The Spider Stone

by Alex Archer

  "Here he comes," Zifa said.

  Zifa's comment was unnecessary. Parked out by one of the truck loading docks, there was no traffic. The luxury Mercedes couldn't have been missed.

  Tafari stepped from the jeep. For the meeting, he'd put on one of his camouflage khaki uniforms. It was what all of his men wore when he wanted people to recognize them and know he had sent them there.

  The Mercedes pulled up and sat idling. The rear window rolled down.

  "Ah, General Tafari," a suave voice called from the back seat. "Join me."

  "I'm fine out here," Tafari replied. "I prefer the night air to the air-conditioning inside the car." He wore body armor under his jacket. In addition to the pistols on his hip and under his left arm, he also wore one snugged against his back. With his hands clasped behind him, it was within easy reach.

  Tafari viewed the partnership as one of convenience and not trust.

  "Then I'll join you." The man got out of the car. Tall and elegant, with black hair and blue eyes, and wearing a tuxedo, Victor Childress was CEO and chief stockholder of Childress Corporation. If he had a pistol under his jacket, it didn't show.

  "The train was a mistake," Tafari said. That was as close as he would come to an apology.

  "A very costly one," Childress agreed. "Some of that equipment is going to take weeks to replace. And I'd already spent weeks getting those units."

  Tafari said nothing. What had been destroyed had been destroyed. His pride and his purpose would remain resolute.

  "Why did you do it?" Childress took out a gold cigarette case, selected two cigarettes and offered one to Tafari.

  Tafari took the cigarette and leaned in for a quick light. The cigarettes were a personal blend, far superior to anything he could ever get his hands on. He blew out the smoke and let the wind carry it away.

  "The woman archaeologist was on the train," Tafari said. "She eluded me in Dakar. She's traveling with a group of killers that I think belong to the CIA or an American military detachment. I also believe they were sent here after me."

  "Not for the purpose of protecting the woman?"

  "The woman is a lure to get me out of hiding. When my nephew was arrested in the United States, his connection to me would have become known to the American government."

  "Then blowing up the train was a good idea," Childress said.

  "Last night it was."

  "It's just unfortunate that I had so much equipment on that train. And that they're still alive. It's going to be weeks before the Canadians put up the money to fix the train."

  That didn't concern Tafari. He never used the train. Even after the Canadians had bought the railway and improved the traveling conditions and timeliness, the train offered too many opportunities for his enemies to get to him.

  Childress looked at the city in the distance. Lights lit Kidira, but it was dwarfed by Diboli, the city just across the Senegal River that made up the border between Senegal and Mali.

  "Do you really believe this treasure exists?" Childress asked finally.

  "Yes."

  "What do you think is there?"

  Tafari shrugged, not wanting to make his partner greedy. He'd seen greed dissolve a great number of partnerships, especially those that were made out of convenience rather than passion or a shared belief.

  "Gold. Ivory. Gems. Perhaps some art pieces museums or collectors might pay handsomely for. Senegal has a long history of trade empires. Even before the slave trade took root here, the Hausa and my people, the Yoruba, pushed vast fortunes throughout the trans-Saharan trade routes."

  "Someone could have found this treasure and stolen it away a long time ago," Childress said.

  "If that had been the case," Tafari said, "someone would have heard of it. The legend would not have persisted."

  "It could be a myth, nothing more."

  Tafari dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot. "The Spider Stone is real. My people have seen it. If one is real, then I will believe the other is real, as well. Until I find out differently."

  "You need a partner in this endeavor."

  "No," Tafari said, "I don't." He had already partnered with Childress in the oil-refinery business. Jaineba encouraged the tribesmen to attack the equipment when they could, but Childress had cut Tafari in to make object lessons of those tribesmen who interfered. Once the Kenyan oil was being refined in the Childress refinery, Tafari would become a rich man.

  Childress turned to the warlord and smiled. "Yes, you do. Especially one who can deliver the woman to you."

  "You can do that?"

