by Alex Archer
"What's going on?" Annja said.
The Englishman shrugged apologetically. "You are being rescued," he said, "from what I gather were criminals hired by renegade elements of the very corporation that employs us. Shocking, the things that go on."
He sounded sincere. Annja remembered the anthro prof at college who had told her, "Once you can fake that, you've got it made." Best not to go there, she told herself.
"Jadzia, relax," she said.
"How can you trust them?" The girl allowed herself to be pressed gently but insistently back down on the stretcher.
Annja felt a stinging at the back of her head as the Malaysian woman swabbed her wound with alcohol.
"Because we're still alive," she said.
The helicopter hovered then flared to a landing. Carrying water bottles that had been pressed into their hands by their briskly solicitous rescuers – or captors – the two women were helped out of the helicopter.
It took a moment for Annja to get her bearings. They were on a dark ridge, with waving shadowy trees all around. To one side the sky was lit by a glow that Annja realized could only come from Kuala Lumpur itself.
The friendly Englishman set the bag of scrolls down by Annja's feet. "A pleasure, miss," he said. Then he climbed back into the helicopter, which promptly leapt up into the sky, wheeled east, tipped its snout down and flew away over the city.
A figure approached, tall and slim, with suit-coat tails whipping in the wind of the helicopter's departure.
"Good evening, ladies," Mr. Thistledown said. His bony face was all smiles, as usual. "I am glad to see you both in such tip-top shape, considering your recent terrible ordeal."
He said it as if the "terrible ordeal" had nothing to do with him, as if they had just been plucked from the rim of an erupting volcano.
"And you are?" Jadzia asked suspiciously.
"This is Mr. Thistledown. Mr. Thistledown, this is Jadzia Arkadczyk," Annja said.
He bowed. "Such a very great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Arkadczyk. An honor, if I may say so, to meet one so very young, yet so accomplished in such fields as cryptology and ancient languages."
Jadzia gave Annja a somewhat wild look. Annja shrugged.
"And now, if you please," he said. He gestured back along the ridge top with a knobbly hand. Looking that way, Annja saw a large tent faintly lit from within. Several men stood nearby.
Annja shouldered the bag of scrolls. She and Jadzia accompanied Thistledown toward the tent.
"What happened to Marshall?" Annja demanded. She wasn't in a mood to be polite.
"He and Mr. Sulin were a little too enthusiastic in their pursuit. Under the circumstances, he left us small choice but to act most precipitously. He has been dealt with appropriately."
Annja wasn't sure she wanted to know what that meant.
Jadzia opened her mouth to question that. Relentlessly smiling, Thistledown held up his hand. "It is, I fear, not my place to discuss corporate policy – any more than it is to make it. Oh, my, not my place indeed. And now, if you will permit me the honor – "
He gestured toward the broad, tapering back of a tall man who stood silhouetted against the city lights. The horizon glowed in a million points of light, as if the sky above were merely a pale, diffuse reflection of the real stars below.
"I'd like to introduce you to our new director, Mr. Garin Braden."
The man turned to them and approached, grinning, holding out his hand. Annja felt her knees buckle with mingled relief and trepidation.
"Oh, my God," Jadzia whispered. "He's gorgeous."
Somewhat weakly Annja shook the huge, square hand. As always it felt as if it had been sculpted out of seasoned oak.
"New director?" she asked.
He shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em, buy in, as I always say. At least for the last century or two. And if I'm going to buy in, why not at the top? I couldn't have helped you two much as a mail-room clerk, now, could I?"
"What happened to the old director?" Jadzia asked suspiciously.
"Ah," Mr. Thistledown said. "I fear Herr Direktor Sinnbrenner is no longer with us. The rest of the board determined he had engaged in conduct quite inappropriate to the role of the consortium. He has accordingly been terminated."
Garin put his hand on Annja's shoulder. She tried not to think about the sensation it produced. He guided her away from Thistledown and the others who stood in the shadows. Jadzia followed. Annja suspected she was determined not to miss anything.
She became aware the hilltop was ringed by a discreet but heavily armed security detail. Even if Jadzia and I weren't utterly wrung out we'd have little chance of escape, she thought. Especially with Garin on hand. He was probably more dangerous than the whole guard force.
He looked to her. "And now, I believe you have something for me."
"Why should we give it to you?" Jadzia flared. "You are supposed to be Annja's friend. But you went over to them."
"Did you really describe me as your friend, Annja dear?"
"Not exactly." To Jadzia she said, "Don't you see? We're in his power. He can simply take what he wants by force."
"Ah, but I won't," he said. "You wrong me, Annja. You should know me as a man of my word." Then he smiled. It was not an altogether pleasant expression. "Besides, force is unnecessary. Come."
