Текст книги "The Dragon's Mark"

Автор книги: Алекс Арчер

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

18

Between the events in Dr. Laurent’s office and the encounter at the café, Annja had had enough excitement for one day. She caught a cab and headed home, but not until she’d had the driver make a few sudden turns and run a red light or two. At this point, it made sense to be cautious.

Just because you can’t see them, Annja thought, doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.

She had the cabbie drop her off a block from her loft and ducked into a local Chinese restaurant for some takeout. Once back at home, she sat down and looked at the drawings, trying to make some sense of them.

She stared again at the face of the swordsman, searching her memory for a familiar face, trying to determine if she had ever seen him before. With only the eyes and the upper half of the nose to work from, it was like trying to find a needle in a field of haystacks. It could be anybody, really.

She turned her attention to the images of Joan of Arc’s execution. Recalling her thought that she might have been reproducing a painting or an image she’d seen somewhere before, she turned to her laptop. A search turned up nearly ninety thousand images.

It would take days to go through them all.

Still, she glanced through the first few pages of images, looking for something that resembled her drawing. But, aside from the fact that they all showed a young woman being burned at the stake, none of them were a match.

The mystery remained and Annja decided to leave it that way.

Later that night, while she was trying to get organized for the work she needed to do in the studio the next day, her phone rang.

Answering it, Annja said, “Hello?”

Only silence greeted her.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” she asked.

Still nothing.

Assuming it was a wrong number, she hung up.

A few minutes later the phone rang again.

A feeling of unease swept over her as she stared at the receiver. It rang twice, and then a third time. On the fourth ring she overcame her reluctance and snatched it up.

“Hello?”

Silence greeted her a second time, but this time it was different. This time there was a depth to it, a sense that someone was there, even if they weren’t answering her.

That silence angered her.

“I know you can hear me. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not the type of person you want to mess around with. I suggest you leave me alone.”

When she still didn’t get an answer, Annja hung up the phone.

No sooner had she done so, then it rang again.

Grabbing the phone for the third time, she snarled, “Now you are asking for trouble.”

A man’s laugh echoed down the line. “And here I thought you just didn’t understand me, Annja.”

“Garin?” Finding him unexpectedly on the line startled her.

“I’m headed out of town for a week and thought I’d check in before I left. You returned to the U.S. rather abruptly, after all.”

It took Annja a moment to focus on what he was saying; the prior calls had unnerved her more than she had expected. Finally she said, “After your little altercation with Roux I saw no sense in staying, not when I had work that needed to be done here.”

“And does that work pertain to the information we discussed before you left?”

Annja was about to say yes, but bit her tongue at the last minute to keep from doing so. If there really was an international assassin after either her or Roux, she suddenly didn’t want Garin to know about it.

“No, nothing like that. Just some editing for the show that needed to be done.” She tried to change the subject. “So where did you say you were going?” she asked.

Garin answered with a laugh. “I didn’t say, actually, but if you must know I’m visiting some of my electronic plants in Japan for the next few days. No luck tracking down the Dragon, then?”

So much for her change of subject.

“I spent a day or two looking into it, but I haven’t found anything solid. Why? Have you learned something new?”

Garin shouted something unintelligible to someone on his end, then said to Annja, “No, nothing new. Just thought you might have. You’re so good at that kind of thing, after all.”

Another shout, though this time he covered the mouthpiece of his receiver so that it came out muffled.

“Sorry, Annja, gotta run. They’re holding the plane for me. Best of luck and let me know if you find anything.”

Before she had a chance to say anything back, he hung up.

She stared at the receiver in her hand for a minute, muttered, “Idiot,” and hung up.

Garin’s call made her uneasy for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she lay in bed wondering about it long into the night.

THE NEXT MORNING SHE ROSE early and prepared for her day at the studio. Doug Morrell was counting on her and the editing team to cut nineteen hours of video down to a thirty-minute segment, a task that was never easy for Annja. She wanted her viewers to get as much information as possible and there was only so much she could jam into a lousy half hour.

