Читать книгу Forbidden City - Alex Archer - Страница 7

All three of the men looked scruffy. Patched jeans, hoodies, dirty boots and coats clothed them and lent them the sameness of a predatory pack. They were young, barely into their twenties.

But old enough to point a gun at you, Annja thought as she remained frozen. Looking into their eyes, she noticed how red and glassy they were. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to guess that they were under the influence of something. In the thin cold air, she smelled the acrid odor of marijuana and the cloying stink of horse sweat.

Beside her, Huangfu shifted slightly, just enough to get his footing and redistribute his weight. The three young men didn’t notice.

“I told you I saw somebody out here, Dylan.” The speaker was the thickest of the three. He carried the extra weight around his middle, looking like a football player gone to seed.

Dylan was bearded and had kinky black hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it since he was a teenager. He aimed the rifle in his arms with grim authority, pointing it at Huangfu.

“Shut up, Beef,” Dylan said. “I can see them. I got eyes.”

“Do you think they’ve been out to the patch?” the third young man asked.

“Shut up, Neville,” Dylan ordered, then spat foul curses. “I swear, neither one of you has any sense.”

Annja looked at the semiautomatic Beef carried and the revolver Neville held. She’d been in similar situations of late. She was afraid she was starting to get used to life-threatening situations.

“What’re you doing out here?” Dylan demanded.

“We’re archaeologists.” Annja gestured to the bones gathered at the side of the hole. “We were sent here to find these bodies.”

Beef walked away from the other two, closing in on the bones. He kicked the skull with the toe of his boot and sent it rolling a few feet away.

“Cool.” Beef grinned and went after the skull. “Think I’ll put this in my room. Get some black light action going on this. Candles for the eyes. It’ll look awesome.”

“Why are you out here looking for skeletons?” Dylan asked.

Beef picked up the skull, hooking his fingers through the eye sockets and his thumb through the mouth. He mimed swinging it like a bowling ball, then laughed uproariously.

Annja kept her voice calm and soft. “These people were Chinese. Their families found out they were murdered here and want them back.” She felt another slight shift in Huangfu’s stance, aware of it only because she’d been involved in martial arts for years.

“That’s all you’re doing out here?” Dylan asked.

“Yes.”

“You aren’t, like, police?” Neville looked suspicious.

“No.”

“That was a dumb question.” Beef snorted derisively.

Neville looked irritated. “Why? All I asked was if they were police.”

“Well, for one, they could lie to you.”

“Uh-uh. Police have got to tell the truth.”

Beef cursed and juggled the skull in one hand. “Dude, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but my brother is a cop, and they can lie to everybody. Ain’t no law against lying for police.”

Neville shook his head. “That don’t seem right. I mean, a police guy has gotta tell you he’s a police guy.”

“And two,” Beef went on, “now they know we got a reason to worry about police up here.” He looked at Dylan. “We gotta kill ’em now, dude. They’ve seen our faces. Anybody finds out we’re growing pot up here, we’re gonna go to prison this time.”

Dylan didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he shrugged. “They already dug the hole, I guess. Kill the guy first.” The rifle shifted to center over Huangfu’s chest.

Unable to stand by while the man was killed, Annja surged up from the hole. Controlling the fear that vibrated within her, she stayed low, diving toward Dylan because she believed the other two would fire their weapons after he did. Catching Dylan around the waist in a flying tackle, she spilled to the ground with the young man in a tangle of arms and legs as the rifle went off.

Three other reports cracked almost simultaneously, all of them different timbers.

Rolling, Annja came up in a crouch, taking in the scene before her in disbelief. Beef collapsed only a few feet away, his face covered in blood. Huangfu, low to the ground and in motion, held a small black pistol in his fist. The weapon cracked, spitting fire twice more.

Neville staggered back, gazing down at his chest in astonishment. Two tiny flowers blossomed bloodred over his heart. “Very uncool, dude.” Then he dropped, sprawling across the ground.

Stunned, Annja didn’t notice Dylan’s kick until his foot was only inches from her face. By then it was too late to avoid the blow. She twisted her head in an effort to deflect the impact and succeeded, but the side of her face suddenly felt like it was on fire and her vision turned blurry for a moment.

