by Alex Archer
"Yes." Schluter sat on the edge of the ergonomic chair, his elbows braced on his knees, his forefingers under his chin. His grandmother was still entertaining Garin Braden in the study, staying up far past her normal bedtime.
"I don't know what the big deal is about this woman," Piccoli said in bored tones. "I don't know why you insisted on all the extra manpower."
"If you don't need it and you feel you've been overpaid, you can always return part of the fee," Schluter replied.
Seeing the action on the screen, he wished he could be there. The woman had cost him the service of Dieter Humbrecht, who was going to be hard to replace. Schluter had trusted Dieter, and that wasn't something that came easily.
Piccoli laughed at the suggestion. "I never turn down easy money."
"Just remember, you get a bonus if you take her alive, and if she escapes you don't get the other half."
"That's not going to be a problem."
"I hope not."
The woman had disappeared for many hours. For all of that time, Schluter had waited anxiously for her to reappear. He'd fretted constantly. His grandmother had pressured him to get back to Riga and look for the treasure that was supposed to be hidden there. He'd finally forced her to acknowledge that having Annja Creed, with whatever knowledge Mario Fellini had passed on to her, would be desirable.
Through all of that discussion, Garin Braden had never said a word. He'd sat back and taken it all in. Schluter had the feeling that the big man had only been amused by everything they were doing. Schluter had even expected Garin to volunteer to go get the woman himself.
But he hadn't.
"Okay," Piccoli said, "we're going to take her now."
****
"I have a favor to ask, Garin."
"Anything," Garin told Kikka as he poured her another glass of wine.
Kikka looked at the wine. "I really shouldn't."
"You only live once, I say." And that's what you used to say, too, Garin thought, remembering those nights sixty years ago.
"You're right." Kikka picked up the glass and sipped.
"What did you want to ask?"
Kikka blotted her lips. "When you and Wolfram go to Riga, I want to go with you."
Garin sat across from her, enjoying the wine, the warmth of the fireplace and the memory of the sparkle in the woman's eyes sixty years ago.
"Do you really think that's wise?" he asked.
"No, but this could be my last chance at adventure." Kikka smiled and shook her head. "I never saw myself ending my final days wasting away inside these walls."
Neither did I, Garin thought. His phone buzzed for attention. "Arrangements can be made," he said. "Excuse me." He took out his phone and answered it.
"The woman has landed," his contact said.
Garin stifled a curse. He'd hoped that Roux would get Annja clear of the situation, but evidently that hadn't been the case.
"Schluter's people are all around her," Gunther went on. "We've hacked into his systems. You should be able to view the video feed he's using."
"All right." Garin knew that Gunther was holding back from reminding him they could have had a team in place there. As well as the other airports that serviced Venice.
But there had been no reason to think that Annja was flying there. Her name had never appeared on any passenger manifests at the airports. He'd had those monitored by Gunther's people so there would be no surprises. Garin hated surprises.
"I can hack into his system and stand down the team he has there or send for the police," Gunther said.
"No." Garin didn't want to do that because it would make Schluter even harder to deal with. He still wasn't certain he knew as much as Schluter did and he didn't want to risk the working relationship he had in place.
It wasn't the potential profit so much as it was the promise he'd made to the old woman all those years ago, but there was no discounting the chance for more wealth. He'd never allowed himself to get comfortable like Roux.
"Do nothing," Garin ordered. "Let me have the feed. I'll call you if I need you." He stood and looked at Kikka. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."
She smiled and nodded. "Of course."
Garin left the study and went up the stairs to the second floor, heading for Schluter's private suite. He pressed buttons, bringing up the video stream Gunther was piggybacking from Schluter's signal.
The phone's screen was small, but it was clear enough to recognize Annja Creed as she stepped out into the covered pickup areas in front of the airport. There was even an audio feed.
The men closing in on Annja pulled weapons from under their jackets. Then the sound of automatic gunfire rattled through the tiny speaker.
Chapter 30
"Annja Creed," one of the men called out. He pointed his pistol at her.
Annja's stomach churned as adrenaline sped through her system. Her senses came alive, as sharp as they'd ever been. Time slowed down for her the way it sometimes did when her life was on the line.
Beside her, Stanley was tense and hesitant. He stared at the sound-suppressed pistol in the man's hand.
"Not a fan," Stanley said hoarsely.
"Definitely not a fan," Annja agreed.
Down at the curve leading into the canopied area, a scarlet Alfa Romeo pulled out of the parking space, cutting off a hotel shuttle bus gathering late-night arrivals. Rubber shrilled as all four wheels roared up to speed.
The compact car drifted as the tires ripped free of the pavement. Then it spun around. The driver shifted gears. The reverse lights flared to life, and the car roared backward toward the curb.
"Hang on," Annja said.
The man in front of her turned to point his weapon at the car's driver.
The driver's side window was down, allowing Annja to clearly see Roux seated behind the wheel. He wore a khaki shirt under a dark blue coat.
The man fired the pistol. Bullets chopped into the car, gouging holes in the body and piercing the rear driver's side window.