Still, it had to be done and she didn’t trust anyone else to work on her shows if she was available to do so. The few times she’d let Doug handle the chore, he’d stuffed so much garbage into the show that it had looked like one of Kristie’s episodes. And if there was one person in the world Annja couldn’t stand, it was her cohost, Kristie.

While she would just normally take the subway over to Manhattan, today she decided to splurge on a cab. Along the way she tried to shake any tail she might have picked up by having the cabbie make half a dozen turns at the last minute and double back a time or two down the same streets. When she was at last satisfied that no one was following them, she let him take her the rest of the way to her destination by a more direct route.

The editing team was already assembled in the cutting room when she arrived and for the rest of the day Annja threw herself into the work in front of her. She didn’t think about the Dragon. She didn’t think about a mystical sword, hers or anyone else’s. All she did was focus on making her next episode of Chasing History’s Monstersthe best it could be. They had less than an hour of work to go when quitting time arrived, and Annja convinced the others to stay around and finish up so they wouldn’t have to come back in the next morning. To make the decision easier for them, she offered to have pizza and beer brought in for dinner.

That did the trick.

By seven o’clock they were finished. The video had been cut, the still shots selected and Annja had even recorded the necessary voice-overs that were needed to pull the whole thing together as a cohesive unit.

When Doug came into work the next morning, he’d find the entire package on his desk, ready to go down to production for the final assembly.

Not bad for a day’s work, Annja thought.

Perhaps more importantly, it left her next day free so she could look into a few of the details she’d uncovered earlier that morning, which had been the entire point of the exercise in the first place.

She said goodbye to the three technicians, grabbed her backpack and the precious drawings it contained and headed down the street toward the subway station where she intended to catch a train back to Brooklyn.

She had only walked a few blocks before she felt a stranger’s eyes upon her again, just as she had the other day. In the middle of the block she abruptly stopped and bent down to tie her shoe, glancing backward as she did so. Maybe it was because it was getting dark and they didn’t think they’d be seen or maybe they just didn’t expect her to be as aware of her surroundings as she was, Annja didn’t know, but whatever the reason, her little stunt worked.

About a block and a half back, two men abruptly stopped and turned away from her. One pretended to be examining a magazine stand and the other pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and acted as if he was answering a call.

Annja knew the truth, though. She’d seen how intent they were on watching her in those first few seconds before they’d turned away.

She was being followed. There was no doubt about it.

The man in front was short and thick, with shoulders that looked as if they belonged on an NFL linebacker. His shaved head gleamed in the streetlights. His partner was taller and thinner, with a thick head of wavy hair and a goatee. Both were dressed in dark pants, shirts and jackets.

Annja stood and continued walking, but this time she glanced back over her shoulder a few times, watching the men behind her.

They clearly weren’t from New York, as they hadn’t yet developed a New Yorker’s odd talent for moving through a crowded sidewalk without disturbing the slower pedestrian traffic moving around them. Where Annja slipped through the crowd, moving easily with the changing patterns of those around her, her pursuers plowed their own path and it was this disturbance in the natural flow that had caught her eye and let her know that they were still back there.

Even as she watched, the two men quickened their pace, obviously trying to close the distance between themselves and Annja.

She wasn’t about to let that happen.

Let’s see if I can flush the foxes out of the henhouse, she thought, and then broke into a run. Her sudden move caught them off guard and her long legs allowed her to widen the distance between them in those first few seconds, giving her some precious lead time.

She raced across the traffic against the light. Horns blared, people shouted, but she didn’t stop, counting on a little bit of luck and a lot of divine provenance to get her through. She barged through the crowd standing on the opposite corner and shot down the street perpendicular to the direction she’d been traveling in, headed for the subway station on Broadway a block and a half away.

By the time she reached it, she had widened her lead to almost two whole blocks. Unfortunately, her pursuers had doubled in number, as well, for as she stopped for a moment at the top of the steps leading down to the subway station, she could see four men shoving their way through the crowd toward her.

