The Other Crowd (21 page)

Neville did the honors. He handcuffed Annja to a rusty length of chain with links so thick they looked designed to securely hold tugboats. It would definitely keep her in place. Slater, too.

The chain ran through an iron loop, attached to a five-hundred-pound iron anchor. On the other side of the loop, Slater grimaced as Neville’s man secured his wrists. He hadn’t struggled since Neville had taken them in hand. Nor had he given any clue to Annja that the cavalry might be on their way. But she could hope. Wouldn’t MI-6 protect its own?

What was going on in Slater’s brain? And why did she need to know so desperately? It wasn’t going to help her escape this situation. Focus was required.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble since day one,” Slater said to Annja, loud enough for all to hear. It would serve him to keep up the act. MI-6 did not need one of their own revealed, even if he was two steps and a forced leap away from death. “Should have put a bullet in your brain when I first had the thought.”

Neville patted the iron anchor that two thugs had dragged down the wooden dock from its perch on a concrete platform. “The pretty ones always are the most difficult to kill. More fun to shag, though, eh?”

Slater did not react to Neville’s prodding.

“You had potential, Slater. Your work was appreciated. Until you tried to screw me over. Any last words?” He patted Slater’s chest and drew out the folded sunglasses from his chest pocket.

“Not the Ray-Ban’s, mate,” Slater protested. “Those are my best pair.”

“You think it’s going to be bright where you’re going, Slater?”

“I can hope.”

With a chuckle, Neville returned the sunglasses to Slater’s pocket and slapped his cheek. “Any brightness will be from the flames, mate. Drop them!” he said.

Slater lunged near Annja’s cheek, making it look as if he’d lost his balance. “Don’t panic,” he whispered.

A thug shoved him aside and put all his weight into pushing on the heavy iron anchor.

Not panic? Piece of cake. A gang of gunrunners were going to push them off the dock and into the harbor. The drop may not be deep this close to shore—in fact, Annja hoped it was a nice long sloping incline—but it wasn’t the depth that would kill her, it would be the lack of air and her inability to breathe like a fish.

Annja was an above average to excellent diver. She could hold her breath a long time. No world record breaker, though. Slater, military trained, should be able to outlast her.

But it wouldn’t matter with the handcuffs binding them together.

Another thug joined in and the anchor wobbled. It wasn’t going to slide easily across the warped wood dock, and while they rocked on it to get momentum, Annja teased the idea of kicking one of them into the water. It wouldn’t help her plight. If the drowning plan didn’t go over, she suspected a couple bullets to the backs of their heads would serve, much as Neville thought it passé.

She gave Neville the evil eye. “Don’t hurt Eric. He’s an innocent.”

“Like you are innocent of snooping and putting yourself in my way? You know too much about our operation, as does your friend.”

“He’s just a kid. If you’ve kept him drugged, he’ll never remember a thing.” Appealing to the man’s lacking compassion was a losing battle. But his sense of freedom was another thing. “Eric’s father financed our trip here. You’ll have him on your ass if you don’t send his son home in pristine condition. If you don’t go to jail for arms dealing, then kidnapping and murder tend to alter a man’s choice of Armani to prison orange.”

“I’ll take that into consideration. See you around, Miss Creed. Mr. Slater.”

Her wrists were jerked roughly. The anchor wobbled onto its curved base and the eye of the iron weight tilted toward the sky.

Annja sucked in her breath. Her heartbeats thudded heavily. She’d been in worse situations. She’d once survived a tsunami in India. She’d been buried under tons of sand while hiding in an Egyptian tomb. She’d battled monsters, run away from natural disasters, fought bloodthirsty machine-gun-wielding pirates, and somehow she always managed to walk away.

She could do this.

The heavy weight rolled over the end of the dock, splintering the wood. Annja stumbled on a piece of serrated wood as she was literally dragged forward. Airborne, she tugged on the chain, but realized it would only pull Slater closer to the anchor.

“Hold your breath,” he said.

The anchor broke the impact as it crashed into the water’s surface. But it also served to suck down the water and created a sort of cup of air. Not good.

