Treasure of Lima

by Alex Archer

  So far, so good.

  That was when the loudspeakers all over the ship suddenly came on, broadcasting a message meant for only one person but heard by all.

  “I’m growing tired of this nonsense, Miss Creed,” the speaker began.

  Annja recognized Captain Vargas’s voice easily enough, though the happy-to-please persona he’d previously cloaked himself in was gone. Now he was all business.

  “Your friends are currently my guests here on the bridge. How long they remain so depends on whether or not you know how to follow orders. Can you do that, Miss Creed? Follow orders?”

  Annja preferred the old eager-to-please Vargas better, as men with overly large egos had a tendency to annoy her. Especially when they thought themselves to be smarter than she.

  “I have no intention of chasing you all around this ship, Creed,” Vargas continued. “You will surrender yourself to the next one of my people that you see and join us here on the bridge in the next ten minutes or I’m going to start shooting people, starting with the lovely Mrs. Knowles. I trust I’ve been clear.”

  Annja wanted to hit the bulkhead in frustration. She had no doubt that Vargas would do exactly what he said he would. His pirates hadn’t hesitated to kill Reyes and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill the rest of Claire’s team, either. It didn’t take a genius IQ to know that Vargas didn’t require Annja for anything special; he just wanted them all in one place to make it easier for him and his men to get rid of them.

  Permanently.

  All the more reason she shouldn’t comply with his request, but that was precisely what she intended to do, anyway. It was, after all, the simplest way she could think of to get close to him.

  She’d figure out what to do after that when the time came.

  Annja continued down the corridor in the same direction she’d been going moments before, but didn’t worry about trying to be stealthy any longer. In fact, she made a point of making more noise than necessary, not wanting to suddenly come upon one of Vargas’s people and end up getting shot because she’d surprised the fool.

  She turned the corner from one corridor to another and found herself face-to-face with a young guy who had a knife scar bisecting his left cheek and long, dark hair pulled back behind his head in a ponytail.

  He stood stock-still in front of her, gaping in surprise, and Annja knew she could have taken him out then and there if that had been her objective. It was almost too bad that it wasn’t. A step forward, a slash of her blade, and that would have been all she wrote. Or if getting away had been her objective, she could have done so easily.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Neither of them moved. Then Annja shrugged and said, “Okay, you’ve got me. I surrender.”

  The sound of her voice galvanized the man into action. He staggered back several steps and yanked a pistol from the front of his belt. With shaking hands he pointed it in her direction and shouted, “Don’t you move!”

  Annja stared at him, dumbfounded. Hadn’t she just said she was surrendering?

  Sighing, she said, “Look, you heard Vargas...”

  That was as far as she got. He took two steps forward while screaming, “I said don’t move!”

  Annja froze. The stress of the attack had clearly set the guy on edge. With that much adrenaline flooding his system, there was no way of knowing what he was going to do at this point. Better to do what he said. No sense getting shot for nothing, she reasoned.

  The guy wiped an arm across his face in an attempt to control the sweat that was suddenly pouring down into his eyes and then he took several deep breaths.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay, good.” He muttered several things in Spanish but his accent was too heavy for her to understand what they were. That was okay, though. He was calming himself down and that was a good thing. She didn’t care if he did the hula if that was what it took to get himself under control.

  “Turn around,” he told her.

  Annja complied.

  “Hands together behind your back.”

  Again, she did as she was asked. Again, nothing happened and she was considering looking over her shoulder to see what her would-be captor was doing when she felt coarse rope being tied around her wrists, securing them in place.

  She was fine with that; it would add to the illusion that she was under control and not someone the others need worry about. By the time they knew that was far from the case, it would be too late.

  Once her hands were secured, the man relaxed. He waved the gun around a few times, made the predictable boasts about catching her single-handedly and how that was going to make El Jefe see him differently, and generally patted himself on the back.

  Annja didn’t say anything; after all, what would be the point?

  Eventually, when her would-be captor had finally stopped congratulating himself, he pulled out a handheld radio, keyed the switch and told whoever was on the other end in thickly accented but still understandable Spanish that he had her.

  The response wasn’t intelligible to Annja, but she got the gist of it when the guy put his hand between her shoulder blades and gave her a push.

  “Move!” he said.

  Annja stumbled forward but caught herself before she fell. Looking back would just earn her another shove, so she didn’t bother doing so. Instead, she kept her gaze forward and walked down the hall at a steady pace, headed for the bridge and her meeting with Vargas.

  Behind her, the man followed. Every ten feet or so he would reach out and give her another shove.

  Since there was no advantage to be gained by pushing her so frequently, she knew that he was just doing it because he could. It was like a little kid pulling the legs off a grasshopper just to watch it squirm.

  It didn’t take long to tick her off.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, however, and ignored his petty activities for the time being. The guy was her ticket to getting close enough to Vargas to turn this thing around, and she wasn’t about to throw that away because one of Vargas’s cronies was an annoying twerp.

