Gabriel's Horn (8 page)

Ling Po laughed. “And you certainly don’t lack for confidence.”

“I find myself emboldened by your beauty,” Roux said. “I find my spirit made larger for being in your presence. You’ll have to forgive me.”

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. That had been unexpected. With all of her wealth he would have expected her to be hardened to any form of flattery.

“You talk a lot of nonsense,” the young woman responded.

“Do you think so? I thought it sounded much better than telling you that you had a great set of hooters.” Roux smiled.

Ling Po laughed, but she didn’t bother to hide her cleavage. She seemed genuinely amused rather than put off by his crude remark. “You know, I could think you’re hitting on me.”

Roux lifted his eyebrows. “I’d be devastated to know that you approached me with anything less in mind.”

“You’re entirely too confident.”

“I’ve always been very successful with women.”

“Have you?”

“You came over to meet me, didn’t you?”

“Not because of any sexual allure.”

“Are you certain?”

“You’re old enough to be my grandfather.”

“And that makes me even more intriguing, doesn’t it?”

Ling Po didn’t deny it. “I like the way you handled Connelly.”

Roux shrugged. “The man was positively begging for a comeuppance of the rudest sort. Although, if the cards hadn’t favored me, that could have been embarrassing.”

They shared a brief laugh.

“He didn’t know that you allowed yourself to be caught bluffing earlier,” Ling Po said.

Roux managed an innocent look but couldn’t help grinning just a little. Ling Po was sharper than he thought. It would be good to keep that in mind.

“Did I do that?” he asked.

The young woman nodded. “Yes. It was very carefully done, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think anyone else caught on.”

“Yet you did.”

“Truthfully, I think I’m better than anyone else in that room.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I don’t mean to take anything away from you. You’re a very good card player,” she said.

“Again, you’re too kind.”

“No. I’ve seen some of the best. That’s why I’m surprised I’ve not crossed paths with you before.”

“I play a small game.”

“By choice. You could be on television, playing in one of the tournaments that get broadcast.”

Roux waved that away and took another puff off his cigar. He rounded his ash into a nearby ashtray. “I’ve no interest in that. Entirely too much attention.” And there was too much of an opportunity for too many people to see him and perhaps recognize him.

“I can’t believe you’d be shy.”

“Perhaps I just prefer a gentleman’s game among friends.”

Ling Po shook her head. “After the way you ambushed and baited Connelly, I don’t think so. That wasn’t very gentlemanly.”

“He isn’t—by any stretch of a generous imagination—anywhere close to being a gentleman.”

“No, but I have to wonder what you’re all about.”

“Then I’ll just say that I like being mysterious. I’ve found that women think that’s attractive.”

“It is.”

Roux turned to face the young woman. “So is your intent in meeting me merely to get a better sense of my game? Or do you have something else in mind?”

Her stare returned his challenge full measure. “You honestly don’t care if I take you up on that or not, do you?”

“I do,” Roux said, “but if you feel disinclined, I won’t be devastated.” That was true, but he seriously doubted she was going to walk away. She was much too competitive. She was going to have to find out if she was his equal at the poker table and elsewhere.

Ling Po traced the back of Roux’s hand with her forefinger. “We do have time for dinner before the game resumes,” she said.

“We do.”

“I’ve got a big room. We could order in.”

“That,” Roux said, “sounds absolutely delightful.” After crushing Connelly as he had, Roux found his appetite for other things had been whetted, as well.

“Then you’ll come as my guest.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Still robbing the cradle, I see,” a woman stated laconically. Her accent was South African, a mix of English and German with sharp edges.

The voice came to Roux from the past. Pleasant memories and warnings accompanied the words. He turned to face the woman.

“Jennifer,” he whispered. Dread, anticipation and wariness all spun a web within him.

* * * *

Jennifer bailey was a goddess of the night. When Roux first met her that thought had leapt into his head and never left. Her skin was flawless warm toffee, and her eyes were a brown that seemed to glow with an inner fire.

Five feet eight inches tall with generous curves, she turned heads and silenced conversations every time she entered a room. Her hair was cut short and framed her beautiful face. She wore a scarlet dress that dipped low and was cut high, stopping just short of being tacky.