Time to go, she told herself, and raced down the steps two at a time.

At the bottom she caught sight of a couple of transit cops standing around chatting and she momentarily considered getting them involved, but decided against it at the last minute. If it was the Dragon’s men behind her—and really, who else could it be?—then she didn’t want to drag them into her mess.

Instead, she charged forward, vaulted the turnstile and dashed down the steps in front of her, headed for the center platform. The station serviced four different sets of tracks, two northbound and two southbound. The center platform would give her access to one of each, which seemed her best bet at the moment. When she had managed to lose her pursuers, she could always get off at another stop, cross over to the opposite platform and head back the other way, if necessary.

Once on the platform she slowed her pace and began to mix in with the crowd around her. The little magazine-and-snack stand was selling Mets caps for fifteen bucks, so she hurriedly bought one and, stuffing her hair up underneath it, jammed it on her head. She thought about grabbing a pair of sunglasses while she was at it, but decided against it. She didn’t want anything to hinder her vision of the people around her.

There was a commotion on the stairs and Annja turned away, not wanting to be caught gawking and give herself away. She moved down the platform and then looked back the way she had come.

Her original pursuers were coming down the stairs, shoving people out of the way when they didn’t move fast enough. As she watched, a young college student angrily tried to push back and ended up being tossed down the stairs for his trouble.

That got people’s attention and they cleared a path, allowing her pursuers to descend that much faster.

A glance to her right to the northbound platform showed that her other two pursuers were already amid the crowd over there, searching for her.

Where the heck was the train?

She looked down the tracks, hoping to see the telltale glow of the oncoming light, but only the darkness stared back at her.

For a second she thought about jumping off the platform and disappearing into the tunnels, but she wasn’t desperate enough yet to take a chance of getting caught on the tracks with an inbound train.

When she turned back toward the crowd, she saw that her pursuers had reached the bottom of the steps and were on the platform itself. They stopped for a moment, talking it over, and then one headed her way while one went the other.

If she was going to reach the stairs, she was going to have to confront at least one of them.

Annja knew she couldn’t count on the crowd to keep her hidden forever. Sooner or later one of them was going to catch a glimpse of her and then she’d have to deal with all four of them together. Going on the offensive, while they were still separated from each other, seemed like a smart move and it didn’t take her long to decide to do just that.

She began to work her way through the crowd back in the direction that she’d come from, keeping her face averted as much as possible. As she drew closer to where the bald man stood searching for her, she gradually drifted in his direction. When she was only a few feet away she stopped and waited for him to close the distance.

He was trying to see over the heads of the people around them when Annja stepped up beside him.

“Looking for me?” she asked.

As he spun to face her, Annja delivered a massive punch to his right temple, stunning him. She followed it with a left cross that started somewhere around her waist and ended up catching him right beneath the chin, slamming his head back.

He dropped to the ground like a felled tree.

The crowd around them suddenly backed away, the typical New York response to trouble—stay out of it. Annja was ready to deliver another blow but realized she didn’t need to; he was out cold, at least for the time being.

Her frontal assault had an unintended consequence, however. From the platform across the way she could see a number of commuters gesticulating in her direction. Aware of the movement of the crowd, her pursuers glanced in the direction the commuters were pointing.

They saw Annja at the same time she saw them.

Time to go, she thought to herself.

She turned, ready to make a dash for the stairs and the freedom they represented, only to find herself looking down the barrel of a very ugly handgun.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Creed,” the man with the goatee said, shoving the gun closer to her. “You’re coming with me.”

No way, she thought. The minute she gave in to them she was signing her own death warrant. Better to go down fighting than to be led like a lamb to the slaughter.

Besides, the gunman had already made a fatal mistake.

He’d underestimated her.