Annja swung her legs forward. Slater did the same. Her hiking boots hit an arm of the anchor, and her entire skeleton felt as if it was jerked inside its skin, as if she were being skinned alive. A sharp wave of cold water hit her lower back and shoved her forward. She collided with Slater’s chest, but he shoved her away. It had been an instinctive reaction; his body had been jerked from hers without volition.

It was difficult to inhale air as she was being sucked down in a gush of bubbles and rapidly moving water. The dark water and millions of air bubbles trilling about like champagne distorted her vision. She lost all concept of where Slater was until his foot kicked her shin. The stinging connection almost made her release her air.

Her right fingers clasped, wanting to hold the sword, but with her wrists cuffed, it would only be an impediment.

Then she realized what he was doing—Slater was tangling his leg in hers.

So he could keep her close? The chain would do that. Or to wrangle her into some kind of death grip to make it all go faster? Whatever he had planned, she let it happen. If he harbored one final iota of malice against her, now was a bad time to try for revenge.

And then he grabbed her shoulders—with both hands. He was free. Pulled downward, arms first and body following Annja, Slater clung to her. He shoved the chain into her hands.

She grabbed a twist of links. Though wet, the built-up rust on the iron cut into her palms. They had stopped descending. The anchor must have landed on the bottom, but it could still slide down the incline. Looking up, the surface glittered silver; they were no more than twenty feet under.

Slater fussed at her wrists, wrenching the cuffs painfully across her bones. He must be picking the handcuff locks. It was the only thing that made sense. Annja held the chain that would keep them weighted and prevent them from floating to the surface.

Air rapidly soughed from her lungs. A burn sizzled at the top of her lungs, clambering up her throat. Her temples pounded, as did her heart. The water wanted to cave in her skull and suck down her insides.

In the next instant, her right hand was free. Slater wrapped his legs about her waist to keep them together. With a tug at the chain, she took his signal and dropped the heavy metal links. They floated upward. Her left hand was still cuffed and she dragged the length of heavy chain with her.

Grabbing her hand, Slater tugged her sideways. They kicked through the murky water. He aimed for under the dock. It wouldn’t be wise to surface out in the open if Neville and his gang were still around.

As her head broke the surface, Slater shoved a palm over her mouth. Vision blurred by water droplets, she focused on his shaking head. He put a finger to his lips.
Don’t make noise.
He pointed upward.

Careful not to sputter and gulp in air, Annja treaded water. The heavy chain pulled her down until Slater grabbed the links, reducing the weight. Overhead, she eyed the shadows moving over the slatted dock boards. They’d stuck around to make sure their quarry didn’t surface. She could only be relieved they hadn’t fired a couple of rounds into the water to ensure their dirty deed had been successful.

Water spilling from her mouth in dribbles, Annja inhaled too quickly and sputtered. Slater pressed his hand hard over her mouth. She understood he was trying to protect them both, but this wasn’t helping. Wrenching his hand away from her mouth, she gasped as quietly as she could manage.

He made the okay sign, and questioned her with his eyes. She nodded affirmatively.

Slater put a sure hand to her back and tugged the chain. It helped her to stay above water. Together they moved toward the shore slowly, riding the residual waves from the anchor drop.

They followed the overhead footsteps. Voices spoke, but Annja only picked up parts of the conversation for the slap of water against the seaweed-slimed moorings cracked like fire blazing in a pit.

“…the warehouse…”

“…destroy it, and those inside. Let’s clear out.”

“…out of this country by…”

“Pick up the EUCs, and get out of here.”

Annja’s face went underwater. Slater lifted her by the arm. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d become. Her legs felt like jelly. Her gut ached. The shore was still thirty feet away.

“You’re not okay,” he whispered. “Put your arms around my neck.”

A car engine purred into gear and took off.

“I can make it to shore.” Annja renewed her kicks but slung her free right arm about his shoulders. “But I’m not keen on drowning.”

“You were calm and focused,” he said, hooking an arm around her waist and leading the way toward shore. “I’m impressed. I thought I might have to drag a body up to the surface.”

The shore was steep and slick with algae, but they managed to climb to the mossy bank. Before they summited, Slater scanned the periphery. The dock was situated in a recreational park that had been closed for flora restoration.

