Alex Archer - Magic Lantern

Annja sat quietly between the two men on either side of her. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

The man in the front passenger seat turned to face her. “It’s simple. We want the magic lantern Edmund Beswick purchased from the antiquities auction.”

The answer surprised Annja. “I don’t know where it is.”

The man’s expression remained flat and unreadable. “That’s too bad. My employer will not believe you. It would be better if you knew where the lantern was.”

“Why would anyone think I knew where it was?”

“Because Edmund Beswick has shown you the lantern.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Then he planned to. My employer knows this.”

“Planned to. Didn’t.” Despite her anger, Annja was worried about Edmund. Why hadn’t the men gone to his flat first?

“My employer will believe you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I only asked you so that we could stop and pick up the lantern before I take you to him.” He shrugged. “It’s too bad you don’t know. He is a very determined man. Many people fear him, and with good reason.” He turned back around and watched traffic, then gave directions to the driver in Chinese.

Annja couldn’t understand what was said, but she guessed it wasn’t good. She shifted in the backseat. “How did you find me?”

One of the men sitting beside Annja showed her his cell phone. The picture of her talking with Detective Chief Inspector Westcox. He grinned. “We have been watching you. We only just missed you in the hotel.”

The commander flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror and spoke harshly.

A scowl darkened the face of the man beside Annja. He put his cell phone away.

Even in the shadows of the car, Annja saw the tattoos ringing the guy’s neck. As with the Japanese Yakuza and the Russian Mafiya, in the Chinese Triad, tattoo designs were badges of office and warnings to everyone else.

How had Edmund’s magic lantern drawn the attention of the Triad?

Since she didn’t know where the magic lantern was, she had to escape.

Her captors wouldn’t hesitate to harm her. The only edge she had was that they hadn’t been given permission to kill her.

She hoped.

At a traffic light, the car came to a stop. The man in the passenger seat turned up the radio. Techno-pop filled the Jaguar.

Focusing on what she was going to do, she breathed deeply enough to charge her lungs without drawing the attention of the men beside her. Then she threw a backfist toward the man on her right. As she expected, he was prepared for the attack and caught her arm. However, he wasn’t prepared for her to shift and slam her forehead into his face as an immediate follow-up. She repeated the move and heard the man’s nose crunch under her assault.

He cried out once, then lapsed into unconsciousness.

As the other man tried to bring his pistol into play, Annja fell into the lap of the unconscious man, lifted her left leg and thrust her foot into her second attacker’s face.

The kick slammed the man against the window and shattered the glass. His pistol fell to the floor. Annja kept her foot pressed against his jaw to hold him in place. He struggled weakly, obviously dazed from the impact.

The man in the front passenger seat swung quickly and threw his gun arm across the seat. Annja didn’t wait to see if he was going to threaten her before he opened fire. She reached up and seized his wrist, then yanked down hard and snapped his elbow.

The man screamed hoarsely and dropped the pistol.

Committed now, aware that her life was possibly measured in heartbeats, Annja opened the passenger door, pushed off the guy she had trapped against the broken window and rolled onto the street. She got to her feet at once, cognizant that the conscious men inside the car were clawing for their weapons. Even the man with the broken arm was determined to get his pistol, or maybe he had another.

Annja vaulted to the back of the car and headed for the roof. Bullets ripped through the back windshield, blowing out chunks of glass, and punched calderas in the car’s roof. She never broke stride as she ran across the hood of the car and leaped onto the next stopped vehicle.

Jumping, vaulting and changing directions like a fleet-footed deer, Annja crossed the stalled traffic and reached the sidewalk just as the light turned green. She kept running as car horns, shouts and pistol shots made a huge cacophony behind her.

At the corner of the nearest building, she risked a quick glance back. Bullets tore into the bricks and threw dust in her face. She ducked out of sight, then dared another look. Two of the men had started after her, but their hearts weren’t in it and they’d retreated to their vehicle. Annja resumed running.

* * *

SEVERAL BLOCKS LATER, ANNJA slowed to a walk. Thankfully London stayed busy nearly twenty-four hours. She called Edmund Beswick’s cell several times but didn’t get an answer.

She also debated calling the Metro police, but decided against that until she knew more of what was going on. Detective Chief Inspector Westcox was going to have a lot of questions, and she didn’t have any answers.

Doug Morrell called again and this time she picked up.

“Hey,” he whispered irritably.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Me? I was calling you.”

Annja would’ve smiled at that, but she was too worried about Edmund Beswick. “Still need the favor, Doug.”

“Fine. What did you find out from the police?”

“What?” For a moment Annja was thrown for a loop.

“I saw the pictures on Twitter. You and Detective Scarecrow.”

Annja couldn’t believe it. Then she checked herself. Doug Morrell lived for Facebook and Twitter. It only made sense that he’d be trailing any mentions of her or Chasing History’s Monsters. “His name’s Westcox.”

“Whatever. Man looks like an advance warning for a famine.”

“He’s not that thin.”

“Your perspective is skewed because you’re always looking at mummies and skeletons. Skinny living guys must look obese to you.”

Annja shook her head. “Let’s talk about the favor.”

“Let’s talk about Detective Scarecrow.”

“Westcox. Get his name right. The lawyer will need to know it.”

“Lawyer?” Doug’s tone changed immediately from irritated to anxious. “Did you do something?”

“No, but the chief inspector is threatening to deport me if I don’t stay out of his investigation.”

“He can’t do that, can he?”

Annja loved putting Doug on the spot. “Not if I have a lawyer. A good one.”

“We do have a good one.”

Curiosity got the best of Annja. “Why are you whispering, Doug?”

“We’re having a council meeting.”

“Who?” Then it clicked. Doug Morrell belonged to a group of would-be vampires. That was one of his hobbies and one of the interests that endeared him to the production company that underwrote Chasing History’s Monsters. “Right. You’re with the Bat Boy Legion.”

Doug refused to take the bait and stayed focused. “Did you find out anything more about Mr. Hyde?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Mr. Hyde just took his fourth victim.”

“I know. I was there.” Annja looked up and down the street for a cab. If the men who had kidnapped her hadn’t doubled back around and found her by now, she felt fairly sure they wouldn’t.

“Oh, yeah, the Twitter feed. And there are a couple YouTube videos up now.”

Annja groaned.

“In fact, I think maybe Chasing History’s Monsters—” Doug’s voice grew louder “—is the only program not getting video of your meeting with Scotland Yard.”