Alex Archer - Labyrinth

Each step, each test, each twist and turn leads closer to death

A book dealer lies imprisoned in a Boston mansion, an IV tube dripping a lethal narcotic cocktail into his veins. In thirty-six hours, he’ll be dead. His final request is to receive a visit from one woman....

It wasn’t the most hospitable invitation she’d ever received. Archaeologist Annja Creed is being rushed to Massachussetts, abducted by a famous environmental terrorist—a zealot willing to kill anyone who gets in his or the planet’s way. He has taken the book dealer hostage in order to steal a rare and very valuable treatise called the Tome of Prossos. Annja is the key to retrieving the ancient manuscript hidden somewhere deep within the mansion. But the book is well-protected. In order to find it, she must survive the rigors of an elaborate maze. She has only twelve hours to decipher the labyrinth’s sinister secret…a secret that could ensure she never emerges.

“There’s no exit.”

In answer, Kessel’s eyes blazed. He was perfectly able to communicate his understanding, even without the benefit of having a tongue.

Annja studied the only thing in the room: a table with a book on it. “Somewhere here there’s got to be a clue how we’re supposed to get out of this place. I mean, we could take the crawl space and go backward through the maze—”

She heard a rumble and a cloud of dust poured into the room. The crawl space had caved in. Annja sighed. “All right, the only way out of here is to figure out a way forward.”

There seemed nothing special about the table. And as far as she could tell, the book was a hardcover edition of the King James Bible. Overhead, a single light burned in the ceiling. It didn’t appear as if some type of guillotine would drop on them if she picked the book up.

Before Annja could stop him, Kessel flipped open the cover. Nothing happened. But there was nothing written on the pages, either.

Annja tried to pick the book up, but it didn’t budge. Flipping through it where it was, she found a small button at the back. Annja glanced at Kessel. “What do you think?”

He shook his head.

But Annja’s finger was poised over it. “What have we got to lose?”

She pressed the button.

The lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Annja heard a sudden movement and a grunt.

“Kessel?”

And then there was nothing but silence.

Labyrinth

Rogue Angel

Alex Archer

www.mirabooks.co.uk

The Legend

...The English commander took Joan’s sword and raised it high.

The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd. Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn....

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Chapter 1

There’s something about the fall, Annja Creed thought as she sat on the stoop of her building, watching leaves skitter across the pavement of the basketball courts on the other side of the street. A brilliant crystal-blue sky illuminated the day, and she breathed in the crisp air, filling her lungs and letting go a sigh. It felt good to be back home after months on the go.

I don’t do this nearly enough, she thought. Chasing relics across the globe, fighting off the rogues and ne’er-do-wells that seemed to be reaching epidemic proportions… She nodded to herself after a sip of her mocha latte.

I need more downtime.

And that was the truth. As a breeze slinked its way under the T-shirt she wore with her jeans, Annja recognized that she actually hadn’t stopped in a very long time.

The sword that only she could use—that of Joan of Arc—had opened her life to so much, she barely had time to appreciate any of it. The bad, the good and the bizarre.

But at the moment, all she wanted to do was watch the rest of the world go by, sip her latte and give thanks for such a gorgeous autumn day.

Maybe I’ll take a nap later. She smiled. A week’s vacation and absolutely nothing scheduled.

There was that new exhibit at the MOMA she could take in. And after that, maybe some well-deserved bookstore browsing in the Village.

“Annja Creed?”

She frowned and turned to study the man who’d addressed her. He was well built, in his mid-thirties and had about two days’ worth of growth on his face. But he didn’t look all that bad, she decided.

“Yes.”

He smiled. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?”

Annja’s frown deepened. Despite his disarming manner, she sensed something dark in him. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

He sat on the step below hers. He was careful, making sure she noticed that he was giving her the strategic advantage of the higher ground on the stoop. But why?

She took another sip of her mocha latte, but it didn’t give her the same sense of soothing calm it had before.

“Damn.”

He looked at her. “Something wrong?”

“I think it’s entirely possible you just ruined my latte.”

He raised a shoulder. “I apologize for intruding. It did indeed look as though you were having a moment.”

“A moment?”

“Relaxing in this lovely weather.”

It wasn’t quite cool enough for a jacket, yet the man seated below her wore a navy windbreaker. There was something about him that seemed familiar. Not the man himself, but rather his manner.

Military?

Government spook?

Or just one of the countless enemies she’d come across during her travels?

“So, what can I do for you, Mr….?”

He held out his hand. “Jackson. Mike Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson.” Annja nodded. “Okay. So what’s up? And how did you know where to find me?”

The smile he flashed told her that he knew plenty about her already. “It wasn’t that difficult. I don’t really think anyone’s privacy is assured these days. Do you?”

“I do my damnedest to try,” Annja said. “But apparently I’m not having all that much luck.”

“If it’s any consolation, you were tougher to run down than some of the other people I’ve been tasked with finding.”

“And why would you be tasked with finding me, Jackson?”

“My client wishes to speak with you.”

“Client.”

He nodded, glancing around the neighborhood.

“Skip tracer?”

“I’m not a private investigator, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Annja considered the latte again, giving it one final chance to woo her back. Forget it. “You’re an information broker. Hired to get what clients need.”

“That’s more accurate.”