As he gazed at her, Roux tried to remember how long it had been since he’d last seen her. At least ten years had passed. That meant she had to be in her early forties, but she did not look her age. Anyone who saw her would have guessed she was in her early thirties.

Scarlet lipstick turned her frown florid.

Ling Po bridled at once, obviously irritated that their conversation had been interrupted. Roux smiled at that, but when it came to class, Jennifer Bailey beat the younger woman hands down.

“It’s good to see you again,” Roux said.

“Is it?” Jennifer cocked her head to one side to regard him. “The last word I received from you was a note on a pillow telling me you had things to do. That was thirteen years ago.”

“Thirteen. Really? A wretched number filled with ill-fated consequences,” Roux noted.

“It’s been a long time.” Jennifer gazed at the young woman at Roux’s side. “I can see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“My predilections remain as constant as the North Star.”

“And remain as predictable. That’s how I found you.”

“It took a long time,” Roux pointed out.

Jennifer shrugged, an elegant shift of her shoulders.

“I’ve thought of you often,” he told her, and part of him hoped she believed him enough to forgive him his trespasses.

“And I’ve often thought of kicking your skinny arse for leaving without a proper goodbye.” Jennifer put her hand on her hip and stared at Ling Po. “I’d also dare say you haven’t thought of me for at least ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Do you know this woman?” Ling Po stepped close enough to Roux to partially claim him as her territory.

“I do.” Roux made the introductions. “Ling Po, I’d like you to meet Jennifer Bailey. She’s an artist. Maybe you’ve seen some of her work.”

“I’m not much into greeting cards, I’m afraid.”

Roux coughed delicately. “Actually, Jennifer’s work has hung in some of the finest European and African galleries. Jennifer, this is Ling Po. Her family owns the Topaz Hotel in London, among others.”

Ling Po didn’t appear to be impressed. Nor did Jennifer.

“Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Ling Po said icily, “but we were engaged in a
private
conversation.”

“That’s all right,” Jennifer said dismissively. “We’re old friends. Evidently you’re going to be another new friend. He doesn’t make many friends who turn into old friends.”

“You’ve certainly got the old part covered.”

For a moment Roux thought Jennifer would physically attack Ling Po. Jennifer wasn’t one to mince words. She also preferred a direct line of action.

“After thirteen years and a note on a pillow,” Ling Po went on, “I’m surprised that you’d consider yourself a friend.”

“Youth can be diverting,” Jennifer replied, “but it’s also flighty and annoying. Especially on a self-indulgent, high-maintenance narcissist.”

“A man prefers new challenges to old conquests,” Ling Po said.

“Maybe we should let him be the judge of that,” Jennifer suggested sweetly.

Roux, a master strategist on the battlefield and leader of warriors, suddenly found himself in the worst possible position any man could face.

Both women looked at him expectantly.

Roux decided to double down on the risk. He’d gone in search of neither of the women. He could just as easily dine alone. And the night was still young. There would be other opportunities.

“Perhaps we could have dinner and reach some kind of accord that would be less adversarial. Though not without mutual reward and benefit,” he said. He smiled. In the past such a suggestion had often netted surprising results.

“Really?” Ling Po gazed at Jennifer in open speculation.

Jennifer frowned. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”

“There was a time when you weren’t so quick to turn down new experiences,” Roux said. “I seem to recall you introducing me to one of your girlfriends shortly after we met.”

Jennifer looked at him. “I have a lead on the Nephilim.”

Excitement filled every molecule of Roux’s body. Jennifer was one of the few people he’d told about the Nephilim painting.

“Do you know where it is?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and tight.

“I’ve found someone who might know,” Jennifer replied.

Roux couldn’t believe it. None of the sources he had looking for the painting had offered even a whisper of the Nephilim’s location in years.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“She,”
Jennifer replied. “And I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to take you there.”

Sour bile burst at the back of Roux’s throat. “You know how dangerous that is. You’ve seen how Salome can be.”

Jennifer smiled at him, and fear laced with sadness showed in her bright eyes. “I still wear the scars.”

“You’re lucky to be alive. Tell me—”

“No.” Jennifer shook her head to emphasize her answer. “I’ve worked on this since you’ve been gone. I’m not just going to hand it to you and watch you walk away.”

“It would be better if you did.”

“We’re not going to live forever. Isn’t that what you used to say?” Jennifer smiled. “But look at you. You haven’t aged a day.”

