Swordsman's Legacy. Alex Archer
back of his neck did not disturb Ascher so much as piss him off. He stood tall, not about to back down or cringe from the bully behind him.
If the trunk were still open…but it was not. The only weapon he had to hand was his ring of three keys and a rudimentary grasp of martial arts. He slipped the ignition key between his forefinger and middle finger, point out.
“I have been following your research online for months,” Lambert said. “Fascinating how you tracked the Fouquet journals in the Bibliothèque Nationale.”
Ascher thought about the days spent in the huge Paris library that he had genuinely enjoyed. “I haven’t posted that information publicly,” he said.
“Yes, I know. You made it very difficult, but once I tracked your conversations with the Nash brothers, I continued to follow them.”
So his friends hadn’t invited this man. Yet they had inadvertently lured an outsider.
“I’ve hired all the men required for the dig, I’m afraid.”
“You misunderstand, Vallois.” Lambert made eye contact with the thugs over Ascher’s shoulder. He went for the riposte, slipping something out of his suit coat’s inner pocket. It unrolled with a shake. Lambert then slid one hand into the surgical glove. “I—” he gave the glove a crisp snap “—have a keen interest in the sword.”
Ascher’s intuition screamed this was not the place he should be at this moment. Sometimes it was better to run, and risk injury, than to stick around and risk death. Fencing skills aside, now was the time to employ street smarts.
Ascher jabbed an elbow backward, catching one of the thugs in the ribs.
A meaty arm snaked about Ascher’s neck. A vicious squeeze choked off his cry of surprise. Levering his foot against the door of his car, he tried to push off the man, but his attacker leaned into the force, making escape impossible.
“No, no, mustn’t struggle,” Lambert said calmly, as if directing a child afraid of the dentist’s drill. He tugged the fingertip of one glove, snapping it smartly into place. “This is not what you might suspect.”
“I suspect everything,” Ascher hissed. “I know I do not like you—”
Chokehold released, Ascher’s arms were wrenched behind him and upward. His shoulder muscles were forced beyond their limit, and his deltoids stretched painfully. Bent forward, he intended to kick backward, but Lambert’s next move stopped him.
Further utilizing the dread calm of a looming dentist, Lambert withdrew a vial from inside his suit coat.
“The musketeer’s sword has been tops on my list of plunder for quite some time. I believe you have discovered the only possible resting place for the sword, Mr. Vallois.” Lambert tapped the finger-size vial against his wrist. There was something inside, white, stick-like. “Surprising, the conclusions you made about the location, but when I thought about it awhile, very believable. I wish you great success.”
“The sword is not for sale,” Ascher said.
“When one acquires plunder, sir, one does not pay for it. But I am willing to put forth something for your efforts. You will require cash to finance your dig.”
“Already taken care of.”
“Your check bounced at the bank. My guess? You should start seeing the overdrafts immediately. I know you are two months behind on rent for that little fencing salon around the corner. Pity. The children will be deprived of your witty yet charming teaching manner,” Lambert said.
Ascher grunted against the increasing force straining his muscles.
“As for that cottage you call a mansion out of town, I’ve made it my business to know your electricity will be shut off two days from now.” He bent close to Ascher’s face. “Allow me to ease your financial strain.”
“There is no amount you can offer for the sword.”
Ascher twisted. Two meaty hands held firmly. It was quite embarrassing how easily he’d been wrangled. As long as his aggressor held his arms back at such a painful angle, he could not escape.
“That sword is something I have searched for for years,” Ascher hissed. The gloved hand waggled its fingers before him. A disturbing threat. “I could not possibly put a monetary value to it—”
Suddenly pierced from behind, Ascher’s body clenched, his chest lifting and his body arching upward as his shoulders were wrenched further backward. He was impaled. Stuck like a pig. The pain was incredible, so much so that much as he wanted to scream, he could not put out a single breath.
A blade had entered his left kidney. The thug behind him shoved it to the hilt.
Lambert stood right before him now. An intelligent and greedy gaze followed Ascher’s gasps of pain. “Of course, it would be difficult to fix a price to so intriguing a find as the sword.”
Wincing, Ascher groaned low in his throat. He felt tears roll down his face. It was impossible to make a defensive move or push away his attacker. Barely able to stand, he battled against his fading consciousness by drawing in deep breaths through his nose.
“I wager you’ll hand over the sword for a kidney.” A snap of the rubber glove released a haze of cornstarch powder.
“I need only one!” Ascher defiantly managed to declare.
“Sure, a man can survive with one, but you won’t have that one forever.”
The other thug, who had been standing to the side, stepped forward. Ascher cried out as he took a punch to the right kidney. But, held carefully, his torso did not take the blow with another cringe. It seemed they wanted to ensure the knife remained firmly placed.
“Should you refuse to cooperate,” Lambert continued, “I shall return for the other. But know, I can give you a replacement in exchange for your cooperation.”
Feeling blackness toy with his consciousness, Ascher heard something crackle like plastic.
“Open his mouth.”
His mouth was wrenched open from the right by the one who had punched him.
Lambert stabbed something into his mouth and rubbed it inside Ascher’s cheek. “DNA evidence. I’ll take it back to the lab and immediately begin to grow your new kidney. Therapeutic cloning. Quite the marvel. Think of it as your new life insurance policy.”
The thug clapped Ascher’s jaw shut, and Ascher briefly saw Lambert deposit a white swab into the glass vial.
“What do you say, Vallois? Do we have a deal?”
“I…” He was losing it. Pain shot up and down his spine and spidered through his entire nervous system. He had never known such agony. He couldn’t think, let alone move.
“If you refuse, I’ll have Manny tug the knife from your back. Within twenty minutes, you’ll bleed out internally. You will be dead, Mr. Vallois.”
Death sounded much better than this torture, Ascher thought.
“But, keep the knife in place and accept the escort to casualty that I am willing to provide, and you’ll have a pleasant hospital stay, and be back in the field in, oh, ten days? Of course, the left kidney is a loss.” The plastic rattled before Ascher’s closed eyes. “What do you say?”
The man behind him tapped the blade shoved deep inside his body. Ascher yowled as the vibrations sent out new waves of shocking anguish.
“In or out?” Lambert asked. “The blade, that is.”
Feeling his body release the tense cringe and fall forward, Ascher chased the darkness. Passing out would stop the pain. And so would his compliance.
“In,” he muttered, and then the world stopped.
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