The Dragon’s Mark (15 page)

Of course, she had to find one first.

The train whistle wailed again, warning her to get off the tracks, and this time the sound was much closer. She chanced a look back, noting that her opponent was up and on his feet, chasing after her as fast as he could go and that the train had closed half the distance between them already, with no sign of slowing down.

They had two minutes, maybe less, before the train would be upon them.

She faced forward and kept going, her gaze frantically scanning the walls on either side.

There had to one here somewhere! There had to be!

The train closed in.

Annja had only seconds left.

Come on! Where the hell is it?

Then she saw it, barely visible amid the darkness of the tunnel, a shadowy outline that suggested depth.

She flung herself into the emergency niche against the far wall, squeezing her body in as deep as she could get it, worried that the effect of the passing train might be enough to pull her out again into the danger zone.

The man pursuing her was still ten feet away and his body was suddenly silhouetted in the harsh light of the train roaring toward them.

“Run!” Annja screamed, but she couldn’t even hear herself over the roar of the train’s whistle. She had a moment to see his face plainly in the light of the train, could see the terror that distorted his features, could see his outstretched arm as it reached for her…

Annja turned her face away at the last instant, pressing her cheek against the cold concrete behind her and trying to shrink back into the wall itself.

The train flashed by just inches from her face. She could feel the hot breath of its passage like the exhalations of a wild beast come to devour those that didn’t belong, as it had devoured her pursuer only seconds before. Her nerves were screaming and all she wanted to do was run away, but she knew if she left the niche she would be splattered from here to Pennsylvania Station. It took all of her willpower to stand still and not move. Her ears were filled with the howl of the train’s brakes as the conductor realized that there had been something more than just the usual rats in the tunnel and he tried to bring the train to a stop, but he was far too late.

It swept past her and Annja sucked a great gasp of air into her lungs, not even aware until that moment that she had been holding her breath.

That was too close.

A
S
A
NNJA WAS RUNNING FROM
her pursuers in the tunnels beneath Midtown Manhattan, a Gulfstream aircraft under private ownership arrived at Kennedy International Airport. Aboard were Henshaw, Roux and a half dozen of Henshaw’s operatives he’d decided to bring over to help supplement the team that was already in place.

They passed through customs without difficulty and then split into two groups. Henshaw accompanied Roux to the car he had waiting outside, while his men headed for the safe house in Brooklyn overlooking Annja’s loft apartment. Henshaw would meet up with them later, once he was satisfied that Roux had been safely ensconced in his usual hotel.

For a man like Roux, nothing but the Waldorf-Astoria would do. He’d been staying there under a variety of names for more than one hundred years and saw no reason to change now. Exquisite accommodations, superb service and a devotion to the privacy of their guests were the attributes Roux looked for in a hotel and the Waldorf did not disappoint.

Reaching the car, Henshaw dismissed the driver and took over that chore himself, not trusting anyone else to do it when he was personally available. He waited until Roux was buckled in and then eased out into traffic, ready for the hour-long drive through the Queens–Midtown Tunnel and across Manhattan to where the hotel stood on Park Avenue and Fiftieth.

Along the way, Roux asked for an update on the intelligence that Henshaw had been gathering on the Dragon.

“What little information we’ve been able to obtain seems to indicate that the Dragon became operational again about three years ago. He has done odd jobs here and there during that time—nothing too flashy and certainly nothing along the lines of his previous activity. It is almost as if he was injured for a long while and is now testing his skills, learning again just what he is capable of.”

“But it is him for certain?” Roux asked.

Henshaw nodded. “I believe so, sir. The hallmarks are there. The risky, maybe even reckless, nature of the contracts he takes on. The precision in which they are carried out. The telltale symbol—the paper dragon—left behind at each scene.”

“Damn!” Roux said, and Henshaw mentally agreed. If the Dragon was after Annja, and it was looking more and more as if that were the case, then they were going to have to step up their security in order to keep her safe.

Annja was a fiercely independent person; he didn’t want to think about how angry she’d be when she found out that she was being followed, even if it was in her best interest.

Henshaw had spoken to his people on the ground right after deplaning and now he shared what he had learned with Roux.

“She went where?” the older man exclaimed, after hearing what Henshaw had to say.

“To see a hypnotherapist,” his butler repeated.

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. Shall I have one of the men break into the therapist’s office to obtain the records of her visit?”

Roux shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary. At least, not yet. Annja will probably tell us herself.”

“Very good,” Henshaw said, and put down the cell phone he’d just picked up. He wasn’t sure Roux was correct, but he’d learned a long time ago that it wasn’t his place to argue with his employer.

Just as he disconnnected, though, it rang. He answered it, listened for several minutes, thanked the caller and then hung up again.

“There’s been a new development,” he said grimly. “A team was waiting outside the television studios where Ms. Creed is employed. She was chased into the underground and there was apparently a bit of a scuffle.”

