Rogue Angel 46: Treasure of Lima

by Alex Archer

  The more she thought about it, though, the more Annja realized that news of the expedition wasn’t necessary in this case. A ship like the Neptune’s Pride was prize enough on its own, as she’d noted earlier. Getting a few captives was just a bonus.

  The roar of the patrol boat drew closer again and Annja chanced a quick glance over the side, trying to discover just what they were up to this time.

  The gunfire started the minute her head popped up, and she was forced to dive for the deck without really seeing anything.

  So much for that tactic.

  She was going to have to find some other vantage point from which to spy on their activities.

  Annja rose to a crouch, preparing to try to make a run for a door about ten yards from her current position, when the crack of a rifle sounded from close by. Not knowing where the shot had come from or who was doing the firing, Annja threw herself to the deck and hugged the exterior bulkhead while glancing wildly about in an attempt to find the gunman.

  It didn’t take long. Behind her, at the far end of the walkway, one of Claire’s other hired hands, the steely-eyed one named Reyes, was leaning around the jamb of an open bulkhead door, using a rifle to fire upon the approaching patrol boat. He took two more shots in rapid succession and then shouted to her.

  “On the count of three, run for it. I’ll cover you.”

  Annja didn’t know him from a hole in the wall. Dare she trust he was a good enough shot to do what needed to be done?

  “One.”

  She glanced over the side, saw the patrol boat closing in once more. Saw the menacing looks on the faces of the pirates standing boldly in the bow, brandishing their weapons and yelling for her blood. She’d taken out three of their number and they weren’t the type to forget.

  “Two.”

  She bent down, facing Reyes, still not certain what she was going to do. What if he couldn’t shoot worth a damn?

  “Three!”

  Her body decided for her, pushing off and charging forward before she’d realized she’d made up her mind, her powerful thighs driving her on as she raced for the safety of the door behind her.

  Michael began firing, and at the sound, Annja’s indecision about his ability vanished. He was shooting rapidly but with complete control, and she had no doubt that his shots were hitting precisely where he wanted them to go. Almost every step she took was punctuated by the crack of the rifle and the little bit of sporadic fire that came in her direction was off the mark and ineffectual.

  Reyes stood in the doorway, firing past her head, and for a moment their eyes met.

  Time seemed to stop as Annja registered the utter coldness in the man’s gaze. In the space of that heartbeat he could just as easily shift that rifle barrel a half inch to the left and drill her right through the skull with his next shot as easily as he could stand there and fire on the pirates trying to take over the Pride. Reyes didn’t care; it was all the same to him.

  His final shot whipped over her shoulder, bringing forth a choked scream of pain from somewhere behind her, and then she was racing past him and into the safety of the steel-lined corridor in which he stood.

  The minute she passed, he stepped away from the doorway, pulled his rifle back inside the corridor and threw the bulkhead door shut in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” Annja cried, her usual steadiness rocked a bit by what she’d seen in his gaze seconds before. “We need to see what they’re up to!”

  “Not here,” Reyes replied. “We’ll have a better view, and a better chance to disrupt their activities, if we go down one level. That will put us near the waterline. We can take out their boats rather than get in a pissing contest with rifles.”

  It sounded good to her. If they could take out the patrol boats, the pirates would have no means of following them.

  But as she opened her mouth to say so, the deck beneath her feet lurched abruptly, throwing both her and Reyes to the floor. As she pushed herself back up on hands and knees, it occurred to her that she didn’t hear the thrum of the Pride’s engines anymore.

  Either the pirates had crippled them or someone up above had shut them down; either way it didn’t matter. One thing was certain.

  They couldn’t outrun the pirates now.

  10

  Aboard the Neptune’s Pride

  International waters

  Reyes led the way, moving quickly through the narrow corridors, trying to get to the far side of the vessel before the pirates could spread out and cut them off. Annja raced along in his wake, ready at any moment to call her sword to hand should she need it.

  Her companion had either spent time memorizing the layout of the ship or had an excellent sense of direction, for he didn’t hesitate at any of the junctions they came to, his decisions swift and sure. They cut across a couple of passageways, slipped through a supply room that turned out to be a shortcut to the other side of the boat and headed down a ladder to the deck below where they’d started.

  They were hurrying along the last corridor that led to the dive station at the back of the boat when a door ahead of them suddenly opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed in a torn T-shirt and blue jeans and, at the sound of their footfalls, spun to face them.

