Magic Lantern (Rogue Angel) (17 page)

Annja wiped a wet layer of fog from her face.

Fiona glanced at her. “You’re not as hard as I am.”

“I’ve done what I had to to survive.”

“And you still have to make your peace with that, don’t you?”

Annja didn’t say anything. Every time she’d taken a life, it had been to save one.

But she had taken lives. And they did weigh on her.

“You’re different from the young women Roux has taken up with before.”

Startled, Annja looked at the older woman.

“He’s told you about his past?”

“Never intentionally.”

“But he’s told you about the things he’s seen? The people he’s met?”

“Not while he was sober. He would never do that sober.”

Annja turned that over in her mind. “Do you realize everything he’s seen? All the history?”

“You mean all the violence and bloodshed?” Fiona’s voice had turned harsh. “That’s what much of history boils down to. Greed, murder, torture, rape. It isn’t all pomp and pageantry.”

“I know.”

“Good, because for a moment there you looked like a dewy-eyed romantic.”

Annja didn’t say anything.

“Not that I have anything against dewy-eyed romantics. As long as they realize there’s another side to history.”

“What we’re living in now is going to be history one day. I don’t think things are any easier now than they were.”

Fiona blew out a breath and her voice softened. “You’re right, of course. I’d like to think that we’ve come further than those bleak times.”

“Fiona, we’re walking into a warehouse to rescue a man that might already be dead. And we’re probably going to have to kill men to get that done. I don’t think much has changed.”

“Right you are.” Fiona nodded. “As I was saying, though, you’re a different kind of young woman than Roux usually keeps time with.”

“More of a dewy-eyed romantic?”

Fiona chuckled. “To be quite candid, yes.”

“Maybe I am.” Annja thought back to all the violence that had been in her life since she’d claimed the sword. Or since the sword had claimed her. She was never quite certain how that worked.

When she thought about it, she was surprised at how easily she’d adapted to the violence. And sometimes she was ashamed of herself and the way she craved action. But it was who she was now. Maybe it was who she’d been all along.

“When we get inside the warehouse, you won’t have to worry about me or what I’ll do.”

Fiona patted her on the shoulder. “You will do what is necessary. I can see that in you. I just wish you wouldn’t have the regrets.”

“That’s part of what keeps me who I am… . And, just so we’re clear, I’m not keeping
time
with Roux.”

* * *

WHEN THEY REACHED THE TARGET warehouse, Annja realized almost at once that her uneasiness came from the men she saw in front of her. They weren’t office workers or dockworkers. They weren’t even the homeless, beggars or blue-collar workers barely getting by.

The young Asians stood out against the warehouse background because they were clearly gang members. Tattooed Triad thugs with their low-slung street bikes. They wore black wraparound sunglasses that hid their eyes and long dusters that concealed whatever weapons they carried.

Annja put a hand out to Fiona, but the woman had already stopped.

“It appears we’re not the only ones to discover M. Laframboise’s hiding spot.” She smiled mirthlessly. She looked at Annja. “There’s no question about this turning bloody now, I’m afraid. What do you wish to do?”

Taking a deep breath, Annja shook her head. “We don’t leave Edmund in their hands.”

“Agreed. Follow me.”

Fiona led the way through a small alley that went by the warehouse where Edmund was probably being held. At the corner of the building, a yellow-and-black-striped fence circled a manhole cover. She knelt down and a wicked pry bar appeared in her hand. She inserted the pry bar into the keyhole in the manhole cover and pulled the lid up a few inches.

“Give us a shove.”

Annja knelt, as well, and grabbed the manhole cover. It had to weigh seventy or eighty pounds. She shifted it to the side to reveal the opening. Foul odors drifted up from below.

“At least it will get us into the warehouse.” Fiona pulled out a Mini Maglite and flicked it on. “When the East India Docks filled with cargo ships and extra warehouses were needed, tunnels were built under the buildings to allow small cargoes to be shifted in and out. Also, coal was brought in underground, as well. These tunnels are filthy things at best.”

Annja grabbed the edge of the manhole and swung down into the darkness. She breathed shallowly, hoping the sewer gas wasn’t powerful enough to cause respiratory problems.

At the bottom of the ladder, Annja stood in a couple inches of drain water that ran through the irregular bottom of the tunnel. She pulled the poncho off. A rat sloshed through the water only a few feet away and scurried into the darkness. She took out her borrowed flashlight and scoured the tunnel bottom for a rock.

“What are you looking for?” Fiona stepped down beside her and removed her poncho, as well.

“A rock. I want to mark this ladder. If we’re in a hurry coming out of that warehouse, I want to be able to find the way out immediately.”

“Good thinking.” Fiona pulled a small cylinder out of one of the pockets on her Kevlar vest. She sprayed a quick yellow X on the wall beside the ladder. “Phosphorescent. We’ll be able to find it in the dark. Now let’s move along, shall we?”

16

The tunnel ran straight for forty yards, then arrived at a four-way intersection. Annja went to the right, following the new passage toward the warehouse. Although she listened intently, all she heard was the trickle of water, the rapid smacking of rats frantically avoiding them and the echo of their own movements.

The flashlight beam picked up the occasional pair of red eyes over whiskered snouts as well as other flotsam and jetsam. She ignored all that and concentrated on Edmund, hoping fervently that he was still alive. And that they could bring him out that way.

Twenty yards later, she found another ladder mounted on the wall. She switched off the flashlight and put it away, secured the shotgun behind her and glanced at Fiona.

