It took less than a minute for her to die.

Messy, but unavoidable, the Dragon thought.

Being careful to avoid the splatters of blood across the floor, the Dragon walked to the desk and picked up the photocopies of the drawings the Creed woman had made, as well as the file containing the doctor’s impressions about the patient and her condition. The doctor’s final few patients would automatically come under suspicion if the police followed their normal procedures, and the last thing the Dragon wanted was to have the police trailing the target. By taking the materials the Dragon hoped to eliminate any connection between the doctor and the target, which, in turn, would throw the police off the track.

Just to be certain that all traces of the Creed woman’s appointment had been dealt with accordingly, the Dragon stole the doctor’s appointment book and erased the tape on the answering machine.

Stepping over to the window to be certain of better reception, the Dragon took out a cell phone and dialed a number. When it was answered, the Dragon said, “I need some men. A combination of muscle and general surveillance experience would be best. I’ll meet them in the location we discussed previously.”

With that, the Dragon hung up, took one last glance around and then left the office behind, carefully locking the door with the doctor’s own set of keys.

THE MEN ASSEMBLED AT THE warehouse two hours later.

The Dragon looked all six of them over. They were average looking, nondescript. Several had short haircuts that suggested prior military service. A few had prison tattoos. None of them would stand out in a crowd and even the tallest among them wasn’t so tall as to be memorable.

It was a good group.

“This is your target,” the Dragon said, handing them each a photograph of Annja, taken as she came out of her apartment building. It was a good shot, with a clear view of her features, and they would have no trouble identifying her from it.

The Dragon gave them a minute to look it over, and then said, “There are two addresses on the back. One for her home, the other for her place of employment. I want her watched. I need to know where she goes, who she sees and what she does.”

The men nodded. One of them had the audacity to make suggestive comments regarding what he’d like to do to her. That wouldn’t do. The Dragon walked over and without warning slammed the blunt side of one hand into the man’s throat.

His eyes bulged; his hands went to his neck as he realized his windpipe had been crushed and his air supply cut off. He reached out in his panic, but the Dragon stepped back and let him fall to the floor, calmly watching as he suffocated to death.

It took several minutes.

The rest of the men looked on in silence.

When it was over, the Dragon turned to the group and asked, “Anyone else like to offer their opinion of the target?”

No one said anything.

The Dragon knew that men like this were influenced by two things—fear and money. With the first established, it was time to move onto the second.

Stepping over the dead man’s body, the Dragon walked back up the row, examining each man in turn. “If the opportunity presents itself, or if you are made and she knows you are following her, I want you to stage a confrontation. She is in possession of a certain sword, one that is worth a hefty sum of money. If any of you get the location of that weapon, or the sword itself, I will provide you with a reward above and beyond the fee for the job itself.”

There were murmurs of appreciation.

The Dragon looked them over. “Do you understand?”

There was a chorus of agreements.

The Dragon handed them all a slip of paper.

“Here is a cell number. Memorize it. When you have completed the assignment, call me.”

After a moment, the Dragon collected the slips of paper and then dismissed the men.

The plan had been set in motion. It was time to wait to see if it bore any fruit.

18

Between the events in Dr. Laurent’s office and the encounter at the café, Annja had had enough excitement for one day. She caught a cab and headed home, but not until she’d had the driver make a few sudden turns and run a red light or two. At this point, it made sense to be cautious.

Just because you can’t see them, Annja thought, doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.

She had the cabbie drop her off a block from her loft and ducked into a local Chinese restaurant for some takeout. Once back at home, she sat down and looked at the drawings, trying to make some sense of them.

She stared again at the face of the swordsman, searching her memory for a familiar face, trying to determine if she had ever seen him before. With only the eyes and the upper half of the nose to work from, it was like trying to find a needle in a field of haystacks. It could be anybody, really.

She turned her attention to the images of Joan of Arc’s execution. Recalling her thought that she might have been reproducing a painting or an image she’d seen somewhere before, she turned to her laptop. A search turned up nearly ninety thousand images.

It would take days to go through them all.

Still, she glanced through the first few pages of images, looking for something that resembled her drawing. But, aside from the fact that they all showed a young woman being burned at the stake, none of them were a match.

The mystery remained and Annja decided to leave it that way.

Later that night, while she was trying to get organized for the work she needed to do in the studio the next day, her phone rang.

Answering it, Annja said, “Hello?”

Only silence greeted her.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” she asked.

Still nothing.

Assuming it was a wrong number, she hung up.

A few minutes later the phone rang again.

A feeling of unease swept over her as she stared at the receiver. It rang twice, and then a third time. On the fourth ring she overcame her reluctance and snatched it up.

“Hello?”

Silence greeted her a second time, but this time it was different. This time there was a depth to it, a sense that someone was there, even if they weren’t answering her.

That silence angered her.

“I know you can hear me. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not the type of person you want to mess around with. I suggest you leave me alone.”

When she still didn’t get an answer, Annja hung up the phone.

No sooner had she done so, then it rang again.

Grabbing the phone for the third time, she snarled, “Now you are asking for trouble.”

A man’s laugh echoed down the line. “And here I thought you just didn’t understand me, Annja.”

“Garin?” Finding him unexpectedly on the line startled her.

“I’m headed out of town for a week and thought I’d check in before I left. You returned to the U.S. rather abruptly, after all.”

It took Annja a moment to focus on what he was saying; the prior calls had unnerved her more than she had expected. Finally she said, “After your little altercation with Roux I saw no sense in staying, not when I had work that needed to be done here.”

“And does that work pertain to the information we discussed before you left?”

Annja was about to say yes, but bit her tongue at the last minute to keep from doing so. If there really was an international assassin after either her or Roux, she suddenly didn’t want Garin to know about it.

“No, nothing like that. Just some editing for the show that needed to be done.” She tried to change the subject. “So where did you say you were going?” she asked.