Labyrinth (21 page)

Annja grinned. “I saved your life? Why would I do a crazy thing like that? If you’re Greene’s man, why would I care about you? Wouldn’t I be much more likely just to leave you to die alone in the tunnel somewhere?”

“You might be overcome with compassion.”

“Well, if they know about the pressure I relieved, then they’re going to ask how I did it. And if I tell them about the sword, the gig’s pretty much up right then, isn’t it? Even if they
haven’t
seen it.”

“Yeah,” Kessel said. “Doesn’t really look as if we’re going to be a very convincing pair of liars, does it?”

“Nope.”

Kessel nodded. “In that case, I suggest we change our plan. You know, go with our true nature and all.”

“A convincing set of ass-kickers?”

“You got it.” Kessel grinned. “It’s a plan I can really get behind.”

“Me, too,” Annja said. “And I happen to think our return to the surface world is long overdue.”

“Agreed.”

Standing again, they continued up the slope. Toward the light.

And what lay beyond.

Chapter 24

As they trudged up the slope, Annja saw movement. She waved Kessel down and he sank against the tunnel’s wall as if he’d been nothing but a shadow. Annja brought out her sword and continued upward.

As she crested the incline, she made out the figure of a man bent over a console of television screens. Each one of the screens showed a different shot of the maze she and Kessel had just escaped from. She could see the time stamps on all the screens.

So this was where they watched all the action.

She gripped the sword tighter. It was time to set about destroying Fairclough’s maze from the inside out.

The man turned.

It was the same Asian guy she’d seen down in the maze. The one who’d thrown the shuriken at her.

His eyes lit up with surprise, but his reactions were faster than Annja expected them to be. He vaulted over the desk and rolled, coming to his feet and flicking his hand at Annja.

She barely had time to jerk her sword up across her midline, deflecting the three shuriken he had sent zipping at her face. They skittered away, clanging off the metal video screen cabinet.

Annja tried to close the distance, but the Asian man turned and ran out of the room.

Annja gave chase.

Behind her, she heard Kessel shout, “Don’t!”

But Annja was determined not to let the man get away from her this time. He obviously knew what was going on here.

However, as she raced down the corridor the Asian man had taken, she stopped short, realizing that she could be walking right into a trap.

Too late—another volley of shuriken came flying at her. Annja spun, twisted the sword up and around and felt the metal edge of one of the stars score a line across her face.

She dropped, rolled and came up ready to strike.

But the man was already gone.

Annja frowned. If this guy was really a ninja, then she was going to have a hard time dealing with him. The corridor she was in now was even darker than the tunnel she and Kessel had just been in. That meant her attacker had plenty of hiding spots. He could choose the precise moment to strike and Annja would never know what hit her.

Not good.

She started to back down the corridor to retreat to the control room. But as she did, her legs were swept out from under her.

Annja went down hard on her butt and barely had time to roll before a kick thundered into her midsection, causing her to suck fire.

He’s talented, she thought.

Another shot to her chin threatened to drop her permanently. She recoiled, trying hard to keep her brain from becoming scrambled. It was the same spot she’d been hit twice before.

And they really knew how to hit.

I can’t take that kind of damage again, Annja thought.

If she did, everything she’d done for Kessel would be for nothing. And she’d be dead, as well.

Annja drifted back toward the control room, each step carefully placed. And every shadow in the hallway seemed to move and melt away as if it had a life of its own.

Annja held the sword high in front of her.

Protecting her centerline from attack.

From the end of the corridor, one of the shadows seemed to bleed out into the center of the hallway. And then it drew itself up, becoming taller and taller.

What illusion was this? she wondered.

And then she recognized the form of the man she’d been chasing.

But now he wasn’t running. Now he was coming for her.

She heard the sound of metal sliding from a sheath and saw the glint of steel in the dim light. The Asian man’s katana.

Annja gripped the sword tighter. Her blood thundered through her body. She bent her knees and waited as the man advanced.

Unlike Annja, he seemed completely relaxed. His eyes narrowed as he drew closer, seeming to glide toward her. Annja knew she was facing an extremely skilled swordsman.

But the frustration she’d felt at being run through the maze like a laboratory rat fueled her anger and she called out to him. “What is the point of all of this?” It felt good to hear her own voice and the power in it.

He smiled and she could see the whiteness of his teeth as he came even closer. Twenty feet separated them. Another step and they’d be in killing distance. Real sword fighting took place at much greater distances than commonly believed.

“You don’t know what this is about?”