“Clear,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

Annja rolled to her back and stretched out her arms. The handcuff dug into her wrist but she could not complain. A glimmer of the setting sun flashed orange on the horizon. The scent of motor oil and seaweed hung in the air. Overhead a seagull tilted dangerously close, then swooped off over the water.

“They said something about going to the warehouse,” she said. “I’m sure that was Neville’s voice.”

“They’re going to destroy the evidence.”

“Can you get your MI-6 guys on it?”

Slater coughed up water and spat to the side. “I can’t call the operation off, Annja. And bringing in more men would shut it down fast.”

“So you’re going to maintain your cover? Isn’t the gig up? He tried to kill you.”

“Just breathe, Annja. Christ, we’ve both risen from Davy Jones’s locker. Give me a few minutes to think, will you?”

A few minutes could mean the difference between them picking up Neville’s trail—and ultimately finding Eric—or never seeing them again.

“But they have weapons somewhere in the area?”

“In the warehouse where you drove the truck. They’ll move them to the harbor. Fast. Neville is disgusted with all the meddling, namely by you.”

It had never been her intention to meddle. It was completely bizarre that a quest for faeries had turned up arms dealers digging in the dirt for diamonds. On the other hand, it was par for the course for her.

“But what about the dig?” Annja insisted. “Were more diamonds found?”

“Two more roughs. Enough to satisfy Neville’s need for finances.”

“Wait a minute.” She crawled up onto her elbows. “You
knew
Eric was in the warehouse?”

“I…”

“Is he there now?”

He dropped his head onto the ground and exhaled. “It’s very likely.”

“Then why did you take me to the hospital this morning?”

“I thought I could get you to chase all over Cork looking in every hospital while we cleared out the dig site and the river drop. I didn’t anticipate you’d go for a ride with my boss, or that bandits would decide to go shopping in our stash.”

“You bastard. Eric could have been harmed or killed in that time. Just who are your alliances to?”

“Eric is not a detriment to Neville’s mission. Though, now that you’ve made it clear to Neville the kid is on your team, I’m not so sure.” Slater coughed and rolled to his side. Fine sand and moss coated his cheek. “We should go. Right now.”

He helped Annja to stand. She shook off the shivers but the chill air worked relentlessly at her bare arms and wet skin. She shoved a hand in her buttoned pocket and pulled out her cell phone and gave it a flick.

“Let me get that handcuff off for you.” Slater lifted her wrist, holding it gently. “Don’t tell me that thing still works?”

“Waterproof to thirty feet,” she said, and hoped it was really true. She’d not tested it until now. “I like your underwater lock-picking skills. What did you use?”

“The bow from my sunglasses. I was sweating when Neville took them from me.”

He stuck the end of the wire bow into the handcuff and worked his magic. The heavy chain dropped and Annja clasped her wrist. “Quite the MacGyver.”

“Who’s that?”

“A guy on—forget it. What was that about EUCs?”

He stared at her as if he could see into the gears turning in her brain, determining if she was trustworthy.

“I already know too much,” she offered. “May as well tell me the rest.”

“That’s the worst argument I’ve heard in a long time.”

“Have you got a rebuttal?”

“Why does that sound more sexy than you obviously think it does?” He smirked and said, “End user certificates. Neville’s not my ultimate goal, Annja. Someone has been forging EUCs.”

“I’ve heard of them. For shipping purposes?”

“When weapons and ammunition are shipped, flown or transferred to another country they must be accompanied by a signed and notarized end user certificate. The certificate guarantees that the guns will be used in the receiving country and not be rerouted somewhere else to be used as a means of terror. It’s meant to restrict the flow of materials to embargoed states. Neville’s forger does a bang-up job. But he’s not on our payroll.”

“So MI-6 wants this forger?”

“If he’s not on our team, then we can’t control him.”

Made sense. In one of those underhanded, shouldn’t-this-be-legit ways. The arms deals Neville was making were obviously gray, overseen by the British government, whether or not Neville was aware of it.

“Wait.” Annja flipped long wet strands of hair from her face. She wished for a blanket and dry shoes. But if Slater wasn’t shivering, she wasn’t about to pull the wuss card. “You said they were going to destroy evidence at the warehouse? Would that include something like people who have gone missing from the dig site? Including Eric?”