 30

  They led her down several passages and up at least two long winding ramps before coming to a door with a lock on it. The leader produced a large iron key from a chain around his neck that she hadn’t noticed before and inserted it into the lock, giving it a hard turn to the left.

  The lock clicked loudly and the door popped open.

  The leader pushed it open the rest of the way and said, “They’re waiting for you inside.”

  Annja didn’t move. “Who’s waiting?”

  Her captor eyed her but didn’t say anything more.

  “I’m not going anywhere until…”

  Her captor said something in his native tongue and the two islanders carrying the shock sticks started to turn toward her.

  “All right, all right,” Annja said, holding up her hands. “I’m going. There’s no need to get huffy.”

  She walked forward until she crossed the threshold of the door her captor had just opened. He reached out to pull it closed behind her, and as he did so he said, “Watch his left foot” under his breath.

  Annja was so surprised that she stood there, dumbstruck, and her chance to ask him what the heck he was talking about passed, as the door slammed shut behind her.

  Watch his left foot? Whose left foot? she wondered. And why is he warning me?

  She tried the door, assuming that it would be locked but knowing she had to try it anyway. The hum of many people talking at once reached her ears and she turned, looking down a passageway. It ran straight ahead of her for a dozen or more yards, then opened into a well-lit space. From where she stood, it appeared to have a sand rather than a stone floor. The sound of the crowd came from there.

  Intrigued, Annja headed in that direction.

  The sound grew louder as she reached the end of the tunnel and passed into the room beyond to find herself standing under the open sky, the moon brilliant and the stars twinkling high above. The amphitheater, for that’s what it was, was circular in shape and about as wide as the skating rink back in Central Park. The walls rose about fifteen feet, above which rows of seats filled the space, reminding her of a gladiatorial arena. Even as she thought that, she realized that her earlier assumption was right; the floor was made of sand that looked to be several inches deep and was so reminiscent of the beach sand from the lagoon that Annja wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it had come from there.

  The rows of spectator seats were full of islanders—men, women, children even—and they were all staring down at her now as if she were a bug under a microscope. She could see things changing hands between some of them and guessed that they were taking bets in whatever passed as the local currency.

  That told her that she wasn’t going to be alone in this arena for long.

  She walked into the center of the arena and turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in. She found a shaded spectator platform with a large throne-like seat in the center directly over the tunnel through which she entered, and as she looked it over she saw a door at the back open and Colonel Schnell enter. He took a seat on the throne and then, and only then, did his entourage follow him, including several island women who gathered around his chair, fawning over him.

  No wonder the old coot doesn’t want to go anywhere, Annja thought. He is treated like a king here.

  She was still watching him with distaste when the door at the back of the booth opened again. Krugmann entered and took up a position standing near the railing to the left of the colonel’s chair.

  He had an anticipatory look on his face that didn’t make Annja feel comfortable at all.

  He was up to something, that was for sure.

  Colonel Schnell stood and raised his hands, instantly quieting the crowd around him.

  “Pretty good trick,” Annja said into the silence. “What are you going to do for an encore?”

  It was lame, and she knew it, but it was better than just standing there waiting for something to happen to her. At least this way she’d get the last word in.

&n
bsp; Schnell looked down at her the way a picnicker might examine an ant before stomping on it. Ignoring her remark, he addressed her in German, saying, “I have been told by the major that you are an enemy of the Reich. Is that true?”

  Annja looked at him for a long moment and carefully answered in the same language. “It’s hard to be an enemy of something that hasn’t existed since long before I was born, don’t you think?”

  Krugmann spoke up. “See what I mean, Colonel? An insolent and far-from-ideal attitude.”

  Schnell looked over at him and Krugmann closed his mouth with a snap.

  So there isn’t a lot of love between them yet, Annja thought. She might be able to use that to her advantage. But first she needed to know what they wanted from her.

  Schnell turned back to address Annja once more. “Is it still your contention that Major Kahler is lying about his reasons for being here?”

  It took Annja a moment to realize that he was talking about Paul. Apparently he had decided to revert to his father’s name, as if that made his actions somehow less despicable. Annja intended to disabuse him of that notion as soon as possible.

  Focus on the problem at hand, she reminded herself.

  “Of course he’s lying,” she replied. “That’s all liars do is lie.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t give someone outside the Party a moment’s thought, but you have intrigued me.”

  Be still my heart.

  “Because of that, I’m going to give you the opportunity to prove yourself truthful.”

  Annja laughed. “Bring on the polygraph machine then,” she told him.

  The colonel paused and stared at her, clearly not knowing what on earth she was talking about, and Annja felt a smile spread across her face in response. Keep wondering old man, keep wondering.

  The colonel continued.

  “Defeat your opponent, and I will consider what you say about Major Kahler. Lose, and you won’t have to worry about his opinion, or mine or anyone else’s for that matter. Do you understand?”

  Yes, psycho, I understand.

  Annja nodded.

  “Lasst die Spiele beginnen!”

  “Let the games begin,” she translated beneath her breath.

  The sound of a steel door closing drew her attention, and she turned to see the biggest islander she’d yet seen walk into the arena.

  In his hand he held a nail-studded club.

  Annja, of course, was unarmed.

  Gotta love a fair fight, she thought, and then ran forward to confront him.

  Chapter 31

  The islanders in the stands cheered as their hero entered the arena. He didn’t acknowledge their cheers in any way but simply lumbered straight at Annja as she moved forward to greet him, although she suspected that they had two different concepts of just who the winner of this battle was going to be.

  The islander ran straight at her, swinging his club at the last moment in an attempt to wipe her out with one crushing blow.

