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Annja didn’t move from her place of concealment. She was unable to tell if they had left or not and didn’t want to take the chance of being caught unexpectedly in the open.
Her caution saved her life.
Bullets suddenly thumped into Arturo’s unmoving form and it took all she had for Annja not to flinch as the gunshots echoed around the enclosed confines of the cenote. The rope she’d intended to use to reach the surface was thrown down a few moments later. Laughter drifted down from above and then moved off until she couldn’t hear it anymore.
Annja pulled herself out of the muck and took a deep breath, not only to fill her lungs with air but to keep her startled wits about her, as well. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she lost it now. There were too many people in the camp above who’d need her protection.
And that was precisely what she intended to do.
She reached out and placed her finger tips on Arturo’s throat, checking for a pulse, wanting to be sure. She would have been highly surprised if he’d survived the fall, never mind the gunshot wound to the head, but stranger things had happened and she didn’t want to leave without being certain.
In the end, it turned out to be wasted effort.
Arturo was dead.
Gently, she brushed the side of her palm down over his eyes, closing them, and then stood. A glance upward told her she was alone and she suspected it would remain that way. By now the handful of people working the dig site had either been rounded up or slaughtered as Arturo had. There was no reason for the assailants, whoever they were, to examine the cenote a second time unless they wanted to dredge the bottom for themselves.
She figured that wasn’t too bloody likely, given the pile of artifacts that the team had already unearthed that were just sitting around in the research tent above.
Annja wasn’t about to let the lack of a rope hinder her, either. Her colleagues were up above, friends who were clearly in trouble, and she’d go through hell and high water to get to them.
The walls of the cenote were formed from limestone and, thanks to the constant erosion of the water that had filled the hole, were pockmarked throughout, providing all sorts of hand- and footholds for those who knew how to use them.
Having done her fair share of rock climbing, Annja was one of those people.
She grabbed a hold and started climbing. She’d learned that those unfamiliar with the sport often tried to pull themselves upward using the strength of their arms alone. That causes lactic acid to quickly build up in their muscles, cramping them, and tiring the climber faster than necessary. Annja knew what was necessary. With more than a hundred feet of climbing to go, she had to be sure to conserve her energy, which meant using her hands primarily for balance and doing the majority of the work with her legs. She was careful where she put her hands and feet, knowing that the pockets of eroded rock might still be damp or even full of water. Without a rope, one slip could be fatal.
Slowly, carefully, she worked her way to the top.
Once there, she cautiously peeked over the lip of the cenote and then, not seeing anyone nearby, pulled herself up and onto solid ground.
As silent as a stalking cat, she rolled smoothly to her feet and slipped into the thick foliage of the nearby jungle. The sun had set during her assent of the sinkhole, something for which Annja was thankful. The darkness would provide additional cover for her as she moved through the dense undergrowth in the direction of the dig’s main encampment.
3
She smelled him first. The thick odor of cheap cologne, unwashed human body and hand-rolled cigarettes clashed with the humid scent of the jungle around her and gave him away about half a moment before she blundered directly into him. Annja froze in place, waiting for her peripheral vision to pick him out in the gathering darkness.
He stood a few feet up the trail, his back to her. The rifle he carried was slung over his shoulder while his hands were busy in front of his body. The sound of liquid splashing in a thick stream against the broad leaves of the bushes in front of him reached her ears a second later and clued her in to what he was doing.
Taking a deep breath, she put her right hand into the otherwhere and drew her sword. Incredibly strong and unsurprisingly deadly, the ancient broadsword had once belonged to Joan of Arc, but when Annja had reunited the last of its pieces, it had become mysteriously bound to her in some kind of mystical fashion. She could summon it at will and release it back into the otherwhere when it was no longer needed. Reversing it in her grip so that the blade hung downward, she approached on silent feet. A quick snap of her wrist, the solid thunk of the pommel of her sword striking the back of the soldier’s head, and then he was tumbling to the ground, his hands still on the zipper he’d been pulling shut when she’d struck.
Annja rolled him over, made sure he was unconscious and then took a good look.
The briefing they had received before arriving at the dig site had mentioned that members of a revolutionary group had been seen moving through the region, but Annja hadn’t paid much attention to the warnings. In Mexico and most of Central America, insurgency was a way of life, and if they fell into a tizzy every single time a group was spotted by local villagers, nothing would ever get done.
Apparently she should have paid more attention this time.
The rebel soldier was dressed in a faded set of old fatigue pants and a dirty T-shirt. A new green cap with the emblem of his group emblazoned on it lay close to his unconscious form. He carried an assault rifle, an AK-47 to be exact, but unlike the rest of his uniform the weapon was new.
Someone, somewhere, was arming the troops.
She shrugged off the thought as soon as it came. It was not her problem and certainly not one she intended to get involved in. Right now, her only concern was rescuing the rest of her team from this guy’s buddies.
