by Alex Archer
"Huh? Oh, no. Those're designed to fail-safe. They lock if they go out, and won't open except from inside until they're reset. No, she talked the room maid into letting her in. In the lady's native Turkish."
Chapter 19
"Joey," Tex called, settling his gray-and-maroon flight bag farther back over his left shoulder and striding forward into the bright southeast Texas sunlight. "Joey Travis! Great to see you, compadre."
As Tex embraced a short, dark-haired guy in an army jacket, Annja staggered slightly. It wasn't because she carried the hefty bag of scrolls, as well as her own duffel, despite Tex's periodic gallant attempts to relieve her of the burden. But the sun's dazzle almost stopped her in midstride. The cantilevered awning in front of the tall glass-paneled facade of the George Bush International Airport kept the direct late-morning sun off but did nothing about the blinding reflection from the pickup lane and the cars jostling for position in it. The air hit her like a wet blanket. The humidity was no worse than in Copenhagen, perhaps, but springtime was already hot season here on Buffalo Bayou, a long spit from Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. She smelled petroleum and hot asphalt.
"Come and meet the ladies, Joey," Tex said, bringing his friend forward with an arm around his shoulder. "Joey, meet Annja Creed, archaeologist extraordinaire and sometime talking head on our friendly rival show, Chasing History's Monsters. And Jadzia Arkadczyk, who despite her youthful appearance is an internationally recognized heavy hitter on the subject of ancient languages."
"Hey, girls," Joey said.
"Women," Jadzia said. She snapped her gum. Still, the look in her blue eyes was calculating in a way that made Annja nervous. Delayed adolescence and hormones seemed to be rearing their ugly heads again.
"Sure," Joey said with a smile. He was thin and quick in his motions, with a face hollow enough in the cheeks Annja wondered if it resulted from poor nutrition rather than genes or fitness. His eyes were hazel with unusually long lashes. His hair was brown and retreating ever so slightly to either side. He had a couple days' growth of beard on his sunken cheeks. He seemed never to stay entirely still.
"Pleasure to meet you," he said.
Annja decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and greeted him pleasantly. His grip was strong and firm but quite quick, as if he shied from contact.
Annja took over Jadzia's bag along with her own and the scrolls. She wanted a pretext to go around to the rear gate of the gray-and-white battered Jeep Grand Cherokee to share a quick word with Tex while Joey, all gallantry, helped Jadzia into the rear seat of the vehicle.
"He seems kind of anxious," she said softly, "your friend does."
Tex heaved his bag inside on top of a jumble of what looked like camping gear and drab olive groundsheets and, without asking, peeled Jadzia's bag away from Annja's left shoulder.
"He's just wound a little tight," he said, putting the girl's luggage in the hatch with considerably more care than his own. "Always been that way. Doesn't mean much. He managed to get through jump training and Ranger school with me."
A shadow crossed his face like a small cloud passing the sun. He smiled and relieved Annja of her own bag. She let him. She put the bag of ancient scrolls carefully inside.
Tex slammed the hatch shut. "Time to go."
Tex had thought he might know who could be of help to Annja and Jadzia in their quest and it came down to Joey Travis. Not on his own account so much as that of his uncle, Amon Hogue. Carthage Oil and Gas was a major second-tier U.S. oil concern. Annja wasn't sure whether he was chairman or president or CEO. All Tex or Joey would say was that Hogue was CO and G.
Tex and Joey sat in the front seat chatting amiably like two good ol' boys. No matter how much Massachusetts-born Idaho cowboy Winston hated his nickname, he could definitely pass for Texan. Then again, having seen him in action, Annja reckoned he could probably pass about as well in a Mumbai slum or an Atshuara village in the Upper Amazon watershed. He had a knack for fitting in and getting along. It made her feel insular and withdrawn, as if her psyche and her choices were constrained in some kind of thin glass bottle.
Jadzia leaned forward between the seats with her chin on folded arms, chewing gum and affecting fascination with a conversation she almost certainly would find stupid if Annja took part in it.
