Читать книгу Beneath Still Waters - Alex Archer - Страница 10

“Perhaps now you will take me seriously, yes?”

Annja did her best to hang on to her temper. When she got scared, she had a tendency to get irritated and if this guy really had Doug she didn’t want to tick him off by blowing her cool.

“Where’s Doug? What have you done to him?”

“Done? I haven’t done anything,” the person said. “Yet.”

It was just one word, but it had the power to freeze her blood in her veins.

The kidnapper went on. “I have simply persuaded Mr. Morrell that it was in his best interests to get in touch with you to convey my desire to discuss a business arrangement. He had initially declined my request, but very quickly saw the error of his ways. I hear that you are on vacation. Are you enjoying Jamaica?”

Annja sensed that time was of the essence, and she had no interest in bantering with this guy. She ignored his question about Jamaica, choosing instead to demand, “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Morrell was right about your temper, I see,” the man said, infuriating Annja even further. She didn’t like the position she was in, with all of the control in the kidnapper’s hands, but there was nothing she could do until she knew what he wanted. For now, she was going to have to grin and bear it, something she wasn’t very good at doing.

Her right hand reached into thin air and plucked a broadsword seemingly out of nowhere. The blade had once belonged to Joan of Arc, had, in fact, been broken asunder on the day and hour of her execution. More than five hundred years later it had been miraculously re-formed in Annja’s presence and she had become the blade’s current bearer.

The sword could appear or disappear at her will, and when she wasn’t using it, it rested in a mystical place just outside the bounds of reality that she called the otherwhere. It could not be taken from her against her will and over the years had seemed to impart some extra bit of strength, dexterity and speed to her physical movements when the situation demanded it. She had become an expert in its use and, quite literally, didn’t go anywhere without it.

Having the blade in hand helped calm her and kept her from raging at the maniac who had snatched one of her friends. He didn’t know it yet, whoever he was, but having her as an enemy was not a good thing.

“Let me worry about my temper,” she told the man, “and you can tell me what it is that you want. Clearly there’s something you need me to do, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone through the hassle of kidnapping my television producer.”

“You are as perceptive as your reputation suggests, Miss Creed. That bodes well for your ability to carry out my requests.”

Annja didn’t like the “s” on the end of that word, for it suggested the caller had multiple things for her to do in order to free Doug, but she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to continue.

“There is a package waiting for you at the front desk. Retrieve it but do not open it until you are back in your room. When you have examined what is inside, call me back at the number I’m giving you.”

The caller recited a new phone number, and Annja quickly memorized it.

But she wasn’t ready to be a pawn in someone else’s game quite yet. At least, not a pawn that didn’t attempt to retain a bit of its own free will.

“Why don’t you just tell me now, and I’ll grab the package later?”

It was the wrong thing to do.

There was silence on the end of the phone for a moment, followed by a shriek of pain that seemed to go on forever.

“Hello? Hello? Are you there? What are you doing to him?” she cried.

The voice returned. “When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out without negotiation or discussion. Each time that doesn’t happen, Mr. Morrell will pay the price for your obstinacy. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Annja replied through gritted teeth.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go get that package.”

And with that, the line went dead.

Annja sent the sword back into the otherwhere and hurried out of her room, clutching the phone tightly in one hand. She didn’t dare put it down just in case the stranger called again; she didn’t know what he’d do to Doug if he called and she wasn’t right there to answer it.

A group of tourists stood in front of the elevator so Annja hurried past it and took the stairs, rushing down them two at a time in her haste to get to the ground floor. She considered calling Paul and asking him to join her, but decided against doing so. There was no need to get him involved unless she had to, and she wasn’t sure yet if that was the case. It might be safer for Paul if she kept him out of it completely.

There was an elderly couple at the registration desk when Annja got to the lobby, and she had to stifle the urge to push them aside and ask about the package. She stood behind them, impatiently shifting from foot to foot as she waited for them to finish getting the directions they needed. The registration clerk gave her a sympathetic smile over their heads as they examined the map and Annja tried to smile back, but she was afraid it looked more like a death’s head rictus.

At last they were done and Annja stepped up to the counter.

“May I help you?” the clerk asked.

“My name is Annja Creed and I’m in room 402. I believe you have a package for me.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Creed. One minute, please.”