  "I can. One of my employees, Tanisha Diouf, called me to ask if we could accompany the archaeologist group into the savanna. Evidently the location of the treasure is somewhere near where we're building the refinery." Childress shrugged, his hair blowing in the wind. "She'd asked me that before you blew up the train. All I have to do is say yes."

  "A partner like that," Tafari said, "would be good to have."

  "I'm glad you see it that way," Childress said. "I thought you would."

  Tafari also thought that if Childress became too much of a problem, it would be just as easy to bury him with the rest of them.

  ****

  At the police checkpoint in Kidira, Annja had to show her ID and allow officers to go through her luggage and computer. She'd traveled enough and gone through the process enough that having her panties and bras put on public display was no longer embarrassing.

  When the security check was finished, she shoved everything back into her suitcases, shouldered her backpack and walked out with Hallinger.

  "This isn't turning out the way we'd planned, is it?" Hallinger asked.

  "No."

  "Jozua meant what he said about underwriting whatever we want to do."

  Annja glanced at Ganesvoort. The man was already arranging taxis for the group to take them to their hotel. She wasn't even sure if they had a hotel, but watching Ganesvoort in action, she was willing to bet he'd arranged one.

  "I know," she said. "But at this point, until we can refine our search area or beef up our protection, I don't think wandering around the savanna is such a smart thing to do."

  Hallinger looked disappointed. "Let's at least sleep on it before we make a decision."

  Annja agreed. She didn't like giving up on anything.

  There's a way around this. I'm just too tired to think of it at the moment, she told herself. She remained hopeful, to a degree, but the effort was hard.

  ****

  The hotel was a dump. Even with all the money he had, it was the best Ganesvoort could do.

  Annja sat on the bed in her underwear and a T-shirt, sweltering in the heat. There was no air-conditioning, and hardly any wind blew through the solitary window that opened up onto an alley. A tall building next door blocked whatever wind might have been out there.

  Loneliness and disappointment filled her. She couldn't talk to McIntosh because he was still upset that they hadn't agreed with him about leaving. Hallinger and Ganesvoort had been down in the lobby poring over maps and pictures when she'd left them.

  She wanted to talk to someone. She'd tried Bart McGilley's number but all she got was his answering machine. It was the same with the three numbers she had for Roux. Wherever he was, he was choosing to be unavailable. She'd drawn the line at calling Doug Morrell because she'd been avoiding his phone calls for days and really didn't want to deal with a backlog of guilt.

  Feeling dejected and slightly overwhelmed, she sat on the bed with her back against the wall and her computer on her thighs. Slowly, carefully she scrolled through everything she had, glancing frequently at the Spider Stone until, finally, she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore.

  ****

  A cell phone chirped for attention and a man answered. Waking with a jolt, Annja realized someone was in her room and that she was sleeping on top of the bedclothes. Her back was to the door and to whoever was watching her.

  She focused on the sword. All
she had to do was close her hand around the hilt and it was in bed with her.

  "You're awake," a familiar gruff voice said. "Don't pretend that you aren't. I saw the change in your breathing. And don't come up swinging because I didn't come here to – "

  Angry, Annja twisted and threw herself from the bed. She brought the sword up between her and her uninvited visitor.

  Garin Braden sat in a straight-backed chair that looked entirely too small for his stature. His magnetic black eyes glinted with amusement as he held empty hands up at his sides. Long black hair framed his ruggedly handsome face. A goatee covered his chin but not the sardonic smile. His suit was elegant, carefully tailored.

  "What are you doing in my room?" Annja demanded.

  Garin held the cell phone close to his ear just long enough to say "I'll get back to you," then he closed the device and dropped it into his pocket. "I came to see you, of course."

  "How did you find me?"

  "Magic," Garin answered. "I looked in my crystal ball and – poof! – there you were." He paused. "Why don't you put the sword down?"