  Annja ducked underneath the blow, letting the club pass harmlessly over her head as she rushed in and delivered a powerful kick to the inside of his knee.

  Normally that would be enough to hyperextend the knee joint, causing the leg to collapse under its own weight.

  This time it had about as much success as kicking a tree trunk. Maybe less.

  Annja spun, intending to follow through by coming back in and attacking the other leg, but her opponent was much quicker for his size than she had expected. He was already lashing out with a backhand that caught her square in the chest, lifting her off her feet and dumping her in the sand a few yards away.

  Wow, that hurt! Annja thought, as she struggled to her feet.

  She heard the whistling sound of the club coming her way, and she threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding getting knocked into next week.

  She rolled when she hit, putting some distance between herself and her opponent. When she got back to her feet, she had a handful of the sand lining the floor clutched in her left hand.

  The islander was already moving in, bringing the club whistling downward again, and this time Annja timed the blow, noting how long it took for him to recover and lash out again. When he was still in the middle of recovering from that second blow, Annja darted in and threw the sand in his face.

  He pulled his head back, but the damage was already done. Momentarily blinded, he swung the club he was holding around him in a circle, trying to trip her up. She jumped lightly over it and twisted her body into a spinning crescent kick that she brought slamming toward his collarbone.

  The blow never landed.

  The islander dropped the club, grabbed her foot in midair and yanked her toward him, intending to smother her in his grasp.

  Anticipating that very move, Annja let him draw her closer and then lashed out, trying to smash the side of her hand into the soft, unprotected flesh of his throat, only to have him drop his chin at the last moment, deflecting the blow.

  They went around and around like that with neither of them gaining the upper hand but causing a number of minor injuries along the way.

  Annja knew she could draw her sword at any time, but doing so would reveal her secret not only to all of the islanders sitting in the stands but also to Krugmann and Schnell. That was something she wanted to avoid at all costs, for there would be little doubt that they would use all of the resources at their disposal to try to take the sword from her at that point and use it for their own nefarious ends.

  So instead of simply skewering the big guy where he stood, Annja was going to have to whittle away at him piece by piece until she could deliver the final blow that sent him to the ground.

  She was moving away from another of his strikes when she remembered what her captor had said at the entrance to the arena.

  Watch his left foot.

  She did so and what she saw was so obvious that she was surprised she needed anyone to point it out to her.

  Every time the islander prepared himself for a strike, he pivoted on his left foot, anchoring it in place to give him as much torque as possible.

  Annja knew she could use that to her advantage.

  Thank you, whatever your name is, she thought.

  They circled each other warily again, Annja biding her time and the island warrior doing the same.

  Krugmann shouted something from the stands, and the islander used the temporary distraction to rush at Annja again.

  Rather than skipping backward out of reach, which had been her modus operandi for the entire fight, Annja did the exact opposite, rushing forward and kicking that unsupported leg with everything she had.

  It folded like a house of cards.

  The warrior dropped to one knee, leaving his face and head unprotected.

  Annja chose that moment to leap into the air, spinning at the apex of her leap, and lashing out with a perfectly executed heel kick that struck the warrior in the side of the temple.

  “Timber!” she wanted to shout as the mountain of a man crashed forward to lie unmoving on the arena floor.

  The crowd shouted and cried out.

  Panting, she turned and saw the surprised expression on both Krugmann’s face and Schnell’s.

  “Guess I’m telling the truth,” Annja called up to Schnell. “Maybe it’s time you put Krugmann to the same test.”

  Whatever Schnell was going to say in return was interrupted as the door to his observation platform burst open and four men with submachine guns in their hands crowded into the narrow space and held their guns on everyone in there, including Schnell.

  To the gunmen’s surprise, but not Annja’s, the old Nazi let his displeasure be known. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted at the newcomers.

  Krugmann answered for them with a very smug smile on his face. “This, dear Colonel, is a military coup. If you do as you are told, no one has to get hurt, least of all you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “The gold, of course,” Krugmann said.

&nb
sp; “I’m not giving you anything,” Schnell replied.

  Krugmann drew the gun at his hip and shot the old man in the foot.

  Schnell screamed.

  “Oh, shut up,!” Krugmann said. “Get over here before I put the next bullet in your head.”

  Schnell snapped his mouth shut and hobbled over to Krugmann, who passed him over to one of his men.

  As Schnell was being led out of the observation booth at gunpoint, Krugmann nodded at one of the men who stood behind him with a submachine gun. That man withdrew a walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed someone else. Seconds later the door her first opponent had entered through swung open and three of Krugmann’s men entered the arena.

  All of them were armed with a club or some form of bladed weapon, and they used them to laconically salute Annja.

  Krugmann laughed at the sight. “I’m surprised at you, Annja. I thought for sure you would figure it out long before this. Every time I thought you had, you ended up surprising me with your blind ignorance. Which is really too bad, as I assumed you’d be a better opponent than that.”

  “Come on down here and I’ll show you just how good I am,” Annja shouted, without taking her eyes off the three men standing on the other side of the arena.

  “Sorry, dear, but I don’t have time to waste on such petty problems. While you lie dying there in the sand, I want you to think about the fact that not one, but two of your friends are now in my custody. I’m going to enjoy using them in new and interesting ways.”

  With that parting remark, Krugmann left the observation deck.

  Down below, on the arena sand, Annja watched her opponents move in.

  Chapter 32

  With Krugmann and Schnell no longer around, Annja decided it was time to even the odds somewhat.

  Reaching into the otherwhere, she drew her sword, watching in satisfaction as it appeared whole and fully formed in her hand just a second later.

  Whatever was left of the once boisterous audience went deathly quiet.