The clerk stepped into the back room, leaving Annja alone. A sense that she was being watched washed over her and she spun to look, but there was no one there.

Keep it together, Creed, she told herself.

The clerk returned carrying a thick manila envelope and handed it to her across the counter. Her name was written on the front with black magic marker.

“Were you on duty when this was delivered?” she asked the clerk.

He hesitated and then said, somewhat reluctantly, “Yes, miss.”

“Did you see who delivered it?”

“No, miss.” He looked down and then looked back up at her. “To be honest, I had stepped away for a quick smoke, and when I came in the envelope was lying on the counter. I looked around to see who might have left it, but there was no one about. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. No problem,” she told him, while inwardly she was cursing at having lost her best chance of getting a lead on who might be behind this.

Not knowing what it might contain, she didn’t feel comfortable opening the envelope in the lobby, so she’d wait until she got back to her room.

She was grateful the envelope didn’t contain one of Doug’s fingers or anything gruesome like that, just a folder with several pieces of paper inside and a DVD in a paper sleeve. She turned on the desk lamp and sat down, flipping through the pages briefly. They appeared to be military action reports of some kind.

That was enough for her; she didn’t have time to read them all. She could do that later.

She picked up the DVD and slid it out of its case, then walked it over to the entertainment unit in the suite’s living room. It took her a few minutes to work out which remote control worked which device, but once she figured it all out she fired up the television and then slipped the DVD into the player.

The screen remained blank long enough that Annja thought the player might not be properly connected to the television, but as she got up to check it, the screen suddenly brightened and an image appeared.

It was Doug.

He was tied to a metal chair in a nondescript room somewhere. His forearms were tied to the arms of the chair, his legs to the legs of the chair, leaving his hands free and his bare feet resting on what looked to be a wet concrete floor. The camera was close enough for Annja to see that his face was bloody and swollen, as if he’d been subjected to a thorough beating at some point in the past few hours. A thin line of dried blood ran from his cracked and swollen lips. When he raised his head and looked at the camera, the one eye that he could see out of was full of fear.

“Help me, Annja” he said, his voice little more than a croak coming from an obviously parched throat. It sounded as though he hadn’t had any water for hours. “You have to help me. I don’t care what he asks you to do or who he asks you to do it to. I’ll die here if you don’t do what he wants. Please, don’t let that happen, Annja, please.”

The camera zoomed in to show his face and then moved down to his body and stopped on his right hand. That close Annja could see that his last two fingers were broken and bent at odd angles.

She could hear Doug saying, “No, no, I didn’t do anything, don’t,” in a breathy gasp. She steeled herself for what was coming but she didn’t turn away, feeling as if she owed it to him to watch what was being done so that she could avenge him for all the wrongs he endured to coerce her into action.

A gloved hand reached into the camera frame. It was neither large nor small, so she couldn’t really tell if it was a man’s or a woman’s, though she suspected the former. Not because a woman couldn’t be that cruel—she knew from experience that that certainly wasn’t the case—but because her mystery man had claimed to be the one who had kidnapped Doug, and she had yet to see anything that made her think this was anything more than a single nutjob at work. As she’d expected, the individual took hold of Doug’s middle finger and without further ado snapped the bone. Doug let out a shriek of pain and the screen went blank.

Watching the kidnapper inflict pain on Doug for no other reason than to make her do his bidding filled her with a righteous fury. She vowed then and there to make him pay for what he had done.

He’d picked the wrong woman to tangle with.

Annja picked up the phone and entered the number the kidnapper had given to her.

It was answered almost immediately.

“You have the package?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen the DVD?”

Annja gritted her teeth and then replied in the same clear tone, “Yes.”

“You understand that I’m not kidding around?”

“Yes, I understand. Now get on with it. What do you want me to do?”

“In April 1945 a particular German aircraft went down somewhere in the Swiss Alps. I want you to find that aircraft and recover what is inside it. You have one week to do so.”

Find a plane lost in the Swiss Alps over fifty years ago? This guy was a total loon! Annja counted to ten to be sure she had a hold of her anger.

“So help me, if you hurt him any more than you already have, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled. “You can certainly try, Miss Creed. In the meantime, I would start looking for that wreckage. One week. I will call you at exactly noon seven days from now. Keep your phone handy.”

The kidnapper hung up.