by Alex Archer
There was no sign of MacKenzie or his men, but they would be out there watching. She wondered if, had she not been wearing the earwig, they would have killed her, or if they would have gambled on her eventually leading them to Habib ibn Thabit.
David Smythe was put on the second helicopter, Annja on the first. As it lifted from the ground, she shook the earwig out of her ear and flicked it through the open cargo bay doors without being noticed, then went to the back of the storage area.
She sat on the floor and leaned her head back. But just to be sure, she reached out and felt the haft of the sword in the otherwhere. It was there, and touching it made her feel better.
* * *
“WELL, THAT WAS STUPID, Annja.” MacKenzie glared down at the earwig at his feet.
The tiny device resembled a small seashell against the dry ground.
“They found the device?” Sophie sounded calm and distant over the commlink.
MacKenzie knelt and recovered the earwig, closing it in his fist as he lifted his eyes to where the helicopters faded against the stygian horizon. “No. She got rid of it.”
“What was she thinking?”
MacKenzie grinned. He knew exactly what Annja Creed had been thinking, and he respected her for it. “That she’d rather deal with one enemy than a pair of them.”
“Who does she think is going to help her get out of this?”
“You haven’t seen her operate. She’s good.” MacKenzie put the earwig in his pocket and waved to his remaining people. He’d lost two more men, cutting his force to seven, not counting him and Yahya. “Maybe she doesn’t have a taste for blood, but she’ll kill to save herself or others. She believes she’s going to get herself out of this.”
He waved Yahya over and the young man looked up at him expectantly.
“Go through the Bedouin camp. Find whatever arms Mustafa had and see if you can round up some of those horses for pack animals.” The horses had scattered as soon as the first attack had started, but some of them hadn’t gone far. “Let’s salvage as much as we can.”
Yahya nodded out at the darkness. “What about them?”
The archaeology team was scattered and in hiding, staying well away from MacKenzie and his team. Evidently they didn’t trust anyone.
“Leave them alone. Let them take whatever water and supplies the Bedouins have that we don’t need. They’ve got enough locals there to survive the walk to Marrakech. They aren’t our problem.”
“I should have shot that woman when I had the chance,” Yahya said.
“No.” He knew that Yahya hated the way Annja Creed had monopolized his attentions lately. The young man was still intent on learning how to be everything MacKenzie was.
“She is bad luck.”
“You picked up too many superstitions from those West Africans you’ve been hanging around with. That woman isn’t bad luck. She’s one of the luckiest I’ve seen. Go get those munitions like I told you.”
Yahya frowned, considered a rebuttal if the studious look on his face was any indication, then went without another word.
“What are your plans?” Sophie asked over the commlink.
“If you’re not going to provide aerial support—”
“I don’t want to draw Thabit’s attention in any way.”
“—then we’re going to ride back to Marrakech and see about securing vehicles.”
“To go to Fes?”
“She did mention that was where she needed to go next to understand that scroll.” MacKenzie craned his neck. “If we ride all night, we should be in Marrakech before daybreak. She’s not going to be able to get into that university until it opens.”
“Fes is two hundred and fifty miles northeast of Marrakech. By the time you get back to the city, it will be several more hours till you get to Fes.”
“Maybe. She might not go there, anyway.”
Sophie sighed irritably. “We don’t have any other leads.”
“Then I’ll go to Fes. Even if she gets there ahead of me, she has to find whatever it is she’s looking for. That will take time, too.”
Sophie was silent for a moment. “Fine. I’m going to see if I can field an asset or two in the city to help out with the surveillance.”
That caught MacKenzie’s attention. “This op is so big you’ve got to backstop me?” He couldn’t decide if he was more surprised or annoyed.
“No, but the costs are starting to mount. You should have been done with this by now.”
MacKenzie couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He hefted his rifle and walked over to Mustafa’s body. Taking a Mini Maglite from his pocket, he quickly rifled through the dead man’s clothing.
Aside from some personal items and paper bills and coins, MacKenzie turned up one more item: a scarred brass key slightly longer than his middle finger and almost as big around as a pencil.
Gripping the key by the barrel, MacKenzie trained the flashlight beam on the end. The writing there had worn down from use, but with a little effort, he could make it out. Arabic. He still couldn’t read it.
MacKenzie clasped his fist around the key and smiled. Perhaps Annja Creed and Thabit did not have all the chess pieces in the game.
Chapter 27
Fes-Saïss Airport
Fes
Kingdom of Morocco
The changing pitch of the helicopter rotors woke Annja from her restless sleep. She lifted her hand to wipe an errant hair from her face only to discover she had been once again handcuffed. Thankfully, though, her hands were in front of her, which was a lot more comfortable.
The cargo door was closed, so she had no idea what they were headed into. Around her, many of Thabit’s shock troops lay asleep, weapons cradled in their arms.
