by Alex Archer
Annja didn't know. She wanted to believe the best of Roux, but he had bailed on her when she had so many questions about the sword and what she was supposed to do. He'd just given her some pop-psychology answers and left her to deal with it. He'd made it clear he didn't see any need to be further involved.
But he'd also told her that she could affect the balance between good and evil. Did she believe that?
Garin scowled. "Roux has filled your head with that crap about the destiny of the sword, hasn't he? And you've really bought into it."
Annja didn't care for the demeaning tone of Garin's words.
"He told me the same thing, once upon a time," Garin said. "Do you know what we did?"
Annja shook her head.
"Roux chased women and gambled across Europe and Asia," Garin said. "Then Roux became intoxicated with the idea of Joan."
"Why? What drew him to her?" Annja asked.
"Probably the same things that draw him to you. She was young – younger than you – and independent. A woman who wouldn't give herself easily to any man."
Annja knew that Roux liked young women. He was rarely without their company at home and abroad from what she had seen.
Frustrated with the conversation, and not liking how it was making her feel, Annja said, "We're not here to talk about Roux."
"I only wanted to put him in perspective so you could better see me," Garin said. "You paint me as a villain, yet I'm the one who showed up here to help you."
Annja restrained from asking him why. "Why do you think the treasure of Anansi has a plague in it?" she asked instead.
****
As Garin spoke, he studied Annja. He knew that she didn't trust him. He didn't care. She didn't have to trust him, but only had to let him into the expedition. That was all that he wanted.
But he couldn't get the image of her sleeping atop the bedcovers out of his mind. She was a tall woman, and full-bodied, equipped with warm curves over muscle. Strength sheathed in beauty. That was what she was.
Before he was able to truly launch into the story, the server arrived with their breakfast. Despite his complaining about the probable condition of the food, it looked and smelled good.
They ate while he talked, moving through the mango, bananas and uji, sorghum bread and beef strips. He'd ordered as much for her as he had for himself. He'd seen Annja eat before and had been impressed.
The hunger to know what he knew showed in her eyes. She wanted to ask him about what he'd seen, what he'd done, and he knew that, as well.
"I was here in West Africa during the slave trade," Garin went on. "In fact, I knew Jozua Ganesvoort's ancestors. For a time I did business in Ile de Goree."
"Selling slaves?" she asked. The accusation was soft in her words, but it was still there.
"No," he lied. "I sold goods and managed a banking operation." That was the truth. He'd dabbled in many things.
Annja continued eating and listening.
"There's more to the legend of the Spider Stone," Garin told her. "In the Old Testament, God smote the pharaoh and his people with plagues."
"Ten in all," Annja said. "I'm familiar with the story. There's been some conjecture that the plagues may have been the result of activity in the Thera volcano 650 miles away. The Nile could have been polluted by the volcano stirring up the silt and rendering the water undrinkable. That would have accounted for the dead fish, as well. It might even have been red algae, a blood tide. With the water gone bad, the frogs would have abandoned the river and allowed the insect population to grow. Disease-carrying insects could have infected livestock and given the people boils. Plagues of locusts happen even without any of these other events, and enough of them can even make the sky dark. With the volcano involved, perhaps it was ash floating in the air. As for the firstborn dying, if the food was ruined they may have died from the diseases it carried."
"And what does the field of archaeology say?" Garin asked.
"When it comes to the Bible, archaeologists are divided," Annja admitted. "Some treat it as a historical document, and others believe it's a work of fiction."
"Designed to keep the believers in line."
"Perhaps."
Garin smiled. "What if I told you that those Biblical citizens weren't that far removed from people today? That there existed within their ranks men who would use whatever means necessary to achieve their ends."
"That's mankind in action," Annja said. "No surprise there."
"True. However, research I've done indicates that some of the people scattered after the pharaoh figured out that the disease that ran through his city wasn't all due to the Hebrew god. The pharaoh's men discovered that some of the diseases had been deliberately started by men."
"Where did you get this information?" Annja asked.
Garin reached into his pocket and took out a USB flash drive. "I have copies of the document."
Annja pushed her empty plates away and put her computer on the table.
Watching her become absorbed in the task, Garin felt a glow of success.
****
Working , Annja opened the flash drive. There was only one file on the device. She copied it to her computer – she couldn't risk Garin snatching it away whenever he wanted – and opened the file. There were several folders tucked inside the main file. Most of them were jpegs.
"They're photographs of tablets recovered from a Hausa village about a hundred years or so after they were written," Garin said. "Evidently the author couldn't live his life in anonymity. That's probably how the pharaoh found out about his culpability in the plagues."
Annja studied the first photograph of a clay tablet. It appeared to be similar in nature to those used in Egypt at the same time period.
"I can't read them. Can you?" Garin asked.
"No," Annja replied.
"Select the next jpeg and you'll see a translation."
The next file had a picture of the same tablet with a translation overlaid on it in white letters. Annja read the story.