Annja was already in motion by the time the “No!” came rolling off her lips. She used her shout to distract him; all she needed was a few seconds. Her left hand came up in an arc, the outer edge crashing into the gunman’s arm just above the wrist, sending the gun away from her face. In the same motion her hand locked on to his wrist, pulling him forward and down.

The gun went off, the sound deafening so close to her ear, but she was already out of the line of fire thanks to her deflection strike. The bullet bounced off the concrete beneath her feet, disappearing somewhere into the crowd. Annja was still in motion, pivoting on the balls of her feet and using the swing of her hips to bring her right arm around vicious arc that ended against the side of his head.

No sooner had she connected with that blow than she delivered another, a hammer strike to the face with her left hand as she completed the circle she’d started with the first blow.

Her assailant staggered, but did not go down.

The crowd around her was screaming, a result of the gunfire and the violence that had suddenly broken out in their midst, but even that was drowned out as a northbound train roared into the station on the tracks next to her.

About time! she thought.

If she could get on that train before they did, she had a chance of getting away.

The gunman was shaking his head, trying to clear it, as he brought his arm back up, searching for a target.

Annja didn’t give him any time to find one.

Her right foot came up in a scissor kick, delivering a thunderous blow to the exact same place she’d already struck him twice.

Apparently the third time was the charm, for he dropped to the ground, the gun spinning out of his hand across the platform.

Annja turned, intent on going after it, but was prevented from doing so when several bullets cracked off the floor near her feet.

As she dove to the side, desperately trying to get out of the line of fire, she saw the other two gunmen standing at the top of the stairs, firing down at her.

She hit the ground and rolled for cover behind a nearby column. Several other people were already huddled there and Annja knew that if she didn’t get out soon it wouldn’t be long before some innocent bystander was caught in the cross fire and seriously injured or killed. For all she knew, it could have happened already. Those bullets had to end up somewhere and she could just imagine them finding a home in some commuters’ unprotected flesh.

The train across the platform had discharged its passengers out the opposite side and now the doors on her side swished open. She could hear the conductor’s voice indicating what the next stop would be and giving the all-clear announcement, but a fresh barrage of gunfire designed to keep everyone in place and under cover, trembling with fear, prevented anyone from heading for the open doors.

Annja knew she didn’t have the same choice. She had to get on that train, had to take the battle out of the station to keep any more innocents from getting hurt.

Another volley of gunfire echoed around the station. Expecting a hail of bullets, Annja was shocked when none came her way.

She chanced a look around the pillar she was using as cover and was astounded to see a second group of men shooting at the first set from the cover of the magazine stand at the other end of the platform.

Who the heck are they? she wondered.

It didn’t matter. While they kept the first group distracted, Annja saw her chance.

She surged to her feet and raced for the doors of the subway car even as the bell sounded and they began to close.

A fresh volley of gunfire, from both grounds, filled the air with lead but Annja was committed. There was no turning back.

She was halfway across the platform when she realized it was going to be tight. The doors were closing and even if she got her hand in the door it wouldn’t do her any good; they wouldn’t just pop back open like an elevator’s doors did. It would take some time and she’d be stuck there with one arm in the door and the rest of her standing exposed against the unyielding surface of the train car outside, for too long.

It would be like shooting ducks in a barrel for anyone with an ounce of experience with a firearm. And from what she had seen so far, they probably had a better than even chance of hitting a nonmoving target.

All this went through Annja’s mind in a split second, and in that time she realized she really only had one course of action left available to her if she wanted to get out of this alive.

With a final burst of speed and a huge downward thrust of her long athletic legs, Annja launched herself like a missile at the closing doors of the subway car.

19

Annja shot through the opening just as the doors closed behind her. She tucked herself into a ball to cushion the impact she knew she was about to experience.

She careered into a metal pole, bounced off that and then slammed to a stop against the closed doors on the other side of the train.

She felt the car lurch into motion beneath her as she climbed cautiously to her feet. Several passengers were staring at her openmouthed and she was sure she looked quite the spectacle after a stunt like that, but Annja didn’t care. She’d survived; that was all that mattered.