Annja glanced out the window at a semi headed the other way with a giant green bulldozer chained on the flatbed trailer and drummed her fingers on the cracked top of the door panel. A half dozen Gold Wing bikes roared past them in the fast lane.
Joey followed the Beltway bypass around where it curved south and ran along the west side of the Sheldon Reservoir, then turned east on the Beaumont highway that ran past the reservoir's south end. Every now and then they came across a single working oil rig of the kind Annja always thought of as "dickey bird," bobbing incessantly for black gold, sometimes literally in someone's backyard.
As they came up on what a sign identified as the San Jacinto River, Jadzia let out a yip like a pup with its tail stepped on.
She pointed right. Annja looked to see, south of the bridge and on the river's far side, a collection of towers, scaffolding and white-painted pipes of a sizable oil refinery. Above it rose a white oval sign with a big blue EP logo.
Annja felt gut-punched.
"What?" Tex asked, turning around. Annja nodded toward the refinery.
"Whoa," he said. "Is that new?"
"Uh-huh," Joey said. "They bought out an American company a year or so ago. They're moving hard against the smaller companies. That's one of the reasons I'm sure my uncle will want to help you."
"I hope you're right," Annja said. It still sounded like a long shot – that Amon Hogue would be willing to use his power and influence to help them get more of the scrolls transcribed. Although Hogue was relatively small as players of the global oil game went, according to Internet sources his net worth hovered around $850 million. It was hard to think of eighty-five percent of a billionaire as small, but Annja realized the game was very large indeed.
What exactly the Texas tycoon – who was known for his fondness for fast horses, young women and old whiskey – might do to help them she also had no clue. On the other hand his kind of money could buy a lot of options.
"Are we in Louisiana yet?" Jadzia asked after they had been driving for some time. A big flight of cattle egrets lifted from a stretch of water winding sluggishly away to the southwest.
"Uh-uh," Tex said. "Still in Texas. Not planning on leaving, at least until we've talked to Uncle Amon."
They crossed the Trinity River, turned north up State Highway 140 at a town called Liberty. At a wide patch of road called Moss Hill they turned right. A mile or so past the turnoff to the Loblolly Unit of the Big Thicket National Preserve, Joey turned north onto an unmarked dirt road. It wound through alternating stands of pine, scrub oak and sweetgum for what Annja thought was at least a mile before Joey pulled off onto a wide spot in the road beside a bayou.
A little weathered wood shack stood there, the appearance of timelessness spoiled a little by a gas pump and a lot by the satellite dish on the roof.
"This is our stop, ladies," Joey said, killing the engine. "Better get your gear. Uncle Amon might want to spirit you away somewhere. Like a safehouse or something."
"A safehouse," Jadzia breathed. Her eyes glittered. She was clearly enjoying the cloak-and-dagger aspects of their journey.
More than Annja, anyway. As she hefted the scrolls from the opened back of the Cherokee she caught Tex's eye and arched an eyebrow. He shrugged. "I don't know what happens next," he said. "I guess all we can do is cross our fingers and keep moving."
Annja had no better idea to offer. Tex handed Jadzia's bag to her as Annja shouldered her own. Then they followed Tex to the dock. A white-haired black man wearing denim coveralls sun-faded and grease-stained to a sort of brown-and-white tie-dye stood talking to Joey. Beyond them a curious contrivance like a low platform with a big openwork cage at one end sat on top of some ye
llowing weeds flattened on the bank.
"What is that?" Jadzia asked, sounding a little dubious for the first time.
"An airboat?" Annja said incredulously.
Tex shrugged. "They got bayous," he said. "I guess they can have airboats."
"We use 'em a lot around here," Joey called. "All right, Vearle. We'll take it from here."
"You take care of yourself out there, Joey," Vearle said. To the others he waved, then shuffled back inside as if his feet hurt.
The boat sported a big airplane-style propeller with eight blades enclosed in the cage. In front of it was mounted what looked like a car engine. Before that a single bucket seat, built up about three feet above the hull with a long lever, evidently a tiller, to the right of it was obviously a driver's seat. Two bench-style seats were set in front of it, both facing forward.