Annja pulled the sword into motion. Wrapping both hands around the hilt, knowing the man would kill Roux without a second thought, she brought the sword down in an arc that caught the man at the shoulder and sliced all the way through his heart. As quickly as she could, she twisted the blade and yanked it free of the dying man.
"Here!" Roux shouted as if he wasn't already noticeable enough. He shoved a mini-machine pistol through the window and opened fire, sweeping short bursts at the gunmen running toward them.
Stanley Younts had hit the pavement, wrapping his hands over his head.
I guess he has been under fire before, Annja thought. The first instinct was always self-preservation. She ran toward him, caught his arm and yanked him to his feet as a hail of bullets hit the pavement where he'd been. She kept him moving in front of her, a hand in the small of his back.
They left their baggage behind them. Annja saw that the skycaps had escaped without getting hurt. But her new suitcase was riddled with bullets.
"The other side of the car!" Roux ordered, firing again.
Annja pulled Stanley sideways. Until that moment she hadn't thought that trying to get in behind Roux would have left them open to hostile gunfire that raked the side of the car. On the other side, she opened the door just as a fistful of bullets slammed through the window.
Stanley started inside, staying low. Annja put her shoulder into his back and shoved. They spilled into the backseat as more bullets struck the car. She let the sword fade away.
"Go!" Annja shouted.
Roux tossed the mini-machine pistol into the passenger seat, shoved the car into gear and dropped his foot heavily on the accelerator. The tires shrieked, but the sound was punctuated by gunfire.
"Reload," Roux yelled.
Shrugging out of her backpack, shoving it onto the floorboard behind Roux's seat, Annja sat up and reached over the seat for the machine pistol. Extra magazines for the weapon lay on the seat.
Horns blasted in front of them.
As she worked the reload, Annja realized they were headed into oncoming traffic. "You're going the wrong way." She was surprised how calmly she spoke.
"I know that," Roux replied testily as he swerved to miss a cab pulling out away from the curb. "This was the direction I was headed when I picked you up."
Annja slid the fresh magazine into place and released the slide. "Thanks for coming."
"You're welcome." Roux reached up and adjusted the shattered remnant of the rearview mirror. "We'll talk later. Right now it appears that those people back there didn't just have men on foot. They had cars standing by, as well."
Looking back, Annja saw two sports coupes racing to close the distance between them.
****
Unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed, Wolfram Schluter stood up. "What the hell just happened, Piccoli?"
"You didn't tell me there would be an outside party waiting to pick them up," Piccoli responded.
"That's because I didn't know." Schluter stood and leaned over the desk, trying to focus on the camera shifts as Piccoli's men moved around.
It didn't help. No one had a camera on the escaping car.
Piccoli kept up a steady stream of cursing.
"Get them!" Schluter ordered. "Get them now!"
****
"It's all right. The woman appears to have gotten away."
Garin paused outside Schluter's door. He heard the man screaming invective inside the room. Despite the tension of the situation, Garin smiled. Annja had always been surprisingly resourceful. However, in the same moment he silently congratulated her for her success, he realized that she was going to be stepping into his sights if she pursued the prize in Latvia.
"Who was in the car?" Garin asked, though he suspected he knew.
"I don't know. He appeared to be an elderly man. A surprisingly quick elderly man."
Garin wished he had someone in Venice to pick up the trail. "Stay with them as long as you can."
"I don't think they're going to get away," Gunther said. "Schluter's men are on their heels."
****
"They're staying with us," Stanley said. "They're right back there." He pointed, nearly stabbing Annja in the eye as she slid against the backseat to peer through the broken glass.
"I can see that," Roux snapped as he took a hard left and skidded behind a line of traffic to head into an alley.
"Wow, you're really good," Stanley said appreciatively. "I didn't even see this alley."
"This alley has been here for a long time," Roux replied. He kept the accelerator pinned to the floor, roaring through the alley. The walls were scarce inches beyond his side mirrors.
"Don't you think you ought to slow down?" Stanley asked nervously.
"No, I don't."
"Traffic!" Stanley yelped.
"Of course there's traffic, you idiot!"
Stanley reached for the seat belt and tried to pull it on.
"Where did you get him?" Roux demanded.
Annja fired a burst from the machine pistol, but the bullets struck the wall on the right side of the car. Firing from a moving car wasn't her forte. "New York."
"Did you shoot them?"
"I missed."
"It's a car, Annja! How can you miss a car!" Roux shouted.
"Shooting a moving car isn't as easy as it sounds."
Then the darkness in the alley gave way to the neon lights of the tourist district. Roux cut the wheel hard, downshifting to keep power to the transmission as the tires broke loose and he skidded. With the four-wheel drive, he recovered almost immediately.
"That's really good driving!" Stanley yelled excitedly. "I've attended driving schools where bodyguards had to learn to do maneuvers like that."
"You brought your own cheering section?" Roux asked.
"He's not a cheering section," Annja replied.
The car following them through the alley wasn't as fortunate. The driver expertly cut the wheels and threw the vehicle into a sideways drift. It slammed into another car and knocked the other vehicle into oncoming traffic.
