God Of Thunder

She Googled a page that dealt with international phone numbers and searched for the 371 listing. She learned 371 belonged to Latvia, one of the Eastern European Baltic countries that had broken away from Russia in the 1990s.

A quick, cursory search on Latvia revealed a history replete with Vikings, amber, German crusaders and world trade. The Hanseatic League, the first trade union made up of merchantmen instead of nobility, included Latvia. From beginning to end, the Latvian people had been subjected to a long string of invasions. World War I had left permanent scars on the country, then the Russians had crushed continued efforts for the country to become independent.

It was all interesting. Annja had read into the history somewhat, particularly fascinated by the formation of the Hanseatic League in the fourteenth century, which had opened the floodgates on international commerce.

In its own way, the Hanseatic League had been as world changing as the Internet. For the first time, the middle class was free to trade, invest and speculate in goods that would be imported and exported.

Before that, royalty had controlled those shipments, only allowing what they saw fit to be bought or sold. Vikings had taken ships with ease. By banding together, the merchants spread their shipments over more than one vessel and provided adequate protection in the form of mercenaries.

But whom did Mario know in Latvia? That was the question.

Annja pursued it.

M ARIO KEPT a home page.

Annja found it easily enough after a quick search. She stared at Mario’s picture. If it was recent, he hadn’t changed much.

He was a handsome man, lean and fit. His coloration was Mediterranean, and his hair was black and crept down past his neckline. The scar he’d gotten over his left eye while they’d worked at the Hadrian’s Wall dig was still visible.

Annja smiled at that, remembering how they’d been involved in a bar fight in Haltwhistle.

A local had been selling “genuine” Roman artifacts he’d claimed to have found at Hadrian’s Wall. Mario, with maybe a beer or two too many, had taken umbrage with the man and challenged the authenticity of the artifacts.

The man had come up swinging. Mario wasn’t trained in self-defense, though, and had gotten the worst of it. Annja had stepped in and made short work of the guy and two of his friends with her martial-arts skills.

At the time, it had been scary, but even then something had seemed to come alive in Annja. Okay, so even before you got the sword you sometimes walked on the wild side, she reminded herself.

Annja read through information, learning that Mario had left his position in Vatican City fourteen months earlier. She hadn’t even known he’d worked there.

It made her sad to think that such a prestigious thing had happened to someone she considered a friend and she hadn’t even known about it. You’re not much on friends, she chided herself.

She knew it was her own fault. Most people she met tended to slip through her fingers. She let them. Friends were hard to manage because they often wanted more time than she had to give.

In truth, most of the time she didn’t notice the lack of friends because she was busy pursuing new interests that took her out of Brooklyn and away from her home. She loved being able to come and go as she pleased, and liked that she didn’t have many regrets about being gone for weeks and months at a time.

The page didn’t say why Mario had left Vatican City, but Annja suspected it was because he hadn’t been given free rein to choose his own subjects to research. Mario had always been extremely independent.

He was currently employed as a curator at a small museum in Riga, Latvia. Annja couldn’t read the Latvian language. According to Mario’s Web site, the language was also called Lettish. The name of the museum roughly translated into Peering Through Time and was funded by an independent financial source.

None of that explained what Mario was doing in New York, what he’d sent to her or why someone would be chasing after it.

Nor was there any mention of Erene Skujans.

Annja felt frustrated. Deciding to let that line of inquiry rest for a moment, she turned her attention to the two names she’d gotten from the desk clerk at the Sentry Continental Hotel.

She had more luck finding out who Dieter Humbrecht and Klaus Kaufmann were. But that led to even more questions and confusion.

Her research had turned up three articles with Humbrecht’s name in them, and two of them mentioned Kaufmann. The first was a news article out of South Africa a few years earlier that listed the men as mercenaries. The second was on the Web site of a man whose personal museum collection had been stolen. The third mention was of an arrest of Humbrecht for attempting to break into an archive in Vatican City. He’d received jail time for his efforts.

Annja looked at the notes she’d taken. The break-in attempt had occurred while Mario was employed at Vatican City. Shortly after that, Mario had left.

The timing bothered Annja and made her suspicious. She’d always liked Mario and would never have thought badly of him. But Mario always did like going after the story, she reminded herself. His curiosity drove him. That, and the desire to become famous for a find that would be recognized throughout the world.

Would a find that promised something that big be enough temptation to make Mario cross the line? Annja didn’t know.

At that moment, Nikolai entered the café. The problem was, he hadn’t come alone.

8

Dieter Humbrecht and one of the other men flanked Nikolai. Looking despondent and afraid, Nikolai glanced around the cybercafe, then locked eyes with Annja.

The two men spotted her, too. Humbrecht shoved Nikolai forward, causing him to stumble. A few of the gamers noticed the action and swapped anxious looks. One of them reached for a cell phone.

Okay, Annja told herself, this is going to have to happen fast because the police are going to be involved soon.

She pushed her things into the backpack and zipped it closed. Then she stood and walked toward the men.

Up close, Annja had to admit that Dieter was a handsome man. Unfortunately, according to the newspaper reports out of South Africa, he was also a killer. He’d been acting to save an employer’s life at the time, though.

“Ah, Ms. Creed,” Humbrecht greeted with an English accent. “We meet at last.”

“I have to admit that this wasn’t something I was looking forward to, Dieter.” Annja enjoyed the momentary glint of caution that showed on the man’s handsome face.

“You know who I am,” he said.

“It wasn’t hard,” Annja replied, hoping it would shake some of the man’s arrogant confidence.

“I suppose Fellini told you.”

Annja didn’t say anything. At this point, the best thing she could do was keep them guessing.

“Actually, that doesn’t matter,” Dieter said. “Our business here is about finished.”

