knew where he was. She listened intently, but Huangfu was more silent than the wind blowing through the budding tree limbs and the fir trees.
Taking a moment, remembering the bodies of the three young men back at the dig site, Annja reached for her sword. She felt the grip against her palm, then pulled it from the otherwhere.
Annja had found the last piece of the sword while in France, but she hadn’t known what it was then. Roux, who claimed to be over five hundred years old, had spent those years tracking down the pieces of Joan of Arc’s sword. He’d stolen the last piece from Annja in France, but it hadn’t been until she had touched all the pieces that it once again became whole.
Roux claimed that the sword brought a legacy with it, unfinished business that Joan was supposed to have been given the chance to do. Annja didn’t know if she believed that, but she did know that her life had changed after the sword had come into her possession.
In the stillness of the night, she considered her options. People knew she and Huangfu had come out to Volcanoville—park rangers and a handful of Georgetown residents. But they might not think anything was amiss until morning. Perhaps not even then.
You’re going to have to save yourself, she resolved. She hated the thought of leaving her backpack behind. Her notebook computer had a lot of information—pictures, as well as writing she’d done—that she hadn’t yet backed up.
Nearly all of the information on Ban Zexu was on the notebook computer. All of the recent information was, as well as pictures of Huangfu. Bart had a couple, but those might not be enough to help find the man if he succeeded in killing her.
She had a satellite phone in her backpack. All she had to do was grab the backpack—at least the phone—and stay hidden in the forest long enough to call for help.
She took a quick breath, concentrating on the sure weight of the sword in her hand.
Annja moved out of her hiding spot reluctantly, then headed back up the hillside. She stayed within the brush, using every available scrap of it for cover. Her eyes swept her surroundings for Huangfu.
Thankfully, her backpack was out of the way, at the edge of the tree line. In the brush only a few feet from the backpack, she squatted to survey the ground.
Huangfu wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The three dead men remained where they’d fallen.
In the failing light, Annja searched the ground for their weapons and knew at once that Huangfu had come back that way. All of the weapons were missing.
Easing forward, Annja stayed low. When she reached the tree line, she stretched and grabbed one of her backpack’s straps. Suddenly, she felt someone’s eyes on her. Her senses and instincts seemed to have sharpened since she found Joan’s sword. Or maybe dodging killers had sharpened them.
Either way, she knew Huangfu had her in his sights.
Annja jerked sideways, getting ready to run. A bright yellow muzzle-flash broke the darkness hovering over the grave. In the next instant, Huangfu rose up from the grave and opened fire.
Bullets slapped the trees over Annja’s head and tore divots from the ground in front of her. She spun and slung the backpack across her shoulders, managing to get only one arm through a strap. Running down the incline, she pushed off the trees with her free hand and blocked brush and small branches from her face.
In the distance, a horse snuffled and stamped its feet. Immediately, the horse smell lingering on the three young men came to her mind.
Shifting directions, Annja headed toward the sound of the horses. She overran her vision in her haste, catching an exposed tree root and tripping. Out of habit, she pulled the backpack to her and rolled, landing on her side and cushioning the impact.
She surged to her feet again. Four long strides later, she realized she was holding the backpack with both hands. The sword had disappeared on its own. She quickly stuffed the leather bag from the dig into a cushioned pocket of her pack.
Bullets ricocheted from a tree trunk to her left, leaving white scars behind. She turned right and vanished behind a wall of pine trees that grew closely together. More bullets hammered the trees and broke branches.
In the distance but coming closer, she heard the sound of helicopter rotors. She hoped it was park rangers, but immediately dismissed that. Park rangers didn’t fly around in helicopters unless there was an emergency, and they probably couldn’t get one on such short notice.
There was a small airfield in Georgetown, though. It wouldn’t have been a problem to put a private craft there and have it on call. Her mind suddenly filled with nasty suspicions about Huangfu’s phone call.
Only a short distance away, horses snorted again and stamped nervously.
Annja ran, weaving through trees, staying so close to them at times that she collected an assortment of abrasions and bruises from glancing contact. Her breath whistled in the back of her throat. Timing her strides, she managed to sling the backpack across her shoulders. With her hands free, she could pump her arms and lengthen her stride.
The helicopter came into view through the trees. It was a sleek corporate aircraft, black-gray against the starry sky under the pallor of the three-quarter moon. The helicopter coasted over the tops of the trees less than a hundred feet away. The trees bent under the assault from the rotorwash, and the noise drowned out all other sounds.
Two men hung out the sides of the helicopter. Both of them had assault rifles.
This isn’t just about where Ban Zexu was buried, Annja thought.
Cutting around a wall of brush growing through the tangled remains of a fallen tree, Annja found three horses standing in a small clearing. All of them were saddled. The bridle reins were tied to the branches of the fir tree in front of them.
The horses flattened their ears and pulled at the reins in an effort to get free. The helicopter had them spooked.
When Annja ran up to the closest one, the horse reared up to defend itself. The front hooves kicked the air.
“Easy. Easy, boy.” Annja caught hold of the bridle halter and held on to the horse’s head, guiding it back down onto all fours. She knew the animal probably couldn’t hear her over the noise of the helicopter, but she kept talking to it anyway.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the helicopter swing around and start a pass back in her direction. She untied the reins and prepared to pull herself onto the saddle. The horse reared again, twisting violently to the left and shying away from her.
Suddenly, bright light lanced through the darkness and stripped the shadows away. When it fell across Annja, she knew the bullets wouldn’t be far behind. The horse continued pulling away from her, and that helped save her life.
Huangfu stepped from the trees with both hands on his small pistol. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Miss Creed.” He shouted to be heard over the noise of the drifting helicopter. “I will, though. All I want is the—”
Annja shouted at the horse, letting slack into the reins. Muscles bunching, the animal sprinted away from the helicopter sound and straight toward Huangfu. The sharp hooves cut divots from the ground.
Sprinting alongside the horse, staying close while she gripped the pommel and the rear of the saddle, Annja lifted both feet and swung them into Huangfu as he fired at her. She felt the bullet’s impact vibrate through the saddle pommel inches from her head, then her hiking boots collided with Huangfu’s chest and knocked the man from his feet.
Dropping to the ground again, Annja took three strides, got her rhythm, and heaved herself atop the horse. She had to duck immediately to avoid a low-hanging limb that scraped painfully along her back.
The men aboard the helicopter opened fire. Every third round was a purple tracer. They were wide of her and behind the horse, but she knew they’d quickly correct their aim.
She kicked the horse’s sides, urging it to faster speed, though she knew it was foolhardy in the darkness.