No sooner had she risen to her feet, however, than she was throwing herself back down to the floor as the windows in the subway doors shattered under a hail of gunfire. Safety glass went flying, and through the opening Annja could see her two pursuers racing toward her, guns extended. Behind them she could also see her first assailant, the bald man, back on his feet and closing the distance as well.

What do they think they’re going to do, jump on the moving train? she wondered.

No sooner had she thought it than the lead gunman threw himself against the door and hung on, letting the train carry him with it. With the glass in the windows gone, he was able to stick his arm inside the train and point his gun at her.

You have got to be kidding me! Annja thought, even as she hurled herself down the center aisle and away from the door.

Gunfire followed her and several passengers went down in a shower of blood.

With so many passengers watching, Annja didn’t dare draw her sword, so she scrambled forward on hands and knees, trying to reach the door to the next car, while around her the other passengers huddled in terror.

The gunplay stopped, as her pursuer turned his attention to getting inside the subway car before the motion of the train or some hanging piece of equipment swept him off the outside. She could hear him swearing and hollering at the person closest to him to help him haul open the doors, but Annja didn’t stick around to see the results of his efforts. Instead, she rose to her feet, hauled back the lever to open the door and stepped onto the narrow platform connecting her car to the next.

While in that no-man’s-land between cars, Annja summoned her sword from the otherwhere. Its presence made her feel almost instantly better; she always felt as if she could take on any challenge with the sword by her side and this time was no different.

She stepped across to the next car, hauled open that door and disappeared inside.

As one, the passengers in the next car turned to see what all the commotion was about and more than a handful started screaming the moment she stepped into the car, sword in hand.

“Stay down!” she shouted at them and they did, cowering in their seats. Annja had been concerned that a stray bullet might injure them, but then she realized they weren’t afraid of being shot at all. They were afraid of her!

Come on, now, she thought, it’s just a broadsword. I’d be far more afraid of the dudes with guns.

She kept moving forward, rushing for the other end of the car as fast as she could and counting on the passengers to get out of her way.

To a one, they all did.

Must be the sword, Annja thought with a smile.

She guessed she was seven, maybe eight, cars from the end of the train. She made it through six of those cars before her pursuers caught up to her, which was pretty damn good, all things considered.

It just wasn’t good enough.

“Hold it right there!” a man’s voice shouted, and Annja didn’t need to look to know who it was. The sound of the slide on the gun was extraloud in the current silence of the subway car.

Slowly, so as to not be mistaken for making any heroic moves, Annja turned to face her assailant.

Three of them stood there—the bald man, the guy with the goatee and one of the newcomers. The fourth man wasn’t there, but Annja didn’t bother to ask where he was.

“Put down the sword and kick it over here,” the bald man said.

Knowing she’d reached the end of the line, Annja did as she was told. She bent down and put the sword on the floor. Then, before she could change her mind, she kicked it along the length of the car toward him. She wasn’t sure what would happen next.

When she looked up again, over their shoulders, Annja saw an astounding sight. The second group of gunmen she’d seen at the subway station was cautiously making their way toward the group ahead of them. Annja had no idea who they were or what they wanted; all she knew was that their guns were pointed at the other shooters, rather than at her, and that was good enough for now.

The gunmen hadn’t noticed them yet.

Pointing behind them, Annja said to them, “I see you invited a few more guests to the party.”

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the half smile of satisfaction on her face. Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick. The gunmen turned as one to look behind them.

With the speed of thought, Annja made her sword vanish back into the otherwhere. Then she turned to escape.

The sound of gunfire filled the car, the crack of the shots and the buzz of the bullets echoing in the narrow confines of the car. Annja instinctively ducked into a crouch to present a smaller target, but she needn’t have worried. The two groups were blazing away at each other and weren’t paying attention to her.

She ran for the last car.

On the other side of the door a few scattered passengers were watching the gunplay behind them as if it were a spectator sport and Annja grimaced.