  So she gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she’d make him pay.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have long to wait.

  They climbed up to the main deck and started across it to the ladder that would take them to the bridge. Glancing around, Annja saw several pirates working to lay out the bodies of their comrades in a line on the deck, and she had to resist a smile when she saw how many of them there were. The pirates might have taken the vessel, but it had been a costly victory just the same. At least ten, maybe even a dozen, bodies were lying there in the sunlight, and Annja didn’t regret killing a single one of them.

  They were trying to kill me, after all.

  The guy led her through a set of doors on the other side of the deck directly below the bridge. Annja found herself in a small antechamber that led to a final set of doors. Beyond those doors was the stairwell leading directly into the bridge above.

  If she was going to act, it had to be now.

  She was ready.

  Besides, she was tired of being pushed.

  She intentionally slowed down, as if reluctant to continue, and true to form, he saw her hesitation as another excuse to lay his hands on her.

  “No stopping now,” he snarled as he stepped forward, one arm outstretched to give her a hearty shove. As he did so, Annja dropped her wrists slightly to allow for the proper angle and then mentally reached into the otherwhere and drew her sword physically into the here and now.

  The sword appeared in her hands, blade extended upward and back, just as she’d willed it, and all she had to do was give a hard shove upward with both hands.

  There was a gurgling from behind her and a sudden weight that dragged the sword downward.

  She released the sword and tu
rned to watch the man sag to the floor as he stared uncomprehendingly at the wound in the left side of his chest. He blinked once, twice and was gone, the blade of Annja’s sword having ruptured his heart.

  His pistol turned out to be a Browning Hi-Power 9 mm, a gun Annja had passing familiarity with at least. She checked the magazine and saw that it was about half-full. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she had available, so there was no use complaining about it.

  No one around to listen to me, anyway.

  Annja waited to be certain no one above had heard anything, and then, when there was no shouted cry of alarm, she started up the ladder, intent on taking her ship back from the pirates.

  12

  Annja kept her body close to the ladder as she went up, hoping to assess the situation first and make a move of her own before becoming a target again.

  As she neared the top, she slowed down and let just the top of her head come up over that last step and only far enough that she could see what was going on in the room ahead of her. She wasn’t worried about being seen; the last step was shrouded in darkness and would keep her from being spotted.

  The bridge was square, about twenty-five feet in width, and reminded Annja of an air-traffic controller’s tower with its windows on all four sides. A large U-shaped console running beneath the front window and down either side contained the majority of the ship’s control systems, though the pilot’s station in the middle of the room not only held the captain’s wheel but also a secondary set of engine controls. A stand-alone plotting station for use by the navigator was to the left of the pilot’s station and closest to Annja’s current position.

  From her location, Annja could see Hugo, Claire and Marcos lined up on their knees on the floor in front of the main console, their hands tied behind their backs. Both Marcos and Hugo were gagged, but Claire’s gag had been pulled down over her chin, allowing her the ability to speak.

  A guard stood on either side of the trio. The one on the left, who she recognized as the first mate, Jenkins, held a rifle, and the one on the right, the ship’s navigator, Nelson, was carrying a fireman’s ax, of all things.

  Captain Vargas stood in front of Claire, with his back to Annja. She didn’t have to worry about straining to hear him; he was talking loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Where is it?” Vargas asked.

  “Where’s what?” came the reply.

  Vargas stared down at her. The expression on his face must have been less than charitable, for Claire shifted a bit beneath his gaze but refused to say anything more.

  The captain-turned-pirate was not amused. He turned to Jenkins and said, “Get her on her feet.”

  The other man jumped to comply, dragging Claire to her feet and standing her in front of Vargas, who leaned in close to stare directly into her eyes.

  “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re trying to run here, but I for one have had enough. This will go much easier for you if you tell me what you did with the treasure.”

  “And I told you, I don’t have any idea—”

  That was as far as she got. Vargas’s right fist slammed into her stomach with enough force to drop her to her knees. He stared down at her. Claire was gasping and wheezing at his feet. He gestured to Jenkins.

  “Get her up again,” he ordered.

  As Jenkins bent to do what he’d been told, drawing the gaze of the others in the room, Annja slipped the rest of the way up the ladder and rushed over to the navigator’s station, using its bulk to hide her presence. Staying close to the ground, she peered around the edge.

  Claire stood shakily before Vargas, trying to catch her breath. Even in her present condition, defiance was etched into every line of her body, and Annja knew that Vargas could go on hitting her all night long and she wouldn’t give up the information he wanted.

  Apparently Vargas recognized that, as well. He made a soft tsk-tsk sound with his mouth, shaking his head in mock resignation, and then drew a knife from his belt.

  It was an old World War I trench knife, or more likely a replica of one, with a narrow blade several inches in length and brass knuckles attached to the hilt, so that the bearer could stab, slash or punch without putting down the weapon or changing grip.

