by Alex Archer
"You do realize that they could shoot Tom if he doesn't give it to them, don't you? He might change his mind about protecting your package. Unless you're really good friends."
"Oh," Nikolai said. "Well, we're part of the same Starbase."
"I'm sure that means a lot." Annja got him moving up to a run and they flagged a cab.
****
"Man, I hate you right now, Nikolai." Tom Gibson sat on the floor of Your Mail Is Here with his head tilted back. He held a fistful of wet paper towels to his bleeding nose. He was a little overweight, about Nikolai's age, and had kinky sandy hair.
Looking around the store, Annja saw that the accessories spinners had been overturned and papers had been scattered across the desk. There was no way of knowing how long ago Dieter's men had left.
"You didn't tell me somebody was going to be looking for that package," Tom accused.
"They were looking for it at my store," Nikolai said.
"Well, when they didn't find it there, didn't you think they would look somewhere else?"
"I didn't think that far ahead." Nikolai looked sheepish.
"And you're our science officer?" Tom rolled his eyes. "Boy are we in trouble."
"Guys," Annja suggested, "maybe we could keep this from being a Starfleet problem."
Tom glared at her. "Who's she?"
"A friend."
"You've never had a friend who looked like this." Tom smiled. "Anybody ever tell you that you're hot?"
"Don't tilt your head back," Annja said.
"It's supposed to stop the bleeding," Tom said.
"It doesn't. It just makes you swallow the blood. Swallow enough and you're going to get sick."
"Great." Tom leaned forward and blood streamed over his shirt. "I'm going to bleed to death."
"Pinch the bridge of your nose." Annja demonstrated. "That will close the capillaries and stop the bleeding faster. Then put some ice on it to keep the swelling down."
"Okay. Thanks. Are you a nurse?"
"No. I'm trying to find that package those men came here for."
"They took it," Tom said.
"Oh, man," Nikolai said. "I can't believe you gave it to them."
Tom pointed to his face. "They broke my nose, dude. Chill. I'm probably gonna look like Cyrano de Bergerac after this."
"How long ago?" Annja asked.
"Couple minutes."
"Do you know where they were going?"
Tom rolled his eyes. "Like they were gonna leave me an itinerary after committing a felony? And it is a felony screwing with the mail, you know."
"Yeah," Nikolai said. "The FBI's going to be all over this."
"I called the police," Tom said.
Annja stood and started for the door. A couple minutes' head start wasn't much. It was probably enough, though, but she had to try to find them. If that didn't work out, there was always the Sentry Continental Hotel.
Unless the local police had found Dieter unconscious at Digital Paradise and taken him into custody.
"Wait," Tom said. "There is something."
"What?"
"Almost forgot. When they first came in, they were looking at the map on the wall by the counter. I asked them what they were looking for. They said the subway. I told them the Flatbush station was a couple blocks over."
Annja went through the doors and broke into a run. The race wasn't over yet.
Chapter 9
Annja ran through crowds of pedestrians, straining her eyes to see the Flatbush Avenue
subway station. Footsteps gained on her from the rear. When she glanced back, she spotted Nikolai catching up to her. He was faster than he looked. It helped that he was following in the wake Annja had cut through the people.
"What are you doing?" Annja asked.
"I can't let you go alone."
"This isn't something you should be involved with."
"I know. I keep telling myself that."
"Then go back."
"Can't."
Before Annja could say anything else, her phone rang. She plucked it from her coat pocket and checked Caller ID. The country code was 371.
Latvia.
Pulling the phone to her ear, she said hello at the same time she spotted the subway sign on the next block. She didn't see anyone she recognized as Dieter's men or anyone carrying a suspicious package.
"Ms. Creed," Erene Skujans greeted. "Some time has passed since our last conversation."
"I know," Annja said, breathing a little rapidly. "I tried to call you back."
"I've been busy."
"So have I." Annja tried to keep the anger out of her voice, but she didn't think she was successful.
"Is something wrong?" Erene asked. "You sound out of breath."
"I'm trying to catch a train. Have you heard from Mario?"
"No. I was hoping you had."
"Not yet. I'm looking for him."
"Where?"
"Wherever I can think of."
"Try the Clark Hotel in Manhattan."
Annja hadn't ever heard of the hotel.
"It's a small hotel," Erene said. "It's one of Mario's favorites when he goes to Manhattan."
You know about his favorite hotels? Annja thought, and barely kept from asking that. "Haven't you tried calling him there?"
"I have, but he might be registered under another name."
Why would he be registered under another name? Annja answered her own question before she asked it. Of course he'd be under another name. Dieter and his people were hunting him.
"What name?" Annja asked.
"If I knew," Erene said irritably, "I'd have already called and checked."
That stirred the anger within Annja. She felt protective toward Mario because of the time they'd spent together at the Hadrian's Wall dig and because he'd come asking for her help. Although she hadn't known about it until that morning.
"I need to know what this is about." Annja reached the steps leading into the subway terminal. She hurried down the crowded stairs, eliciting several unkind comments.
"Find Mario," Erene said. "He'll tell you what you need to know." The phone connection clicked dead.