While I lived among the dark men and feared Pharaoh's revenge, I had cause to once more use the potion I had concocted to ravage Pharaoh's army. My adopted village was approached by a young man, no more than a boy, who said that his own village was beset by enemies.
I was touched by the boy's story of how Anansi, the spider god of his people, directed him to me in a dream. I knew that he probably came to me because I have solved many problems for this village where I have chosen to stay.
He appealed to my vanity, praising me as one who has been chosen to be spoken through by his gods. Since his people do trade as much as they do and carry news of many countries, I thought it would be best if I maintained their friendship.
I gave him a pot of the potion and told him to spread it in the water of his enemies. I told him that only a small amount would be necessary, for it was very powerful and water in these lands is a precious commodity, just as it is in Egypt.
Annja launched into the second set of tablets. Excitement stirred within her, along with fear.
I saw the boy again today. He told me that the men who attacked his village are now dead. The potion has always performed well.
When I asked him what he did with the rest of the potion, he told me that Anansi directed him to put it in the place of treasures so that it might be used again if needed.
He gave me a small bag of emeralds and rubies. Before he left, he also showed me a small stone he's inscribing that will tell the history of Anansi's promise to protect his people. On one side, the stone bears the image of an atrocious spider. The other holds the language of his people.
Finished with the translations, Annja stared at Garin. "Is this true?" she asked.
He nodded. "You're hunting something that could kill you and a lot of other people."
"And you're here because you care about people?"
"No," Garin said. "I'm here because I care about you."
Annja didn't believe him. There was more. She waited.
>
Garin cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "But there's more, Annja. For five hundred years, only Roux and I have shared the mystery of the sword. I'd given up on it. But you came along and made that mystery new again. Made it attainable once more. Or at least clothed it in that illusion. And you've turned our two-sided war into a three-way battle. I've never gotten the best of Roux. With you at my side, I think that balance of power could change."
"Why would I ever help you?" Annja asked.
"Because one day, you may not have a choice. Roux is not your benefactor. If you get in his way – and you might – he'll step on you."
A chill threaded down through Annja's spine as she faced the possibility that Garin might be speaking honestly.
"Well," Garin asked, "do we have a deal? Or did we just have breakfast?"
Chapter 25
Annja made the introductions, giving Garin's name as Gar Lambert, a professional treasure hunter she'd bumped into while in town.
Hallinger and Ganesvoort seemed pleased by the possibility that someone familiar with the area – and someone who had armed men at his disposal – could join the expedition.
McIntosh and his entourage weren't so easy to convince. They sat together at the back of the room Garin had reserved for the meeting.
"It's amazing how you just happened to come along," McIntosh said.
"Not so amazing," Garin replied. He'd changed clothes, dropping the suit and slipping into jeans and a khaki shirt. He also affected an American accent. The skill of weaving different accents and behaviors was something Annja had noticed in both Roux and Garin. Both men were as skilled as trained actors. "I've been watching the news. I knew Annja was in West Africa. We've already been here for weeks."
The dozen men who followed Garin were hard-eyed and silent. Most of them looked as if they'd fit right in with the Kidira citizens. Except that most of the Senegalese didn't look like killers.
"When we ran into each other earlier," Annja said, "I explained what we were doing." She looked at McIntosh. "I also told him we were short on manpower."
Garin smiled. "Naturally, I couldn't let Annja go trekking around the wilds of the savanna unprotected. Especially not with Tafari gunning for her."
"Naturally," McIntosh said sarcastically.
Annja didn't say anything, although the expression on McIntosh's face made it tempting. She kept quiet, and after a few minutes, everyone began discussing how they were going to get the expedition under way.
****
"How well do you know this guy?"
Annja glanced at McIntosh as they walked along the sidewalk.
Garin and his crew of mercenary cutthroats had set out to finalize the vehicles and armament they were taking.
"I trust him," Annja said.
"With your life?"
"Yes."
"What about the lives of the rest of us?"
Annja stopped and wheeled on McIntosh so fiercely that he backed up a step. "I trust him with the lives of other people as much as I trust you with them, Agent McIntosh."
Passersby started going around them, giving them a wide berth.
"Furthermore," Annja said, "you and your men don't have to take this trip if you don't want to."
McIntosh got his feet under him and leaned into her. "I came this far with you. I'm not going to turn tail now."
"We're not on your turf anymore," Annja said, feeling a little concerned for him. "This isn't Atlanta. That wilderness out there isn't like anything you've ever dealt with. This is my game now."
"Except for your buddy. Looks like it's his game, too."
"He's been around this kind of thing longer than I have," she said.
"Tafari is still out there somewhere, Annja."
"I know," she said. "That'll give you the chance to capture him like you wanted. You should be glad."
"Well, I'm not." McIntosh was breathing hard.
Annja got the impression he was about to do something stupid, like try to kiss her. That's the last thing I need right now, she told herself.
McIntosh cursed and walked away.
****
"Somebody's coming."
