Labyrinth

Each step, each test, each twist and turn leads closer to death

A book dealer lies imprisoned in a Boston mansion, an IV tube dripping a lethal narcotic cocktail into his veins. In thirty-six hours, he’ll be dead. His final request is to receive a visit from one woman....

It wasn’t the most hospitable invitation she’d ever received. Archaeologist Annja Creed is being rushed to Massachussetts, abducted by a famous environmental terrorist—a zealot willing to kill anyone who gets in his or the planet’s way. He has taken the book dealer hostage in order to steal a rare and very valuable treatise called the Tome of Prossos. Annja is the key to retrieving the ancient manuscript hidden somewhere deep within the mansion. But the book is well-protected. In order to find it, she must survive the rigors of an elaborate maze. She has only twelve hours to decipher the labyrinth’s sinister secret…a secret that could ensure she never emerges.

“There’s no exit.”

In answer, Kessel’s eyes blazed. He was perfectly able to communicate his understanding, even without the benefit of having a tongue.

Annja studied the only thing in the room: a table with a book on it. “Somewhere here there’s got to be a clue how we’re supposed to get out of this place. I mean, we could take the crawl space and go backward through the maze—”

She heard a rumble and a cloud of dust poured into the room. The crawl space had caved in. Annja sighed. “All right, the only way out of here is to figure out a way forward.”

There seemed nothing special about the table. And as far as she could tell, the book was a hardcover edition of the King James Bible. Overhead, a single light burned in the ceiling. It didn’t appear as if some type of guillotine would drop on them if she picked the book up.

Before Annja could stop him, Kessel flipped open the cover. Nothing happened. But there was nothing written on the pages, either.

Annja tried to pick the book up, but it didn’t budge. Flipping through it where it was, she found a small button at the back. Annja glanced at Kessel. “What do you think?”

He shook his head.

But Annja’s finger was poised over it. “What have we got to lose?”

She pressed the button.

The lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Annja heard a sudden movement and a grunt.

“Kessel?”

And then there was nothing but silence.

Labyrinth

Rogue Angel

Alex Archer

www.mirabooks.co.uk

The Legend

...The English commander took Joan’s sword and raised it high.

The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd. Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn....

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Chapter 1

There’s something about the fall, Annja Creed thought as she sat on the stoop of her building, watching leaves skitter across the pavement of the basketball courts on the other side of the street. A brilliant crystal-blue sky illuminated the day, and she breathed in the crisp air, filling her lungs and letting go a sigh. It felt good to be back home after months on the go.

I don’t do this nearly enough, she thought. Chasing relics across the globe, fighting off the rogues and ne’er-do-wells that seemed to be reaching epidemic proportions… She nodded to herself after a sip of her mocha latte.

I need more downtime.

And that was the truth. As a breeze slinked its way under the T-shirt she wore with her jeans, Annja recognized that she actually hadn’t stopped in a very long time.

The sword that only she could use—that of Joan of Arc—had opened her life to so much, she barely had time to appreciate any of it. The bad, the good and the bizarre.

But at the moment, all she wanted to do was watch the rest of the world go by, sip her latte and give thanks for such a gorgeous autumn day.

Maybe I’ll take a nap later. She smiled. A week’s vacation and absolutely nothing scheduled.

There was that new exhibit at the MOMA she could take in. And after that, maybe some well-deserved bookstore browsing in the Village.

“Annja Creed?”

She frowned and turned to study the man who’d addressed her. He was well built, in his mid-thirties and had about two days’ worth of growth on his face. But he didn’t look all that bad, she decided.

“Yes.”

He smiled. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?”

Annja’s frown deepened. Despite his disarming manner, she sensed something dark in him. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

He sat on the step below hers. He was careful, making sure she noticed that he was giving her the strategic advantage of the higher ground on the stoop. But why?

She took another sip of her mocha latte, but it didn’t give her the same sense of soothing calm it had before.

“Damn.”

He looked at her. “Something wrong?”

“I think it’s entirely possible you just ruined my latte.”

He raised a shoulder. “I apologize for intruding. It did indeed look as though you were having a moment.”

“A moment?”

“Relaxing in this lovely weather.”

It wasn’t quite cool enough for a jacket, yet the man seated below her wore a navy windbreaker. There was something about him that seemed familiar. Not the man himself, but rather his manner.

Military?

Government spook?

Or just one of the countless enemies she’d come across during her travels?

“So, what can I do for you, Mr….?”

He held out his hand. “Jackson. Mike Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson.” Annja nodded. “Okay. So what’s up? And how did you know where to find me?”