  Vargas made a show of sliding his fingers through the brass knuckles and curling his fingers around the hilt of the knife.

  “Now I’m going to ask you one last time to tell me where I can find the treasure. If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll keep my hands to myself. But if you don’t...”

  He waved the knife back and forth in front of her.

  Claire spit in his face.

  Vargas casually wiped her spit away and said, “Wrong choice.” He started to pull back his hand, readying another blow, but Annja had seen enough. She slipped out of her hiding place and put the barrel of the gun she’d appropriated to the back of Vargas’s head.

  “Move another inch and I’ll put a hole through your skull,” she said.

  The captain chose discretion over valor and froze where he stood. The two guards followed suit, uncertain of what to do with their leader under Annja’s gun.

  If they’d been smart, Annja knew, they would have grabbed one of the hostages and created a standoff situation where both sides would have had equal power.

  Then again, if they’d been smart, they wouldn’t have resorted to piracy in the first place.

  “Drop the knife,” Annja said to Vargas.

  There was a moment’s hesitation but then the weapon clattered onto the deck.

  Thinking she had things under control, Annja took a step back to give herself room to maneuver. She dismissed Vargas as no longer being a threat now that he’d given up his weapon and turned her attention to the guards.

  “Same goes for you two. Drop your weapons and get down on your knees, hands on your heads.”

  The briefest of glances passed between them as they tossed aside their weapons. As he lowered himself to his knees, Jenkins seemed to slip and put out a hand to steady himself.

  It was all an act, of course. While everyone looked to Jenkins, Nelson went for the pistol hidden in his belt.

  As soon as she’d seen the glance, Annja had known they were about to try something and she was waiting for just such a move. The seconds spilled out around them, but to Annja it all seemed to take forever as time slowed, her mind moving into combat mode—judging the threats and dealing with them in the order of importance to protect her own life.

  As Nelson’s hand wrapped around the butt of the pistol, Annja swung her pistol a few inches to one side and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet through the man’s chest. The force of the shot sent him flailing backward to bounce off the console behind him.

  On the other side of the prisoners, Jenkins tried to make a move of his own, but was leaped on immediately by Marcos, who carried him to the ground beneath his weight.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Annja saw Vargas climbing to his feet, swinging something large and red in his hands toward her.

  “Annja! Look out!” Claire screamed, but for Annja, lost in the hyperreality of combat, Claire’s voice sounded as if it was coming from a long distance away.

  Still, it was enough.

  Annja raised her hand with the pistol and pointed it directly at Vargas. The move stopped him in his tracks.

  Wisely, Vargas let the shaft of the ax fall to the floor.

  “Untie her,” Annja said to him, nodding at Claire.

  “Or what?”

  “Or I shoot you in the gut and let you lie there in your own blood until you die in horrible agony,” Annja said, smiling. “Your choice, really, but the second option doesn’t sound like all that much fun to me.”

  Apparently Vargas didn’t think so, either, for he quickly moved to untie Claire.

  Hugo, Marcos a
nd Claire secured the other two men and Vargas. Once this was done, they dragged Vargas over to the microphone and held it in front of him.

  “Tell your men to surrender or we’ll kill you.”

  Vargas scoffed. “They aren’t going to care.”

  “Then for your sake, I suggest you convince them.”

  After seeing the look on Annja’s face, Vargas did just that.

  13

  In the aftermath of the siege, decisions had to be made. They had been attacked; men had died. Normally that would call for some kind of law-enforcement investigation.

  But if Annja, Claire and the others submitted themselves to an investigation, their chances of finding Dr. Knowles dwindled exponentially with every passing minute as weather and time destroyed any clues that might have been left behind. Even worse was if Dr. Knowles was in need of medical attention.

  His best chance of survival was for Claire and the rest of her team to continue to Cocos Island as planned and not get bogged down dealing with things here. After a bit of discussion, they decided to maroon the pirates at sea and report their location to the authorities, which Annja thought was more than a bit ironic and a particularly fitting punishment for the crime involved.

  The pirates were stripped of their weapons, their hands were bound behind their backs and then they were marched down to the main deck, where they sat in a group under the watchful eyes and guns of Claire and Annja.

  While they were waiting, Marcos and Hugo were busy aboard the patrol boats, dismantling both the radio and the engines on each with the help of a couple handy fire axes.

  A rescue beacon would be attached to each boat and Claire would report their position to the Costa Rican authorities once they were on their way.

  As they were outside the twenty-mile limit usually considered by international law to mark the boundaries of sovereign territory, there was a chance that the Costa Rican authorities would simply ignore the information and not do anything, but Annja was betting that wouldn’t happen. The Neptune’s Pride wasn’t the first vessel these pirates had targeted; their efforts were too coordinated for that. So bringing them to justice would allow the authorities to close several cases, no doubt, and reap the benefits of some good PR at the same time. It was a win-win situation and she didn’t see the authorities passing up the opportunity.