“Jennifer—”

“No. I’m in or I’m gone. That’s the deal.”

Roux held her gaze for just a moment and saw no compromise there. “All right.”

“What?” Ling Po stepped in front of him. “You’re just going to leave with this woman?” She made Jennifer’s gender sound like a terminal condition.

As gallantly as he could, because he never liked to sour an unexplored potential conquest, Roux took Ling Po’s hand in his. He kissed the back of her hand gently.

“Until we meet again, dear girl.” Roux released her hand and stepped back.

Ling Po looked as if she was in shock.

“Beat Connelly for me. I’ll see you when I can.” Roux turned and took Jennifer by the arm and headed down the sweeping staircase.

His thoughts centered on the painting of the Nephilim and the secrets it hid. He knew he was the most excited he’d been in decades. Except for finding the final piece of Joan’s sword and watching it mend itself in an eye blink in Annja’s hand.

But he was also afraid.

12

Annja stared at the armed men on the other side of the limousine’s tinted window. They threatened her with the handguns and machine pistols they held. At least three of the five wore green-scimitar tattoos at their throats. If the others did, the shadows hid them.

“Come out!” one of them shouted. His voice barely penetrated the muffled confines of the luxury car.

The driver attempted to reverse and break away, but the second car crashed into the rear of the limousine. The tires spun but couldn’t get any traction.

“I suppose getting out of this while in the car is out of the question,” Annja said.

“Yes.” Garin looked irritated.

“We could stay in the car and call the police.”

“Until they decided to blow us up or drill holes in the car roof and flood the interior with gasoline.”

“Aren’t you the pessimist,” Annja said. She couldn’t believe she was as calm as she was, but she’d been in bad situations before. Since claiming Joan’s sword, those situations seemed to come along more often than not.

“No. It’s what I would do under similar circumstances,” Garin said.

“It’s a good thing you’re not out there, then.”

“Yes. But I, much as it grieves me to say so, am not wholly unique.”

“On the other hand, we might be able to stay in the car long enough for the police to arrive.”

“That,” Garin said, “would present a whole new set of troubles. I’d rather keep the authorities out of my business. Besides, the Prague police aren’t overly fond of charging into small armies of men armed with assault weapons.”

“That leaves us with trying to escape,” Annja said.

One of the men slammed his clenched fist against the tinted window. Hollow booms echoed within the limousine.

“Get out! Now!” the man ordered.

“It’s a pity about the dress,” Garin said. “I’d rather hoped you might get to have it as a keepsake. No matter how the evening turned out.”

“What?” Annja couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. There was no way the evening was going to end up with her doing anything other than going back to her hotel.
Alone.
And if Garin was so egotistical that he wouldn’t acknowledge that, then she was—

“Excuse me.” Garin put his hands on her thigh. He gripped the hem of her dress and tore it up to her hip.

Immediately, Annja slapped him. The open-handed blow landed hard enough to split his lower lip.

Garin released the dress and slid back out of reach. Anger darkened his face. “You couldn’t move in that dress as it was. I was trying to help you.”

“Oh.” Annja felt a little unsettled. “You should have said something.”

Gingerly, Garin wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “I did. I said, ‘Excuse me.’ It was, I thought, polite enough.”

“Your intentions weren’t exactly clear.”

“Trust me,” he said, “if I ever moved on you in an amorous fashion, it wouldn’t be as clumsy or heavy-handed as that.”

“You’re just lucky I didn’t break something.”

Garin growled a curse.

The man at the window used his gun butt to rap against the glass this time. Then he reversed it and shoved the barrel against the glass.

“Is the glass bulletproof?” Annja asked.

“Against those weapons it should be,” Garin said in displeasure. “Of course, that also means that I can’t shoot back at them. By the way, would you like a pistol?”

At Garin’s touch, a section of the wall slid back to reveal a dozen handguns, two shotguns, three assault rifles and two machine pistols. Oil gleamed on the metal.

“You don’t have a rocket launcher in there?” Annja asked drily.

Garin pressed a recessed release button on the seat in front of them. The cushion flipped over to expose three rocket launcher tubes. “I keep it fully stocked,” he said.

“You normally need this much firepower?” Annja asked.