The smile he flashed told her that he knew plenty about her already. “It wasn’t that difficult. I don’t really think anyone’s privacy is assured these days. Do you?”

“I do my damnedest to try,” Annja said. “But apparently I’m not having all that much luck.”

“If it’s any consolation, you were tougher to run down than some of the other people I’ve been tasked with finding.”

“And why would you be tasked with finding me, Jackson?”

“My client wishes to speak with you.”

“Client.”

He nodded, glancing around the neighborhood.

“Skip tracer?”

“I’m not a private investigator, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Annja considered the latte again, giving it one final chance to woo her back. Forget it. “You’re an information broker. Hired to get what clients need.”

“That’s more accurate.”

“And who wanted you to find me?”

Jackson glanced at her. “The same people who would now like to have a word with you.”

“They can make an appointment if it’s that important. I’m on vacation, Jackson. If they want a meeting next week, then I’ll be happy to talk to them. Until then, I’m not doing anything unless I distinctly feel like it.”

Jackson took a deep breath through his nose. “Yeah, see, that’s going to be sort of a problem.”

“Not my problem,” Annja said. “I don’t need to see anyone.”

“The truth of the matter is, they don’t have all that much time to wait for you, Miss Creed. They’re in something of a hurry.”

“Look, Jackson—Mike, right?—I don’t go a long way on passive-aggressive behavior. And I don’t like being bullied, either.”

Jackson seemed momentarily taken aback, but then cracked a grin. “If you don’t agree to come with me, the people I work for are going to kill someone.”

“Who?”

“Reginald Fairclough.”

Annja shrugged. “Don’t know him.”

“But he apparently knows you. He’s made his cooperation with my clients conditional on meeting with you.”

“And where is he? In Manhattan?”

“Western Massachusetts.”

Annja looked closely at Jackson. “Did you just hear me say not a minute ago that I am on vacation?”

“I did hear that, yes.”

Annja stood. “I think this meeting is now at an end, Mr. Jackson. When I come back down, I don’t want to see you on my stoop or I’m going to get angry.” She leaned over him. “I’m not sure how much you know about me, but you don’t want to see me get angry.”

Jackson stared at her. Annja finally turned and walked inside, taking the stairs up to her loft. She dumped the remains of the latte in the sink and let the faucet run for a few seconds to wash it down the drain.

Western Massachusetts. She shook her head. Like that was going to happen anytime soon.

“Miss Creed.”

Annja turned. Jackson stood in her living room, with two other men behind him. If Jackson had a slight military bearing, Annja’s instincts told her these two were total danger.

“I thought I told you I don’t like being bullied.”

Jackson nodded over his shoulder. “I apologize, but my clients are quite insistent.”

One of the men stepped out from behind Jackson. “My name is Scott Greene. Have you ever heard of me?”

There was something familiar about that name. Annja racked her memory and then the face clicked. Greene was an environmentalist. But on the lunatic fringe.

Wonderful, she thought. What did he want with her?

“You’re a militant environmentalist,” Annja said. “You here to police my apartment and tell me how I’m destroying the planet?”

Greene sniffed. “I could spend hours yelling at you for using those crummy old-fashioned lightbulbs instead of CFLs.”

Annja nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t had much time lately to reduce my carbon footprint. Speaking of which, if you don’t leave my place immediately, I’m giving serious thought to reducing yours—to nothing.”

Greene didn’t move. “Hear me out.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Greene. This is me giving you one last chance to get the hell out of my place.”

Greene looked at the third, yet unnamed man and nodded. The guy took out a silenced pistol and leveled it on Jackson’s right temple. As Jackson’s mouth dropped open, Greene said to Annja, “Cooperate, or I can have my associate blow a nice hole in the side of the good Mr. Jackson there.”

Annja shrugged. “He works for you. I just met him. I don’t care if you kill him or not.”

Jackson’s eyes bulged but he didn’t move a muscle.

Greene smirked. “Ah, nice try, Annja. But we’ve done some research on you. And I know for a fact that seeing an innocent man killed—in your apartment, no less—would drive you insane.”

Annja’s heartbeat raced. She could draw the sword and be done with these three idiots before they could even react. She wondered how the cops would view it. Could she argue home invasion? That she’d felt threatened? They did have a silenced pistol, after all. And there were three of them.

But what if they didn’t believe her?

Annja leaned against the sink. “Jackson already told me something about a Reginald Fairclough. I don’t know the name.”

“He’s an antique book dealer. Quite a famous one,” Greene said. “His collection of works is without peer.”