Annja considered taking his weapon, knowing she might need a bit of firepower, but while she knew how to use it, she felt better with her sword in hand. In the end, she ejected the submachine gun’s magazine and shoved it into the cargo pocket of her pants, then jammed the muzzle of the weapon into the mud at her feet, stuffing the barrel so that it couldn’t be used again without being cleaned. She also took the time to peel off the man’s shoelaces and used them to bind his hands and feet. Between the smack on the head and the bindings, he should be out of the fight for some time.
Satisfied, she moved off into the darkness again, slowly continuing to make her way toward the wide clearing where they had set up their main encampment a few weeks earlier.
The path ahead grew lighter, the glow coming from the portable lights strung up over the eating area outside the mess tent, and she knew she was close. As there were sure to be guards posted at the top of the pathway and she didn’t want to blunder into another one unexpectedly, she decided to slide off the path into the thicker foliage and approach at an oblique angle.
When she came to the edge of the jungle, she stopped and peered out at the camp.
Their tents had been grouped haphazardly, without any real plan or design to how they had been set up. After all, this was an expedition, not a Boy Scout camp. Whenever someone new arrived, they just selected a patch of ground and set up their tent wherever they wanted. Portable lights had been strung up here and there on poles throughout the camp, as well. While they didn’t light up the camp like broad daylight, they did do their share to banish the darkness around the most commonly used paths and in front of about half of the tents. From where she crouched Annja could see that she was to the right of the mess area and about halfway along the maze of tents.
She could also see several soldiers moving through the camp; she counted four in all. They were stomping in and out of the tents, kicking aside piles of equipment and supplies, looking for anything of value. She could also hear someone yelling something in Spanish at the other end of the camp, where the larger mess tent and command center had been set up.
She couldn’t see who it was. No matter. She’d find out soon enough.
First, though, she had to deal with the soldiers in front of her.
Annja waited until they were all either inside a tent or facing the other way, and then, when no one was looking, she left the cover of the trees behind and ran in a crouch to the nearest tent that hadn’t been searched yet. Using her sword, she cut a long slit into the rear panel and then squatted at its edge, waiting.
It didn’t take long.
The rebel came into the tent as she expected he would, head down, eagerly anticipating another iPod, cell phone or laptop computer to claim as his bounty. When he bent over to paw through a backpack someone had left open on the cot, Annja made her move. Slipping through the hole in the back of the tent she headed directly toward the soldier’s unprotected back.
She had almost reached his side when he straightened and turned. Seeing her, his eyes opened wide in fear.
“¡Madre de Dios!” he whispered, frozen in place.
Annja could only imagine what she looked like to him with her hair, face and body covered in drying muck, and a sword almost as long as she was grasped in one hand, like some vengeful spirit come back from the grave to right some ancient wrong. She didn’t give him a chance to make sense of what he was seeing, either, but rather jammed the point of her sword up under his chin and held a finger to her lips to indicate he should be silent.
“Give me your gun,” she said in Spanish.
Stiff with fear, he complied.
“How many others are there?” she asked.
His voice trembled as he said, “Five plus the captain.”
That meant she’d already taken care of the captain’s only companion, since she’d counted four men looting the tents.
Too bad for them that the odds were in her favor.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
The soldier shrugged.
Annja pushed the sword blade a bit harder and a thin trickle of blood ran down the man’s neck in response. “Don’t mess with me,” she told him. “What are you here for?”
The soldier explained that they had stumbled upon the excavation while fleeing from the police. With no money and a need to resupply themselves with both food and ammunition, the captain decided that a quick raid was in order. If they discovered that the excavation had yielded gold or other precious artifacts, so much the better.
She could hear the other soldiers laughing nearby and knew she didn’t have much time left. She was going to have to act and hope for the best.
“Give me your shirt and hat,” she told her captive.
Once he had, she made him turn around and then struck him hard on the head with the butt of his own weapon.
Two down, four to go.
Releasing the sword back into the otherwhere, she pulled his shirt on over her own muddy T-shirt and shoved her hair up under the hat. The shirt was bulky and hung down to midthigh, which should help hide her shape and size from casual view. She only needed to pass for the other man for a few moments, just until she was close enough to carry out her plan. In the dark, and with the soldiers feeling secure that they were not in any danger, it just might work.
She left the man lying there unconscious and stepped out of the tent, the soldier’s rifle slung over her shoulder and the hat pulled down low over her face.
The other soldiers were several tents away, a long stretch of darkness between them and her. They saw her emerge from the tent, but didn’t think anything of it, her disguise apparently good enough at this distance to keep them from noticing anything was wrong.
The one in the middle turned to her, shouted for her to hurry up and gave a “come on” gesture with one hand.
Annja grunted something indistinguishable, waved to show she’d heard him and then held her breath.
This was the moment of truth. If they were going to notice something was wrong, it would most likely be now, while their attention was on her and they were addressing her directly.
The soldier hesitated.
Annja tensed.
The soldier turned back to his companions, apparently satisfied with her response.