He escorted them into the tent. A large-screen plasma TV had been set up against the far wall, hooked to the video output from a notebook computer resting on a camp table. Garin nodded to the young woman who sat at the keyboard.
The screen lit up with a succession of brief video clips. "I know him – " Jadzia burst out, as a popular magician appeared. With his trademark boisterous self-assurance he debunked and ridiculed claims a place called Atlantis ever existed, or had any mystic secrets to be discovered.
He gave way to the Legend Smashers, a pair of wisecracking pyrotechnics experts from a basic-cable rival of Chasing History's Monsters. They showed, with a complicated-looking experiment, how zero-point energy extraction could never work. They were followed by other clips in the same vein, including a solemn cable-news channel report revealing a scheme by an American archaeologist and a Polish language expert to take advantage of their lucky escape from an Islamic terror attack on their dig in Alexandria to scam gullible investors out of billions for nonexistent secrets of ancient technology.
"But these sequences look real," Jadzia said, awestruck.
"They are real," Garin said. "They're in the can. Just waiting to be shown. Would you care to see more?"
Annja looked at Jadzia. The girl's face was white as a sheet.
"I think that's enough," Annja said. "Isn't that a lot of expense to go to as a contingency?"
Mr. Thistledown had accompanied them into the tent. Now his ever-present smile broadened. "Young lady, it cost my former employers substantially more to subsidize the antinuclear power movement of the seventies and eighties."
"In any event," Garin said, "none of this should be necessary. I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, after all."
Annja sighed. "I suppose you have, at that."
"Don't look so grim," he said. "Either of you. As it happens, I'm feeling generous. Very, very generous."
"Why's that?" Annja asked with a narrow-eyed look.
"It took all my available liquidity to swing the purchase of enough stock to make me majority private holder of EP. But as a result of doing so I've already doubled my net worth, and stand to increase my wealth exponentially in a remarkably short time. I really feel I owe you ladies a finder's fee."
"The scrolls?" Annja asks.
"They will be properly conserved, I assure you," Thistledown said. "What's more, Ms. Arkadczyk's position in Alexandria awaits her return. Our new director – " he nodded toward Garin, who was visibly gloating " – has graciously arranged for Euro Petro to take over funding of the library recovery project. As many surviving members of your team as are willing will be brought back onboard. With, of course, additional staff hire
d by us."
"Including site supervisors?" Annja asked.
"Naturally."
"I want something, too," Annja said.
Garin arched a brow. "Aside from getting the monkey, if I may speak unkindly of the dead, off the back of you and your friend?" He sighed theatrically. "Ah, well. Some people are never satisfied. What?"
"A man named Leo built an ultralight airplane by himself. It was named Ariel. Tex and I rented it to rescue Jadzia and we lost it. I want it replaced."
Garin chuckled. "I can arrange that quite cheaply. By remarkable coincidence, a hand-built ultralight aircraft sporting a most unfortunate paint job, I'm given to understand, turned up on one of our properties in the North Sea. A former oil rig I am told EP uses to conduct meteorological observations. They recently experienced some kind of terrible accident, but the aircraft in question is unharmed. Would this Leo person accept that aircraft in exchange for his lost pet, do you think?"
Annja smiled weakly. "I suspect so. Oh, one other thing. Tex Winston's body must be returned to his parents – "
"Yes, in Idaho. As of four hours ago, confirmed by e-mail. A heroic end to a colorful career. A pity that his brave sacrifice of his own life was unable to save Amon Hogue and his nephew from being murdered by a particularly brutal home-invasion gang. But he appears to have taken out several of the bandits before he died. Small consolation to his parents, I'm sure. But they do know that he died a hero."
Annja felt a stinging in her eyes. "Thank you, Garin."
"My pleasure. Is there anything else you'd like from me? For me to cut off my right hand, perhaps?" He held out a hand. "And now, ladies – the scrolls, if you please."
Tears of frustrated rage rolled down Jadzia's cheeks. "But what if they really do hold the secret of unlimited energy?" she said. "Aren't you at least curious?"
Thistledown clucked indulgently. "Young lady, we already know what works. Some quite astonishing things, really. Now, please hand over the scrolls."
Annja let the satchel's strap slide off her shoulder. Stooping slightly, she placed it on the ground between her and the girl.
"It needs to be your choice, Jadzia," she said. "Whatever you decide – even if it's to go out in a blaze of glory – I'll back you."
Jadzia turned and clung to her, crying. At last she recovered a measure of control and lifted her face to Annja, who smiled.
Jadzia turned, grabbed up the satchel and thrust the ancient scrolls toward Garin's broad chest.
"Take them, then," she said fiercely. "But if you ever harm my friend Annja, a terrible, terrible fate will befall you."
Garin arched a brow toward Annja.
"Better listen to her," Annja said. "She has the gift."