by Alex Archer
He just wants to see the inscription. That realization hurt Annja a little before she could get it walled away quickly enough. Whatever her relationship was with Roux, it was based on information and skill, not affection.
She'd learned as a child that she couldn't allow herself to be vulnerable. She had the distinct impression that Roux had learned the same lessons.
But where? And how long ago?
****
"Miss Creed?"
Startled, Annja looked up at the man addressing her. She sat on a bench with her notebook computer across her knees.
The man was in his late thirties or early forties, a squared-off, compact man of average height. He wore jeans, a golf shirt, dark sunglasses, and a lightweight jacket.
After Joe had dropped her at a truck stop and wished her well, Annja had thanked him and caught a cab to the closest mall. She'd welcomed the air-conditioning, and the book store had taken her mind off things for a bit.
"You don't know me, Miss Creed. Mr. Roux sent me."
Hearing Roux's name that way sounded alien to Annja's ear.
"I'm supposed to escort you back to New York." The man looked at Annja through his dark lenses, but the way he held his head told her that he also watched the mall traffic. "If you're ready."
"I am." Annja closed down the files she'd been reading, put the computer away, then slung the backpack over one shoulder and stood.
The man stepped back and nodded. "This way, please. I've got a car and driver outside. We'll go through the Macy's exit."
"Sure." Annja started walking. The man fell into step just behind her and to her right. "Do you have a name?"
"Call me Ishmael," he said with a straight face.
Annja shot him a look. "Your idea or Roux's?"
The man's lips twitched a little. "I'm known for my humor."
"I'll just bet you are. How long have you known Roux?"
"Not to be rude, Miss Creed, but that topic isn't open to discussion."
Somehow Annja had known it wouldn't be.
Chapter 17
"Hey, lady."
Stepping out of the car Tse Chu-yu arranged for her, Kelly looked over at the three adolescent boys sitting in the alley where she'd parked. They looked scruffy and ill-kept, but that was the neighborhood.
She was near the junction of Julu Lu and Changshu Lu, both streets that offered a tour of the wilder side of Shanghai. Girly bars lined the streets, their neon signs bright and harsh against the dark night. It was a place her father had never allowed her to go, but she had occasionally gone with girlfriends wanting to meet the gangster boys.
"That's not a safe place to park your car." The oldest of the three sat on an empty crate and smoked a cigarette. His gaze looked dead and cold, far older than his years. "This alley is private property."
"Is it?" Kelly acted like she hadn't known. But she knew exactly what was going on. A lot of the neighborhood boys rented out "protection" to civilian vehicles.
"If I could find the property owner, maybe we could come to some arrangement," Kelly suggested.
The boy's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"
"I could rent this space for a couple hours."
Features brightening, the boy nodded. "Sure. You could do that. You could pay us to watch your car while you're gone."
"How much?" Kelly haggled over the price for only a moment. The money didn't matter, but if she didn't haggle the boys might think she was trying to protect something valuable inside the car. They agreed on the price in short order and she paid it. "Where can I find the Revolver Club?" she asked.
The tallest of the boys counted the money, made the split, and nodded to the right. "Take a right. Five doors down. You can't miss it. It has a picture of a big gun."
****
The Revolver Club did feature a large pistol as part of its neon plumage. The image was engraved in electric blue and glowing black tubes. Bullet tips showed in the cylinders.
This part of Shanghai had held a Western flavor as long as Kelly could remember, but she thought it had changed during the time she'd been gone. The English, French, and Americans had maintained an influence in the city since the early 1800s, and the youth – and the criminal element – had always reached out to emulate them.
A doorman stood guard at the club's entrance in the foyer. He grinned at Kelly, revealing betel-nut stained teeth.
She'd dressed like a party girl, bright red wig that was clearly artificial, cream-colored Capris and a revealing top. She didn't carry a pistol. If she needed one, she figured there would be plenty inside.
After she paid the entrance fee, she walked inside. The club was longer than it was wide. A dance platform supported two exotic dancers who looked enough alike to have been twins or at least sisters. They were dressed like high school cheerleaders, complete with pompoms, then disrobed in record time to the grinding beat of industrial metal music.
A long bar filled the back of the club. Tables and chairs filled the empty space between the bar and the stage. Even though the club featured exotic dancers, almost as many women were in the bar as men.
According to Tse Chu-yu, the Razor Claws hung out at the Revolver Club. Kelly didn't know if the man who'd escaped her father's house was there, but she had to go. The bag of bones her father had left her had offered no clues, and Ngai Kuan-Yin was too well protected.
Kelly went to the bar and ordered a drink. The music was so loud she barely heard the bartender. Swaying to the music, she kept watch over the crowd in the long mirror behind the bar.
In less than two minutes, a guy hit on her.
"Let me buy you a drink." The man was young, in his early twenties, with slicked back hair. He wore slacks and a good shirt.
"I have a drink." Kelly held hers up to show him.
"I'll buy you the next one. Maybe we can talk a little."
Kelly looked at his hands, noting the tattoos that showed across his knuckles. "I'm not looking for talk. I just stopped in for a drink."