They waited for her there in the center of the camp’s main thoroughfare as she approached. The men laughed and joked among themselves, their attention on one another and not on her.
It proved to be a fatal mistake.
She considered simply gunning them down where they stood as she moved closer; after all, they’d certainly killed Arturo and probably several others at this point, as well. She didn’t owe them anything. But the sound would easily carry across the camp and she wasn’t ready yet to let the captain know that his pack of hired guns had been taken out of the equation. Instead, she kept her right hand down at her side, ready to snatch her sword out of the otherwhere the moment she needed it. Thanks to the fact that they were standing directly in a pool of light cast by one of the overhead lamps, Annja was able to approach quite close to them while remaining shrouded in shadow the entire time.
The man who’d spoken to her earlier turned as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise as she passed from shadow into light, revealing herself at last. His hand fumbled for the gun at his side as he pushed himself backward into the other two.
Annja called her sword to her and thrust forward in the same motion, skewering him where he stood.
By now the other two men had noticed she wasn’t who they’d been expecting and the fact that they were in danger was just registering in their surprise-addled minds. Using the precious seconds that surprise had given her, Annja spun to her left, withdrawing her sword from the body of the man she’d stabbed while at the same time bringing her elbow around in a vicious arc that connected with the head of the man on the far right, dropping him senseless to the ground.
The man she’d stabbed dropped to his knees, his hands cupped across the savage wound in his gut.
As often happened whenever she was in a fight for her life, Annja’s senses suddenly became hypersharp, giving the effect that she was moving incredibly fast in a world where time had suddenly slowed to a crawl. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the third man had managed to get his hands around his gun and was bringing it up in her direction. Without stopping her momentum she planted her foot and continued her spin, the hand holding the sword coming up and down again, her weapon whistling through the air like the keening of a hungry ghost. The edge of the sword struck the man’s arm just below his elbow.
The gun dropped into the dirt at his feet.
The soldier was opening his mouth to scream when Annja silenced him with one final blow of her sword.
Heart beating madly thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her system, Annja took a few deep breaths to get herself under control. She collected the soldiers’ weapons and tossed them into the darkness. She stripped the belts from the bodies and used them to bind the hands and feet of the unconscious man, assuring that he wouldn’t make a sudden appearance and cause her future difficulties.
When she was ready, she picked up her rifle once more and headed toward the mess area on the other side of camp. As she drew closer, the captain’s voice came to her clearly.
“¿Donde esta el tesoro?”
None of the hostages answered him. Annja knew that the vast majority of those working the dig spoke Spanish and she was surprised that they seemed to be pretending otherwise, but she was glad they were. It meant there was still some fight in them and that was good. The sudden attack hadn’t broken their spirit at least.
The captain tried again, this time in English.
“Where is the treasure?”
By now Annja had reached the edge of the wide area that served as the camp’s main meeting place. Floodlights set up on the front of the mess tent lit the place up well, allowing her to get a good look at the rebel leader.
He was about her height, with that wiry look to him that told her not only would he be fast in a hand-to-hand fight, but that he’d have the strength to match his speed, as well. A wide scar started beneath his right eye and curled down to the edge of his mouth. Unlike the other soldiers, he was only armed with a handgun, a handgun that was currently pointed absently at the rest of the dig team who were kneeling in a semicircle in front of him. He did not appear to be happy with the cooperation he was getting, but he was clearly distracted, as well, glancing back repeatedly over his shoulder at the trailhead that led to the cenote.
Annja smiled grimly to see his unease.
Sorry, buddy, but there won’t be any help from that direction.
She knew she was going to have to use the gun this time, for the sword would be far too conspicuous and there would be too many questions about it afterward. While it wasn’t her preference, she’d handled guns before and shouldn’t have any problems.
As the captain began shouting in anger at the captives, Annja checked to see that her weapon was ready to fire and then strode out of the darkness and into the light.
4
“Put down the gun!”
Annja stood just inside the circle of light, the automatic rifle in her hands pointed unerringly at the rebel commander standing in front of her.
He started in surprise at the sound of her voice and turned in her direction, the gun in his hand coming up slightly toward her.
Annja didn’t wait to see what he was going to do with it, but stitched a row of bullets across the dirt at his feet.
“I said put down the gun,” she said, “or I’ll fill you full of holes.”
It surely wasn’t the first time the captain had had a weapon pointed at him and his sense of machismo wouldn’t let him surrender to a woman that easily, it seemed.
He didn’t drop the weapon, but neither did he raise it any higher in her direction. Instead, he glanced behind her while trying to stall.
“You are making a mistake, señorita . A very big mistake.”
Annja shook her head. “I don’t think so. And you can stop looking over my shoulder. They aren’t coming.”
“Pardon?”
“Your troops. They aren’t coming.”
He scoffed, but after a moment or two more of silence, he frowned. As more time passed and help still didn’t arrive, he began to realize that he was on his own.
Here it comes, Annja thought.