“Was she injured?” Roux asked. Henshaw was the master of the understatement. A “scuffle” in his view was other people’s idea of a major combat engagement.

Henshaw shook his head. “No, sir. Our people involved themselves in the confrontation as soon as they were able to and in the resulting confusion, she slipped away from both groups.”

“So she still doesn’t know that we are watching her?”

Henshaw shrugged. “She clearly knows someone is watching, sir, but whether or not she has figured out that it is us is another question entirely. If I had to guess, I’d say no, though it won’t take her long to figure it out if we have to interfere again.”

He waited a moment while Roux digested the new information and then asked, “Shall I call off the surveillance?”

“Heavens, no! Clearly she needs it. Tell your people to stay close.”

“Very good, sir.”

They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Arriving at the Waldorf, Roux stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel, heading directly for the main dining room, intent on a late supper. He knew Henshaw would deal with the various details while he ate—take care of checking him into the usual suite he reserved each time he stayed there, seeing that his bags were brought up and unpacked properly, even arranging for breakfast at the proper time in the morning. After all, it was what he paid Henshaw for and Roux was not stingy with his personal comfort.

Later, Roux was relaxing with an after-dinner brandy when he heard the door to the suite open. A moment later Henshaw entered the room.

His majordomo had changed out of his usual perfectly pressed suit into casual slacks and a windbreaker, both of which, as well as his athletic shoes, were a very deep blue in color. Roux nodded appreciatively. The color wouldn’t look entirely out of place in a crowd and the deep shade would actually help him to better blend in with the shadows than a pure black outfit.

“Are you all set, sir?” Henshaw asked.

Roux nodded. “I take it you are off to see our girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We need to find this Dragon character before he finds Annja, Henshaw. Her life may depend on it.”

Henshaw nodded. “We’re working on it.”

Roux waved a hand in dismissal. “All right, I won’t keep you.”

“Good night, sir.”

T
HERE WAS LITTLE TRAFFIC AT
this time of night and Henshaw made good time crossing from Manhattan over to Brooklyn. He located the correct street, then parked in the garage below the apartment building where his team had set up shop two days earlier.

He rode the elevator to the fifth floor and knocked on the entrance to apartment nine. After a moment the door opened slightly and Henshaw found himself looking down the barrel of a 9 mm handgun. Its owner recognized him and let him through the door.

The surveillance team of eight individuals allowed them to box the target and handle the job properly. If one of them was in danger of being seen, then another member of the team could either step up or fall back, preventing them from blowing their cover because Annja had made some sudden move or change of direction.

They thought she might have seen them the day before, because she’d suddenly gone crazy, sprinting down side streets and dashing across traffic. But when she stopped right next to Olivia, and didn’t realize that she was part of the surveillance team, they knew she must have caught wind of someone else. That was when they figured out they weren’t the only team on the job.

They had relayed the information to Henshaw before he’d left France and he’d given them explicit instructions what to do should they discover who, besides themselves, was following her.

As it turned out, it was a good thing he had.

He went into the kitchen where several of the team were congregating around a fast-food dinner. Pulling up a chair next to Marco, his team leader, he said, “Give me an update, please.”

Marco did. He took Henshaw through the entire evening’s operation, from when they had picked up Annja that morning outside her loft, all the way to their involvement in the confrontation between Annja and the Dragon’s hit team in the subway tunnels hours later.

“Where is she now?”

“She’s back in her apartment. You can see her from in there,” Marco said, nodding at the closed bedroom door on the other side of the living room.

“Who’s got the watch?” Henshaw asked, getting up.

“Jessi and Dave.”

“All right, good.” Henshaw addressed everyone around the table, and not just Marco, when he said, “Good job, everyone. Get some rest while you can, as I think things are going to start heating up and we want to be ready.”

With a chorus of “yes, sirs” at his back, Henshaw crossed the darkened living room, knocked once on the bedroom door and then slipped inside.

The lights in the room were off, to prevent what they were doing from being backlit and allowing someone outside to see in, but there was a little light coming in through the window, at least enough to see the shapes of Jessi and Dave over by the window.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Jessi’s soft voice came floating out of the darkness and over to him. “That woman’s obsessed. You’d think she’d be exhausted after what happened down in the subway, but she acts as if it was just a walk in the park. She started practicing those crazy martial-arts moves she does the minute she returned and she hasn’t stopped since.”

Henshaw joined the two of them on the other side of the room. Without saying anything, Dave handed him the binoculars he’d been using to keep their charge in sight.

Annja’s building was across the street and one over from the one they occupied. They were on the fifth floor and she was on the fourth, giving them an excellent downward viewpoint into the loft she called home. She had the curtains open at the moment and through them Henshaw could see her working out in the large open space in the middle of the room. She was dressed in a white tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her feet bare. In her hands she held her sword and even as he watched she threw herself into another sword kata with deadly concentration.