“It is,” Annja promised him. She reached for the sword, feeling it grow more solid against her palm.

“I’m sorry, Annja,” Nikolai said. “They followed me from the police station. I didn’t know.”

That explains where the other two went, Annja thought. You should have thought of that.

But she was an archaeologist, not a master sleuth. However, she was also quite capable of taking care of herself.

“It’s okay, Nikolai,” Annja said.

Nikolai’s hands trembled and his pinched expression showed that he might be sick. “They want the package, but they wanted you, too.”

Annja looked at Dieter. “Why?”

“Because there are things my employer would like to know.”

“What things?”

Dieter shrugged. “This matter is a bit of a puzzle, Ms. Creed. My employer feels that your expertise could be useful.”

“Hasn’t Mario told you what you need to know?”

Grinning, Dieter said, “Mario was reluctant to tell us much of anything.”

No honor among thieves? Annja wondered.

Dieter slid a pistol from a shoulder holster, showing her just enough to let her know he had it. “We need to be going. My men are picking up the package Mario sent you.”

Annja looked at Nikolai. “You told them where the package was?”

“Sort of.” Nikolai shrugged helplessly.

Dieter looked at Nikolai and grabbed him by his coat collar. “If you’ve lied to me—”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Annja pulled the sword to her, holding it beside her leg. It was three feet of razor-sharp, double-bladed steel. Whatever beauty the sword had was savage, but there was no denying its presence. The blade gleamed as it splintered the light.

She spoke to Nikolai in Klingon and ordered him to get down. Since the artificial language was severely limited, as was her knowledge of it, she’d ordered him to “put shields up.”

Nikolai dived to the ground at once.

Dieter pulled the pistol from inside his coat and brought it around toward Annja. Sidestepping, dropping her right foot behind her left, Annja swung the sword in a blinding arc. The sword connected with the pistol and sent the weapon flying from Dieter’s hand.

Shock spread across the man’s face, then he kicked at Annja’s head before she could bring the sword back. Dropping back a step, Annja let her opponent’s kick sail past her head. Spinning, she launched a back-fist at Dieter’s head.

He dropped and slid backward. Holding his hands out and twisting them, he freed two ASP batons and caught them. He triggered them and they elongated with metallic snaps.

“Well,” Dieter said, smiling, “I don’t know how you managed that trick. Maybe I’ll beat it out of you later.” Armed with nearly two feet of gleaming reinforced steel, he stepped to the attack.

He swung the batons rapidly, aiming for her head, then her knees, then her head again in a convoluted figure-eight pattern. Annja was certain if any of the blows had landed they would have crushed bone.

The computer users abandoned their posts, heading for the back of the café. The attention of most of them was riveted on the fight.

They’ve been playing way too many video games, Annja thought as she parried Dieter’s attacks and gave more ground. The mercenary was incredible with the batons. She’d definitely figured him to favor guns.

“Irwin,” Dieter growled, blocking Annja’s attack with crossed batons. He held the sword only inches from the crown of his head. His arms shook with the strain. “Shoot her.”

Okay, he does favor guns, Annja told herself grimly.

Irwin leveled his pistol and fired.

Twisting and throwing herself back, Annja barely avoided the bullet. It cut through her coat over her midsection. She dropped and rolled toward Irwin, coming up on her left hand as she drove both of her feet up.

Her left foot knocked the pistol from Irwin’s hand, and her right foot caught him under the chin, lifting him from his feet and sending him sailing backward. He crashed into a computer terminal and sank down.

By that time, Dieter was nearly on top of her. A baton streaked for her head. She blocked it with the sword, then she rolled to the side and got to her feet. Irwin was out cold, slumped on top of the wrecked computer terminal.

Dieter didn’t offer any more taunts. His face was cold and deadly. She could see he intended to kill her as fast as he could.

Annja parried and blocked, then thrust the sword at Dieter’s face. As expected, Dieter dodged back, pushing the sword away with his left-hand baton. Reaching forward, Annja plucked the other baton from Dieter’s right hand.

“You’re good,” Annja told him as she backed away with her captured prize. “Just not good enough.”

Dieter launched himself at her, swinging his remaining baton. Annja countered with the sword, then swung the baton into Dieter’s forehead. The man collapsed.

Annja glanced around. Everyone had run out of the café. She willed the sword to disappear, then reached down for Nikolai.

“That was incredible!” Nikolai crowed. He was shaking so much he could barely stand. “I didn’t know you were Xena quality.”

“I’m not Xena,” Annja assured him. “Are you all right?” she asked Nikolai.

“You have a sword!” Nikolai said. “I didn’t know you had a sword!” Then he looked at her and frowned. “What did you do with it?”

“There was no sword.”

“I saw a sword.”

“Do you see a sword now?”

“No.” Nikolai looked confused. “Where did it go?”

“Nikolai.”

He looked at her.

“Focus,” Annja said. “They came after the package. I need the package. Where is the package?”

Nikolai blinked at her. For a minute she didn’t think her words had penetrated. Then he said, “The package.”

“That’s right. What did you do with it?”

Shrugging, Nikolai said, “I work in a shipping business. I shipped it.”

Annja shook her head. She hadn’t been thinking. No wonder Nikolai had gotten the package out from under the men’s noses so easily. The easiest answers were always the best ones.

“Where?” she asked.

“To a mail place over on Flatbush Avenue. I take classes at the college and it’s near my mom’s house.”

“I’m going to go get it,” Annja said. “You need to get somewhere safe.”

“You can’t get it,” Nikolai said.

“Why?”

“The guy who works there? Tom? He’s only going to give it to me.”

“You do realize that they could shoot Tom if he doesn’t give it to them, don’t you? He might change his mind about protecting your package. Unless you’re really good friends.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.