Frustrated, Annja shoved the phone back into her coat pocket and kept running. She reached the landing and peered over the crowd as she cut in line, drawing curses, and thumbed a token into the turnstile.
A large crowd gathered in front of the yellow warning track. The lights flashed and the loudspeaker sounded to announce the arrival of the train. Rumbling filled the cavernous terminal.
Anxious, feeling as if everything was about to slip away, Annja moved through the crowd. The problem was that a lot of people shopped on their way home and carried their packages on the subway.
Then she spotted a familiar face. The man was one of the four she'd seen that morning. He stared straight ahead as the train came to a stop. The air brakes hissed like ferocious beasts.
The crowd moved back, making room for the passengers to get off. Dieter's man shifted in the crowd and Annja thought she'd lost him a couple times.
"There!" Nikolai shouted, and his voice carried in the subway. He also pointed, drawing attention.
"Don't," Annja said. But it was too late.
The man turned and saw them. He nudged his partner, who was standing next to him. Then the crowd surged ahead to board. By that time several of the passengers were staring at Annja and Nikolai.
Trying not to lose the man, forced to wait to see if the two men would only pretend to board and later duck out, Annja ended up getting pushed back a car and barely got on. If Nikolai hadn't made room for her, she wouldn't have been able to board.
The train got under way with a jerk, then settled into familiar swaying as it rattled along the tracks. The car was crowded with the early-evening traffic. Annja made her way forward with difficulty, drawing hostile glares and a few choice words.
She let herself into the next car and saw the two men going forward into the next car.
"They're t
rying to get away," Nikolai said. "Newkirk Avenue
is up next. We'll be there soon."
Annja nodded, knowing that a window of opportunity existed at that point. If the men managed to get out, they could be gone before she could catch them. She went forward faster, unmindful of the invective she incurred. Nikolai made apologies in their wake.
When the door to the next car opened, the two men were nowhere in sight. Instead, everyone in the car was staring at Annja.
Realizing what was happening, Annja put a hand on Nikolai's face and shoved him backward.
"Hey!" he yelped in protest, but he went back and down.
The man on the right shoved a pistol around the door frame. Expecting the move, Annja caught his hand in both of hers and cracked it against the door frame. When the pistol fell, she caught it in her right hand and kept hold of the man's wrist with her left hand.
Stepping into view, the second man pointed his pistol at Annja. She swung her captured weapon above the man's arms and caught him on his jaw with the pistol butt. The meaty impact sounded over the rattling of the car. He sagged and fell.
Annja released the first man in order to grab the other pistol before it hit the ground. Before she could get set, the first man kicked her in the stomach. Doubled over by the blow, feeling nauseous, Annja tried to draw a breath and couldn't. Pain screamed through her.
"You're going to wish you hadn't interfered," her opponent promised, doubling his hands into fists. He punched her in the face, turning her head with the force of the blow.
Black spots swam in Annja's vision. Weakly, she pointed one of the pistols at the man. He took it away from her as if she were a child. Flipping the pistol around, he tried to aim it at her.
She pocketed the other pistol, stepped over the package the other man had dropped and grabbed the pistol, flipping the safety in front of the trigger guard before he could fire. His finger whitened on the trigger, but nothing happened.
"Surprise," she said. Then she threw herself at him and used her knees and elbows in the close quarters.
Annja threw her elbows into the man's face and neck, battering him back against the train car wall. She kneed him in the crotch and thighs, tearing his legs out from under him. He went limp and slid down.
Breathing hard, Annja stepped back. Blood trickled down from her nose and lip.
Someone moved behind her. Instinctively, she lifted her fists and turned to face Nikolai.
"You win," Nikolai said, holding his hands up.
The train slowed and the inertia pulled at Annja as she stood on trembling legs. The adrenaline left her shaky. Getting hit in the face didn't help, she reminded herself.
She reached down and picked up the package. Then she took out a Swiss Army knife and sliced the tape open. Inside, nestled in a bed of foam pellets, was a mosaic tile.
And a note from Mario Fellini.
Dear Annja
It's been a long time since we talked. Doesn't seem so long, though, because I've been busy. I even pulled a stint at the archives in Vatican City. I kept looking for the Da Vinci files, but I didn't find them!
I think they kept them hidden.
But I did find something else that was interesting. I'm on my way to New York City, so I hope to see you soon. I left messages at the television studio, but you haven't called back. I guess you're busy. I hope you're not too busy to talk. I'll even buy dinner!
I've got a lot to talk to you about. If you have time, could you authenticate this mosaic tile? Play fairly with it. The results should remind you of that bar in Haltwhistle. Remember, you can't always be cautious. Omelettes don't get made without breaking eggs.
Take care.
Mario
****
"Do you want some more ice?"
Drawn from the letter, which she'd read nearly twenty times, Annja looked at Nikolai and shook her head. She regretted the effort at once.
After leaving the subway, they'd cabbed over to a Starbucks that offered Wi-Fi and television. Annja had immediately set to work on the Internet, trying to find out about the mosaic because it was the only thing she could think to do at the moment.
