Читать книгу City Of Swords - Alex Archer - Страница 16

Chapter 9

“Annja!” Rembert’s face was pale. “What do they want? Money? I’ve got euros. Give them our money!”

Although Rembert didn’t know much French beyond asking where the nearest restaurant and bathroom were—and though he was oblivious to what the pair were really after—he recognized their intent. Annja saw his lower lip quiver. He had broken out in a sweat. He clumsily tried to reach into his pockets, maybe to pull out a wallet, but the Romanies snarled and poked him with their knives. Rembert stood still. Her photographer was not a physically weak man, but neither was he a stupid one.

“The sword, American archaeologist!” the taller of the two shouted. He pressed the knife harder against Rembert’s skin, which was white around the tip of the blade, with a splotch of red showing. “It was not in your hotel room. At either hotel. Where is it? Where is the old sword?”

“I don’t have a sword,” she snapped. Only the two of them, right? Not much of a threat... No threat at all, if Rembert wasn’t in the equation. “Do you see a sword?”

There could be more, hiding behind the embankment or up on the bridge, maybe behind her. She couldn’t hear any other people talking, no crunch of shoes over the gravel and glass at the edge of the river. She wasn’t going to risk a glance over her shoulder—not yet.

Her mind raced. They’d followed her from Paris.... Was it possible that night outside the old train station, when she’d been looking for a fight to ease her soul, they’d actually been looking for her? Her, specifically? That they were the ones doing the stalking? Had they known about her sword before the street fight? Was that possible?

Annja had always tried to be circumspect when she called the sword. She’d never been caught on tape wielding it. She would know if that had been the case; she had contacts all over the world who followed her interests on the internet and who would have notified her. If nothing else, Roux would have said something.

“The sword! Hand it over! Hurry!”

“I’ve got no sword here. No gun. No knife. You can see I have no weapon.” She paused. “But I have money. Euros. We were going to pay for an interview. We’ve got money for that. We can go back to the hotel, all of us, Gaston, and—”

He laughed. “A ruse to get you here. Dog-men.” He spat.

“Look, whoever you are—” She stopped when she heard the cry of some large bird passing low over the river, followed by the noise of a siren, which quickly receded. What sounded like a boat behind her on the river... She doubted anyone on board could see into the shadows under the bridge, but maybe she could do something to get their attention.

“We don’t want your money, American.” The tall one spat again, as if the notion of cash left a bad taste in his mouth, and drew the knife down Rembert’s throat. The pressure was enough to produce a line of blood, but not enough to cause the photographer serious harm.

“Annja!” Rembert howled. “Give them what they want.”

“I do not think you worry about your friend, American archaeologist. I do not think you consider us serious. I can promise you, we are serious. We will kill if we have to.”

His companion laughed and jabbed Rembert in the stomach, again enough to draw blood. “She should take us serious, eh, Dimitru?”

The tall one scowled.

So she had one piece of information, a name: Dimitru. Definitely Romany.

“Dimitru!” Annja had the thug’s complete attention. “You say you want a sword. I could—”

“No. Not a sword. Your sword. The one you flashed in Paris, that night so late. Before the police came and took my brothers.”

“I’ll have to go get it for you.” She extended her arms to her sides and opened her hands as wide as her fingers would stretch. “I’m not carrying a sword.” She turned slowly, taking a deep breath, glad for the opportunity to look behind her. She saw the ship, a barge. Not yet close enough. It didn’t look as if anyone was on deck. She hadn’t heard anyone come up behind her. Other than the threats of the Romanies, she’d heard only the sounds of traffic across the bridge and past the embankment. Finished her circle, she faced the Romany again. They’d pulled Rembert a little deeper into the shadows under the bridge. “It won’t take me long.”

“You think me simple,” the tall one hissed. “You have the sword, Annja Creed. You have it with you. Maybe it is invisible. Maybe it is a ghost thing. But I know you have it.”

“We are done talking to her, right, Dimitru?” The other guy poked Rembert again. “A boat is coming. Someone might see us.”

“They see nothing,” Dimitru said softly. “This rain.”

“Annja,” Rembert pleaded. “What do they want? We can give them money, can’t we? My camera...I dropped it there. They can have that. Annja, tell them they can—”

“We do not want your money,” Dimitru said in English. “We want the woman’s sword. I am done with this.”

“Stop!” Annja cried. “Leave him alone. Let Rembert out of here, let him leave, and you can have the sword. Let—”

“Rembert is our insurance, Annja Creed. Is the sword worth more than his life?”

“Of course not.” She nodded. “Let him go.”

“The ghostly sword for the photographer, then,” Dimitru said. “Now. Make it appear now. Like before.”

Annja felt the pommel touch her palm, and she wrapped her fingers around it.

“What the hell?” Rembert said.

“This what you want?” she asked.

“Drop it and back away,” Dimitru ordered her.

Annja set it gently at her feet in the scrubby weeds and the remains of someone’s fast-food dinner that had been tossed off the bridge. From the Romanies’ vantage point, they wouldn’t be able to see the sword. Annja stepped back and sent it into the otherwhere. Dimitru’s expression didn’t change.

“Let him go. Rembert is not a part of this,” she said. “There’s the sword. We had a bargain.”

Dimitru hurled Rembert behind him, and the shorter Romany kicked the photographer in the back of the legs, dropping him to the gravel. At the same time, Dimitru shot toward Annja, knife slashing to keep her at bay.

“Get back!” he hollered to her. “Get back and no one has to be hurt!”

A dozen steps and he was at the spot where she’d dropped the sword.

“Trick!” he screamed. “Where is it? Petre...she tricked us. Kill the man! Kill him—” The Romany’s voice caught in his throat.