“Every day I hope that I don’t. But I’d rather be prepared than struggle to get that way.” Garin grimaced at the repeated hammering on the window. “So, would you like a weapon?”

Annja hesitated. Although she had killed from time to time to save her own life or those of others, it wasn’t something she was comfortable with. Nor was it something she wanted to ever get comfortable with. But she knew that violence was often best met with violence.

“It’s us or them,” Garin told her, “and I’d much rather not be the only one shooting back. I thought maybe if you were armed we could mix it up a little. Divide their attention.”

Annja took two of the 9 mm pistols.

“Good,” Garin said.

Expertly, Annja tucked one of the pistols between her knees and used the release button behind the trigger guard to drop the ammunition magazine. The bullets gleamed in the clip.

“They’re both loaded,” Garin said. “It’s foolish to keep a weapon around and not keep it ready, as well.”

Annja checked the magazine in the second pistol. It, too, was loaded.

The man at the window stepped back and warned his companions. For a moment, they all fell back.

Then another man came forward with a trenching tool and a can.

“That,” Garin said, “would be the gasoline.”

The man stepped up onto the limo’s trunk.

“We do have one thing in our favor,” Garin said.

“I’d love to hear it,” Annja replied.

“At this point I don’t think they want to kill you. I think they want to use you as a bargaining chip against Roux.”

“Not getting that warm, fuzzy feeling,” Annja said. She listened as the man hammered the trenching tool against the car’s roof. A dent took shape at once. She knew the roof was reinforced when the tool didn’t immediately rip through.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Garin reached for a remote control in a pocket on his door. “And I do have one surprise left. Be prepared to move.”

“I am.” Annja just wished her stomach would stop flip-flopping.

“We go straight into them and hope they hesitate about firing into the middle of each other.” Garin took up a cut-down pump-action shotgun. “Then we cross the street and try to take the high ground.”

“Okay.”

The man atop the car roof hammered the trenching tool down again.

“Ready?” Garin asked.

Annja kicked her shoes off, sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out. “Ready.”

Garin pressed a button on the remote. Immediately the man on top of the limo started jerking and jumping. Annja watched the man’s shadow on the ground. If he hadn’t been trying to kill them, his antics might have been amusing.

Then he fell from the car and lay prone on the ground. The trenching tool and the gas can landed beside him.

“The car’s exterior can be lethally charged with electricity for a short time,” Garin said. He reached across Annja and opened the door. “Go!”

Annja stepped out into the alley and swiveled past the open door. She started to slow, but Garin put a hand into her back and shoved her forward. Thrown off stride, she stumbled, but quickly recovered.

The men faced her, but their attention was still partially on the quivering man on the ground. She ran toward them and hoped that Garin was right about them wanting her alive.

They brought their weapons up, then hesitated as they realized their companions were in their line of fire. Instead, they transformed into a solid wall of flesh and blood to block her.

Garin ran at Annja’s heels. He scooped the can of gasoline and flung it at the men. Annja sensed what Garin was about to do because she knew how destructive he could be.

“Drop!” Garin ordered.

As she spun and dropped into a crouch, Annja watched the gas can fly above the heads of the men. When the metal container reached chest level, Garin fired the shotgun. Pellets tore through the container and through the hapless man standing directly on the other side.

At least one or two of the pellets scraped sparks from the metal can. The descending gasoline suddenly turned into a maelstrom of liquid fire that fell across the center of the line of men.

Instantly engulfed in flames, the line broke. Men concerned themselves with beating out the fire rather than continuing to pursue their quarry.

Annja winced at the heat and the thought of what the gasoline fire would do to the men it covered. Then Garin shoved her into motion again.

“Run!” he shouted.

Annja sprinted for the opening. Men shrieked helplessly around her. Others cursed and someone ordered them to grab Annja. A man clawed at her arm. She pointed one of her pistols in his direction and quickly squeezed off two rounds. The offending hand dropped away.

A fire-enshrouded man blocked her way and lunged at her out of mindless terror rather than by design. Garin’s shotgun boomed again. The fiery man whirled like a top and fell away. Most of his head was gone. Annja ran across the street.

A racing engine warned her of a car’s approach. She glanced to her left and was almost blinded by the vehicle’s lights. The car came straight at her. The engine raced even harder as the driver stepped on the accelerator.