Horns blared and tires screeched as the other cars tried to stop. Most of them did, but a few ran into the car, causing an immediate traffic snarl.
"Shoot them!" Roux bellowed.
"There are too many bystanders," Annja replied.
"Let me have the gun." Roux reached back over the seat.
"No. Keep both hands on the wheel."
Roux cursed and grabbed the steering wheel as a truck pulled out in front of him. He steered to the right, cutting through the chairs and tables of an outdoor café. Only a few customers had gathered there. All of them had been watching the action coming up the street and were already clearing the area when Roux swerved in their direction.
The Alfa collected a number of dents as it roared through the furniture. Only scrap lumber and broken glass remained in its wake.
"Wow!" Stanley said.
"Don't you know any other words?" Roux demanded.
Police sirens screamed through the city. With all the buildings around to trap the noise, it was hard to tell what direction they were coming from. Probably all of them, Annja thought.
"Find another alley, Roux," Annja said.
"I know other words," Stanley replied indignantly. "I know a lot of words. I'm a writer."
Roux didn't respond.
"I'm Stanley Younts," the writer said.
Bullets ricocheted off the car's trunk, scattering sparks and tearing through the back glass and windshield.
"Did you say Younts?" Roux asked, squinting into the hanging fragment of rearview mirror.
"Yes."
"An alley, Roux," Annja said.
Roux cut the wheel hard to the right again. His turn wasn't so clean this time. Despite his best efforts, the rear of the car tore loose and the side slammed into the corner of the building. Harsh grating filled the car's interior as he downshifted and kept the accelerator floored.
"I read your books," Roux said.
From past association with him, Annja knew that the old man had a sweet tooth for popular fiction.
"You're one of the better writers out there."
"Thanks," Stanley said.
"You're very welcome." Roux sped across the next street and into another alley.
Annja watched as the two following cars dropped a little farther behind as they crossed the street more cautiously.
"Take the next right and slow down as you go around," Annja said. She gathered her feet on the seat and knocked out the remaining sections of glass to clear the rear window.
"What are you going to do?"
"Try to stop them. We can't just race through the city. If they don't catch us, the police will. Answering a lot of questions all night isn't something I'm looking forward to."
"Agreed." Roux pulled hard to the right, feathered the brake to lose speed and said, "I'm going left twice at the next two streets. Cut through the alley behind us to catch up."
"All right." Out of sight of the following cars for the moment, Annja scrambled through the back glass with the mini-machine pistol in her left hand. By the time she hit the ground, she had the sword in her right.
From the sound of the racing car engines, the pursuit vehicles were almost on top of her.
Chapter 31
The car screeched around the corner. Bright lights stabbed into Annja's eyes. Then she had the pistol up, squeezing the trigger at point-blank range.
The bullets chopped into the windshield, turning it into Swiss cheese. She was vaguely aware of shadows inside the car shifting. Bullets cut the air and tugged at her hair on the left side.
She ran toward the vehicle. The pistol was empty, deadweight in her fist, but she knew she couldn't throw it away. Chances were it would be identified by the police.
They could say they were outrunning a kidnapping attempt. Since she and Stanley Younts were both public figures, she thought that at least would be a credible defense.
At the top of
the first car, she jumped just enough to land on the hood of the second. Reversing the sword effortlessly, she thrust it through the windshield and pierced the driver through the chest.
Knowing she was dealing with hired killers stripped her of mercy. Later she would feel badly about taking another person's life, but she was determined not to let it mean her own death.
The car's momentum tore the sword from her grip. She let it go, leaping from the second car as it crashed into the first. They locked up in the alley, leaving long scars down the stone walls.
Landing hard on the ground, Annja looked back at the cars and raised her hand. She reached into the otherwhere and felt the sword. She turned and ran through the alley.
By the time she reached the street, Roux was just bringing the car around the corner. One of the car's headlights was extinguished.
She crossed the street, dodging traffic, and got to the other side before Roux could get to the curb. He reached across and opened the passenger door so she could drop inside.
"Well?" Roux asked.
"Done." Annja handed him the mini-machine pistol.
"Now let's get rid of this car."
****
"I take it we're not going to the police," Stanley said.
"No," Roux and Annja said in unison.
"Oh."
"There's no reason to spend the evening entertaining them," Roux added as he pulled over into an alley a few blocks from where he had picked up Annja. "Surely you can understand that. The heroes in your novels don't like to be slowed down by law enforcement."
"But this is real life. There are laws. We can't just run away."
"Do you know who tried to kill us back there?" Roux asked as he got out of the car.
"No." Stanley remained seated in the back, seat belt still firmly in place.
"Neither do I." Roux walked to the back of the car.
Annja looked at the old man and said, "I want to know who told you I was looking for Thor's hammer."
"Does it matter?" Roux tried to open the car's trunk but it was jammed. "Help me."
Annja didn't budge.
Roux sighed, exasperated. "Don't be obstinate. The police will come along soon enough and I'd rather be long gone from here."
"Who told you?" Annja hated it when Roux tried to pull the privileged-information card.