Only in New York.

Crossing the car, she came to the final door on the train. Looking through its window, she could see a small platform on the other side and, just beyond it, the tunnel itself.

If she could get off the train…

The door, of course, was locked, to prevent people from doing the very thing she was about to do. Not that that was going to be a hindrance to her.

While everyone’s attention was on the gun battle going on in the car behind her, Annja called her sword into being and shoved it right through the lock.

There was a tearing, grinding sound and then the door popped open.

Rather than trying to haul her sword back out of the splintered steel of the door, Annja simply let it go, willing it back into the otherwhere as she did so. The sword vanished, leaving a gaping hole in the lock.

Annja stepped out onto the tiny platform at the end of the train. A small metal railing that came up to her midthigh was all that kept her from falling off the back of the train. The wind whipped all around her and the tunnel was filled with the roar of the moving train and the squeal of its brakes as the conductor tried to slow it down and bring it to a stop as a result of all the shooting. There was a ladder bolted to the subway car on her left, but since it led to the roof of the train she ignored it. With the ceiling of the tunnel so low, climbing up there was practically suicide, which meant she didn’t have many options available to her. She could either go back the way she had come or she could get off the train.

A quick glance back into the car showed her pursuers passing through the door at the other end. They would figure out where she had gone in just a few seconds, and if they caught her on the platform it was all over.

Knowing that if she gave it any real thought she’d chicken out, Annja backed up a few steps until she was against the door, then took a running start and launched herself over the rail and off the train.

She hit the ground hard and rolled, her arms and legs tucked in tight to avoid hitting the rails nearby. She sprang to her feet and headed down the tunnel as fast as she could run. In the back of her mind she marveled at the fact that she had just jumped off a moving train and survived, but the other half of her chalked it up to the sword’s influence on her physical abilities and left it at that. The important thing was that she had gotten away.

A bullet bounced off the wall next to her in the split second before the report of the shot reached her ears, echoing in the narrow confines of the tunnel.

The tunnel curved to the right a few feet ahead and she ran for all she was worth, praying she could get around the bend before a bullet found her flesh.

Two more bullets bounced around her, ricocheting in the dim light and then she sped past the curve and was out of range, at least for a few minutes.

Between now and the time the gunmen reach you, you have to come up with a plan. And it had better be a good one, she told herself.

The tunnel smelled of dirt and exhaust and a thousand other things she couldn’t identify. It was dimly lit by a series of bare bulbs hanging on the left-hand wall every ten feet. There was just enough light for her to see so she hurried along as fast as she could, staying to the middle of the tracks and trying to be careful where she put her feet.

From behind her came the sound of running footsteps.

At least one of her pursuers, maybe more, as still back there.

Annja pushed herself, trying to put as much distance between them and herself as she could. The tunnel branched several times and she let intuition be her guide, making a left here, a right there, until she realized that she was no longer certain she was even on the same track. At that point she slowed down to a walk to try to figure things out.

She hadn’t yet come upon another subway station, so she had no way of knowing where she was. Common sense told her to keep moving in one direction; eventually she had to hit another station and from there she could gain access to the street. So far she hadn’t seen any trains, either—maybe traffic control had shut them down temporarily.

She kept walking.

After a few more minutes the earth around her began to vibrate with a steady rhythm and she knew that the trains were up and running again. That made her more nervous than she wanted to admit; if something happened, there wasn’t anyplace she could go. She had to find a subway station and soon.

Annja was just starting to wish she’d headed in the other direction at one of the previous forks she’d encountered when a pursuer caught up to her.

He charged her out of the darkness, ramming his shoulder into her midriff and lifting her with his forward momentum. They careered across the width of the tunnel until he slammed her bodily against a nearby column supporting the roof above.

She took the impact badly, not having had time to prepare herself and thought she heard a rib crack as she was crushed between his massive shoulders and the concrete behind her. He kept the pressure on, trying to suffocate her while using his arms to pummel her sides with his massive fists.