Henshaw remembered the way she’d handled it that night at Roux’s and for the first time he realized just how good with it she had become. It was like an extension of her body and as she twisted, turned and flowed around the room in the midst of her practice; he sometimes had a hard time recognizing where the sword ended and she began.

Keep it up, Annja, he told her silently. You might just need it.

And she did keep it up.

Long into the night.

With only her silent, watchful guardians to keep her company.

Switzerland, 2003

Shizu entered the room with more than a bit of trepidation. It had been several years since Toshiro had pronounced her ready to take her place in the world and she had used the time as she’d been instructed, traveling and learning. She had grown up considerably in those years, her core toughened and her edge sharpened by what she had seen and done, just like a sword that is tested again and again until it is pronounced ready.

Less than a week earlier she had received a message through the special channels that had been set up just for that purpose, a series of dead drops and hidden Internet communications. The message had asked her to travel to Switzerland. Sensei had a new mission for her. The summons had filled her with excitement, had shaken off the lethargy she’d been feeling for the past few months, and she quickly made the necessary arrangements.

The address turned out to be a small, private chateau in the Alps, hidden at the end of a long road that she would have missed if she hadn’t known what to look for to find the turnoff from the main road. She arrived late at night and had been met at the door by a manservant who led her to her room, stating that Sensei would see her in the morning.

After breakfast she’d been asked to join Sensei in the study. She entered the room to find him seated behind his desk, reading through a report. He pointed at a chair in front of the desk and went on reading without looking up.

Obedient to his wishes, Shizu sat.

After a few minutes he put the report down and looked at her.

“You are well, Shizu?’ Sensei asked, smiling in welcome.

Hearing his voice sent a thrill of delight through her body. It had been years since she had heard him speak to her aloud, but she heard his voice in her dreams each evening and knew she would never forget the sound of it.

“Yes, Sensei,” she replied. She did not ask how he was doing in return, as a Westerner might, for he was the master and she was the servant. He would tell her if he wanted her to know.

“Do you know why I have asked you here today?”

“No, Sensei.”

“I have a mission for you, Shizu.”

She remained silent, patient, content to sit there with him until he chose to tell her more or not. Either one would be okay with her, if that was what he decided to do.

It wasn’t hero worship; it was far beyond that. The man had saved her from slavery. He had given her purpose. Trained her, schooled her. He had made her into who she was today. He’d done it all from a distance, through a menagerie of teachers, but that didn’t matter. He was still the one who made it all happen, and long ago Shizu had pledged her heart and soul to him.

She would die for him.

In fact, she had no doubt that some day she would do just that. She couldn’t think of a more fitting way to end her life.

Sensei stood behind the desk, looming over her in his height. “As you no doubt have guessed, I have been preparing you for a specific purpose. Like clay in the potter’s hands, I have molded and shaped you to fit that purpose, to let you live the life that you were born to live.

“Now the time has come to set you on your way, to make you the light burning in the wilderness, the key for every lock, the whisper behind every door. To set you free so that you can become all that you are destined to become.”

He paused, and she could feel his eyes on her, looking her over. “Are you ready, Shizu?

“Only if you say I am, Sensei.”

“You are a weapon, Shizu, and it is time to point you at a target.”

Shizu’s heart raced and her blood sang. It was finally time to put all she had learned to the test.

“Come,” he said. “Let me show you your purpose.”

He led her across the room and into the next, which was set up like a command center—the walls were covered with charts and photographs and long stretches of dates and names; the tables were littered with boxes of files and computers running massive database searches.

Sensei stepped into the center of the room. Raising his hands, he gestured at the information gathered around him.

“A man died recently. His name is not important. In fact, I doubt we could find three people outside of those who have been in this room who could tell you what it actually was. He acquired a new identity long ago, one that he built into a legend, and it is that legend that I am interested in. Go on, take a look around.”

It soon became apparent that the man, whatever his name, had been an international assassin of no little skill. His long list of targets included ambassadors, government ministers, diplomats, even bankers and prominent businessmen. They were from more than a dozen countries. He had been like a ghost, infiltrating heavily guarded locations to deliver death by his own hand rather than with a bullet or a bomb, and the more she read, the more respect and admiration Shizu felt for this man. The work he had done. The skill with which he had done it.

Sensei must have noted her reaction. He said, “He was known as the Dragon and he elevated killing to an art form. You, Shizu, are going to take his place and be his successor.”

Shizu spun around, shock and surprise flooding her system.

“Successor?” she asked.

Sensei nodded. “The man was unimportant, but the legend he created, the symbol he represented, that is something too precious to be lost. For the past ten years, Shizu, I have been training you to revive the legend, to become the new Dragon.”

He gestured at the information around him again. “Study what is here. Learn who he was. How he killed. What it was that let an ordinary man, a cheap killer, become the myth that the world feared. This chateau will be your home, your base of operations. The staff has been instructed to serve your every need and there is money in an account to cover any expenses you might have.

“And when at last you are ready, I have a very special target for you.”