Hamez sat at the front of the cargo area just behind the cockpit, which was shut off from the rear compartment. He watched her grimly. If he had slept during the trip, it didn’t show.
A few minutes later, the helicopter glided in and touched down. A guard got to his feet and rolled the cargo door open.
Annja stared through the open bay at the tarmac around them. The use of the airfield surprised her. She’d been expecting a clandestine location. Instead, she could see a city in the distance.
David Smythe sat beside her. “That’s Fes.”
Annja nodded.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“No.”
“You’ll like the city.” Smythe caught himself and grinned ruefully as he glanced around the cargo area as their guards prepared to debark. “Under other circumstances. Our present conditions are not conducive to sightseeing.” He pointed with his bound hands. “If you look closely, you can see where the old walled city—Fes el Bali—butts up against the newer sections.”
The older section looked like a maze crammed roughly into the center of the new buildings. The alabaster stone glowed the orange hue of the morning sun.
Bracing her feet, Annja started to rise. One of the guards reached out, clamped a big hand on top of her head and shoved her back down. She thought about hooking one foot behind his and ramming her other foot into his knee. If the move didn’t break the knee, it would at least be excruciating and possibly prove debilitating. Instead, she forced herself to remain in a sitting position.
The guards had changed clothing during the flight and now wore casual businesswear. They carried pistols in shoulder holsters and machine pistols in messenger bags. If an onlooker didn’t notice the scars and the cold, impersonal stares, the men could have been mistaken as businessmen.
A few minutes later, three SUVs pulled to a halt on the tarmac. A man with a shopping bag got out of one and approached the helicopter. He handed the bag to Hamez, who quickly glanced inside, then nodded.
Before handing Annja the shopping
bag, Hamez took out a pair of pants, a shirt and a lightweight jacket and gave those things to Smythe. Then he addressed her. “Change your clothing.” He pointed to a small compartment in the back of the helicopter where a man had just strung a tarp. “You must be presentable.” He pulled out a knife and cut the plastic strap that bound her wrists.
Not wanting to start an argument, she took the bag and her backpack to the curtained area. A quick glance told her that there was no way out.
She dropped the shopping bag and delved into her backpack. She had a clean T-shirt inside and she put that on. Using a scrunchy, she put her hair back in a ponytail. Then she stepped back out from behind the curtain.
Smythe stood in the new clothes he’d been given and still managed to look like a recent kidnapping victim. Gaunt and haggard, with half-healed scabs on his face. She had a notion to try her luck getting away. Only she’d never be able to bring Smythe and the scroll with her. For the moment, she was trapped.
Hamez scowled at Annja. “Where are the clothes I gave you?”
“In the bag. I’m not wearing them.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Annja folded her arms. “I do. I’m exercising it.”
“If you do not do as I say, I will kill this man.”
Meeting Hamez’s level gaze, Annja held steady. “If you want to find out about that scroll, you’re not going to do that.”
“Do not test me.”
Agitation tightened Smythe’s face.
“It’s not a test. I’m setting some boundaries. You can keep me a prisoner here, but I’m not going to dress up for you.”
Hamez looked apoplectic.
“I’ll do what I have to in order to keep David alive, but you and I both know you’re not going to harm him unless you have to.” Or until you’ve gotten everything that you want out of us. “Besides that, he probably knows more about this time period and Abdelilah Karam than I do. What really matters to you?”
Jaw tight, Hamez turned and stepped out of the helicopter. “Bring her and the man. Put them in separate vehicles.”
One of the men reached out to grip Annja’s upper arm. She trapped his hand, twisted it quickly and pinched a nerve on his little finger. In instant, agonizing pain, the man dropped to his knees. Another man drew his sidearm and leveled it at Annja’s head.
Slowly, Annja released the captured hand, trusting that the man wouldn’t shoot until he had permission to. Quietly, she stared at him until he reluctantly put his weapon away. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and stepped down from the helicopter toward the SUV Hamez had climbed into.
One of the guards opened the back door and Annja was directed to the last row of seats. Seated with her backpack at her feet, she watched as Smythe was taken to another vehicle.
A few minutes later, they got under way.
Berlin, Germany
“WHO IS SHE?”
Startled from his reverie, Garin turned from the rain-streaked window overlooking Potsdamer Platz and the Tiergarten. He’d been contemplating both views and wondering which called out more strongly to him.
When he’d been young and traveling with Roux, Garin had often complained of the hardships of camping out under the stars. Back then he hadn’t considered it camping under the stars. He’d thought of it as camping out in the rain, in the snow and with vermin in his blankets. Those had not been good times.
Yet, on occasion, he missed them.
