Forbidden City

“I can unless you want to arrest me. I know my rights. I didn’t have to talk to you at all. But I did. Now I’m leaving.”

“And if I arrest you?”

“Then I’m going to call my attorney, arrange bail, and get out of here a little later than I intended.”

Barfield sighed and stood up. “Forgive me, Miss Creed. I’m a little testy tonight. Those boys out there—and I know they’re old enough to be called young men, but they weren’t much more than boys—didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

“They were going to kill us,” Annja said.

“They’ve never killed anyone before.”

“You’re right. I should have given them the benefit of the doubt,” Annja said sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant. What I meant was that maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t come here.”

“And maybe if you look out there and find their marijuana field you’ll find a missing hiker or two.” Annja reached for her backpack and slung it across her shoulders. She walked to the front of the ranger station.

A handful of cars were parked out front. Most of them were sheriff’s department vehicles, but there were also a couple from local news stations. Two reporters started forward at once, flanked by camcorder operators.

“You’ve got a fan club.” Barfield stood beside Annja. “Once they found out you were involved with television, they had to come.”

Terrific, Annja thought sourly.

“Let me arrange a car to take you back to Georgetown. You’re staying at the bed-and-breakfast there, right?”

Annja nodded. “If you can have someone take me back to my rental car, that would be great.”

Barfield spoke briefly on his radio, telling one of his deputies to meet them in back of the ranger station. He walked her back.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Miss Creed,” Barfield said. “I’m not a bad guy, and I don’t think you’re a criminal. But I do get the sense that you’re not telling me everything you know.”

“Sheriff, I can’t tell you any more about Huangfu Cao than I already have. If I never see him again, that will be fine.”

“He may not feel the same way about you. He had a helicopter standing by in Georgetown, and they hunted for you before you were able to get a call for help out.”

“I know.”

“If he tried to have you killed because you were a potential witness, you may not have seen the last of him.” Barfield held the door open and looked at her. “But if there’s something more to this, some other reason that he and his men chased you, then you may be in serious trouble.”

A deputy braked to a stop in front of Annja. A news team on foot brought up the rear.

“I appreciate your concern.” Annja meant it. She knew that Barfield didn’t want to see her end up dead. Even if she was omitting some of the truth. He seemed like a good man just trying to do his job. That made her feel bad. Don’t go there. Whatever Huangfu was looking for, it’s best left to you, she told herself.

She guessed that they would have taken the belt plaque into custody, then spent weeks or months hanging on to it before calling her back to analyze it.

And there’s the possibility that you’ll learn nothing from the belt plaque anyway. That thought was disheartening. But even if she never learned any more about why Huangfu wanted the piece, she knew she might have an authentic Scythian piece that was museum worthy. She needed to find out some of the history on it.

Barfield walked her to the deputy’s car and opened the door, holding it braced against the cold wind.

Annja sat in the front seat beside the deputy. “Thank you,” she said.

Smiling, Barfield touched his hat brim. “You’re welcome.” He glanced at the driver. “Take her to her car. Follow her back to Georgetown to make sure she gets there safely.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.”

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Barfield took out a business card and handed it to Annja. “If something comes up, give me a call.”

Annja took the card and shoved it into a pocket of her backpack. “I will.”

By that time, the news crew had caught up. “Miss Creed,” the reporter called, “is Chasing History’s Monsters doing a story in Volcanoville? Do the murders have anything to do with the Weeping Ghost that’s said to walk through the forest in that area?”

Annja looked at the deputy. “Let’s go.”

A NNJA WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED to find the rented SUV still sitting in the parking lot where she’d left it. Then again, Huangfu hadn’t had much time to do anything to it while making his escape.

The deputy put his hand lightly on Annja’s shoulder. “Gimme a minute to have a look.”

Annja nodded.

Leaning down, the deputy slid a rack out from under the seat and took out a pump-action shotgun. He racked the slide and fed another round into the gate to fill the ammo tube to capacity.

“Be right back.” The deputy got out but left the car running. He took a quick look at the SUV and the parking lot, and even looked under the vehicle. He returned, looking a little relieved. “Looks good.”

Annja stepped from the car. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The deputy slid behind the wheel again. “I’ll follow you into Georgetown. Make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“I appreciate that.” Walking to the SUV, Annja unlocked the door and got in. Everything looked fine and the deputy had checked the car out, but she was still hesitant about turning the ignition over.

“Huangfu wouldn’t risk blowing up the belt plaque,” she said to herself. She hoped that was true. Then she twisted the key, letting out a tense breath as the engine caught. She let it warm up just a moment then put the car in gear and started driving.

W HEN HER PHONE RANG with half the trip to Georgetown still ahead of her and woods on either side, Annja thought for a moment that it would be Huangfu. But it wasn’t. The New York number belonged to Doug Morrell, her producer on Chasing History’s Monsters.

“Annja, what do you think you’re doing?” Doug Morrell’s voice was excited and exasperated at the same time. He was twenty-two years old. Excitement and exasperation were two of the things he did best.

“I guess it’s a slow news night if this hit CNN,” Annja said.

“It didn’t hit CNN, thank God. I’ve got a fact checker in L.A. who was on her toes and caught the story when it broke on the local stations. Hopefully the story won’t go any further.”

Despite everything that had happened earlier, Annja had to smile at that. Chasing History’s Monsters didn’t have fact checkers. The only pieces that carried factual history and geography were hers, and that was only because she fought for accuracy and managed to have a look at the final cut pre-air. If she hadn’t delivered good stories—and looked good on television, Doug had reminded her on several occasions—she would have been cut from the show for being so strict about facts.

Annja felt certain the “fact checkers” Doug and the other producers on the syndicated show relied on were conspiracy theorists who read underground newspapers and Web sites for the weirdest stories they could find.

“I mean,” Doug went on, breathing hard enough to let her know he’d strapped on his phone headset and was pacing his apartment, “you’ve got to remember that you’re part of a big television success story at a time when television success stories are as rare as…as…well, they’re pretty rare.”

“Thanks, Doug. I’m fine. Really. Three people were killed in front of me, and I was nearly killed. But at least it wasn’t anyone I knew personally.” Annja drove through the night. She yawned so big it hurt.

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t think about that. All Amy said was that the show was getting linked to three murders over there.”