The guy made an exaggerated production of snapping a cigarette from a pack and lighting it. Smoke wreathed his head and he squinted.
"You didn't dress like someone who came in here just for a drink."
Kelly turned to him and smiled. "Maybe you're right. Is there a place we can be alone?"
Grinning, the man nodded. "My gang runs this bar." He took her by the hand.
Controlling her immediate reaction to free herself and possibly break his arm or dislocate his shoulder, Kelly allowed him to lead her away from the bar to a small stockroom in the back. The man became aggressive at once, reaching for her like an animal.
Kelly hit the guy in the throat with the Y between her thumb and forefinger, just hard enough to paralyze his throat for a moment, but not to kill. Sliding behind him, she wrapped an arm around his neck and shut off blood flow. His brain shut down in seconds and he collapsed into a loose-limbed heap.
As she searched him, Kelly watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that reassured her he was unconscious, not dead.
Her search turned up a 9 mm pistol with a full magazine. She made certain a round was under the hammer and that the weapon was double-action. She crossed to the door and locked it.
Looking around, she found an electrical cord sitting on one of the metal shelves. Working quickly, she tied her captive's hands behind his back, then tied his feet together.
A quick search of the shelves turned up a bottle of astringent pine-scented cleaner. She shoved her finger into the bottle and wet it with the cleaner, then traced a line under the unconscious man's nose.
He woke, jerking his head and cursing.
Kelly rapped him between the eyes with the pistol just hard enough to claim his attention. He focused on her, then lay still.
She squatted beside him. "I'm looking for someone."
He cursed at her.
Calmly, Kelly shoved the pistol's barrel into his ear.
The man shut his mouth and glared at her.
"The man I'm looking for killed an old man over in the Bund this morning." Kelly remained calm and dispassionate. "The murder was arranged by Ngai Kuan-Yin."
He started to speak.
She silenced him by laying the pistol against his lips. "If you tell me you don't know who this man is, I'll kill you instead of him."
The man stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Tell me his name."
"Meng. His name is Meng."
"Is he here?" Tse Chu-yu had told Kelly that the Razor Claws kept back rooms in the bar.
"No."
"Where can I find him?"
"In the Birdcage. It's a bar. Two blocks north. You can't miss it."
Taking a bar towel from a stack on the shelf, Kelly shoved it into the man's mouth and tied it in place with the electrical cord. She took an apron from the shelves, too, and folded the pistol in the material. Then she left the room and locked the door behind her. None of the club's patrons paid any attention.
Less than ten minutes later, Kelly walked toward the front door of the Birdcage. With the pistol tucked into the apron and vengeance burning through her, she approached the entrance.
The doorman stepped in front of her. "Where are you going?"
"I have to cover a shift." Kelly hoped she sounded tired and frustrated enough. Adrenaline slammed through her.
The man didn't move.
"I can go home." Kelly turned and started to go.
"Wait." The man stepped away. "You're new?"
Kelly nodded.
"Tell them to send me a drink."
"Okay." Kelly went inside. She knew the clock was working against her. At any moment someone could discover the man she'd left tied up at the Revolver Club.
The Birdcage actually had two ornate six-foot birdcages hanging from the low ceiling. Women in garish costumes gyrated in the birdcages. Black light strobed the walls, illuminating dragons, tigers, and other mythical creatures from legend.
Kelly swept the bar with her gaze and recognized Meng immediately. He was sitting at a circular back table. He had two young women seated on either side of him. All of them were laughing, but only Meng was talking.
Keeping the pistol covered in the apron, Kelly made her way around the dance floor to Meng's table. He was young and thin. His black hair hung to his shoulders. He wore slacks and a nice turtleneck under a red leather jacket. The young women fawned on him, both of them barely clad.
Kelly sat across the table from Meng. She kept her hands below the table and held the pistol in her right hand. She had no intention of letting Meng live, not after the hard way her father had died.
Her father's memory had haunted her the whole afternoon she'd spent at Tse Chu-yu's boat. The old man had tried to get her to calm down and sleep, but Kelly hadn't been able to. There were a number of ghosts in her past – some she had killed and some she had been unable to save, and with her father's murder only hours old, she hadn't been able to escape any of them. They had haunted her, bringing confusion and despair. She'd clung to thoughts of vengeance.
Gradually, despite the feminine distraction, Meng's attention turned to Kelly. He frowned, and his eyes were bleary from intoxication.
"Do I know you?"
The two women turned scathing glances on Kelly, resenting her presence.
"You killed my father this morning."
Meng tried to get to his feet. Kelly planted a foot in the middle of his groin and kicked him back against the seat. He groaned in pain. The women drew back.
Kelly revealed the 9 mm she'd taken, showing the muzzle just above the table's edge. "If you go for a weapon, I'm going to kill you. Keep your hands on the table where I can see them."
The man did as he was told.
Kelly didn't look at the women. "Leave us," she ordered.
Gathering their things, the women left. Kelly knew there was no guarantee that they wouldn't run straight to the club's security or other Triad members.
