17

Annja led the seven graduate students over the ridge, picking a spot that looked reasonably easy to climb, still staying away from the path the students usually took when visiting the other site. She figured if she was going to run into anyone dangerous, it would be on the path, and so it was to be avoided. Also, climbing made the students work and for the most part forced them to keep their mouths shut.

In the several minutes it had taken to muster them she’d had to deal with questions piled on top of questions.

“What’s Annja Creed the famous archaeologist doing out here?”

“Ninjas? There were ninjas shooting at her?”

“Are we going to be on television?” This came from Cindy.

“Is Doc involved?”

Then there were the mutterings of disbelief, suggestions that this was all some ruse to get them away from their dig site and their precious find that hadn’t been reported yet and would make them all famous.

“Doc’s gonna spit the dummy over this.”

“Yeah, you just don’t lob in on our place and tell us we’ve gotta leave.”

“Who does she think she is anyway?” This came from Jeff, the one student who’d never seen an episode of Chasing History’s Monsters.

Annja offered only a few replies, letting Matthew order them around. She thought he was enjoying his authority, despite the predicament she’d put him in.

“If this all turns out to be nothing,” he cautioned her. “If Doc isn’t involved—”

“Then I’ll be grateful, and you’ll all be safe,” Annja interrupted.

She adopted a fast pace and the students had to work hard to keep up. When she crested the ridge she saw lights on in all of the tents and people moving around. She knew there were a dozen people to account for at the Michaels dig, including the two security guards and Dari.

Faint sounds came to her: a murmur, which must be the archaeologists chattering; a dog barking, perhaps a dingo loose in the preserve; the breeze gusting and rustling the leaves on the trees beyond the site. She also heard the students behind her grabbing this or that rock, their shoes pushing scree down the other side.

“We’re going here only for safety in numbers, right?” Matthew joined her at the top of the ridge, looking down at Dr. Michaels’s camp.

Annja nodded.

“Then Dr. Michaels doesn’t need to know about the temple to Hathor we found,” he said.

“It’s not my place to tell him,” Annja admitted. “But I don’t care much for secrets.” Except the ones I’m forced to keep, she thought.

The trek down was relatively easy, the moon revealing a course that wasn’t terribly steep and had few granite upthrusts. She’d spotted no dark-clad men on the ridge or down below in the camp, but the moonlight didn’t keep all the shadows at bay, and so she remained on guard.

Several minutes later they were in front of Dr. Michaels’s tent. The other archaeologists had pulled out extra folding chairs and mats so everyone had something to sit on. Annja took a head count while Jennifer welcomed the students.

“Where’s Dari?” she asked after she double-checked her number.

Wes looked worried. “He left right after you did. We told him we could well take care of ourselves, and he was concerned about you traipsing off on your own. I thought he’d caught up to you.”

Annja couldn’t suppress a groan. Now she’d have to go looking for him—finding one man in this preserve at night might be like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack. She just hoped she wouldn’t find his body and that the men who’d attacked her hadn’t first gotten to him.

“Perhaps we could form search parties,” Jennifer suggested. “We could—”

“Not a good idea.” This came from Matthew, the only student who hadn’t accepted one of the offered seats. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked from the archaeologists to the ridge to Jon. “We’re going to have company. This dill here called Dr. Hamam, and he’s sending someone out for Ms. Creed. She thinks we might be in danger.”

Dr. Michaels stroked his chin. “Are you really going looking for him, Annja? He’s a big boy. He can’t find you—he’ll come back.”

“If he’s able,” Annja said. “But I’ve got a very bad feeling about all of this.”

“It’s not my fault,” Jon told Cindy. He tried to keep his voice low, but it carried. “I called Doc ’cause he needed to know Annja Creed had come calling in the middle of the night. Doc’s got nothing to do with any ninjas with guns. This is Doc’s dig, and he had every right to know we had a visitor. A famous one.”

Cindy yawned and leaned into another one of the students. “It’s all kind of exciting,” she said. “But I’ll be bummed if nothing dangerous happens.”

Annja rolled her eyes and took visual stock of the site. Nineteen people were clustered around the tent, including herself. Only two of them—the security guards—had guns. Only the security guards looked wholly alert, though the students were perking up; the climb had helped enliven them. The coffee might help, too. Jennifer was passing out mugs and paper cups and pouring from a big pot.

“I’ve got more brewing,” she told them. “But this is for starters.”

Annja didn’t consider the camp very defensible. She could put them all in the woods and tell them to be quiet, but she doubted some of the students would cooperate. Someone would hear them out there. Best keep them there, with the security guards posted.

“Matthew, give Dr. Michaels the satellite phone.” The graduate assistant hesitated only a moment. “Call the police, whatever police services this place,” she ordered.

“And tell them what?” Wes took the phone and stared at it.

“That there’s ninjas with guns on the ridge,” Cindy snickered.

“That there could be trouble,” Annja said. “That there are two dead men on the ridge. That more men are coming.” She couldn’t help but glance Jon’s way. “Get the cops out here quick.” She told the students, “Stay here and stay close. Try to stay quiet—”

“Look, Miss Creed, I’m having a hard time swallowing all of this,” Wes said. “You’ve no reason to lie to me or make something up, but ninjas and guns.”

“Wes, I think I heard shooting a while back,” Jennifer said.

“That was somebody opening their lunch,” Wes joked. “I suppose there’s no harm in calling the authorities. We’ve not had them out here before.” He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. “Just all of this is a little much to take in. But I’ll call. It’ll take them awhile to get here, you understand. We’re pretty much—”

“In the sticks, the boondocks,” Annja cut in. “I know. Just make the calls and keep it quiet so you can listen.”

“So we can hear if anyone’s coming,” Wes finished. “There’s an access road to the west that we take. Our cars are parked there. Anyone driving in would come that way.”

No, Annja thought, they could take the road where the painter dropped her and Dari off, come at the site through the trees.

“And there’s a road that comes in from the north,” Matthew said. “That’s the one we use. It snakes around the narrow part of the preserve ridge. But I bet we’ll not hear anybody drive on it…not from way over here.”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open,” Annja cautioned. “And start calling.” She nodded to Wes. She turned to Matthew. “And when I get back, I want you to tell me all about your Dr. Hamam.”

Wes Michaels was placing a second call by the time she’d jogged past the sifting tables. The moonlight made a stretch of mud slick and revealed a set of boot prints. They weren’t grooved, like the assassins’ boots.

“Dari,” she said. “And so I must rescue my knight in shining armor. This has been just a lovely, lovely day.”

Once more, Annja started up the ridge.