  "Because I like the sword," Annja replied. She also liked the fact that Garin was afraid of the sword. After he'd lived fearlessly for the past five hundred years, it calmed Annja a little to know that he was afraid of her. "And the last time you and I were alone together, you tried to kill me."

  That had been in her loft in Brooklyn. She'd surprised him and ended up with the sword at his throat, ready to kill him in a split second if he hadn't backed off. Roux had arrived about then and kept her from doing it.

  "If I wanted to kill you," Garin said, "I could have done it while you were sleeping."

  Annja didn't know if that was true or not. When it came to Garin, she had no idea what to believe. She might choose to get along with him, but she'd never trust him if she didn't have to.

  "Look," Garin said in a calm voice, "I came here to help."

  "Me?"

  He made a show of looking around. "I don't see anyone else here. Which is a sad thing, because I was told Special Agent McIntosh is a rather good-looking man."

  "Let's get back to how you found me," Annja said.

  "Boring," Garin told her.

  "Tell me and I won't split your nose with my sword and let you bleed all over that expensive suit."

  "Fine. Credit cards."

  "Credit cards? I haven't used any credit cards."

  "No, but Special Agent McIntosh has. They're all on Homeland Security accounts. Hacking into their system and finding that out caused some consternation, I tell you. I tracked the credit-card usage from Georgia to Dakar to here."

  "McIntosh didn't pay for my room."

  "No, but Ganesvoort did, and I knew he was traveling with you."

  Annja thought about that, searching for Garin's angle. He had one, she was certain. The man always had one.

  "Trust me," Garin said.

  "No." Her answer was flat and immediate.

  "You should."

  "Why?"

  "Because I know something about Anansi's treasure that you don't. In fact, I think I know where it is."

  "Then why aren't you claiming it yourself?" Annja asked.

  Garin sighed. "I'm rich several times over. Even if I were to live forever, which I hope to, I could maintain my lifestyle of extravagance on just the interest my investments and companies make." He smiled. "I wanted to do the treasure hunting with you. To vicariously enjoy your success."

  That's not the whole truth, Annja told herself, but it's close. She still didn't lower the sword.

  "Annja," Garin said softly, "you're a beautiful woman. I have to tell you, I could probably spend the day staring at you in that T-shirt and panties." He ran his eyes over her.

  Annja suddenly felt exposed. She held her aplomb with difficulty.

  "But they're not going to let you eat breakfast downstairs in the restaurant like that," Garin went on. He smiled again, flashing white teeth. "Of course, we could order room service and stay in."

  "You are a filthy, disgusting pig," Annja said, irritated because she didn't know what to do. Curiosity wouldn't permit her to throw Garin out of the room without hearing everything he had to say, and she wasn't quite ready to kill him.

  Yet.

  She willed the sword away and it vanished. Then she took a pair of jeans, clean underwear and bra and a cotton top from her suitcase. She strode toward the bathroom, away from Garin.

  "Hey, Annja," he called.

  She stopped at the door. "What?"

  Smiling, he said, "Could you come back here and walk there one more time? I've never really noticed how your – "

  Annja stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door, cutting him off. She was frustrated by Garin's crude nature, but part of her was glad to see him and she didn't understand that at all.

  ****

  "We really should have gone somewhere else." Garin stared at the menu with no enthusiasm. The plastic protecting the typed sheets was stained. "Surely they've got a better restaurant than this."

  "This isn't a date," Annja pointed out.

  The restaurant was small, more like an afterthought to the hotel than anything else. The menu was extremely limited, but the food smelled good enough to make Annja's stomach rumble in anticipation.

  "Maybe I'll just have a coffee," Garin said.

  "Eat something," Annja urged.

  He peered at her over the menu with interest. "Why? Are you worried that I'm going to starve?"

  "I'm hoping you'll choke." Actually, she didn't want to eat alone. She could, and often did, but not when there was an alternative. Maybe Garin was a cold-blooded killer, a thief and a cheat, but he could also be breakfast company.

  "Now, there's a cheery thought. And after I've flown so far to see you," he said.