"Who sent you to kill my father?"
"You're in way over your head," Meng replied.
"I'm not the one about to die at this table if he doesn't start talking."
Meng grimaced and cursed.
"You don't have much time." Kelly tracked the progress of the young women as they made their way across the club. "Once they stop to talk to someone, if you haven't answered my questions, I'm going to kill you."
"Ngai sent us." Meng spoke rapidly. Sweat rolled down his face from the alcohol and the fear inside him. His hands trembled on the table.
"To kill my father?"
"No. We were supposed to find something. The old man – " Meng stopped himself. "Your father wouldn't cooperate. But I wasn't the one who tortured him or killed him."
"What were you supposed to find?"
The young women still hurried through the dance crowd, glancing back frequently.
"Some kind of bag. It was supposed to have bones or something in it."
"How did Ngai know about the bag?"
"I don't know. We're not told everything."
Kelly believed him. He was too afraid of her to lie. "What were you supposed to do with the bag?"
"Give it to Ngai."
The young women stopped by the door and hesitated. Kelly knew they were deciding between fleeing for their own lives or trying to help Meng. If he was just business for them it would have been in their best interests to flee. They didn't. Instead, they headed toward the bar, evidently spotting someone they knew.
"Don't kill me." Meng's voice cracked. "I can tell you something else."
"Quickly." Kelly knew there was a back way out of the club.
"Ngai is also interested in work being done out at Loulan City."
Kelly wasn't aware of the place, but something twitched in her memory. "What work?"
"The government has an archaeological team out there. Some guy named Hu is in charge. They're looking for something Ngai is interested in."
"What?"
"I don't know."
The young women talked to three men at the bar and pointed wildly in Kelly's direction.
For just a moment, Kelly was undecided about whether or not to kill Meng. She kept remembering how her father's body had looked, speaking volumes about the torture he'd undergone in the final minutes of his life.
Killing Meng would have been easy. She'd learned to kill strangers without hesitation. She had personal reasons to execute Meng.
Instead, she chose not to. She'd come to China to get away from the killing. She'd already killed two men that morning, and threatened others.
And you already have enough people who want to kill you.
Without a word, Kelly stood, concealed the 9 mm in the folds of the apron again, and left the table. The three men from the bar muscled their way across the dance floor. Their hands slid beneath their jackets for weapons they carried.
The loud techno music reverberated across the room, filling the club with sound. The women in the birdcages whirled and danced. Then the crowd on the dance floor suddenly parted before the three advancing men.
Meng stood, looking wild-eyed and afraid. Kelly knew he was torn between acting to reclaim his sense of honor in front of his fellow gangsters or self-preservation. He went for the pistol at the back of his pants.
Still on the move, Kelly pointed her pistol at him as he brought his own weapon up. He fired twice, hurrying both shots, and struck people on either side of Kelly. She paused, took deliberate aim, and shot Meng between the eyes.
The Triad member's head snapped back, splaying his long hair, and he collapsed, overturning the table on his way down.
The crowd dropped to the floor, screaming and wrapping their heads in their arms.
Kelly ran, vaulting over patrons as she made for the club's back door. She hit the panic bar and crashed through, emerging into the dark alley. She got her bearings, looking at both ends of the alley and the streets beyond, then ran.
The Triad gunmen didn't reach the a
lley until Kelly was already turning the corner. They fired at her, the bullets going wide and striking a passing car and the buildings across the street. The car veered into another and created an immediate traffic snarl.
Kelly kept running, putting more distance between herself and her pursuers. She had a direction now, though she didn't know what connection the archaeological dig at Loulan City had to Ngai. She intended to find out.
Chapter 18
Annja woke in darkness and knew at once she was on a plane by the constant hum around her and the sensation she was falling.
Falling!
There was no doubt about it. Her stomach whirled in protest. She sat up and made a frantic grab for her computer as it threatened to tumble from her lap. Almost at the same moment the falling sensation abated.
"It's all right, Miss Creed." The man who had picked her up at the mall sat on the other side of the private jet Roux had arranged for her. "Just a minor bit of turbulence."
"We lost altitude."
Ishmael nodded. He was reading a copy of Scientific American. "I'd guess about a thousand feet or so. We hit a major storm system a few minutes ago."
The jet bucked and twisted violently.
Lifting the window cover, Annja peered out at the night. White-hot lightning blazed through the violet sky, then everything went black.
"The pilot's getting clearance to get us up out of this." Ishmael sounded totally calm.
"I didn't figure you for the Scientific American type. No offense."
Ishmael smiled. "None taken. Are you hungry? There's a small galley aboard. Surely we can find something."
Annja discovered she was very hungry. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A few hours. We've got a couple more hours till we reach New York." Ishmael closed his magazine and unbuckled his seat belt. "I'm going to eat. Would you like anything?"
"Sure." Annja freed herself and stood.
Then, almost like flicking a switch, the jet smoothed out. Her stomach muscles unclenched a little. She enjoyed flying, but the thought of crashing in a plane scared her. It was the lack of control, the inability to act to save herself, that caused that fear and she knew it.