Alex Archer - Sacred Ground

Far ahead of them, Annja thought she could make out something dark. It looked like it was growing.

Godwin pressed on the gas pedal. His eyes narrowed and he gripped the wheel tighter. “Our turnoff should be coming soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Annja said. “It’s going to be close.”

“What is?” Derek asked. “What is that thing ahead of us? What’s going on?”

Annja looked at him. “Can’t you hear it?”

Derek stopped and sat back in his seat. He closed his eyes and then Annja saw his body stiffen appreciably. His eyes popped open. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Annja nodded. “It is.”

Godwin pointed up ahead of them. “It’s growing.”

Annja looked and saw it was true. Shooting down the ice road toward them was a giant fissure of blackness.

The ice road was cracking all around them.

Rogue Angel™

www.mirabooks.co.uk

…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….

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

Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada

“It’s been my experience,” Annja Creed said, “that the motives of private industry and those of the public don’t usually make for good bedfellows.” She reclined a bit farther back into the deep chocolate leather of her armchair and waited for the man sitting across from her to respond.

“That’s a pretty narrow way to look at things.” Derek Wainman took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee before setting it on the frosted-glass table. “After all, it’s in our best interests to work with the public to make sure they don’t feel slighted. These are, after all, potential customers.”

Annja considered the map in front of her. This time of year, most of the Northwest Territories of Canada was frozen. The arctic tundra was a mass of brittle green amid the snows and winds. She shivered just thinking about how cold it was out there.

But it couldn’t be worse than Antarctica, could it? She smiled at the memories of that adventure and then noticed Derek watching.

“You okay?”

“The cold weather makes me reminisce about the other times I’ve been in the thick of it,” she said.

Derek took another sip of his coffee. “That’s been quite often, hasn’t it?”

Annja looked at him. He smirked and waved his hand.

“Don’t be so concerned. We take great pains to find out all we can about people we might be interested in working with. And there’s never been anything that the right amount of money can’t purchase. Information especially.”

Annja smiled. She was one hundred percent positive there was at least one small nugget of intelligence that their money hadn’t been able to procure—the presence of the sword that she always carried with her.

“That’s a curious grin,” Derek said.

Annja made her face expressionless. This guy didn’t miss a thing. She’d have to remember that.

“How successful has the mining operation been at Ekati?”

“By all accounts, incredibly so,” Derek said. “It’s expected to yield five hundred million Canadian dollars a year for the next twenty-five years. Who would have thought that the earth could have such a repository of untapped wealth?”

“I might have,” Annja said. “But then, I dig for a living. That kind of knowledge is my thing.”

“You like getting dirty,” Derek said.

Annja watched his face for any signs that he was already tossing innuendo around. But to his credit, he kept his expression firm and unyielding. No sign of mirth tinged it.

“Getting dirty comes with the territory,” she said. “It can’t be helped. And it’s only when you’re truly down in the thick of it that you find the most precious treasures. So yes, I like getting dirty.”

“Where were you before this?”

Annja raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, why would you ask me such a question? After all, I thought you had a complete workup on my recent activities?”

“We do.”

“So, what, you want to see if I lie about my whereabouts?”

Derek held up his hand. “Calm down. It was just a friendly question.”

Annja looked at the map again. Frozen lakes, frozen rivers, frozen everything. It would be a damned cold jaunt; she knew that.

“Why now?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

Annja glanced up. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to start something like this in the spring?”

Derek smiled. “We’re hoping that by the time you get to the site and extricate everything that needs extricating, it will be spring and just in time for us to start our real work.”

“Ah, the real work.”

Derek leaned forward. “Annja, please make no mistake—while we’re committed to helping the Inuit preserve whatever sacred ground they have in this location, our primary emphasis is on profit. We’re a private corporation and as such, driven by the ever-present bottom line.”

“Hence my original statement about private and public interests not intersecting.”

Derek leaned back. “We can help each other.”

“How so?”

“By you agreeing to come on board and assist the Inuit elders with their research, we gain a certain degree of sympathy for our corporation. Our public image looks better than if we simply steamrolled in and took what we wanted from the land with little regard to its history.”

“Even though that’s exactly what you want to do anyway?”

“You don’t strike me as being naive, Annja.”

“I’m not.”

“So you understand the function of our meeting and your employment with us on this matter.”

“I’m coming in as a contractor.”

“But you work for us.”

Annja smiled. “I gathered as much.”

“For which you’ll be paid quite handsomely. Far more than you make hosting that little show on television.”

“Actually, Chasing History’s Monsters does pretty well in the ratings.”

Derek grinned. “Only when your cohost manages to have a well-timed wardrobe malfunction.”

“Granted.”

“I don’t think we’d see such a thing from you, now, would we?”

Annja shot him a look. “I wouldn’t hold out any hope.”

“Noted.”

Annja folded up the map. “How long has this land belonged to this tribe of Inuit?”

“Almost one thousand years.”

“You were able to trace it back that far?”