His voice was level and controlled and it sent a shiver running down Annja’s spine. He sounded amused and simultaneously contemptuous of her. Frankly, Annja was surprised he’d even deigned to speak to her.

“I’m tired of running through this maze with no purpose to it.”

“Oh, it has a purpose to it. Most assuredly.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He grinned even wider. “You already know. You’re just afraid to say it.”

Annja gripped the sword even tighter. “Fairclough built this to trap me, hasn’t he?”

“Has he?”

“He wants revenge.”

“Is he the only one you’ve ever crossed? Is he the only one whose family you’ve destroyed?”

Annja frowned. What the hell did that mean? A family destroyed? And if not Fairclough, then who else could it be? Or was she understanding him properly?

But then the question flew from her mind. The Asian man had achieved his goal: he’d confused Annja. And even as she recognized the tactic, he was already cutting down from high overhead, trying to cleave her body into two.

Annja barely had time to jerk her own sword against the katana and send it away from her. But then he was counterattacking, cutting back in a horizontal slash to her midsection.

Annja felt the laser sharpness of the katana slicing her belly and she gasped.

But the cut was only skin deep. And even as she caught the scent of her own blood, the Asian man was driving the pommel of his sword into her chest under her diaphragm.

Annja went down hard, clutching the sword against her in case he came down again.

He’s so good, I don’t have a chance here, she thought.

She kicked out at him, but he sidestepped her and used the tip of his katana to poke her thigh.

Again, the injury was minor. And the look on the man’s face was full of contempt and superiority.

He doesn’t think I can fight with my sword, she thought.

“Get up, Annja.”

“How do you know my name?”

He smirked. “We all know your name here.”

“We?”

He drove in with a sweeping, rising attack off his rear leg, looking to slice her from hip to shoulder. If he’d connected with the strike, Annja would have been dead on her feet.

But her instincts weren’t entirely shot to hell. And as he came on fast, Annja backpedaled so that the tip of the sword blade only cut the air a mere inch from her face.

Annja’s breathing came in spurts. She had to get it under control. She had to mount an attack of her own.

But then she felt something sink into her shoulder and glanced down in time to see the metal spike embedded there.

Another shuriken, she realized. But this one was a throwing spike instead of the more common throwing star. It buried itself deep in the front deltoid and Annja knew that lifting her sword was going to be even tougher now.

“You are weak.”

He’d said it in such a way that Annja had no doubt it was true. She was weak. She was battered. Tired. Confused. Hungry. Thirsty. And utterly without recourse against this man she didn’t know or recognize, but who apparently knew all about her.

She sank to her knees.

Shattered.

And just like that, the corridor was empty.

The Asian man had vanished.

Again.

Annja glanced around, but even the shadows seemed to have retreated back into the walls. She frowned. Had she dreamed that encounter?

No.

The throwing spike was still buried in her shoulder. She looked down, grabbed the end of it and slid it out, gritting her teeth against the pain and nausea that accompanied the action.

She was covered in blood and sweat. Slowly, Annja rose to her feet and walked back to the control room, slumping into one of the chairs.

Kessel entered the room a moment later. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you, Annja?”

“The Asian man I saw in the maze. I walked right into a trap.”

“I tried to stop you—”

She nodded. “I know, I know. It was my own stupidity that brought this upon me. I never should have given chase like that. Stupid rookie move. And he took advantage of it.”

“Who is he?”

Annja shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Kessel ripped another piece off his T-shirt, wadded it up and pressed it into the wound in her shoulder. “I may not have a shirt left by the time this is over.”

“Sorry about that.”

He smirked. “No matter. Let me see your stomach.”

Annja lifted her shirt and Kessel glanced at it. “You’re lucky. The cut’s only superficial.”

She shook her head. “No, luck had nothing to do with it. That was all skill. He could have killed me any time he wanted to. He played with me. All of this was just to warm me up for the final encounter. And it will happen when he wants it to.”

“Or maybe the person running this show doesn’t want it to happen yet.”

Annja nodded. “Fairclough.” She sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle this. I’m wasted beyond belief.”

“No choice,” Kessel said. “We either fight or we die.”

“You can’t fight,” Annja pointed out. “Your wound is too delicate. You take another shot like the one that bounced you off the wall and you’ll be done for.”

Kessel sniffed. “I don’t have the luxury of not fighting, Annja. If I leave it all to you, neither one of us will get out of this place alive. That’s not to belittle you. On our own, I don’t think either of us is enough.”