Alex Archer - Forbidden City

“I don’t know,” Annja answered. “About that favor…”

“If I can.”

“I’m going to need an introduction to the local police departments.”

“They’ll probably know you from your television show.” Bart wasn’t a big fan of the series.

“Not that kind of introduction. The kind more along the lines of me not being a homicidal maniac introduction.”

“Why?”

“Three local guys are dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

“No.”

“Your buddy, Huangfu Cao, did.”

Irritation flared through Annja. She didn’t like making mistakes. “As it turns out, he wasn’t my buddy after all.”

“I told you to watch out for that guy.”

I really don’t need an “I told you so” while I’m up in a tree, she thought. “I was watching out for him. That’s why I’m not dead right now.”

Bart sighed. “Sorry. I just worry about you, you know?”

“I know.” Annja also knew that Bart was engaged to be married. No date had been set and the engagement was relatively new. If things had been different, if she didn’t want to see the world as much as she did, if she were more certain that Bart wouldn’t want someone who was home every night, their friendship might have explored more of the attraction that put them in each others’ lives. But they were what they were.

“Do you have this number?” Bart asked.

“Yes,” Annja replied.

“Okay. Whoever you end up talking to, put him or her in touch with me. I’ll vouch for you.”

“Thanks, Bart.” Annja’s phone vibrated again. “I’ve got to go.”

“Call me when you can. And stay safe.”

Annja said she would, then picked up the incoming call. It was a local area code. “Annja Creed,” she whispered.

“Miss Creed,” a no-nonsense voice said, “this is Captain Andrews of the Eldorado National Park Ranger Station.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I’ve got men out searching for you. Two of them are at the GPS coordinates you sent when you called. You’re not there. If this is some kind of prank, you’re going to be prosecuted in federal court—”

“I moved since that last call.” Annja looked at the two men. “Have your men wave their flashlights.”

“What?” The ranger captain sounded exasperated.

“The men that were looking for me have already killed three people.” Annja spoke plainly. “I want to know these are your rangers.”

“Wait just a minute.”

An owl passed by, momentarily obscuring the moon. A feral cat cried out in the distance. Frogs in the nearby stream croaked.

The two men with flashlights waved them in the air.

Annja took her flashlight from her backpack and switched it on. “Tell your men to look north of their position. I’m in the trees.” Even though she was talking to the ranger captain, she still felt nervous. One misstep or a bit of bad luck could get her killed.

“All right,” Andrews growled in displeasure, “they see you. Climb out of the tree and stand with your hands over your head where they can see you.”

“It’ll take just a second to get my gear.”

“Leave your gear where—”

Annja broke the connection and slid the phone into her pocket. It vibrated as she recovered her rope and shoved it into the backpack. By the time she was climbing down, her flashlight held by Velcro straps on her backpack, the rangers had pulled their horses to a stop under the tree.

Both of them were young. One was clean-shaven and the other had a short beard and long hair. They introduced themselves as Dobbs and Carew. Neither of them put their lever-action rifles away.

Carew, the long-haired ranger, stepped down and separated Annja from her backpack. Then he asked for identification.

Annja complied, but the whole time she was distinctly aware that Huangfu or his men could have been only a short distance away with a sniper rifle. You’ve been reading way too many thrillers, she told herself ruefully. But the truth of the matter was that lately she’d been living a life not far off from those fictional heroes.

“Are you okay, Miss Creed?” Carew handed her identification back. He spoke in a pleasant baritone.

“Yes.”

“You’re not hurt?”

Annja shook her head. She wished she was back in her loft in Brooklyn. Before she’d left she’d just got the third season of Gilmore Girls on DVD and was looking forward to watching it. A bath, a glass of white wine, and an episode or two of the show and she could have slept like a baby.

Instead, her mind was filled with questions. She’d explored the belt plaque by touch but she still hadn’t gotten a good look at the piece.

“You said there was a helicopter?” Carew looked at her.

Annja met the ranger’s gaze. “There was. It left the area about ten minutes after I called you.”

Carew nodded. “You said the bodies of the three men this Huangfu fella killed were up near Volcanoville?”

“Yes.” Annja dreaded the next few hours. In her experience any time she dealt with law enforcement agencies she had to tell the same story over and over and over again.

“We’ve got a team over there looking into that. In the meantime, let’s get you out of here.” Carew held the stirrup out for her to mount the extra horse.

With easy grace, Annja pulled herself into the saddle and leaned down to gather the reins. She was glad to be going, but she knew her ordeal was far from over.

Darkly tinted windows in the conference room blunted the sun. Ngai Kuan-Yin stood in front of the windows and gazed out over the Bund. The early afternoon tourist crowd was making its way through the stores and shops along Zhongshan Road.

The wharves and docks just beyond them were also full. Among the historic buildings, the bones of the old walled city of Shanghai—which had been the international settlement area where the English and French had lived in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries—remained visible if someone knew where to look.

Normally such a sight would have brought peaceful thoughts to Ngai. He owned many of the shops along Zhongshan Road and had an interest in several others. Many of the fishing boats were among his holdings, as well. Ngai’s family had been in Shanghai for generations.

But Ngai wasn’t happy. He was in a murderous rage, though his calm demeanor didn’t allow it to show.

“Mr. Ngai, what do you wish to do?” The voice was soft and offered no threat or rebuke, though he knew the question had been offered because he hadn’t responded when he’d been asked minutes ago.

Slowly, Ngai turned to face the ten men seated at the long conference table. For the past twenty years, the men at that table had helped him build an empire of his father’s pharmaceutical company. He owed all of them something. They, in turn, owed him their lives. Without him, they would have been nothing.

To a man, they wore dark business suits that looked neat and professional. All of them were lean, hard men. Much like Huangfu Cao.

Ngai courted that image. His tailored black suit fit him like a glove. He was in his early forties and still followed the discipline of the sword and the warrior. Silver threaded his black hair. His face, unlined and cruel, had graced the covers of international magazines about wealth and business.

Calmly, Ngai sat at the head of the table and turned his attention to the matter at hand. “I have been informed by Huangfu Cao that he has lost the belt plaque he went to recover. The woman archaeologist, Annja Creed, has escaped with it.”

“Does the woman know that we—” Hong stopped himself “—that you are involved?”

Hong was in his eighties and grew more frail with each passing day. When Ngai had been younger, Hong had taught him in all subjects. Whenever Ngai thought of his old teacher, he remembered him as a strong young man, clever and fearless. Times had changed as age had robbed him of his strength and confidence.