Seeker's Curse

Outrage overcame Annja’s fears. “I would never do anything unethical from an archaeological standpoint.”

“Your name has been connected to certain suspect parties. Before Bajraktari.”

“To preserve archaeological treasures—or human lives—I’d deal with the Devil himself,” she said.

That got a brief laugh.

“Sometimes one must indeed do so,” he said.

Annja drew a deep breath. “I was hired by the Japan Buddhist Federation,” she said, “to survey and preserve Buddhist shrines in Nepal.”

The truth, she had decided, was her best weapon under the circumstances. Or her best chance.

While Sergeant Pantheras Katramados had started out stern, if scrupulously polite, what struck Annja as a natural affability began to shine through. She also felt a definite chemistry between them. She doubted he would let it affect his judgment. Nor would she. But she couldn’t deny it.

So she told him the truth, with just a few select omissions. Such as anything to do with her mentor Roux. And most especially the sword.

“Is that the best story you can come up with?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “It’s the truth. Truth doesn’t always make the best story. Or even the most plausible sounding one.”

“You might claim to be working undercover as a reporter investigating the international trade in plundered antiquities for your program,” he pointed out.

Look, you’re confusing me, she wanted to say. Whose side are you on, anyway?

“I could. But my best chance of walking out of here as anything but a prisoner is to stay on your good side. If you catch me in a lie, I don’t think you’ll feel like cutting me any slack.”

He grinned. “You’re right.”

She knew the Japan Buddhist Federation hadn’t passed on the Bajraktari lead to police yet because they wanted to follow up on it first. Annja was fine with that. She had nothing against the police, although she lacked the reflex trust of anything in a uniform so many people displayed.

In general Annja felt more concerned about what was good and right than what was legal. Or not.

Sergeant Katramados knit his fingers together and rubbed his chin and lower lip absentmindedly with a thumb.

“You were either very brave or very foolish, Ms. Creed,” he said, “to put yourself in such a situation.”

She scowled and shook her head. “I guess on evidence it turned out to be foolish. Much as I hate to admit it, it never occurred to me they might decide to grab me for ransom.”

“Kidnapping is a growth industry in the Balkans these days.”

“Evidently I should have done a bit more research on the modern era.”

“You were lucky to escape with your life.”

She frowned slightly. “I’m resourceful,” she said, “and I’m totally determined to be nobody’s victim.”

He cocked a brow again. She shrugged.

“And sure, I was lucky. Especially when you and your friends came busting through the skylight,” she admitted.

“Speaking of the warehouse battle,” he said, “some mysteries exist which I hope you might be able to clarify for me.”

The subtext that it could help her case remained unspoken, though unmistakable. She gave him points for not saying it aloud, though.

“Which ones?” she asked.

“One of the bodies bore severe stabbing or slashing wounds. Have you any idea how that came about in the midst of a gun battle?”

“Some of the gang members wore knives, I noticed,” Annja said. “They might’ve fallen out, blaming each other for betrayal. Or perhaps the attack provided the pretext to work out internal gang politics, personal rivalries, even take revenge. Who knows, with violent criminal types?”

“Kosovar and Albanian gangs tend to be both violent and unpredictable, it’s true,” he said, looking and sounding as if he didn’t like the taste in his mouth. “But these wounds were inflicted by a weapon with a very long blade. Not pocket knives or even belt knives.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Surely you don’t suspect me of packing a concealed sword? I wasn’t even wearing a coat.”

He looked at her, his long handsome face unreadable in the questionable dim light. Long strong fingers drummed the tabletop briefly.

“No,” he said. “I suppose not. It would seem impractical at best.”

He showed his teeth in a grin. It was an infectious smile. Annja was too savvy to let it put her off her guard.

She felt a certain smugness over the sword ploy. When you said it flat out like that, it sounded so completely absurd that it would weaken any suspicions he harbored about the dead men’s wounds. She hoped, anyway.

“So, what are you researching here?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Classical Greece isn’t really my area. I’m trying to refresh my knowledge. Particularly I’m looking for anything that can help me figure out why Greek coins are turning up in plunder from a Buddhist shrine in Nepal.”

“Macedonian,” he corrected.

“Macedonian. Right. You mentioned that. Might that have something to do with it?”

He stood up and smiled at her. “I’ll let you pursue that on your own,” he said.

“This means I’m not arrested, yes?”

“For the moment.” He frowned pensively. “It might be better to take you in,” he said, “strictly for your own good. Our informant inside the gang tells us that Bajraktari blames you for setting them up. He intends to take vengeance. It is a major reason I’m inclined to believe you.”

Annja swallowed. “Might the gangs have spies of their own in the Hellenic police?”

He shrugged. “Such infiltration is a problem,” he said. “Our particular task force consists only of handpicked and proven men and women—it’s part of the reason we exist. But we lack the resources to provide you a safehouse. You would have to go to jail.”

There’s a happy prospect, she thought. “Meaning you’d have to get cooperation from other Hellenic police. And you can’t take for granted they haven’t been compromised.”

He spread his big, strong hands. She recognized the typical stand-up cop’s dilemma. On the one hand he hated to criticize a fellow law-enforcement officer, especially within his own department. On the other, he was too perceptive and honest not to know there were dirty cops in his house.

“I have not said it,” he said, confirming her suspicion.

It cut against her grain to roll over completely. “So, what’s a door-busting commando type doing in a library in Athens?” she asked.