  In his hand was a large-bladed knife.

  Reyes skidded to a halt, bringing the rifle up as he did so.

  The two men stared at each other. Annja waited for the sound of the shot, knowing it would echo in the narrow corridor and give away their position to anyone else who might be nearby, but thankful that at this distance Reyes couldn’t miss.

  The shot never came.

  Instead, Reyes relaxed and lowered his weapon, glancing back at Annja as he did so.

  “It’s Jimenez,” he said. “From the engine room.”

  Reyes waved the other man forward and the two clasped hands, exchanging greetings in Spanish as they did so. Reyes had just started questioning the other man about what he’d seen when Annja heard the quiet click of a door closing behind them.

  Spinning around, she saw another man enter the passageway through the door at the far end that they’d just used. The newcomer was young, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five in Annja’s view, with dreadlocks that spilled down to surround a lean face with a sharp nose. His eyes lit up when he saw them, and he licked his lips as he brought the machete in his hands up so Annja could get a good look at it.

  “We’ve got company,” she said to Reyes, interrupting him, and both he and Jimenez turned to look.

  Dreadlocks gave a shout and began to run toward them.

  Annja flattened herself against the corridor wall, giving Reyes a clear shot.

  Reyes brought the rifle up, sighted down its length and then stiffened, a groan escaping his lips.

  Annja stared, uncomprehending, until Jimenez took a step back, away from Reyes, and the knife in his right hand was revealed, dripping blood—Reyes’s blood—onto the deck at his feet.

  Reyes tried to hand her the rifle, but he didn’t have the strength, Jimenez’s blow having punctured not only a lung but his heart, as well. The rifle clattered to the deck and he collapsed forward, falling atop it.

  Jimenez grinned and stepped toward her, knife in hand.

  Time seemed to slow as Annja assessed and evaluated the situation. With two opponents bearing down on her from opposite directions, she needed to eliminate one of the threats as quickly as possible. Doing so would prevent her from having to split her attention and would also increase her chances of getting out of this in better shape than her companion had.

  Since Jimenez was closest, she decided to deal with him first.

  The crewman-turned-pirate no doubt expected her to run, or at least panic, but Annja did neither of those things. In fact, when he smiled at her a second time, brandishing his knife, she smiled back.

  That confused him. His steps faltered, then stopped as he stared at her in surprise.

  Annja knew he must have been wondering what she had to smile a
bout, why she wasn’t quavering in fear, and so she decided to show him.

  She called her sword to hand and plunged it into his chest while he stood there in shocked surprise.

  That’s for Reyes, she thought as she yanked the weapon free.

  Jimenez stood there for a second, a thin stream of blood slipping free of the side of his mouth, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over backward.

  If he wasn’t dead, he soon would be.

  Annja dismissed him without another thought and turned to face his partner in crime. Dreadlocks had covered more than half the distance between them in the few moments it had taken her to deal with Jimenez, and seeing how close he was, Annja slipped into a defensive position, legs braced and sword out in front of her, ready to beat back his charge.

  But Dreadlocks’s reflexes were better than she expected and he managed to skid to a stop a few yards away, his own weapon raised, as well.

  His gaze flicked to Jimenez and then back to her.

  “I’m going to kill you for that,” he told her.

  Annja grinned. “You can try.”

  Dreadlocks gave a shout and came for her, his machete slashing back and forth.

  Annja parried with her sword, conscious of the advantage that the other man’s shorter weapon gave him. Due to the narrow corridor and low ceilings, her range of motion with the sword was limited; overhead or wide, slashing blows were out of the question. If she tried them, all she’d wind up doing was get her sword caught against the wall or ceiling and leave herself vulnerable to Dreadlocks’s attack.

  Dreadlocks slashed at her, leaving his rib cage open to attack, and Annja took advantage of the opportunity, jabbing with the point of her sword. Her opponent was quick and light on his feet, however, and he managed to twist his body away from her strike far enough that all he received was a shallow cut along the outside of his torso.

  Shallow though it might be, Annja knew it still must have hurt, and the way he began favoring that side confirmed it for her. She pressed the advantage, hoping to overwhelm him, driving him several feet back down the corridor as a result.

  For a split second she paused, catching her breath, and that was when he made his move. He leaped toward her with a savage cry, slashing with the machete as he did so. As before, she countered with her sword, dashing the machete blade to one side.