Tex and Joey stashed the bags in a space under the operator's seat and pulled a blue synthetic groundsheet over them to protect them from spray and, Annja guessed, oil seepage from the engine. The water smelled of tannin and rotting vegetation. Minute flies or gnats swarmed around them. Fortunately they weren't the biting kind.
Joey helped the two women into the boat. Tex sat down beside Annja. Jadzia took the seat in front of them. Annja recalled a time when she'd always wanted to ride in the front on roller coasters. She didn't do that anymore. She didn't feel much desire to ride roller coasters at all. Her life had become enough of a thrill ride by itself.
Joey climbed in last, clambered up into his seat and fired up the engine. It roared and pushed the boat down the couple of yards to the bayou, throwing up a swirl of debris behind. The boat splashed and wallowed a little as it entered the water. Joey turned the square prow northwest. The engine noise rose to a howl and the small craft shot forward with an exhilarating rush.
They passed a stand of trees killed and silvered by a fire and partially swallowed by the bayou, then made their way through a half-drowned forest of living oak trees. The bayou bent east. A big gleaming white structure appeared ahead on the right as they followed the curve.
Out front stood a big well-kept wooden dock with a boathouse. With a flourish Joey turned the airboat and ran it up on the bank next to the dock, flattening the long grass beneath. When he killed the engine the silence fell like a blow.
Leaving the other bags, Annja retrieved the scrolls. Jadzia offered to carry them. Annja was a little surprised. Jadzia hadn't shown much disposition to physical work. Then she realized the younger woman probably felt proprietary about the artifacts and wanted to associate herself with them in the near-billionaire's mind.
They walked up a white-graveled path with old railroad ties for sidings to the porch. The hunting lodge had a sprawling, comfortable look. It was built of whitewashed wood with a cypress shake roof. Some old pecan trees, not yet coming into bloom, shaded the front and sides.
The porch boomed beneath their feet. Tex held the door while Joey pushed ahead. Jadzia went in after, then Annja. Tex came in last.
It was dark and seemed almost chilly. Annja wasn't sure if there was air-conditioning or just shade and contrast to the afternoon heat outside. Her eyes adjusted slowly, becoming aware of a calculated rustic-seeming interior. There was a longhorn rack on a dark-stained wood plaque on the wall above a fieldstone fireplace. Off to the right of the door a large figure sat in a chair covered in black-and-white cowhide. He faced away from the newcomers, toward a giant plasma TV in one corner of the room. He seemed to be asleep.
Joey took a step toward the seated figure. "Uncle Amon?" he said, sounding uncertain.
A small, slim man with white hair, a white tropical-weight silk suit and a lilac-colored tie that matched his eyes emerged from a door on the room's far side, and a shot rang out.
Chapter 20
Annja sensed them around her – dark presences in the cool, dark front room of the lodge. Closing in from beyond her peripheral sight.
The pistol cracked again. It sounded very loud in the living room of the lodge. Tex rocked back just slightly to the second bullet's impact. The front of his blue denim shirt blossomed with a spreading stain. He went to his knees on the plank floor with a thump. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell forward.
Jadzia screamed.
Annja felt as if her body had turned to ash inside her skin.
Joey gaped at his fallen friend. Beyond him Annja now saw that a big single-action revolver lay on the floor by the cowhide chair, near a hand that dangled over one arm. In a flash of comprehension she realized the tycoon had been suicided – subdued, possibly drugged, hand wrapped around grip, weapon held to temple and discharged.
"You said nobody'd get hurt!" Joey shouted. He turned and started toward his uncle.
A man wearing blue jeans and a stained gray work shirt stepped out from the same hallway from which Louis Sulin had emerged. He fired a pump shotgun from the hip. The blast was horrendously loud. The charge took Joey in the left kidney. He staggered, bending backward in agony, grabbing himself with both hands. The man racked the slide, shouldered the weapon and shot him in the head.
Sulin half turned. "Who told you – ?"
Annja side-kicked him with all her strength.
She thought she felt something break, but even as she moved she had seen from the corner of her eye a man emerge from a door to her left holding a handgun. With no time to make sure of a killing blow, she had only been able to take Sulin out of the action for at least a few moments.