  "It's not that far from Germany to Senegal," Annja replied. "And it's not like you actually came to see me. You've got an ulterior motive."

  "You've got such a bad impression of me."

  "People who try to kill me generally leave a bad impression."

  "I'm surprised you came to breakfast with me at all, in that case."

  Annja glared at him. "Me. You. Small talk." She shook her head. "It's not going to happen. Get around to whatever brought you here and let's deal with it."

  A server came to the table. She was short and plump, in her middle sixties and missing her front teeth. She smiled at them and said good-morning.

  Garin ordered for them both, in the native dialect, and in a manner that got a bigger smile out of the tired server.

  "You ordered for me," Annja said when he turned back to her.

  "I'm sorry," Garin said. "It's a habit I sometimes forget about. When I was a young man, ordering for a woman was both an expectation of the woman and an art for the man. I didn't mean to offend you."

  Surprisingly, Annja believed him. "No. Actually, I thought it was kind of charming."

  He smiled and looked pleased with himself, erasing some of the charm.

  "Seriously, though," Annja said, "we need to talk about why you're here." She glanced at her watch. "You've got fifteen seconds."

  "A challenge then."

  "Thirteen."

  "I think that if you're not careful when you enter Anansi's treasure vault, you're going to unleash a plague that could destroy most of western and northern Africa."

  Annja stared at him.

  "How am I doing so far?" Garin asked.

  Chapter 24

  After the unexpected announcement, it took Annja a moment to find her voice. "You're lying."

  Garin laughed at her. "I'm lying? That's the best you can come up with after I tell you that a plague is waiting to be released?" He sipped his coffee. "Why would I lie?"

  "To get my attention."

  Garin gestured expansively. "I already have your attention. Despite my slight indiscretion – "

  "Trying to kill me isn't a slight indiscretion."

  "A momentary lapse in judgment."


  Annja started to protest again.

  Garin held up a hand and looked irritated. "Whatever you wish to call it." He took a breath. "Despite that, you talk to me whenever I wish because you're willing to do whatever it takes to get knowledge out of me that you wouldn't otherwise have."

  Folding her arms across her breasts, Annja said, "You're not the only man I know who's lived more than five hundred years. In fact, I'm not at all sure how long Roux has been around."

  "Nor am I," Garin admitted. "But I am sure of one thing. You won't be able to make casual conversation with Roux and have him trot out his past to be picked over like a buffet line. The only time he tells you anything is when he has his own motivations for doing so. Believe me. I've tried."

  "He's trained you well."

  Garin grimaced. "I'm not at all like that old fool."

  "Maybe you are, more than you like to admit." In fact, upon observing the two of them together, Annja had the distinct opinion that the two acted very much like father and son.

  Five hundred years of failed expectation and rebelliousness. Man, that'll leave a mark, she thought.

  Garin cursed and shook his head. "We've never seen eye to eye. Roux continues to insist that good will triumph over evil."

  "I guess you can't afford to think that way."

  "Because you think I'm evil?" Garin asked, sneering.

  "Yes."

  "I'm not evil. I'm merely a man after my own pursuits."

  "You've killed and stolen to get them," Annja said.

  "So have you."

  Annja gasped. She had killed. No more than thirty-six hours ago.

  "You killed people to save your life, or to save the lives of others," Garin said. "So you excuse yourself for it. I don't have a problem with that. I excuse myself for the same reasons."

  "You tried to kill me."

  "Will you get over that already?" Garin breathed impatiently. "You threatened me."

  "How?"

  "The sword. Everything that I am, everything that I have gone through, is because of that sword. Now it is in your hands. When that happened, when I first realized that you had it, can you imagine how I felt?"

  Annja couldn't.

  "After five hundred years, I'd begun believing that it would never return. Then you came along. And it did. After it had been shattered into pieces. I was afraid. When I attacked you, I wasn't in my right mind. You can't just label people so conveniently," Garin said. "Do you honestly believe Roux is a pure force of good?"