Dylan was cursing and scrabbling for a pistol in the waistband of his pants when Huangfu took aim and fired again. Two bullets caught Dylan in the chest, staggering him but not knocking him down. He brought his pistol up in both hands and fired.

The bullet sheared a tree branch only inches from Huangfu’s head. The loud detonation filled the ridge for a moment, but it relented when Huangfu fired three times in a rapid string of explosions.

Huangfu pointed the pistol at Annja as Dylan’s knees buckled and he fell face first onto the ground.

Time slowed for Annja as she tried to assess what had happened. Huangfu had acted only to save them. Having the gun he’d obviously carried on his person might offer some legal challenges, but it wasn’t anything that a good lawyer couldn’t work out. If the young men had been worried about further criminal charges putting them in prison, that meant they had a criminal history of some sort. And there was no denying the weapons they’d brought. But Annja knew she was in grave danger.

She moved, trusting her instincts and not trying to reason through the improbable situation. Huangfu had killed the three young men and he was going to kill her, as well. She dodged behind the nearest tree. A bullet tore bark from the trunk and spewed splinters across her cheek.

She didn’t break stride, plunging deeper into the forest surrounding Volcanoville. The sun was setting to the west, steeping the forest in darkness. She headed in that direction, knowing the long shadows and the loss of depth perception against the fading brightness would make her a harder target.

More shots rang out behind her. Bullets cut through the trees, ricocheting from thick limbs and trunks, and cutting small branches free.

Taking brief respite in a hollow between two large fir trees dug in tight against the hillside, Annja realized she was still holding the items from the dig site. She shoved the belt plaque into the leather pouch, then tied the pouch to her belt. Metal clicked inside and she guessed that some of the contents were coins. The cold ate into her, but she knew the adrenaline and fear coiling through her increased her vulnerability to it.

The forest continued to darken and the shadows deepened.

Annja listened for footsteps but didn’t hear any. Either Huangfu wasn’t moving, or—

The man suddenly appeared out of the darkness with the pistol in his hand.

Annja made herself stay put and trust the shadows. Any movement would make her visible.

Huangfu stopped beside a tree. His breath puffed out in front of him. He lifted his left hand and Annja saw that he was holding a satellite phone. He pressed a number.

I’ll bet that’s not 911. A sinking sensation coiled through Annja’s stomach. She was a long way from help.

After finishing a short conversation in which he did all the talking, Huangfu put the phone away. “Miss Creed.” His call echoed in the forest.

Annja let her breath out, knowing she had to keep breathing in order to keep from hyperventilating. Her fight or flight instinct surged madly, but she kept it in check.

“Miss Creed, you should come out.” Huangfu started walking again. “There’s been a mistake. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Annja watched the man moving carefully through the forest. He took advantage of cover and stayed within the shadows. She thought he moved like a military special forces soldier. She hadn’t been around those men often in her life, but there had been occasion at some dig sites to talk to them. Many ex-soldiers had moved into security work.

“I panicked,” Huangfu said. Three more steps and he vanished into the trees.

Annja didn’t feel comforted by his disappearance. At least while she could still see him she knew where he was. She listened intently, but Huangfu was more silent than the wind blowing through the budding tree limbs and the fir trees.

Taking a moment, remembering the bodies of the three young men back at the dig site, Annja reached for her sword. She felt the grip against her palm, then pulled it from the otherwhere.

Annja had found the last piece of the sword while in France, but she hadn’t known what it was then. Roux, who claimed to be over five hundred years old, had spent those years tracking down the pieces of Joan of Arc’s sword. He’d stolen the last piece from Annja in France, but it hadn’t been until she had touched all the pieces that it once again became whole.

Roux claimed that the sword brought a legacy with it, unfinished business that Joan was supposed to have been given the chance to do. Annja didn’t know if she believed that, but she did know that her life had changed after the sword had come into her possession.

In the stillness of the night, she considered her options. People knew she and Huangfu had come out to Volcanoville—park rangers and a handful of Georgetown residents. But they might not think anything was amiss until morning. Perhaps not even then.

You’re going to have to save yourself, she resolved. She hated the thought of leaving her backpack behind. Her notebook computer had a lot of information—pictures, as well as writing she’d done—that she hadn’t yet backed up.