  She didn’t see the short, narrow-bladed knife he now held in his other hand, the one he’d drawn midleap, and was very nearly skewered on it as he thrust it toward her gut. It was only the fact that he glanced downward toward his target that gave his strike away and allowed Annja to bring her knee up and knock the blow to the side.

  Not one to miss an opportunity, she used the same leg to drive a powerhouse kick into the outside of his front leg, just above the knee. She smashed it in the wrong direction, eliciting a howl of pain from her opponent as he backed off again.

  Annja knew she couldn’t let the fight go on too long, for reinforcements were no doubt already on the way. If she didn’t break free soon, she’d be trapped by the new arrivals and her chances of getting out of this alive would be significantly reduced.

  Dreadlocks must have been thinking the same thing, for he suddenly pressed another attack. Every thrust she made in counterattack to his own was parried with the machete in turn, and she soon found herself on the defensive, backing away from the flurry of blows he tried to rain down upon her.

  Her heel struck something on the floor behind her and she realized that Dreadlocks hadn’t been trying to break through her defenses with his whirlwind attacks at all. Instead, he’d been intentionally driving her backward in hopes that she’d trip over Reyes’s body and leave herself vulnerable for a killing blow!

  Annja refused to let that happen. She’d been watching for a pattern in his strikes and she thought she’d found it. As Dreadlocks came in with another right-to-left thrust, Annja blocked the blow with her sword but this time let the blade of the machete travel down the length of her sword until it struck the hilt. The move took her inside Dreadlocks’s guard and it allowed her to pin the machete against the wall with her sword held in her right hand and pivot one hundred and eighty degrees. Putting her back to him, she swung her left arm around in a wide arc and slammed her elbow into his face.

  The blow was enough to stun him, and as he stumbled back a step or two, trying to widen the gap between them so he could find time to regain his breath, Annja completed the turn, thrusting forward with the blade to take her opponent through the throat.

  Mere moments had passed since the fight had started, but that was long enough. Annja could hear people running on the deck above her, no doubt drawn by Dreadlocks’s yells, and she knew she had to get out quickly before they managed to surround her.

  Willing her sword back to the otherwhere, Annja stepped over the bodies and slipped through the doorway through which Jimenez had emerged.

  She found herself in the engine room. It was unusually quiet, the Pride’s diesel engine having been stopped from the bridge above, and a glance told her that the room was currently empty. A large tool locker filled one wall of the room and she was tempted to hide inside it, but knew the presence of the bodies in the hallway outside would let them know she’d be nearby. Her pursuers would be likely to search the room, and if they did so, the tool locker would be an obvious hiding spot. She’d have to find someplace else.

  But where?

  Her gaze fell upon a small maintenance hatch in the wall closest to the outer hull. Annja hurried over to it and, with a small amount of effort, managed to pry it open and look inside. The hatch led to what seemed like a very narrow maintenance corridor, between the inner bulkheads and the outer hull of the ship. A glance showed her that it ran both forward and aft, which would allow her to slip away from her current pursuit and emerge elsewhere when the time was right. She didn’t waste any time considering it, just climbed inside and pulled the hatch shut behind her.

  She was lucky.

  Through the steel mesh that made up the surface of the hatch, she saw three pirates burst into the room from the corridor outside.

  “She can’t be far,” one of them said. “Spread out and find her!”

  Annja didn’t wait around to hear anything more.

  As quietly as she could, she began to crawl through the shaft.

  11

  Annja followed the maintenance shaft forward for several minutes. It was slow going; there was just enough space for her to creep along. There were too many obstacles in her way, like support beams, pipes and tubes for running electrical wires, for her to move very fast. She passed up the first and second hatches she came to, thinking they were too close to the one through which she’d entered, but by the time she reached the third, she figured she’d gone far enough.

  She pushed the steel mesh serving as a hatch outward until it popped free, and she slid out of the tunnel and into a storage room. A glance told her she was in the forward equipment locker. That put her about halfway down the length of the ship on the starboard side, if she remembered the quick tour Captain Vargas had given her earlier.

  She stepped quietly over to the door and put her ear against it, listening.

  She didn’t hear anything.

  Annja slowly opened the door a crack and peeked outside.

  All she saw was an empty hallway.

  Satisfied, she opened the door, stuck her head into the hallway and glanced in either direction. Not seeing anyone, she stepped out of the supply closet and shut the door behind her.

  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 gues
ts 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.