“So, what’s he want with me?”

Greene shook his head. “Old Reggie has something I want—quite badly—and in order to retrieve it, I must first get you to his house. He wants to talk with you.”

“About what?”

Greene looked pained. “I don’t know.”

Annja shrugged. “Listen, I can’t help you. I’m dead tired. You tell Reggie to call me. That’s about the best I’m going to be able to do for you.”

“That’s not good enough, Annja.”

Before Annja could react, she heard the small pop, and Jackson crumpled to the floor beside her love seat.

Greene hadn’t even hesitated. And Jackson was dead.

Annja watched a thin trail of smoke issue from the end of the suppressor on the pistol Greene had whipped out from his holster, beating his colleague to the punch.

“I think it was a good idea that you see how very serious I am about this, Annja. I don’t like being told I can’t do something.”

“Apparently,” she said.

“You’ll come with us now,” Greene said. “Otherwise I’ll have my associate here shoot you.”

“And how would that help you with Fairclough?”

Greene smirked. “I’d find another way. I always do.”

And somehow Annja didn’t doubt that.

Chapter 2

The body of Jackson sprawled on her floor made Annja acutely aware of her predicament. Greene didn’t need to shoot Annja, despite his threat to do just that. He’d already placed Annja in one hell of a pickle. How was she going to explain the corpse in her home?

The pair could leave her right now and all she’d be able to tell the police was that Greene had been here. But would they believe it?

Greene gave her a moment and then cleared his throat. “I take it you’ve run through all the alternatives before you?”

Annja glanced at him. “You didn’t give me very many to choose from.”

“Why would I? I need you, Annja.” Greene scratched his goatee. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Annja shook her head. “We can’t just leave Jackson. Eventually, he’ll start to decompose and the smell will bring the cops.”

Greene shrugged. “Don’t worry so much, Annja. I’ve got that handled. I’m not a complete monster.”

“I think I’ll wait before I make up my own mind on that one,” Annja said.

Greene’s associate stepped up and produced what looked like a large garbage bag. He unrolled it and spread it around Jackson’s body. Annja looked up at Greene.

“You knew this was going to happen.”

Greene shrugged. “I believe in planning ahead. I wasn’t sure how receptive you’d be to my request. Jackson was pretty much obsolete as soon as he agreed to track you down for us.”

The other man rolled Jackson into the bag and then zipped it up.

“I’m amazed you’re using a plastic bag for that. Doesn’t that go against everything you stand for?”

“It’s recycled plastic,” Greene said. “And besides, it contains the effluence better than cloth.”

Annja cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before, I take it.”

He laughed. “Many times. Where other environmentalists like to preach wholesome universe nonsense, I prefer to act. I’m not about to sit idly by and watch the planet ravaged by politicians and their corporate masters. Not a chance. I’ll remove whatever threats are dangerous to Mother Earth.”

“Results oriented,” Annja said.

“Results, yes. I firebombed a cosmetics factory that had been testing its products on animals and flushing toxic waste into the drinking supply of a small village in Cambodia. And when that building was reduced to ashes, I went after—and got—the people who owned it.”

“How?” Annja asked, buying time as she tried to think how to extricate herself from this situation.

“I made them drink the poison sludge they’d been spewing for decades into the drinking water. Unfortunately for them, the concentration was so much higher than the water normally held. I guess they came to see that the stuff they used to make cosmetics with wasn’t healthy.”

“And what happened to the people who were employed by the factory? How are they supposed to make a living now?”

Greene shrugged. “They’ll find a way. Their welfare isn’t my concern. If anything, they ought to be thankful to me for cleaning up their water. But they were secondary. The primary goal was to stop the factory from polluting the environment.”

“So you’re not a humanitarian at all.”

Green laughed. “I make no pretense of being a humanitarian, Annja. My goals are simple—wipe the toxicity of the human stain from the planet. Help rebuild the wonder that once was nature.”

Annja frowned as the other man finished hefting Jackson’s body over his shoulder. “What now? Is he just going to walk out of here with the corpse?”

Greene smiled. “You really think anyone is going to ask him questions?”

Greene’s associate must have stood more than six feet two inches and weighed about two hundred and sixty pounds. He was big and muscular. Annja didn’t think any of her neighbors would bother him.

“No,” she said simply.

Greene nodded. “Exactly. Now let’s get going downstairs.” He stopped. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I let my associate leave the body here and then we call the police?”

Annja sighed. She could argue her way out of the murder; she felt confident of that. Plus, she knew a few of the cops at the local precinct. She’d be able to straighten it out, but was it worth the grief?

