Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit (17 page)

“It is a bargain at twice the price.” Fedotov picked up the set and laid it on the counter.

“Add it to the amount you are giving me. I was most generous when I agreed to sell the elephant to you.”

Fedotov looked like he was going to argue, and the foreboding of that action swelled within Annja. Then Fedotov shrugged. “All right. But only because you are on the run.”

Five minutes passed and another man joined Onoprienko and the original two men in the shop. Like the others, this man was armed. He also carried a messenger bag, which he stripped off and handed to Onoprienko.

Annja felt her pulse beat at her temples. She wanted to be in that room.

Onoprienko opened the messenger bag and took out the contents. The plastic baggie looked like all it contained was shredded paper, but after Onoprienko rummaged around in it for a few seconds, he displayed the elephant in the palm of his hand.

Chapter 26

“Do you know what this is?” Fedotov stared at the elephant sitting on the counter between Onoprienko and him.

“Is something many people want. You will get good price for it, and count the day you did business with me as the day fortune shined upon you.” Onoprienko rubbed the back of his neck impatiently. “Give me my money so that I may take my leave.”

Annja stared at the scene revealed on the CCTV screen.

In the office, Klykov unlimbered the pistol he’d purchased. “There will be trouble. Fedotov will not allow Onoprienko to have the money for the elephant now that he knows he will not be able to sell what he is buying.”

Annja nodded her understanding of the situation and the tension inside her wound tighter.

“I truly wish you had taken a gun,” Klykov said. “I did not expect Onoprienko to show up here with hangers-on.”

Annja ignored that. She didn’t want to get into the habit of reaching for a gun. But it was getting awfully easy to reach for the sword. “What do you want to do?”

“Wait till Fedotov makes his move.”

“His man is outnumbered by the hired muscle Onoprienko brought.”

“Emil is a dangerous man and will not desert Fedotov in his hour of need. Onoprienko’s guards may be dangerous men, but Emil is trained. He is quick to kill when the need arises. He will surprise you. There are several people he surprised the last time.”

Nodding her acceptance, Annja sat impatiently on the corner of the desk and felt the sword almost within her grip.

“I hope you are right about people wanting this,” Fedotov said, “otherwise I have made a very bad bargain.” He closed a hand over the elephant. “But I must regret that I can no longer pay you what we agreed on.”

“You cannot renege on the deal we made!” Onoprienko’s face flushed red in anger.

“We made the deal before you decided to become a murderer. I did not know you were going to kill a man for this elephant you wish to sell me.”

“Deals have been made. You will give me money.” Onoprienko reached under his jacket.

Fedotov pulled a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun from under the counter and aimed it at Onoprienko. “I promise you, such a mistake will be the last you ever make should you choose to make it.” The big Russian sounded unfazed.

Onoprienko gave up taking the pistol from his coat pocket and raised his hands. He cursed bitterly.

One of the men behind him pulled his weapon anyway. Fedotov shifted the shotgun slightly and fired at the man, filling the shop with deafening thunder. The man staggered back under the impact and fired twice into the shelves over Fedotov’s head.

Annja threw herself into motion then, but she was already a stride behind Klykov. The old guy moved fast when he put his mind to it. She closed her hand on the sword and pulled it into the shop with her. As she stepped outside the office, Emil had his pistol up and firing at the two other bodyguards. He was fast and his bullets shattered the heads of the two men a split-second apart.

Dead or dying, the two men slumped to the floor.

Onoprienko went for his pistol again, but a barked command from Fedotov and spotting Klykov coming with his weapon at the ready held the man in place. Emil relieved Onoprienko of his weapon.

Annja released the sword and no one seemed to be the wiser.

Fedotov handed Annja the elephant, then he took a plastic band from under the counter and walked around behind Onoprienko. After pulling the man’s hands together, Fedotov secured the band around Onoprienko’s wrists and pulled it tight.

Sirens sounded outside, and a few of the shopkeepers from nearby businesses peered around the corner of the front door.

“Viktor,” Klykov said. “Annja and I must go. We apologize, but getting caught up in a police matter will only delay us and things could become very complicated.”

Fedotov pushed Onoprienko toward Klykov. “Is okay. Is how we agreed,
da
?”