Annja looked up from her computer and stared down the trail that cut through the savanna. Kidira was hours behind them, and the western sky was starting to turn purple with the dimming of the day. They were making their way toward a distant hill to the west. Locals, Annja had discovered when she'd asked, had called the place Brothers of Water. Given that the Spider Stone showed a suggestion of waterways in the map – at least, she hoped it was a suggestion of waterways – Anansi's treasure was likely to be hidden somewhere near there.
Garin rode in the lead Land Rover. His driver halted. The other drivers behind him fanned out, all of them parking in a formation that allowed for defensive moves.
"I need you to stay put, Ms. Creed," Annja's driver said. He rolled the vehicle to a stop, then closed a big hand around the assault rifle between the seats.
Annja put her computer away. She wore a .45-caliber semiautomatic on her hip. Her T-shirt and cargo pants were soaked through from the heat. She wore a New York Yankees baseball cap and wraparound sunglasses.
All of Garin's crew had drawn their weapons. McIntosh and his people had, too. The possibility of an outside threat seemed to unify the two forces.
The approaching Land Rover halted a few feet in front of Garin's vehicle. Tanisha Diouf slid out of the passenger side. She was dressed in khakis, a green T-shirt tucked into her pants. Stopping, she called out, "Annja Creed."
Annja stepped out of the vehicle and onto the trail. "Tanisha."
The woman's face split into a wide, generous smile. "You've been invited to join us."
"Us?" Annja echoed.
Tanisha pointed to the side of her Land Rover. Childress Corporation was emblazoned on the side. "I talked to Mr. Childress. He agreed to help you get as far into the savanna as safely as you can. If you're interested."
"I am," Annja said.
Tanisha walked over to her. "I was hoping you would say that. My boys have been worried about you. They thought maybe something had happened to you after you left us."
Annja grinned. "I'm glad nothing's happened to you."
"Mr. Childress believes the train was attacked by bandits hoping to steal some of the cargo," Tanisha said. "The next time he has a shipment coming in, it'll be protected."
Annja nodded.
"Mind if I ride with you?" Tanisha asked. "We can talk along the way."
"Sure."
Garin's men repositioned themselves, making room for Tanisha.
"Follow that vehicle," Tanisha instructed the driver. "We've got a base camp not far from here."
Tanisha looked at Annja. "Do you have those maps you had on the train? Let me have a peek and maybe I can get you closer to where you need to go."
****
"Are you an investor, then?" Victor Childress peered at Garin.
"Yes," Garin replied. "Well, not really investing so much. That's a little rich for my blood. But I do speculate. If something catches my eye."
Annja sat at the folding table their host had provided. Everyone was relaxing after a generous meal.
Bashir sat on her lap and kept distracting Annja with whispered comments despite his mother's admonitions. Kamil had allowed Annja to take a look at his cut, even though it interfered with his manly acting. She'd been pleased to find the wound was healing well.
"Oil is where the money is," Childress said. "If you have it, you make money. But do you know who else makes money?"
Annja knew Childress had consumed a fair bit of wine with the meal.
"Who?" Garin asked as if he was intensely interested. For all Annja knew, maybe he was.
"The people who transport it and sell it at the pump, of course," Childress said. "And the corporations that refine oil."
"I guess that's true enough," Garin said.
McIntosh was ignoring the conversation for the most part. His attention was directed a
t the dark savanna outside the ring of lights that lit the camp.
"Did you know that Nigeria, not that far from here, actually," Childress said, "is the largest African producer of oil?"
"No," Garin replied.
"Well, they are. Unfortunately, that country is being torn apart by American oil interests and a corrupt government. Hobbled as they are, battered between gangsters and native militias, they can't enter a competitive market. Also nearby, Mauritania's army ousted their president and are looking to do business. In the past, they've had to go through American companies. Childress Corporation is here to change that."
From the short time she'd been around the man, Annja could see that Childress had a high opinion of himself. With McIntosh and Garin already butting heads over who was the alpha male of the expedition, there was too much testosterone in the air.
"I contracted with the Senegalese government to set up a refinery out here," Childress said. "We're in the process of building it now. At the same time, another facet of Childress Corporation is also laying pipe from Mauritania to Senegal. When everything's finished, we'll pump the oil across from Mauritania and refine it here. We hope we'll pick up some business from Nigeria, as well."
****
Annja worked in the small dome tent she'd set up for the night.
A shadow darkened the door and Garin's deep voice said, "Knock, knock."
"Come in." Annja sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent. The computer was plugged into an electrical outlet maintained by one of the camp's generator trucks.
Garin entered the tent, having to hunker low. He scowled, then spoke in Latin. "Speak this language. I don't want to be understood by the guards posted nearby, or by the bugs."
"What bugs?" Annja asked in Latin.
"Our host is spying on us."
"Why?"
Garin grinned. "Because he's not a good guy. All that talk he had of setting up a refinery to do fair business with Mauritania and Nigeria? Do you know what he's really banking on?"