Rogue Angel - Restless Soul Part 9

But who put the bowl and the other treasures in the chamber? And why? Where did they come from? And where were they going? What was their ultimate destination?

She shook her head, knowing the answers would not come to her on this trail. First, she needed her computer and her contacts, and that wouldn't happen until they made it back to the lodge and then the nearest city. So she focused on other things, the soggy beauty of the trees and the mountains, the tune Luartaro was humming-something lovely and foreign to her-Zakkarat's boots slapping against the mud, the chirp of an occasional frog, the chitter of an angry, drenched monkey and the soft purr of...an engine.

Her head snapped up just as bullets struck the ground in front of her feet.

"Run!" she shouted to her companions as she dived off the trail.

Feet pounded the ground behind her, and she slowed so that Luartaro could slide past, arm protectively around Zakkarat's shoulders as he shoved him into the brush.

The pommel of her sword formed in her hand. She hadn't even been aware of calling it. She instantly dismissed it.

She didn't want Luartaro to see it again, but more than that, it was useless at a distance and against machine guns.

As she ran, she looked back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of their attackers.

The men were dark-clad and Asian. She had only had a flash of them as she left the trail, but she knew there were four in the Jeep, and more in a second vehicle that was roaring up the trail. Another man was on a four-wheel ATV. She couldn't make out anything else, as she was moving too quickly in an effort to avoid being shot.

They had machine guns, but she could also hear the firing of pistols. They shouted in what she thought was Vietnamese. There was a loud, long exchange and she could pick up only a few groups of words in the mix. What little Vietnamese she'd learned through the years had been from watching travelogues and foreign action films and visiting one of her favorite New York restaurants. She wasn't entirely sure she was catching the phrases correctly.

She heard the thumps as men abandoned their Jeeps and ran after them.

The men slipped and slid in the mud and over the rain-slick ferns just as she did.

But these men were probably fresh and rested, having ridden in the Jeeps up the mountains, while she and her companions were spent from their ordeals in the caves.

Since they probably couldn't outrun the men, she had to get her companions to a hiding place. Then she would double back with her sword and get some answers.

"Annja!"

"Behind you, Lu!" She was, though she could have easily pa.s.sed him by. She stayed behind the two men, hoping that she would be the target. And also the first to turn and fight, if she had to.

As she ran, dodging leaves and branches that slapped at her face, trying to stay upright as her boots skated on mud and leaves, her mind worked.

It all fit together, somehow-the treasure, the dog tags and now the men chasing them.

The pounding footfalls behind her sounded like five or six men were in pursuit. The machine-gun fire had stopped, but the wild pistol shots still zipped and zinged over their heads and off into the jungle.

Thank G.o.d the ones still firing were lousy shots! How many men were there? And did they all have guns?

Mud and rocks spit up and bit into the backs of her legs. Something slammed into her back. "Move!" she said to Luartaro, though they were already running full out. "Move. Move. Move."

She could stop and stand her ground. Maybe give Lu and Zakkarat time to get away. But the odds were so much against her that she couldn't risk it. But maybe she could draw them away.

"Keep going straight," she hissed at Luartaro's back.

She peeled off away from Zakkarat and Luartaro and slowed just a bit. She slapped the bushes and ferns as she ran, making as much noise as she could to draw the gunmen's attention.

It was a good plan, but it didn't work.

Luartaro, gentleman that he was, hadn't followed her instructions. When she'd veered off, he had, too.

She wheeled around just as one of the pursuers slid to a stop and lifted his machine gun.

"Down!" she shouted.

Tiny pinpoints of fire flashed. Bullets tore into the leaves near Annja's head. Wood splinters exploded from a tree.

She gave Luartaro a shove to get him out of the line of fire and leaped after him, taking cover behind the tree. A big hunk of the tree had been torn away. It smelled wounded and green.

She peeked out just enough to place the source of the gunfire. One of the men had found a good spot to see down the side of the mountain and was firing in an arc. Bullets and mud and pieces of pulverized greenery sprayed everywhere, each arc getting closer to them.

Lightning flashed and the ground seemed to rock in response. It was almost like the impressions she got when she first touched the skull bowl, the storm that had raged in her mind.

The rain poured down, not quite drowning out the shouts of the dark-clad men as they searched the undergrowth. One voice rose above the others, barking orders.

A sudden, shrill whistle cut through the clamor.

"Run, Zak!" Luartaro yelled. "Run for all you're worth!"

Zakkarat tried to obey. He was several yards away from them, and Annja could see him leap to his feet and turn to run.

But as nimble as he was, he was afraid, and he whirled and fell into a tangled mess of vines.

Luartaro slipped and slid over to him and tugged him free. He turned around to make sure Annja was near, and then he wheeled and followed Zakkarat's mad dash down the side of the mountain.

Annja leaped over a low bush and followed, dodging from side to side in case their attackers could still see them.

She struck a low branch, and with a jolt that knocked her breath away, her feet slid out from under her.

She grabbed at a bush, a tree, but everything tore off in her fingers. And suddenly, she was sliding on her back, picking up speed.

She scrabbled for another bush, and for a fraction of a second thought it was going to hold, but then it, too, failed her.