“Will there be any trouble for you?” Klykov took Onoprienko by the arm and pulled him toward the exit.

“It will be nothing I have not handled before. The right money in the right pockets, this will be no problem.” Fedotov smiled at Annja. “It has been most good to meet you, Annja Creed.”

“Likewise,” Annja replied. “I’ll have to visit again, when things aren’t so hectic.”

Fedotov smiled broadly. “Let me know. I will set up signing. You have many fans here.”

Annja started out the door and spotted the group of men walking deliberately toward her. They were dark and swarthy, not Russian looking at all. She turned back to Klykov and Fedotov. “We have a problem.”

* * *

S
EQUEIRA
ACCOMPANIED
the mercenaries he’d hired for the recovery. He carried pistols in both of his jacket pockets. The screaming police sirens rattled in his ears, but he felt certain that he could be in and out of the Mad Russian’s Emporium in minutes.

In the doorway, Annja Creed retreated inside. She had seen them. Sequeira didn’t believe that mattered. There was nowhere for her to run. His mercenaries surrounded the cargo container in the back as well, and there didn’t appear to be another door.

His team advanced on the container with their weapons pointing at the ground, then they raised them as they entered the shop.

“No one’s here, sir,” the lead mercenary said.

“What do you mean?” Sequeira advanced up to the man and peered over his shoulder.

The inside of the shop was empty of people. Three dead men lay on the bloody floor.

Sequeira pushed the transmit button on the comm headset he wore. “Does anyone have eyes on Annja Creed?”

A chorus of nos answered.

Sequeira stared hard at the mercenary leader. “Get in there and find her. She can’t have gone anywhere.”

Before he could move, bullets hammered the top of the second floor of the shop. Following the mercenary’s line of vision, Sequeira spotted Annja Creed sprinting across the top of the cargo container. The rapid bursts of autofire nipped at her heels, chopping into the metal edge of the shop and ripping triangular flags from the lines.

Sequeira pointed a pistol in the mercenary’s face. “Shoot again and I will put a bullet through your head.”

Reluctantly, the man stood down. “She’s getting away.”

Sequeira didn’t move his pistol. “I don’t want that artifact harmed. It may not be any good to me damaged.”

The man nodded and looked away.

Turning to the rest of the men, Sequeira pointed to the shop’s rooftop. Bent over, taking shelter along the rooftop from the angle of fire, Annja Creed was still running deeper into the market.

“Get up there,” Sequeira ordered. “Get her.”

In less than a minute, five men pursued the fleeing archaeologist across the container rooftops. She reached the end of one container and jumped ten feet to land on the next.

Sequeira turned and trotted back to his car, intending to pursue her from the ground. He could see her plainly. As long as he could see her, he could follow her. He opened the door and slid in beside the driver while some of the mercenaries piled into the rear seat.

“Go!” Sequeira commanded. “What are you waiting for?”

The driver put his foot down hard on the accelerator and the big sedan lurched into motion. Several shoppers and merchants had cautiously entered the street to see what was going on.

Sequeira rolled down his window and fired a half-dozen shots into the air. Everyone scattered.

Gazing through the window, Sequeira watched as Annja Creed ran, then remembered that she was alone. He glanced back at the car following him and keyed his comm, only realizing then that she might not have taken the elephant. “She is alone. Find out what happened to Onoprienko and the man who was with her. They didn’t just disappear.”

Sequeira was torn over what to do. It was possible that Annja Creed had left the elephant with someone and merely ran to be a decoy. Then he dissuaded himself of that idea. She was like him. She liked the hunt.

She would have the elephant.

He shouted at the driver. “Faster! Go
faster
!”

* * *

“I
FEAR
FOR
A
NNJA
,” Fedotov said as he shifted slightly. He stood with one foot resting in the middle of Onoprienko’s back while they all hid in the secret room at the back of his shop. “No one can outrun a bullet, and those men are not hesitating about shooting.”

Klykov nodded glumly. Over the past couple of days, he had come to like Annja Creed very much. She was courageous and brave, and now he was afraid that she would be dead in the next few minutes.

Of course, that might happen to them all. Klykov tightened his grip on his pistol and waited.

