The Dragon's Mark. Alex Archer
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carry out the task we discussed or not?”
There was a soft, mocking laugh. “Of course I can. Am I not the Dragon, myth incarnate and legend made flesh?”
“Don’t be overconfident. She’s survived far too often when the odds were arrayed against her. You’d do well to remember that.”
Again the laugh. “Let me worry about the odds. You just be sure the money is in the account as agreed. You have the hotel information?”
“Yes. She’s staying at the Four Seasons.”
“Oh, fancy. Nothing but the best, I see.”
The other ignored the jibe. “Remember, she must give up the sword voluntarily. Anything else will defeat our purposes.”
“I know the details. You remember the money and we won’t have any issues.”
The call ended as quickly and as anonymously as it had begun.
Just the way both parties preferred it.
6
Because Henshaw was still involved in the cleanup at the estate, Roux had one of his other men drive Annja back to her hotel in the city. She was fine with that; if she had seen Henshaw again that night she would have had to tell him just what she thought of his participation in eradicating a crime scene and that wouldn’t have gone over well with either of them.
Once back at the hotel, she checked her messages at the front desk and then rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Not satisfied with anything as simple as a basic hotel room, Garin had booked her into a three-room suite, complete with a spa bath, a comfortable sitting room and a separate bedroom.
As soon as she was safely ensconced inside, Annja fired up her laptop and hooked her digital camera to it, downloading the pictures she’d taken of the origami dragon. Once she was finished she chose four of the best images and then attached them to an e-mail to her friend, Bart McGille.
A Brooklyn detective who was also a dear friend, Bart had helped her in the past when she needed information, and he was as good a source as any to start with.
Dear Bart,
Attached are several photos of an origami figure that was left behind by a thief who broke into a friend’s apartment in Paris. Due to the owner’s reluctance to involve the police, I can’t have the authorities here examine the figure but it has certainly sparked my curiosity. Can you do an Interpol search for me and let me know if anything similar has turned up at other crime scenes?
Thanks,
Annja
Her explanation seemed plausible enough to her and she was hopeful Bart would take it at face value and do some digging on her behalf. If he came up with anything, she’d use that to get to the bottom of the attack on Roux’s estate. She knew there was more going on there than met the eye, but with Garin and Roux on the outs with each other it was going to take a crowbar to get either of them to talk more about it.
Finished, she suddenly realized how tired and sore she was. Her body ached from a combination of the effort of hand-to-hand combat and the physical hammering she’d taken from the concussion grenade. Never mind the long flight from New York. A hot bath and a decent night’s sleep would do her some good, she decided.
The hotel had kindly supplied a selection of bath crystals and she selected one jar at random and threw a handful in while the water was running. Soon the sweet scent of jasmine filled the room.
Annja sighed as she slid naked into the hot water and for the next twenty minutes did nothing but bask in its heated embrace.
Once she had managed to soak some of the soreness from her bones, she got out, dried off and wrapped herself in one of the big, fluffy bathrobes the hotel provided. Not wanting to go to sleep with wet hair, she took the time to comb it out and blow it dry. When she finished, she slipped into a pair of comfortable cotton pajamas and climbed into bed.
Sleep came quickly.
THE LATCH ON THE French doors that led to the balcony in the sitting room snapped open with a soft click about an hour later. The door opened silently from the outside. A shadow detached itself from the others that hugged the exterior wall and slid inside the room without making any more noise than the door had.
The intruder stood to one side once inside the room, waiting for eyes to adapt to the level of light and listening for any sound or sense of movement.
There was none.
The guest slept on in the bedroom next door.
The intruder crossed the sitting room with a few quick, sure steps, almost as if passing from shadow to shadow. At the bedroom door the intruder paused, listening again.
The door to the bedroom swung open and a shadow slipped inside the room as swiftly and quietly as it had entered the suite itself.
On the bed, the sleeping form of Annja Creed could be seen in the dim light coming in through the window’s half-drawn curtains.
The intruder carefully walked around the bed until Annja’s face was in sight and stared down at it for several long moments.
Why you?
What makes you so special?
Annja did not reply.
As the intruder looked on, Annja mumbled something in her sleep and flailed about with one arm.
The Dragon watched for a long time, a wraith standing in the darkness beside the bed, eyes alert and ready.
It would be so easy to end it here, the Dragon thought silently. A sudden thrust and it would all be over but the dying. The Dragon could then search the suite in a leisurely manner; no doubt the sword was here somewhere.
But the sensei’s instructions had been clear. The sword must be given voluntarily or it was useless to him. Disappointing the sensei was not something the Dragon wanted to do, ever.
It would seem that the easy solution was off the table for now. The Dragon would have to wait to claim its next victim.
The intruder bent close.
“Until next time, Annja Creed.”
A SWORD CAME WHISTLING in toward her unprotected throat and Annja knew that this was it. She was about to die…
She awoke, bolting upright in bed, her heart hammering like a thousand kettledrums all at once, a thunderous booming sound. Her eyes were already searching the interior of the room for her opponent, her hand tight on the hilt of her sword as she called it into existence from the otherwhere.
But there was no one there.
The room was empty.
Realization came roaring in.
A dream, just a dream, she told herself.
She pushed back the sheets and got out of bed. With the tip of her sword she checked to see if anyone was hidden behind the curtains, then turned to look out the window, expecting at any moment for a face to press itself up against the glass, horror-movie style, and announce that it was coming for her. But the glass remained empty, the space around her silent.
Satisfied that no one was in the room with her, Annja turned, intending to investigate the rest of the hotel suite, only to come up short when she saw the door leading from the bedroom to the living area was open.
Her mind whirled as she tried to remember—had she left it open or closed it behind her?
She was certain that she had closed it before going to bed.
Or, at least, ninety-five percent certain that she had.
She moved toward it with panther-light steps and carefully eased past, taking in the sitting room just beyond.
It, too, was empty.
The hotel room door was securely shut and locked, as were the French