Alex Archer - Beneath Still Waters

“Well, in that case let me drop everything I am doing and rush to your aid.”

His sarcastic tone made her wince, but she pushed on anyway. “Please, Garin. A friend’s life is at stake and time is of the essence.”

Garin Braden was over five hundred years old. When she thought about it, that sounded crazy even to her, but she couldn’t deny the fact that it was true. Garin had been squire to a French knight named Roux, who in turn had been assigned to watch over Joan of Arc. Roux and his squire had failed in their mission, and when Joan’s sword was broken in the moments before her execution, the lives of the two men had been mysteriously lengthened. Over the next few centuries Roux searched for the fragments of the blade, intending to bring them back together, while Garin fought to keep that from happening, convinced the fragmentation of the blade was the very thing that assured his extended life span.

Annja was aware Garin had since come to realize that his efforts had likely been wasted, as her custodianship of the blade so far had had no ill effect on him. In fact, he seemed to be growing quite fond of her. Annja had diligently resisted his efforts to flirt, despite her attraction to him. The fact that he was the perfect example of tall, dark and handsome, never mind ridiculously rich, constantly battled with her understanding that Garin cared first and foremost about himself. He was determined, ruthless and used to getting what he wanted, no matter what the effort or cost. It made him dangerous in more ways than one.

She knew it was in her best interest to stay as far away from him as she could and yet here she was, reaching out to him for help in her moment of need.

Apparently my heart and my head aren’t seeing eye to eye again , she thought.

Knowing his nature, Annja expected Garin to ask what was in it for him and, frankly, she didn’t have an answer. The last time she had asked for his help he’d insisted on taking her to dinner and she’d had no choice but to agree. She was afraid of what he would require this time around.

To her great surprise, he didn’t do anything of the sort.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Given the nature of some of the expeditions she’d been on in the past, Annja had learned not to talk about them too much over an open telephone line, for you never knew who might be listening in. Instead she told him that she needed to find a certain object within a certain specified time frame and left it at that, knowing he would read between the lines and understand that she was after an artifact of one kind or another.

That was close enough for what she needed until she could see him.

Garin was silent at first and then asked, “Where are you now?”

“The Hotel Planita in Negril, Jamaica.”

“Okay, stay there. I’ll send a chopper for you.”

Garin hung up before she could thank him. He always did like having the last word.

* * *

JUST UNDER THREE hours later, a massive AW101 VVIP AgustaWestland helicopter settled onto the hotel lawn, inviting stares from more than a few observers. Annja didn’t blame them; this was the same helicopter used to transport the President of the United States under the designation Marine One, and just seeing it up close was pretty awe-inspiring. Given that it was one of Garin’s helicopters, Annja had no doubt that the interior would be even more lavish than she could imagine.

She and Paul watched as the door opened and a set of steps unfolded from inside the aircraft. Seconds later a black man with a shaved head and a soul patch on his chin appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a sharply cut suit and dark sunglasses. He scanned the small crowd assembled on the other side of the lawn before his gaze settled on Annja and her companion. He gestured them forward without hesitation.

Annja crossed the lawn and climbed the stairs. “Hello, Griggs,” she said, as she stepped aboard the aircraft.

Matthew Griggs, head of DragonTech Security and Garin Bradin’s right-hand man, nodded to her. “Miss Creed,” he said, with that lilting British Caribbean accent of his. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

The interior of the helicopter resembled that of a private jet more than any helicopter Annja had ever been in, with mahogany fittings, lush leather seats and even thick carpet underfoot to help absorb the sound of the rotor blades.

Griggs turned just as Paul came up the steps. The DragonTech Security man interposed himself between Paul and the interior of the aircraft. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but this is a private flight.”

“It’s all right, Griggs. He’s with me.”

Griggs spoke over his shoulder to Annja without taking his eyes off Paul. “Is Mr. Braden aware of this?”

He wasn’t, but Annja wasn’t about to admit that to Griggs.

“Of course.”

“Very well.”

Once both guests were settled, Griggs said, “Help yourselves to the refreshments. We’ll be in Miami in about three hours.”

With that, he pulled in the stairs, secured the door and returned to the cockpit. Five minutes later they were airborne.

Glancing around the cabin, Paul gave a low whistle. “You said you were going to get us some help, but this is a bit more than I expected. Dare I ask who it belongs to?”

Annja didn’t see any reason not to tell him, especially considering the fact that Paul was likely to be meeting him in a few hours.

“Garin Braden.”

Paul started in surprise. “Garin Braden?”

“Yes.”

“Garin Braden the industrialist?”

Annja would have been more prone to call him Garin Braden the scoundrel, but that was splitting hairs, in her view.

“Yes.”

An uneasy expression crossed Paul’s face.

Seeing it, Annja asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Braden and I had a bit of a run-in at a press conference when I asked him some uncomfortable questions,” Paul replied.

“When was this?”

“A year, maybe eighteen months ago.” He shrugged, then waved it off. “I’m sure he’s forgotten about it by now.”

Annja wasn’t so sure of that—Garin tended to carry a grudge longer than anyone she knew—but she agreed and left it alone for the time being. If it was an issue, they’d deal with it later. “Might as well relax,” she told him. “We’ve got a few hours of flight time ahead of us, it seems.”

While Paul wandered around, checking out the cabin, Annja pulled her laptop out of her backpack and fired it up. She connected to the flight’s onboard Wi-Fi and began researching the Junkers aircraft and its capabilities. Getting a better sense of its strengths and weaknesses would allow her to better pinpoint how far it might have gone after being damaged in the dogfight with Captain Mitchell and his wingman, which in turn might allow them to narrow their search area.

Or, if we’re particularly unlucky, make it even bigger .

She was thankful that there was a fair bit of information available.

The Junkers Ju 88 was a twin-engine multirole combat aircraft built by the German firm Junkers Flugzeugund Motorenwerke for use by the Luftwaffe in World War II. It had been intended to be a fast bomber that could outrun any Allied fighters that tried to chase it. According to most of the sources Annja checked, it had been moderately successful.

Despite being plagued by several problems in the later part of its development, the aircraft and its many variants were in constant production from 1939 to the end of the war in 1945. More than 160,000 were built, more than any other German twin-engine aircraft of the time period. It served successfully as a bomber, dive bomber, night fighter, heavy fighter and reconnaissance aircraft. They had seen heavy action during the Battle of Norway, the Battle of France and the Battle of Britain, as well as in various campaigns on the Eastern Front.