“It’s in my dive bag,” she said.

He glared at her for a long moment and she could see in his expression that he was trying to work out how that was possible.

Not as smart as you think, are you? she thought.

Michaels turned and looked at one of the thugs watching from the sidelines. The man got the message without being told and moved swiftly to Annja’s side.

For just a second she thought about grabbing him, using his body as a shield to keep from getting shot as she tried to maneuver into a better position, but something in Michaels’s eyes told her it wouldn’t matter. He’d simply shoot through his underling in order to get to her.

So she sat quietly instead, not doing anything as Michaels’s henchman came over, knelt beside her and, producing a knife from somewhere inside his jacket, cut the dive bag from her belt. He carried it over to Michaels.

Annja watched as Michaels drew open the draw-strings and peered inside.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, looking back up at her.

“Ewell’s Rifle,” she replied wearily.

If I can get them to think I’ve given up, they might make a mistake. And one mistake will be all I’ll need, she thought.

Turning the bag over, Michaels poured the statue into his hand. He held it up for her to see.

“Does this look like a rifle to you?” he asked, and this time she could hear the anger in his voice.

“It does when you understand that the horse General Ewell rode into battle more than any other was named Rifle.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again without saying anything. Clearly, he hadn’t known. Annja watched as he processed that piece of information, imagining that she could almost see the information firing through the various synapses in his brain as he tried to make sense of all the angles that information generated.

“I see,” he said slowly.

“You’ve got the statue, now let us go!” Garin said angrily, speaking up for the first time.

Michaels didn’t even bother looking in his direction, just inclined his head toward his man with the gun standing nearby.

“No!” Annja shouted, fearing the worse.

The gunman stepped forward and cracked Garin across the face with the stock of the automatic rifle in his hands.

Garin went down, hard, blood spraying from his mouth.

“If he says another word, kill him,” Michaels said matter-of-factly. Annja knew he meant it.

Across the deck, Garin shook his head, as if to clear it, spat blood on the deck and then pushed himself back up to his knees, glaring at the man who’d struck him.

The other man smirked and raised the stock of his weapon again, trying unsuccessfully to make his captive flinch, never noticing that the man he thought was helpless before him was now several feet closer than he’d been before.

Not yet, Garin, not yet, Annja thought, and prayed he wouldn’t make a move before she was ready.

Unfortunately for them both, Blaine Michaels had just made several mental connections that would radically alter his plans for moving forward and rob the two of them of their opportunity to escape.

He hefted the horse, perhaps noticing the weight of it for the first time, and then looked at Annja.

“Let me guess. There’s something inside it, isn’t there?”

Annja shrugged.

That was apparently answer enough, though, for Michaels suddenly raised the statue and then dashed it against the hard surface of the deck between his feet, shattering it into several pieces.

From where she sat on the deck nearby, Annja could see a small metallic object lying amid the shattered porcelain.

In that second, everyone’s attention was on the remains of the statue and nowhere else. Now, Annja thought, and she tensed, ready to move, but before she could do so things took another turn.

A pair of figures stepped out onto the deck of the other boat and Annja’s gaze automatically flicked over in that direction. Bernard stood there, his hands tied in front of him, and a blindfold on his face. Beside him was another of Michaels’s thugs, a gun stuck in Bernard’s side.

As if reading her intentions, Michaels looked up from the debris at his feet and asked, “Going somewhere, Miss Creed?”

Annja bit back her reply and released the tension in her limbs. Whatever she’d hoped to do, it was too late now.

Over Michaels’s shoulder, Annja could see Garin come to the same conclusion.

Michaels bent down, brushed aside the broken porcelain and picked up the object that had been hidden inside the statue.

“Bring me the professor,” he called out, and waited while Bernard was led across the deck and then helped across the gap between the boats.

When the professor was standing in front of him, Michaels ripped off the blindfold and held up the object he’d taken from inside the statue. “What is this?” he asked.

From where she sat on the deck, Annja could see that Michaels was holding a metal disk about twice the size of a half-dollar. Another piece of metal had been inserted in the center of the disk, this one in the shape of an eight-pointed star. As she watched, he spun the star so that it rotated within the confines of the disk, making an odd clicking sound as it did so.

Bernard was much closer to the object than she was, and therefore could get a better look at it, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t recognize it.

Annja wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t have any idea what this is, do you, Professor?”

“Of course I do,” Bernard said indignantly, his professional pride stung from the accusation. Or maybe it was just the muzzle of the pistol the guard jabbed him with when he seemed hesitant to answer. “It’s a…well… I think…”

Michaels sighed and there was something downright menacing in the exaggerated way he did so. “Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you yet, Professor Reinhardt, but your usefulness to me is severely limited if you can’t give me the information I need.”

Bernard held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just give me a minute… It’s coming to me….”

“It’s a Jeffersonian Key,” Annja said, coming to his rescue.

Michaels turned and looked at her. “Go on.”

“They were invented by Thomas Jefferson near the close of the American Revolution. The star on the disk acts as a primitive combination lock, releasing successive layers of the corresponding locking mechanism when inserted into the lock and turned in the proper direction.”

Michaels stared at her for a long moment without saying anything. “It would seem, Miss Creed, that you are better prepared to find the treasure than your colleague.”

Annja didn’t say anything. She didn’t know where Michaels was going with this and didn’t want to do anything to tip the scales in the wrong direction. If Bernard was no longer seen as useful, then Michaels might be tempted to get rid of him. Permanently.

“In fact, I don’t see any reason to keep floundering around, following the professor’s instructions, while you beat us to the jackpot each time. I think it would be much better if you did the dirty work, found the treasure and then just turned it over to me.”

“Like hell I will,” Annja said quietly.

Michaels laughed. “That’s precisely what I’d expect you to say, Miss Creed, which is why I’m glad I don’t have to depend on your good-natured cooperation.”

Without looking away from her, he said, “Kill one of them. I don’t care which one.”

“Wait!” Annja shouted, cursing inwardly. “Just wait a moment. I’m sure we can work this out.”

Michaels cocked his head to one side. “Work this out?” he asked. “What is there to work out? You’ll either find the treasure for me or I’ll shoot your friends. It’s pretty simple.”

Annja’s hand ached from her efforts to keep from calling the sword and charging forward. She wanted to wipe that annoying smile off the smug bastard’s face, but knew the moment she made her move someone else would wind up dead and the chances that it would be herself or one of her friends was pretty damn high.