I need to install some serious surveillance on this place, she thought. Video cameras would forestall this type of bull.

“Annja?”

She stared at the floor. A tiny residue of blood remained on the hardwood. Greene followed her gaze and chuckled.

“We’ll leave that here as a souvenir.”

“Be hard to clean once I get back,” Annja said. “I’d prefer to clean it up now, if you don’t mind.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Greene said. He studied her for a moment before relenting. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get it done.”

Annja ran for the kitchen and grabbed a sheaf of paper towels, holding them under hot water. Through the window, she saw a cruiser parked on the curb across the street. If she could just get the two cops’ attention…

“Annja.”

She turned and saw Greene standing at the entry to the kitchen. Annja lifted the wet paper towels. “Got them.”

She went back to the living room and knelt, mopping up the blood. Fortunately for her decor, the bullet had stayed inside Jackson’s skull. A larger caliber bullet would have exited the skull and strewn brain matter.

Annja spent a few more seconds scrubbing the spot. While it looked clean, she knew that if a crime scene tech ran a UV light over it, there would be blood traces. She’d need to clean it better when she got back.

She stood. “Let me just throw these away and we can go.”

Back in the kitchen, she ditched the ball of towels in the trash. A glance out of the window confirmed the cruiser was still there. Could she get their attention?

The window.

Annja looked over her shoulder and into the living room. Greene had his back to her and was talking to the other guy.

Now.

Annja pushed the window open, hopped up onto the counter and crept out onto the fire escape. Her loft was five stories up. She kicked at the fire escape. Speed was more important now than stealth.

A bullet splanged off the metal handrail in front of her.

“Annja!”

So much for surprise.

She kicked the fire escape down on the second attempt and dropped two stories before she even knew what she was doing.

Footfalls on the fire escape above her confirmed that Greene was in hot pursuit. Or his associate was.

Annja took the steep steps three at a time. She kicked at the release on the next level, watching the steel ratchet toward the street.

Another bullet hit the walkway ahead of her. They were still using a silenced pistol.

Annja’s breathing was coming hard.

She was close to the ground now.

And the cruiser was still there, idling.

“Hey!” Annja waved her arms and then felt something hot bite into the side of her arm. She glanced down and saw blood.

She’d been shot?

Instantly, she felt woozy. She started to turn and was overwhelmed by dizziness.

Annja went over the railing of the fire escape.

And landed on the garbage cans below with a crash.

Dazed, she sat up and put a hand to her head. More blood.

Not good.

She stood and tried to claw her way out of the pile of trash. That’s when she heard the sirens. And saw the cruiser’s lights go on.

“Hey, you okay?”

Miraculously, one of the cops was heading toward her. He rushed to grab her as she fell. “Miss!”

He helped her down to the sidewalk.

Annja struggled to take a breath. “Men—armed. My…apartment.”

Concern creased the face of the police officer. He started to reach for his radio as his partner approached them.

“She okay?”

“I don’t know,” the first officer said. He pushed a button on his radio and started to speak.

“Oh, my God, Annja!”

Annja could barely move her head. She recognized the onset of shock.

And then Greene’s face swam into view overhead. “Thank God she’s okay!”

The first cop looked at Greene. “You know her?”

Greene sighed. “She’s my sister. She’s been taking medication for depression and I was over to discuss some family issues. She got upset. I was in the bathroom, but when I came back out, she was gone. I thought she’d jumped.”

“Damn near did,” the second cop said. “She took a header off the fire escape. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Greene feigned a sigh. “Thank God you were here.”

The first cop stood. “She’s going to need a doctor. And we’ll have to get some information from you.”

Greene nodded. “Sure, sure. Whatever you guys need.”

And then Annja saw Greene bring up his pistol almost in slow motion, extend his arm and shoot both police officers dead. The sound suppressor muffled the gunshots and, since they were in the alley behind Annja’s apartment, no one even noticed the two cops go down.

Greene stepped over each of them and calmly shot them again in the head.

He looked back at Annja. “Just to be sure. These guys have a bad habit of wearing body armor these days. It’s not as easy to kill them anymore.”

Annja tried to talk but nothing came out of her mouth. Greene squatted next to her. “That’s the drug we tagged you with. It’s nice, isn’t it? It’s an ancient pharmacological specimen from the Amazon. Does the trick nicely and you don’t have to listen to a twenty-minute lecture on side effects like you do with the shit the big pharma guys hawk on the evening news.” He smiled. “You ought to thank me for not just killing you and being done with it.”