Going to the Clark Hotel in Manhattan wasn't a good option at the moment. The injury to her face wasn't too severe and already wasn't hurting so much. But, despite Erene Skujans's tip about the hotel, Annja couldn't act on it. Yet. She at least planned to stake out the hotel later that evening to see if Mario went in or out. She couldn't go up to the desk clerk and simply ask for Mario if he was concealed under another name.
Nikolai set another coffee in front of her at the table they shared. "The swelling seems to have gone down."
"It feels better," Annja said. She sipped her coffee. "You could go home, you know."
"I know. I'm going to have to soon. I've got a shift tomorrow and Mom is worried. I've already called her and talked to her, but until I walk through the door, she's not going to believe that I'm all right."
Annja smiled a little and the effort pulled at the swelling. "It must be nice to have a mom like that."
"It is. It gets in the way sometimes, but for the most part I really like having her there," Nikolai said.
"You don't know how lucky you are." Even though Annja had stopped aching over the lack of family in her life, she still felt wistful from time to time.
"Oh, I do. Trust me." Nikolai looked at the tile. "So what's that?"
"A mosaic." Annja picked it up and showed it to him. It was square, each side measuring twelve inches. "It's made up of individual pieces called tessera that are glued to a background. In this instance, the background is glazed ceramic. When early civilizations first started making mosaics thousands of years ago, people just used stones that caught their eye. Later, they began chipping marble and limestone into cube shapes and using them."
"Looks like a lot of work."
"The tessera are laid in twenty-four rows by twenty-four rows."
"So that's like... a lot of tessera."
"Five hundred and seventy-six pieces."
"Is that normal?"
Annja smiled. "I've seen walls two and three stories tall laid with tessera. There isn't a set amount to use. You use what you want to, and what it takes."
Nikolai tapped the mosaic. "This looks like glass."
"It is. That was the next medium artisans started using after they got tired of stones, marble and limestone."
"Is this a dog?" Nikolai pointed to the four-legged creature on the tile.
"It is," Annja told him. The dog stood braced on all fours, frozen in midbark. "These are called cave canem images."
"That's Latin?"
"Yes. The loose translation is 'beware of the dog.' Tiles like these were often set into the thresholds of Roman houses."
Nikolai grinned. "People have signs on their houses and yards that say that now. I bet they don't know that the Romans started that."
"Probably not." Annja smiled. Teaching was a sideline of her profession that she'd never expected to embrace. Instead it turned out to be a natural progression.
A lot of curators and archaeologists who loved their work had told her that. Since then, she'd experienced that feeling when she'd explained something to someone who ended up being more interested than they'd thought they would.
"So Mario sent you this tile as a warning?" Nikolai asked.
Annja looked at the handwritten note again. "He says he wanted me to authenticate it." She didn't mention anything about the bar in Haltwhistle.
"Then this could be worth a lot of money? If it's one of those ancient Roman tiles?"
"It's not." Annja looked at the tile. "It's good work, but it's not unique enough to be worth much."
"Maybe it's worth a lot because of the person who did this. Like a famous painter or someone."
"The tile's almost brand-new."
Nikolai slumped back in the chair. "Then I'm confused."
"So am I," Annja admitted.
"What are you going to do?"
&nbs
p; "Stake out the Clark Hotel. Hope that Mario shows up. And keep hoping that Bart McGilley returns my call."
"He's the police guy, right?"
"Homicide detective, yes."
Nikolai drank his coffee, and Annja smelled the hazelnut coming off it. "Did you catch the newsbreak earlier? About the guys at the cyber games place?"
"No."
"They got away. So did the guys on the subway train."
Great. They're still out there. Annja took a breath and let it out.
Nikolai's eyes cut back to the tile. "There's gotta be a reason he sent you this."
"I know."
"And there's no clues in the letter?"
Annja pushed it over and let him read it.
"Says he found something hidden at the Vatican," Nikolai pointed out.
Shaking her head, Annja said, "Not everything's about the Roman Catholic Church trying to cover up some dreadful, earth-shattering secret. Usually people in power do things for their own good. To protect or benefit themselves."
"So why are these guys after you and the tile? To protect themselves or for their benefit?"
"I don't have a clue."
"But you do," Nikolai insisted. "That's why Mario sent you this tile."
"He's going to have to explain it to me." Annja's phone rang. She plucked it up from the table and checked the Caller ID.
Smiling, feeling relieved, Annja punched the talk button and said hello.
"Are you doing okay?" Bart asked.
The reserved, professional way Bart spoke brought Annja up short. "I'm fine," she said.
"I heard there were a number of incidents you were involved in today." Bart's tone was accusatory and Annja didn't care for it at all.
"I tried to call you," Annja stated.
"You could have come in."
"There were things I had to do."
"Like turn Brooklyn into a shooting gallery? Or get involved in the fights at the cybercafe and in the subway?"
"It's been a busy day," Annja said. "Now that I think about it, maybe I don't have time for this phone call." In all the time they'd known each other, she and Bart hadn't always agreed about things, but he'd never tried to go all "cop" on her.
"You need to take this phone call," Bart told her. "Do you know a guy named Mario Fellini?"