He’d loved the cities, loved the noise and activity of them, loved the way they had changed and grown, collapsed and struggled toward rebirth. And always in the center of his world, Berlin had remained close to his heart. No matter what guise it wore, the city was as close to home as Garin knew these days, and he could never go back to the Berlin he had known all those long years ago.
These days, Berlin seemed too big, a fertile ground for skyscrapers and impossible things he’d never dreamed of. He had known Karl Friedrich Schinkel, the Prussian architect who had first conceived of Potsdam Gate and laid out the streets in the early nineteenth century. Garin, under another name at the time, had been a major investor in the rebuilding of the area.
At that time, the Potsdam Gate had been the edge of the city. The wall surrounding the metropolis had existed to keep out the peasantry.
Looking at the rain clinging to the outside of the penthouse windows, Garin realized that—at times—he missed those simpler days very much. He grinned a little at his reflection, remembering they only seemed simple now. When he’d been fighting for his life and the wealth he desperately wanted to acquire, times had not been so simple.
“Garin?”
Garin spotted Chandra’s lovely reflection in the glass. He remembered her name with effort, because she was new and because she had not consumed him. It took a very special woman to do that these days.
She was American, a rhythm-and-blues singer starting to build an audience there and in Europe. He’d met her a few weeks ago and taken up with her shortly thereafter.
She was in her twenties and beautiful, with a milk-chocolate complexion. The Southern croon to her voice was her most intriguing facet. When she’d discovered that he truly hadn’t been interested in anything permanent, and that he was wealthy, she’d come after him. He’d allowed her to catch him. But it wouldn’t be for long.
“I thought you were asleep.”
Chandra sat swaddled in the silk bedclothes. Her chin rested on her bended knee and she studied him with liquid brown eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?” Naked, Garin walked over to the wet bar in the corner and poured them each a glass of wine.
“Who is she?”
“She?”
She frowned. “Don’t play coy with me. I sing sad songs for a living. And I know when a man has another woman on his mind.”
Garin took her the glass of wine and sat on the bed. “No one you know.” So far his people hadn’t been able to trace Annja.
She sipped her wine, and seemed equal parts intrigued and incensed. “If you’re going to think about her so much, maybe I should get to know her.”
Garin smiled. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Chandra frowned, obviously taking offense. “Don’t think I’m good enough?”
Garin shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”
“Is she a lover?”
Garin laughed at that. “No.”
“I know there are other women.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. Between Chandra’s flourishing career and his business interests, their time together had been limited. And no one these days captured his heart. He had seen too many lovers die in the past, and there had been nothing he could do to prevent those deaths. Or the old age that had preceded them. In that regard, he was absolutely bulletproof. People around him died. Everyone but Roux. The old man was the only constant in Garin’s life.
But it was captivating to try to figure out what might become of Annja Creed.
If she lived. His attention flicked back to the woman on the bed and he knew that she was waiting for a response. “She isn’t a lover.”
Chandra cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe you wish she was.”
The thought had crossed Garin’s mind. Annja was a most enticing woman, and the sword made her even more intriguing.
But the sword also made her dangerous.
Throughout his long life, Garin had learned to fear very little. He did fear the sword. As long as it had been lost, his youth was assured. But now that Joan’s sword had been found, he had found a few gray hairs. Things were changing, and there was no telling how much more they would change.
More than that, now that the sword was made whole again, what would happen to it if something happened to Annja?
Gar
in smiled. “That woman will never become a lover.”
“You’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Do you know women so well?”
“I do.” Garin smiled at her playfully. “I knew we would become lovers.”
Her eyes flashed. “Some women would mistake that confidence as arrogance.”
“It is arrogance.”
“I know many who don’t like arrogant men.”
“I know very few. And you happen to like arrogant men.”
Laughing, she wrapped her arms around Garin’s neck. “I do.”
Garin kissed her, but his amorous intentions were blunted when his sat phone rang on the side table. He scooped it up at once, saw that it was coming from the agency he was using to find Annja and answered.
Chandra shot him a petulant grimace.
“Yes?”
“We have news of the Creed woman.”
Garin waited.
“She is still in Morocco. Apparently she’s been captured by Habib ibn Thabit’s men and has landed in Fes.”
“Get me transport there.” Garin pushed up from the bed and walked to his immense closet.
“Already waiting, sir.”
Garin punched off the sat phone as he stepped into the closet. “Feel free to stay as long as you like.” He shot Chandra an apologetic smile because he did like her.
She pouted. “Is this about her?”
“It is.” Garin stepped into clean underwear and pulled on a pair of pants.
“A lesser woman would be jealous.”
“If you were the jealous type, neither of us would be here.” Garin reached for a silk shirt.
“Do you know when you’ll be back?”
“No.”
“Call me when you are?”
Garin crossed the room and kissed her. “I will.” But his mind was already filled with arrangements for the Morocco trip.