The Other Crowd (23 page)

Annja answered her cell phone on the first ring. Eric slept peacefully in the hospital bed to her right; he didn’t wake from the noise.

“How many times does a man have to leave a message to get your attention?”

“I never realized how desperate you were for attention from me, Garin. What’s up? You’ve called half a dozen times.”

“Where are you?”

“Where are
you?
”

“In the same damned country as you. I’m looking for Wesley Pierce. Are you okay, Annja?”

“I am. How do you know Wesley? You’re in Ireland?”

“He was managing a dig my company NewWorld was supervising.”

“You own NewWorld?” She knew the man owned corporations and companies like some people owned pets, but this was a surprise. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you owned an archeological dig management company?”

He sighed. “Is it so important right now? Where can I find Pierce?”

“In a cooler.” She winced at the awful remark. “He was shot this morning by an arms dealer named Frank Neville.”

“And you are investigating? Sticking your nose into places it probably shouldn’t be stuck?”

“It’s been stuck since before Wesley’s death. I’m here in the country, officially, to chase faeries.”

“You know, I believe that.”

Delivered with such deadpan sincerity, she had to smile.

“Neville’s running guns, and I got stuck in the middle when he decided to kidnap Eric, my cameraman. Eric’s okay now. In the hospital, recovering. Thanks for asking. Did you know about the diamonds found on-site?”

“I got the phone call from Pierce last night. Diamonds? I thought it was singular, just one. How many?”

“Besides the one Wesley found? Neville had a rough but it turned out to be flawed. I’m not sure of any others found, though I suspect it was a treasure cache that may have yielded a couple prizes. But it couldn’t have come from the ground. This area isn’t conducive to diamond mining. The mystery of the diamonds confounds me.”

“Annja, there are some things you’re better off not knowing about.”

“Gotcha. So that means I won’t get any help from you unless I jump through your hoops?” Ready to hang up, she stopped when he pleaded for her to listen.

“Can you give me a location on Wesley Pierce?” Garin asked. “NewWorld should contact his family.”

Surprised at what sounded like genuine compassion, Annja said she wasn’t sure, but a local mortuary would be a good place to start looking. “Michael Slater might know. He was directing half of your dig. And he’s MI-6. Did you know that?”

“MI-6 is involved?” Garin exhaled gruffly, one of those sounds a man makes when he’s had enough of life’s surprises. “Then I’m out. I’m not treading on their walk. And you shouldn’t, either, Annja.”

“Don’t worry, I’m done. As soon as Eric is well enough, we’re hopping a flight back to New York.”

“What’s his condition?”

“Whoever took him gave him LSD to make him think he was seeing faeries. That’s how the local rumor got started. The doctor said he should be fine with rest.”

“And this was done to him by someone I employ?”

“I’m not sure. Do you employ Frank Neville to run guns for you when he’s not digging for diamonds?”

“I’m having the name checked out, but I haven’t heard of him before. You’re in such a mess, Annja, and still you didn’t answer my call. Didn’t you think I would offer to help you if you asked?”

“Your help always comes with conditions. I’m fine, Garin, really. Though I am still curious about the origin of those diamonds.”

“They’re from a nineteenth-century heist.”

“What? How did you—?”

“It’s called the internet, Annja. People use it when they want to find out things and do research on obscure facts.”

“Or surf for porn.”

“Let’s not bring your private habits into play, sweetie. After Pierce called me about finding the rough, I did some research at Ireland’s National Archives website because I am also aware the country does not spit up diamonds from its soil. And if you’ve been looking over the dig, you could verify my theory.”

“All right. Shoot.”

“Seems in 1850, one Elizabeth Price, daughter of an impoverished land owner in your area there, decided to take her chances and hop a ship to Liverpool during the height of the potato famine. How am I doing so far?”

“Potato famine. Yep, we found evidence of the pathogen that destroyed the potato crops at the same level I suspect Wesley found the rough diamond. Continue.”

