Annja woke in darkness and knew at once she was on a plane by the constant hum around her and the sensation she was falling.
Falling!
There was no doubt about it. Her stomach whirled in protest. She sat up and made a frantic grab for her computer as it threatened to tumble from her lap. Almost at the same moment the falling sensation abated.
"It's all right, Miss Creed." The man who had picked her up at the mall sat on the other side of the private jet Roux had arranged for her. "Just a minor bit of turbulence."
"We lost altitude."
Ishmael nodded. He was reading a copy of Scientific American. "I'd guess about a thousand feet or so. We hit a major storm system a few minutes ago."
The jet bucked and twisted violently.
Lifting the window cover, Annja peered out at the night. White-hot lightning blazed through the violet sky, then everything went black.
"The pilot's getting clearance to get us up out of this." Ishmael sounded totally calm.
"I didn't figure you for the Scientific American type. No offense."
Ishmael smiled. "None taken. Are you hungry? There's a small galley aboard. Surely we can find something."
Annja discovered she was very hungry. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A few hours. We've got a couple more hours till we reach New York." Ishmael closed his magazine and unbuckled his seat belt. "I'm going to eat. Would you like anything?"
"Sure." Annja freed herself and stood.
Then, almost like flicking a switch, the jet smoothed out. Her stomach muscles unclenched a little. She enjoyed flying, but the thought of crashing in a plane scared her. It was the lack of control, the inability to act to save herself, that caused that fear and she knew it.
"So what do you read about in Scientific American?"
Ishmael took out a bottle of white wine and showed it to her. "Emerging technology."
Annja nodded at the wine. "What field interests you?"
Ishmael poured the wine into a glass. The liquid carried a faint ruby tint. "Anything to do with information systems and covert security."
"Spy toys," Annja said.
Smiling, Ishmael took a bottled beer for himself. "You could call it that."
"You're a bodyguard?"
"Sometimes."
"And when you're not?"
"I'm something else."
"All for Roux?"
"Mr. Roux employs me upon occasion. So do others. I've reached a point in my life that I work pretty much for who I want to work with."
They returned to the main cabin and ate.
****
A few minutes later, Ishmael took out his cell phone and took a call. When he was finished he looked at Annja, who was looking over her notes about the belt plaque.
"That was Mr. Roux."
"He didn't want to speak to me?" Annja was surprised.
"He wanted you to know he is going to arrive a couple hours after we get you home. He suggested you wait for him there."
"Suggested? That doesn't sound like Roux. He's more the type to tell people what to do," Annja said.
Ishmael shrugged and smiled a little. "Perhaps I'm more diplomatic than he is."
"Did Roux tell you to keep me there?" Annja asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not something he can pay me to do."
"And he knows that?"
"Yes."
Annja looked at the man. During the whole time she'd been around him, she hadn't picked up anything on him other than he was courteous, professional, and dangerous. She'd seen examples of the first two, but the third was an educated guess made from the way he moved and the way he watched everything.
"Can I get you another beer?" Annja reached for his empty bottle.
"That would be great." Ishmael took time to wipe the bottle free of fingerprints with his napkin, then handed it to her.
Annja grimaced. She'd intended to hide the bottle and smuggle it off the plane in her backpack. Bart McGilley could have run the prints for her.
"Mr. Roux mentioned that you were tricky. He told me about some coin you'd lifted his fingerprints from when you met in France."
Annja shrugged. Then she went to get more wine and another beer for Ishmael.
Giving up learning anything useful from Ishmael, she turned to her computer. She discovered another post from her contact.
I've been searching all over for more information about that legend associated with the belt plaque you posted. Haven't been able to find much more, so don't be disappointed. I'm still looking.
Annja read over the posting a second time and was disappointed. She'd been hoping for a new lead to chase. She was wondering what to do next when an instant message box suddenly popped up on the computer screen. It was from the Web site poster.
Are you online?
Annja responded immediately.
Yes.
I was about to post, saw you online and thought I'd IM instead. Okay?
It's okay. I appreciate everything you're doing. This thing has been hard to research, Annja typed.
That's probably because you're going through regular history and archaeological sites to try to find answers.
Annja knew that was true. I am.
I'm not. I've been noodling around in conspiracy sites, myths, and lore. Not exactly factual material.
It was precisely the kind of research Chasing History's Monsters did. Annja sighed in displeasure. No matter how much she hated it, when a researcher went back far enough, there wasn't much that separated fact from fiction. Lore was an odd combination of "accepted as fact" truths and things half-remembered. Sorting through that kind of material was challenging.
I didn't go there, she responded.
I thought not. It's not everybody's cup of tea. Do you know who the Penglai are?
Annja thought for a moment, coming up with only wisps of a clue. I think it's a city.
There is a city, but the city took its name from a myth about PenglaiMountain. That's where the Eight Immortals were supposed to live. They were thought to be based on eight wise men and wise women. All of them were supposed to be forces of good.
PenglaiMountain has existed as a myth since the Qin Dynasty.
That puts us at two hundred and fifty years B.C. Annja thought. But Annja knew the time frame also tied in to the Scythian art.
Emperor Qin Shi Huang sent several explorers looking for PenglaiMountain. The land was supposed to be totally white. Palaces were supposed to be made of platinum and gold. Jewels were supposed to grow on trees. And, of course, there was supposed to be the elixir of life that prevented anyone from growing old.
I can understand how Emperor Qin could have been motivated, Annja typed.
So can I. But you can find that information nearly anywhere. The thing that interested me was the theory of the Ninth Immortal.
I'm intrigued, but I don't know how it ties in with the belt plaque.
Supposedly while Emperor Qin's warriors were out searching, they sailed through a treacherous storm and ended up on a beach of white sand. After exploring for a time, they discovered they were on an uncharted island.
Or they could have been mixed up and simply been lost, Annja thought, her natural cynicism kicking in.
Any palaces of gold or platinum? she typed.
No, but they did find what some people believe was the Ninth Immortal. The other Eight Immortals are viewed as forces of good.
Heroes, Annja responded.
Exactly. This one wasn't a hero. Everybody wanted to forget about him. This one was a villain.
This one was Death.