She had time for a gulp of air and a fleeting glance at Luartaro and Zakkarat.

Like her, they had landed on their backs. Like her, they were sliding wildly down the mountainside.

Like big ball bearings in an arcade game, they caromed out of sight.

9.

Annja didn't hesitate.

She reached for the sword in her mind. The pommel formed in her hand. Her fingers instinctively closed around it, and she squeezed so hard she imagined that her knuckles had turned white.

She rolled and, at the same time, stabbed out at a clump of bushes. Her shoulder jerked painfully as her mad slide was stopped short. She scrambled to her feet.

With her companions out of sight, though perhaps not safely so, she would confront any who followed. It was their best chance of getting off the mountain alive.

She spun and crouched, ready to meet her pursuers.

She immediately spotted four men, several dozen yards away and closing in. There were more, she knew, but the others might have returned to the Jeeps. She'd worry about them later.

One of the four saw her and swiveled his machine gun up and fired a burst. Bullets chewed into the trunk of an acacia tree near her, and she leaped for the tree to use it as cover. More shots rang out and wood splinters stung her face.

The men shouted and raced toward her.

She pushed off from the tree and darted toward another thick trunk, barely managing to slip around it before more shots plowed into the vegetation.

At least they were concentrating on her. Perhaps Luartaro and Zakkarat were safely away, after all.

She held her breath and listened intently. Rain still pattered onto the leaves, and distant thunder rumbled. The slapping of the men's boots on the ground and another burst of gunfire told her they were close.

She sucked in a deep breath and centered herself.

She could tell the men had split up and were coming at her from two directions. So they were smart and organized, possibly military, definitely with some training.

Annja took off on a straight course, tucking and rolling into a smaller target as bullets struck the ground at her feet and splashed her face with mud.

With a last prayer that Luartaro and Zakkarat were all right, she focused her attention on her fight.

She sprinted for a clump of willowy trees and darted between the trunks. Bullets followed her, but not as many as before.

She risked a quick peek and saw that two of the men had stopped to reload their pistols. She leaped toward them, feet churning over the mud-slick ground.

The other two were a little farther back and to the south.

Even as she homed in on the men, she felt reluctance. She didn't want to kill. All life was sacred to her, even that of villainous souls. And while a man breathed, there remained a chance for redemption.

But she couldn't dare take the chance that these men might redeem themselves at some point in the future. There were too many men, too many guns. She needed to cut their numbers.

She raised the sword above her head. Rain pinged against the blade.

One of the men saw her. He rammed the clip into his pistol and brought it up.

He fired just as she rushed in and swept her sword down, slicing into his collarbone and then through it. He screamed as she pulled the blade free and brought it down again. The scream stopped.

She dropped to her knees, grabbed his gun, brought it up and fired at his companion. It was one smooth, automatic motion, and though she hadn't taken the time to aim, she shot him in the chest.

He didn't even have time to scream. He collapsed.

She dropped the gun. She hated guns.

A phrase flitted through her mind, one she'd heard somewhere before. "It is trying to kill a man that you do not even know well enough to hate..."

Annja allowed herself a few quick breaths before she rose and barreled toward the two men with machine guns. She spotted them through a break in the foliage.

They were both running toward their fallen companions.

She planted herself against a tree, her shoulders against the trunk, her backpack pressing against the small of her back.

She spared a thought for the skull bowl, hoping it hadn't been damaged by the carnival ride in the mud and all the jumping and running. No time to check now.

She glanced around the tree and yanked her head back.

No sign of the men.

She held her breath. There were no sounds of them, either.

Another few beats pa.s.sed. She peeked the other way.

One man was easing through a tangle of vines, leading with his machine gun. The second man was behind him.

"Two down, two to go," she whispered. And that was given that no more men from the Jeeps had come down the mountainside after her. They'd probably gone back to the cavern to check on their treasure. In Annja's experience, greed almost always trumped common sense.

The southern third of Thailand was open to the Andaman Sea on the west and the South China Sea on the east. But the northern part was sandwiched between Myanmar, once called Burma, to the west, and Laos and Cambodia. Vietnam was not far away, particularly considering the narrow section of Laos. So the men might have come from Vietnam, through Laos and to these mountains.

But why? Normally Annja reveled in puzzles, but only when she had time to contemplate all the components.

She heard the slide on one of the machine guns snap back. Bullets suddenly whizzed past her.

She dropped down tight against the roots of the tree, hoping to be a smaller target. They weren't giving her time for solving puzzles.

The two men shouted, obviously trying to be heard up the mountainside.

She couldn't hear their words, only the bullets biting into the tree she hid behind.

Then one of the guns quieted, and she heard the metallic ratcheting sound of a magazine being pulled out.

She pushed away from the tree and, somersaulting down the slope, jumped up at the last instant as she reached the safety of another thick trunk.

More shots. More shouting.

Her breath was fast and ragged. Her chest heaved and her thighs burned with the exertion.

"Some vacation," she muttered. "Some wonderful vacation."

She sprang away again, to the southeast, slipping and falling just as bullets cut through the air where her head had been a heartbeat before.

She rolled behind a clump of ferns and crawled toward the men.

Stupid! Stupid! She cursed herself for throwing away the gun.