Beneath Still Waters. Alex Archer
4
“Perhaps now you will take me seriously, yes?”
Annja did her best to hang on to her temper. When she got scared, she had a tendency to get irritated and if this guy really had Doug she didn’t want to tick him off by blowing her cool.
“Where’s Doug? What have you done to him?”
“Done? I haven’t done anything,” the person said. “Yet.”
It was just one word, but it had the power to freeze her blood in her veins.
The kidnapper went on. “I have simply persuaded Mr. Morrell that it was in his best interests to get in touch with you to convey my desire to discuss a business arrangement. He had initially declined my request, but very quickly saw the error of his ways. I hear that you are on vacation. Are you enjoying Jamaica?”
Annja sensed that time was of the essence, and she had no interest in bantering with this guy. She ignored his question about Jamaica, choosing instead to demand, “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Morrell was right about your temper, I see,” the man said, infuriating Annja even further. She didn’t like the position she was in, with all of the control in the kidnapper’s hands, but there was nothing she could do until she knew what he wanted. For now, she was going to have to grin and bear it, something she wasn’t very good at doing.
Her right hand reached into thin air and plucked a broadsword seemingly out of nowhere. The blade had once belonged to Joan of Arc, had, in fact, been broken asunder on the day and hour of her execution. More than five hundred years later it had been miraculously re-formed in Annja’s presence and she had become the blade’s current bearer.
The sword could appear or disappear at her will, and when she wasn’t using it, it rested in a mystical place just outside the bounds of reality that she called the otherwhere. It could not be taken from her against her will and over the years had seemed to impart some extra bit of strength, dexterity and speed to her physical movements when the situation demanded it. She had become an expert in its use and, quite literally, didn’t go anywhere without it.
Having the blade in hand helped calm her and kept her from raging at the maniac who had snatched one of her friends. He didn’t know it yet, whoever he was, but having her as an enemy was not a good thing.
“Let me worry about my temper,” she told the man, “and you can tell me what it is that you want. Clearly there’s something you need me to do, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone through the hassle of kidnapping my television producer.”
“You are as perceptive as your reputation suggests, Miss Creed. That bodes well for your ability to carry out my requests.”
Annja didn’t like the “s” on the end of that word, for it suggested the caller had multiple things for her to do in order to free Doug, but she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to continue.
“There is a package waiting for you at the front desk. Retrieve it but do not open it until you are back in your room. When you have examined what is inside, call me back at the number I’m giving you.”
The caller recited a new phone number, and Annja quickly memorized it.
But she wasn’t ready to be a pawn in someone else’s game quite yet. At least, not a pawn that didn’t attempt to retain a bit of its own free will.
“Why don’t you just tell me now, and I’ll grab the package later?”
It was the wrong thing to do.
There was silence on the end of the phone for a moment, followed by a shriek of pain that seemed to go on forever.
“Hello? Hello? Are you there? What are you doing to him?” she cried.
The voice returned. “When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out without negotiation or discussion. Each time that doesn’t happen, Mr. Morrell will pay the price for your obstinacy. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Annja replied through gritted teeth.
“Then what are you waiting for? Go get that package.”
And with that, the line went dead.
Annja sent the sword back into the otherwhere and hurried out of her room, clutching the phone tightly in one hand. She didn’t dare put it down just in case the stranger called again; she didn’t know what he’d do to Doug if he called and she wasn’t right there to answer it.
A group of tourists stood in front of the elevator so Annja hurried past it and took the stairs, rushing down them two at a time in her haste to get to the ground floor. She considered calling Paul and asking him to join her, but decided against doing so. There was no need to get him involved unless she had to, and she wasn’t sure yet if that was the case. It might be safer for Paul if she kept him out of it completely.
There was an elderly couple at the registration desk when Annja got to the lobby, and she had to stifle the urge to push them aside and ask about the package. She stood behind them, impatiently shifting from foot to foot as she waited for them to finish getting the directions they needed. The registration clerk gave her a sympathetic smile over their heads as they examined the map and Annja tried to smile back, but she was afraid it looked more like a death’s head rictus.
At last they were done and Annja stepped up to the counter.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked.
“My name is Annja Creed and I’m in room 402. I believe you have a package for me.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Creed. One minute, please.”
The clerk stepped into the back room, leaving Annja alone. A sense that she was being watched washed over her and she spun to look, but there was no one there.
Keep it together, Creed, she told herself.
The clerk returned carrying a thick manila envelope and handed it to her across the counter. Her name was written on the front with black magic marker.
“Were you on duty when this was delivered?” she asked the clerk.
He hesitated and then said, somewhat reluctantly, “Yes, miss.”
“Did you see who delivered it?”
“No, miss.” He looked down and then looked back up at her. “To be honest, I had stepped away for a quick smoke, and when I came in the envelope was lying on the counter. I looked around to see who might have left it, but there was no one about. I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine. No problem,” she told him, while inwardly she was cursing at having lost her best chance of getting a lead on who might be behind this.
Not knowing what it might contain, she didn’t feel comfortable opening the envelope in the lobby, so she’d wait until she got back to her room.
She was grateful the envelope didn’t contain one of Doug’s fingers or anything gruesome like that, just a folder with several pieces of paper inside and a DVD in a paper sleeve. She turned on the desk lamp and sat down, flipping through the pages briefly. They appeared to be military action reports of some kind.
That was enough for her; she didn’t have time to read them all. She could do that later.
She picked up the DVD and slid it out of its case, then walked it over to the entertainment unit in the suite’s living room. It took her a few minutes to work out which remote control worked which device, but once she figured it all out she fired up the television and then slipped the DVD into the player.
The screen remained blank long enough that Annja thought the player might not be properly connected to the television, but as she got up to check it, the screen suddenly brightened and an image appeared.
It was Doug.
He was tied to a metal chair in a nondescript room somewhere. His forearms were tied to the arms of the chair, his legs to