Crying incoherently, Jadzia launched herself at the shotgunner. Whether taken by surprise or reluctant to shoot a woman, he never brought the weapon up before she started clawing and pummeling at his face. He pushed her away. She sat down hard on the floor.
He turned toward Annja, raising the shotgun. She was on him. The sword flashed side to side. The man was dead before he could understand what had happened.
Annja kept turning. A man loomed next to her right shoulder. He had been one of an unknown number who stood in ambush flanking the front door, out of immediate sight, poised in expectation that once Joey waltzed blithely in with his cheery greeting to his uncle, the others would follow without a care.
Carelessly. Just the way they did.
He seemed thunderstruck at the sword in Annja's hand. But he had a gun in his. Annja brought the blade up and then down, slashing him diagonally from left to right. He screamed and fell back against the wall with blood spraying from his chest.
Another man lunged at her. Annja cut upward. The man uttered a bubbling bellow and went to his knees with his guts slopping out of his ripped flannel shirt. She slashed another man across the eyes. As she did so he fired a handgun. The shot missed, but the flare dazzled her eyes. Unburned propellant thrown out by the blast stung her cheek.
An assailant threw down a Taurus double-action revolver and turned to run toward what seemed like the dining room, to the left of the front door. Annja slashed him across the back without remorse. He was a killer. The man pitched forward screaming and writhing. Instead of putting him out of his misery she jumped over him. His screams would distract his fellows and drain their morale. He was vivid evidence of the cost of trifling with Annja Creed and those under her protection.
Jadzia sat on the floor with her knees up, staring at everything with wild eyes. Annja put the sword away, grabbed up the shotgun Joey's murderer had dropped when she'd struck him and jacked the pump. She confirmed at least one more shell was in the tubular under-barrel magazine, then leaned around to blast one down the hallway.
Sulin lay slumped at the far end, feeling his ribs. He held his pistol in one hand. He rolled quickly out of the way as she fired. She was pretty sure she'd missed.
She worked the pump again, trying to remember how many shells a shotgun held. If it was a combat gun, as it seemed to be, she thought she recalled it would have a capacity of seven or eight.
Somebody came through the door to what she suspected to be the kitchen, at the other end of the big front room where Uncle Amo
n slumped in his chair of eternal repose. Annja shouldered the weapon, flash-sighted through the ghost ring, fired as he took up an isosceles stance pointing his Model 1911 .45 at her. The gunman's face crumpled in on itself as if punched in by an invisible fist – or a sledgehammer.
She looked at Jadzia again. The girl's face went red and started to knot up to cry as the first shock subsided. "No time," Annja said roughly. "Get up."
She took the girl's arm. Jadzia scrambled to her feet quickly enough, bringing the bag full of scrolls with her. Annja was relieved to see once again that when the hammer came down, Jadzia was willing to follow the lead of somebody experienced in real-time trouble.
Belatedly Annja pumped the shotgun, then moved to the kitchen side of the front door, keeping a wary eye on the door in the back of the room. "When I give the word," she told the girl, "I want you to throw the front door open hard. Don't go out. Understand?"
Jadzia nodded. Annja moved to the window. Some chintz curtains framed it, and a gauzy hanging masked the outdoors from clear view from inside – and vice versa.
Annja caught Jadzia's eye. The girl was weeping and biting her lip but seemed in control. "Now!"
Jadzia grabbed the latch, yanked the door open and gave the screen a kick. A startled exclamation rang out from just outside.
Shotgun in hand, holding her left arm protectively bent in front of her eyes, Annja jumped through the front window. The wood frame screeched and gave way. Glass exploded around her. She felt it clawing her like a bagful of angry wildcats.
She had no time to think about it. A man with a Mini-14 carbine stood with his back toward her. She summoned the sword and cut him down.
Another man had an assault rifle pointed into the open front door. Fortunately Jadzia had had the sense to jump aside after booting open the door. The man gaped at Annja and swung the rifle at her with the speed of pure adrenaline.