Nearly all of the information on Ban Zexu was on the notebook computer. All of the recent information was, as well as pictures of Huangfu. Bart had a couple, but those might not be enough to help find the man if he succeeded in killing her.

She had a satellite phone in her backpack. All she had to do was grab the backpack—at least the phone—and stay hidden in the forest long enough to call for help.

She took a quick breath, concentrating on the sure weight of the sword in her hand.

Annja moved out of her hiding spot reluctantly, then headed back up the hillside. She stayed within the brush, using every available scrap of it for cover. Her eyes swept her surroundings for Huangfu.

Thankfully, her backpack was out of the way, at the edge of the tree line. In the brush only a few feet from the backpack, she squatted to survey the ground.

Huangfu wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The three dead men remained where they’d fallen.

In the failing light, Annja searched the ground for their weapons and knew at once that Huangfu had come back that way. All of the weapons were missing.

Easing forward, Annja stayed low. When she reached the tree line, she stretched and grabbed one of her backpack’s straps. Suddenly, she felt someone’s eyes on her. Her senses and instincts seemed to have sharpened since she found Joan’s sword. Or maybe dodging killers had sharpened them.

Either way, she knew Huangfu had her in his sights.

Annja jerked sideways, getting ready to run. A bright yellow muzzle-flash broke the darkness hovering over the grave. In the next instant, Huangfu rose up from the grave and opened fire.

Bullets slapped the trees over Annja’s head and tore divots from the ground in front of her. She spun and slung the backpack across her shoulders, managing to get only one arm through a strap. Running down the incline, she pushed off the trees with her free hand and blocked brush and small branches from her face.

In the distance, a horse snuffled and stamped its feet. Immediately, the horse smell lingering on the three young men came to her mind.

Shifting directions, Annja headed toward the sound of the horses. She overran her vision in her haste, catching an exposed tree root and tripping. Out of habit, she pulled the backpack to her and rolled, landing on her side and cushioning the impact.

She surged to her feet again. Four long strides later, she realized she was holding the backpack with both hands. The sword had disappeared on its own. She quickly stuffed the leather bag from the dig into a cushioned pocket of her pack.

Bullets ricocheted from a tree trunk to her left, leaving white scars behind. She turned right and vanished behind a wall of pine trees that grew closely together. More bullets hammered the trees and broke branches.

In the distance but coming closer, she heard the sound of helicopter rotors. She hoped it was park rangers, but immediately dismissed that. Park rangers didn’t fly around in helicopters unless there was an emergency, and they probably couldn’t get one on such short notice.

There was a small airfield in Georgetown, though. It wouldn’t have been a problem to put a private craft there and have it on call. Her mind suddenly filled with nasty suspicions about Huangfu’s phone call.

Only a short distance away, horses snorted again and stamped nervously.

Annja ran, weaving through trees, staying so close to them at times that she collected an assortment of abrasions and bruises from glancing contact. Her breath whistled in the back of her throat. Timing her strides, she managed to sling the backpack across her shoulders. With her hands free, she could pump her arms and lengthen her stride.

The helicopter came into view through the trees. It was a sleek corporate aircraft, black-gray against the starry sky under the pallor of the three-quarter moon. The helicopter coasted over the tops of the trees less than a hundred feet away. The trees bent under the assault from the rotorwash, and the noise drowned out all other sounds.

Two men hung out the sides of the helicopter. Both of them had assault rifles.

This isn’t just about where Ban Zexu was buried, Annja thought.

Cutting around a wall of brush growing through the tangled remains of a fallen tree, Annja found three horses standing in a small clearing. All of them were saddled. The bridle reins were tied to the branches of the fir tree in front of them.

The horses flattened their ears and pulled at the reins in an effort to get free. The helicopter had them spooked.

When Annja ran up to the closest one, the horse reared up to defend itself. The front hooves kicked the air.

“Easy. Easy, boy.” Annja caught hold of the bridle halter and held on to the horse’s head, guiding it back down onto all fours. She knew the animal probably couldn’t hear her over the noise of the helicopter, but she kept talking to it anyway.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the helicopter swing around and start a pass back in her direction. She untied the reins and prepared to pull herself onto the saddle. The horse reared again, twisting violently to the left and shying away from her.