“To be honest,” Fedotov said, “I fear for us, as well. Soon those men will realize Annja left this building on her own and they will wonder what has become of us.”

Klykov stood in the darkness of the small hideaway Fedotov had created for contraband he did not keep on the public shelves. The space was barely large enough for the two girls, Onoprienko lying on the floor, Emil, Fedotov, and Klykov. Emil had armed himself with a machine pistol and Fedotov had reloaded the shotgun.

Footsteps sounded outside the fake wall. The hiding space was cleverly hidden, so it would take time to find. Klykov, however, did not wish to wait to be found. He leaned into the fisheye peephole Fedotov had equipped the secret room with to watch anyone who might be outside.

Three men searched Fedotov’s office, quickly spotting the spiral staircase that led to the second floor. One of them started up the staircase, which was within arm’s reach of the door of the secret room.

Klykov watched, telling himself to remain calm. He took regular breaths.

Onoprienko, from his position on the floor, raised his foot and started kicking the wall.

Knowing they were dead if he did not move fast enough, Klykov pushed open the door and came out firing on the fly. He targeted the man standing in the office, stitching a three-round burst from the man’s chest to his head. Perhaps the man’s body armor stopped the first round, but the next two ripped into his throat and face. The man went down.

Swiveling, not even bothering to try to take cover, Klykov raised the pistol and fired at the two men who were almost close enough to reach out and touch. Both of them fired their weapons in an effort to kill Klykov, but none of them hit their target. Some of the bullets got deflected by the spiral stairs, and others cleared Klykov’s head. One of them hit him in the left shoulder, causing the arm to go numb.

One of the men was wounded but not out of commission. Klykov struggled to lift his pistol again but knew he was not going to be able to manage that in time.

Fedotov strode through the doorway on Klykov’s heels and finished the man off with a shotgun blast. Even as the man fell, Fedotov broke open the shotgun’s action, popped the spent shells out and pushed in fresh ones.

Glancing back at Fedotov and the others, Klykov waved them forward. “Come. The way is safe for the moment.”

Fedotov reached back into the hidden room and yanked Onoprienko out. Onoprienko stumbled and then bounced off the wall when Fedotov slammed the shotgun into his face. Onoprienko staggered and nearly fell, blood leaking from a ragged split over his right eye.

“No, no, no,” Fedotov growled. “You will walk out of this place. Annja Creed wished for you to live to face a trial in her country, so you will live. But if you do not walk, I will break your legs and drag you out of this place. Understand?”

Dazed but comprehending, Onoprienko nodded.

Taking the lead, Klykov guided them out of the building and looked out the front door. Many people were interested in what was going on in the shop, but none of them were brave enough to come ask or even to venture close.

“Let’s go.” Klykov was first to the rental vehicle he’d claimed at the airport. No more armed men showed interest in them.

Klykov managed to get the keys from his pocket with his wounded arm and unlock the SUV’s rear hatch. Fedotov opened the hatch, hoisted Onoprienko inside and took a moment longer to strap a plastic band around the man’s ankles to secure him.

“Is nice car,” Fedotov said as he came around to the front with Klykov. “Too bad now will have blood in it.”

“Is okay,” Klykov said as he opened the driver’s side door. “Is rented and I bought the insurance.”

“Can you manage Onoprienko by yourself, my friend? I could send Emil.”

“I am good. Thank you. You will have to answer for shooting those men in your shop. It will be better if Emil is there to offer testimony. Which reminds me.” Klykov handed over the pistol he’d been using. “You will need to wipe this down and put your fingerprints on it so you can explain how you shot those men in your office.”

Fedotov nodded and took the pistol. “You will need another weapon to replace this one.” He reached under his jacket and took out a Russian Tokarev. “Not so fine a gun as the one you give me, but lethal nonetheless. Until you arrange to have another.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I will owe you.”

“And I will collect. We will drink vodka.” Fedotov slapped a big hand against the SUV. “Now go. You must see if Annja Creed yet lives, and give her assistance if she needs it. She must come back and sign more DVDs.”

Klykov nodded and pulled away, glancing along the rooftops. Annja’s plan had been sketchy at best, but if she managed to escape her pursuers, she was going to double back around to the market’s entrance. Klykov hoped that the young woman yet lived.