Unable to turn back, slow or outrun the car, Annja did the only thing she could do—she leaped up and forward. The incredible speed she sometimes acquired during periods of increased adrenaline saved her.

Her foot touched the car’s hood and she leaped again, throwing herself forward. As she flipped, she brought both of her pistols to bear and fired as quickly as she was able. She lost track of how many shots she fired.

The bullets smashed through the side window, then the rear glass. Fist-size holes appeared in the windows, mirrored by smaller ones in the car body.

Annja landed on her feet, arms thrown out for balance. Garin had been right. If he hadn’t torn the dress, she’d never have pulled off that move. Still, the draft was incredible.

“No time for a victory dance,” Garin growled as he ran by her and caught her by the arm. He yanked her into motion. Somehow she managed to stay on her feet as she went from zero to sixty in one of his strides.

13

Bullets chopped into the street and the buildings as Annja fled toward the alley. People at an outdoor café a block away screamed and took cover.

Annja felt the rough street surface slap at her bare feet. Yowling and spitting cats scattered from the crooked line of garbage bins lining the walls. The cloying stench of rotting food was overwhelming.

A glance behind her revealed that men were in pursuit.

“Don’t look.” Garin caught hold of a fire escape zigzagging up the side of the building. He rounded the corner and headed up. Bullets from their pursuers’ weapons licked sparks from the iron structure.

Annja paused at the bottom of the stairs and took aim. No one was out in the street except the men chasing them. She triggered her shots quickly, aiming at the center of the mass of men, and felt the pistols buck in her hands.

Two of the men sprawled onto the street. Others broke ranks and dived for cover. A few stood their ground and fired assault rifles on full-auto. Bullets rattled the fire escape as Annja took cover.

In the next instant, the limousine blew up. A concussive wave rolled over the men and knocked them flat. White noise filled Annja’s hearing. She heard Garin yelling at her from above.

“Hurry!” Hard, dark shadows lined his face. “Are you going to wait around for them to recover?”

Annja grabbed the railing and started up. Only a few sporadic bullets skidded off the stairs.

Garin waited for her at the top of the four-story building. Below in the street, the men had regrouped and charged for the fire escape.

“Why did the car blow up?” Annja asked. She tried to ignore the pain in her bare feet from the rocks across the rooftop.

“I blew it up.” Garin pulled a remote control from his pocket. “I don’t like to leave incriminating evidence behind. The explosion should at least confuse the police and help build a case for deniability. There are some drawbacks to the modern technology.”

“We were riding around in a car filled with explosives?” Annja was horrified.

“No,” Garin said. “There were just enough explosives in the car to dispose of it.”

“What about the driver?”

“He’s long gone by now.” Garin gazed down at the street.

As Annja watched, four sleek black cars screeched to a halt in the street. Men got out of the vehicles with grim efficiency and unlimbered weapons. For a moment Annja thought that reinforcements had arrived. Then the men started firing on the would-be kidnappers.

“Your security team,” Annja said.

“A little late, but that was my fault. I had them securing the club I was going to take you to.”

“I hadn’t agreed to go.”

He grinned at her wolfishly. “You would have.”

Harsh cracks sounded out in the street. Annja took partial cover behind a gargoyle at the corner of the rooftop and looked down. Methodically, the new arrivals killed the men left in the street. Only a few escaped. The security team checked the men on the ground and shot those still alive.

Sickened, Annja turned back to Garin. “Call them off. That isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is,” Garin said coldly. “They tried to hurt you.”

“That’s my problem,” Annja said angrily.

“While you were in
my
care,” Garin stated. “That’s intolerable. I didn’t get to where I am by being weak or showing compassion to those who declared themselves my enemies. You know history. That’s true of every ruler that claimed territory as his own.”

Annja listened to the flat cracks that grew further apart. She tried not to think about what was happening down there.

Sirens reverberated in the street and grew rapidly closer.

“Let me get you somewhere safe,” Garin suggested. “Staying to answer questions for the police isn’t going to help you any.”

Not knowing what else to do, not relishing the possibility of returning to the police station, Annja nodded.

* * * *

“This isn’t the safest place for you.”

Annja met Garin’s glower with one of her own. “I might point out that being with you didn’t prove safe.” She walked along the hallway to her hotel room in her bare feet.