Suddenly, bright light lanced through the darkness and stripped the shadows away. When it fell across Annja, she knew the bullets wouldn’t be far behind. The horse continued pulling away from her, and that helped save her life.

Huangfu stepped from the trees with both hands on his small pistol. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Miss Creed.” He shouted to be heard over the noise of the drifting helicopter. “I will, though. All I want is the—”

Annja shouted at the horse, letting slack into the reins. Muscles bunching, the animal sprinted away from the helicopter sound and straight toward Huangfu. The sharp hooves cut divots from the ground.

Sprinting alongside the horse, staying close while she gripped the pommel and the rear of the saddle, Annja lifted both feet and swung them into Huangfu as he fired at her. She felt the bullet’s impact vibrate through the saddle pommel inches from her head, then her hiking boots collided with Huangfu’s chest and knocked the man from his feet.

Dropping to the ground again, Annja took three strides, got her rhythm, and heaved herself atop the horse. She had to duck immediately to avoid a low-hanging limb that scraped painfully along her back.

The men aboard the helicopter opened fire. Every third round was a purple tracer. They were wide of her and behind the horse, but she knew they’d quickly correct their aim.

She kicked the horse’s sides, urging it to faster speed, though she knew it was foolhardy in the darkness. But she was out of time to be careful about her escape. The horse rolled beneath her, shifting as it read the terrain and dodged trees.

Abruptly, the men in the helicopter stopped firing. The aircraft dipped. Too late, Annja realized that she was about to run out of tree cover. She tried to alter the horse’s direction, but the animal was crazed with fear.

Riding braced in the stirrups, her weight balanced on her feet instead of sitting in the saddle, Annja reached for the sword again. She’d no more than thought about it, wished she was holding it, when she had it gripped in her hand.

The helicopter pilot flew in very low. Glancing over her shoulder, Annja saw the man on the right side of the helicopter swing out wide, depending on the umbilical that connected him to the aircraft as he kept his feet on the skids.

She ducked beneath him as he tried to grab her.

The helicopter cruised by like a shark. But only a short distance ahead, it swung around in a full one-eighty. The man hung farther outside the aircraft.

Annja didn’t try to dodge the helicopter. Instead, at the last possible minute, Annja lifted high in the stirrups and swung the sword up and across the man’s midsection.

The sharp blade cut through flesh with ease. She got a glimpse of the man’s surprised face, then she was past him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him suddenly dangle from the line that kept him tied to the helicopter. The aircraft jerked a little as the pilot corrected for the sudden deadweight.

Annja stayed low over the saddle and the horse’s neck. The animal stumbled over loose rock and almost went down.

Stay on your feet, Annja thought fiercely.

Twisting in the saddle for a moment, she saw the helicopter hovering above the treetops. The body at the end of the line jerked and flailed its limbs as someone hauled it back into the helicopter.

The horse’s hooves drummed the ground in a rapid staccato. Annja adjusted herself in the saddle, keeping her weight distributed and as low to the horse as she could to help the animal better handle her weight.

She thought she was headed west, back toward Georgetown, but she didn’t want to check her compass yet. The horse was handling the terrain, but she knew that could change at any moment.

The helicopter rotorwash sounded louder again. Looking back, she saw that it was coming in her direction.

Annja willed the sword away. Steering the horse toward a thick copse of trees, she waited until the animal slowed to navigate the thick press of brush, then leapt off.

The horse kept going.

Annja hit the ground and rolled. Brush and tall grass slapped at her, leaving stinging lacerations in their wake. She protected her backpack as much as she could. Then she was up on her feet, pushing and shoving her way through the forest at a ninety-degree angle to the path the horse had taken.

Controlling the panic within her, feeling her breath hot and dry in her throat, Annja kept running even after the helicopter passed by in pursuit of the horse. When she couldn’t run anymore, she dropped to her knees and laced her hands over her head to open her lungs.

As she watched the helicopter sailing above the treetops with a finger of illumination reaching down from a searchlight, Annja hoped the horse was just hitting its stride and wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Then she reached into her pack for her phone.