“Seems Price was only in Liverpool three days before the police grabbed her and deported her to Cork. The English were very keen on keeping the Irish out of their country. Let them starve and keep their diseases to themselves. Miss Price, though, was a crafty sort, and hooked up with one Harvel Kilmer of Kilmer Gemstone Acquisitions one night. I assume he thought he was picking up a whore. He woke in the morning absent half a million in rough diamonds he’d been carrying in packets in his valise. It was kept very low-key. The police pursued Miss Price onto the ship, but never found her. Kilmer put a bravo on her tail to follow her home.”

Annja nodded, loving this story. That it made a lot of sense always put the cherry to the top of any archaeological question she muddled over.

“The company never reclaimed the diamonds. The bravo was discovered dead on a Cork dock a week later. Seems he had syphilis and was in a bad way even before embarking after Miss Price. My research places the Price family land in the dig area, very close to the Bandon River. You didn’t know that?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far. Wesley told me about the diamond, and then he was shot. As I was standing beside him.”

“Neville?”

“Yes. But don’t worry—”

“Right, MI-6 is on the case. Want to make a bet your gunrunner walks free?”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s murdered two people that I know of, and I’m sure they’re not his first. Michael Slater knows what he’s doing. I trust him.”

“Sure. So I guess I walk away empty-handed. No diamonds. Not even a date with the prettiest woman on TV.”

“Kristie isn’t working this segment with me. Sorry.”

“Kristie is far from pretty, Annja. She’s more the cheerleader persuasion, which encompasses a whole different scale of beauty, and trust me, it’s a shallow beauty.”

“Whatever.” Though she didn’t mind the clarification. She wasn’t hung up on looks, and knew Kristie’s ratings surpassed her own segments on the show, but the occasional “you’re not so bad” was appreciated.

“You’re tough and smart,” Garin continued, “but you’re not keen on taking compliments. That bothers me about you.”

“Don’t lose any sleep over little ol’ me.”

“I don’t, actually. But I do wish you’d embrace your beauty more freely. Then again, your lacking vanity is refreshing. So few women are like that, Annja. That aside, you need anything else?”

“No, I think I’m good here. Thanks, Garin. And thanks for the history lesson. It helps to fill in some holes.”

“Talk to you soon.”

No sooner had she hung up when the phone rang a second time. It wasn’t Garin again, which made her a little sad. Talking to him had managed to lift her spirits. Despite the fact he was more of an adversary than friend, Garin’s brand of nemesis often took a more nuisance form. And she did enjoy talking to a man who had walked through five centuries of life.

“Yes, Doug?”

“Annja, how’s it going? Haven’t heard from you for days. I was beginning to wonder if the faeries got you, too?”

His snicker didn’t twang her funny bone like it usually did. Some faeries—kidnapping people and overdosing them on LSD.

“I’m fine, Doug, thanks for asking.”

“And Eric? How’s he enjoying the Irish beer?”

“That’s Guinness, and he’s…sleeping right now.”

“At this hour? I know it’s, like, eight in the evening there, Annja. I did the math.”

“Yeah, well, Eric spent the night in the forest filming. He’s been working very hard. I’m impressed with his work ethic. I hope his teacher appreciates what he’s doing for this report. He’s kicking back for a much-needed rest.”

She needed the lie for the moment. But it wouldn’t be right to conceal from Eric’s father that his son been kidnapped and drugged. There could be complications in his future that would require his father having that knowledge.

Of course, Eric was a big boy; he would have to tell his family that himself. Thinking of his father, there was one piece to this puzzle that still made her wonder. She’d yet to hear back from Bart.

“Doug, what does Eric’s father do for a living?”

“I told you he owns a film company, and I think he does notary stuff on the side. He financed the trip there.”

“Yes, funny you didn’t mention that to me before I left New York.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary. Why? What’s up?”

“I didn’t say anything was up. So how does Eric’s father know Daniel Collins?”

“Not sure. Maybe he sold him some wine?”

“Could be. What do you mean by notary stuff?”

“You know, he officiates important papers and stuff. What do you call it? Notary public, that’s it. Why?”

“Just curious. Eric and I haven’t had much time for personal chat, we’ve been so busy filming.”

“So you got good footage? Actual faeries?”