The older woman held her MP5-SD3 in both hands while managing her own flashlight and gave her a quick nod. “Keep your head down.”

Annja climbed the ladder rungs. Her wet boots slid on the metal, but she forced her way up. She bumped her head on the manhole that covered the opening.

Locking a leg and an arm in the ladder, she reached up with her other hand and pressed her palm against the manhole cover. One-handed, she lifted the heavy disc out of place and shifted it to the side. The manhole cover made only a slight grating sound as she let go.

Above her, the crescent-moon-shaped opening let in weak yellow electrical light. Men’s voices sounded far away, not on top of her.

Cautiously, she reached up with both hands and gripped the manhole cover. Lifting it by the edge to move it quietly was difficult. She’d always been strong, but since the sword had come into her possession, she was stronger and faster, as if some new part of her had blossomed.

She set the cover aside, then gripped the sides of the tunnel mouth and pulled herself up. When she peered over the edge, she discovered she was in a small office bereft of furniture. The walls went only halfway up. The rest was window and venetian blinds in disarray.

She hauled herself up but remained in a crouch, then brought the shotgun around. Just as she turned around to help Fiona, the woman pulled herself up.

Fiona crossed the room in a crouch and took up a position on the other side of the open doorway. Together, they peered out into the warehouse.

In the center of the open space riddled with remnants of walls, Edmund Beswick sat tied in a chair. Jean-Baptiste Laframboise stood before him with a big pistol in one hand. Annja recognized the man from the crime photos.

Two other men stood in the room slightly behind Edward, both armed with assault rifles.

“Just three of them, then,” Fiona whispered. “Shouldn’t be too hard. When you’re ready.”

“All right.” Annja flipped the safety off the shotgun, held it in both hands before her and stayed low as she went through the door.

The gloom that filled the warehouse helped keep her in shadows. Laframboise had lights in the area where he held Edmund and plywood sheets covered the windows. She took advantage of the partial walls to hide her approach.

Twenty feet away, at the edge of the pool of light where Edmund was, Annja stopped behind the low remnant of a wall. Fiona crept to a support pillar and readied her submachine gun. She looked at Annja, waiting.

Annja stared at the men around Edmund. From all accounts, Laframboise was a murderer and a thief. He’d left the bodies of victims and betrayed partners scattered in his wake. She had no doubt that the Frenchman fully intended to kill Edmund once he had everything from the professor that he thought he could get.

But she couldn’t just kill someone in cold blood. The heat of battle was another thing. That felt right. But this…

Annja steadied herself and prepared to step out to confront the men, hoping she could dissuade them from taking action. Fiona stared at her as if she’d gone mad, then whirled around the pillar quickly and lifted the MP5 to her shoulder.

At the other end of the warehouse, the door suddenly exploded open, propelled by a van. Sheet metal screeched as it tore and the vehicle’s motor howled inside the building. Men carrying weapons flung themselves from the van. Annja recognized the gang tattoos at once.

Gunfire erupted, but instead of coming from Laframboise’s group or the Asian gang, it came from Fiona. With two quick bursts, she put down the armed guards around Edmund. Laframboise was on the other side of the professor, in the line of fire.

The Frenchman fired at the men ahead of him and squalled for reinforcements. He dove into hiding as bullets sliced through the air where he’d been standing.

Annja ran toward Edmund, slung the shotgun over her shoulder and dug out her Tinker knife. Kneeling beside him, she sliced the tape binding his hands and feet.

“Annja.” Edmund looked nonplussed.

“Run.” She shoved him forward, then had to catch him as his legs gave way beneath him. He’d been tied too long and didn’t have control over his body. She hauled his arm across her shoulders and supported him as they ran toward the back of the warehouse.

Fiona hosed the van with the submachine gun. Bullets tore through the body and smashed holes in the windshield. Annja glimpsed at least two of the Asian gang members sprawled on the floor.

By that time Laframboise knew he was under attack on two separate fronts. He aimed his big pistol at Fiona and fired twice, but both rounds went wide of the target.

When her weapon cycled dry, Fiona ducked back behind the pillar, dropped the magazine and inserted another one. She wheeled back around and started firing again, meeting a wave of Asian gang members who had chosen that moment to try to gain ground. Her bullets slapped one of them back.

Other gang members closed on Laframboise’s position. The Frenchman fought desperately, trading shots. Then he gained a brief respite when a group of his men poured into the building. The new arrivals took up positions and attacked the gang members, but they also fired back out the door they’d come in, obviously under attack from outside.

With Edmund’s arm pulled across her shoulders, Annja kept running. He pounded along beside her and his rhythm came to him before they reached the back office area. She got him settled behind the wall.

“Does Laframboise have the lantern?”

He stared at her. “Yes.”

Annja peered around the doorway as Fiona skidded into the office in a crouch. “Where?”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going back there.”

Annja was, though she didn’t see how she could do it. But the first priority was to get everyone to safety.

“No.” Even as she said it, Laframboise broke from cover and ran back toward the desk. He yelled orders into a phone as he sprinted and fired blindly at the gang members. He hunkered down beside the desk.

“We’ve got to go.” Fiona radiated calm on the other side of the doorway from Annja.

“I know.”

Beside the door Laframboise’s men had come through, the wall suddenly exploded as a heavy sedan smashed through it. The vehicle immediately drew fire from the gang members, but it was apparent that the sedan was armored and had bulletproof glass. Bullets ricocheted off the body and left only tiny spiderwebbed cracks behind instead of punching holes through the windshield.