“What do you think, Doug?”

“Just remember, I am the Photoshop master. Any clues on the missing people?”

“They were found and they’re doing well. The two men are currently hospitalized. Unfortunately the girl died in the hospital. Drug overdose. “

Annja swallowed the lump in her throat to think that if she had been ten minutes earlier, she could have prevented Beth’s death. Beth had probably stumbled onto the enemy dig and had seen something they didn’t want her to see—like trucks hauling weapons. That was it. She’d been volunteering, for Christ’s sake.

It always hurt when innocents were hurt or killed. And it did happen around Annja more than she cared for. Wielding the sword accompanied some fantastic yet fearsome adventures. She killed those who would kill her first. And she protected those who could not protect themselves.

But not all the time.

Did that mean her dream held truth? Perhaps she wasn’t capable of wielding the sword?

No, she wasn’t going to have this inner argument again. She’d come to terms with what must be done if she continued to follow the sword’s command.

“Annja?”

“Give us another day here, will you? Eric and I will bring home a great feature for the show. Promise. Bye, Doug.”

She hung up in the middle of his goodbye, and leaned against the hospital wall, closing her eyes. It was never easy when innocents were harmed or murdered because they “got in the way.”

But she could handle this and all that accompanied wielding the sword. Because if she did not, then who would?

Eric’s father was not going to like hearing that his son had spent a day in the hospital. Could they convince him his son had stumbled onto some magic mushrooms? She hated the lie, and decided she’d leave it to Eric to decide if he was going to be truthful or lie to his father.

A notary public? That was interesting. Especially after all she’d learned from Slater. Someone was forging EUCs and selling them to gunrunners. She figured a person could sell one of those certificates for an impressive amount. The certificates were an absolute necessity to transport arms into a foreign country.

Could Marvin Kritz possibly be involved with this case? It didn’t fit together as neatly as she hoped, but it was certainly worth checking out.

She hoped Slater had the means to arrest Neville and put him away for a long time. The man had ordered Beth’s death. Annja couldn’t know how many others had died because they had gotten in his way over the years.

Both Brian and Eric were going to be all right. The nurse had said Eric needed a day of rest, and he could be discharged tomorrow evening.

That left Annja to film some segments on her own. Because she wasn’t in the mood, nor did she have the inclination, to interfere in MI-6’s business.

Walking out the emergency entrance, Annja scanned the horizon. The harbor opened to the sea a dash to the east, and she walked, following the fresh lure of the salted sea breeze. She’d known this trip was not a vacation, but right now it felt good to steal a few minutes to relax and get her head together.

An iron-railed parking lot overlooked the neat harbor. It was picture perfect, almost as if someone had arranged the boats because they knew
National Geographic
was going to take pictures.

Annja counted eight boats and figured the ratio of seabirds to boats was about a hundred to one. She smiled at the cloud of flapping white that moved as a group from one end of the dock to the other.

It was small as far as harbors went. Mostly local boats and skiffs. But also very little supervision. A gunrunner’s perfect foil to a larger port like at Cork.

A cruiser yacht was moored at the far west end. It must be eighty feet long and its white mainsail hanging slack. Annja recognized the wooden boxes being loaded onto it. There must be dozens of the boxes.

“Neville? No freaking way. I thought Slater was going to…”

She hustled along the railing toward the end of the docks. Where was MI-6? They were not going to let Neville sail away.

“Annja Creed.”

She swung about. A familiar man in sunglasses and wearing a wry smile sat in a black sedan parked within surveillance range of Neville’s operation.

“Slater? What’s going on? Aren’t you going to—”

He put a finger to his lips to silence her. “Thought you’d be on a flight to the States by now.”

Calming her frantic need to punch him or grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, she approached the driver’s side.

“Eric won’t be discharged until tomorrow,” she said. “I thought you’d have Neville in cuffs.”

“And I thought you were going to leave this to the proper authorities?”

“Yes, but I don’t see any proper ones taking action.”

“Annja.” He shook his head and tilted it back against the headrest. The sun flashed on his mirrored shades. “You seem to have forgotten I am a dead man.”