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He shook some of the cocaine onto the back of his hand, then snorted it. He
licked the back of his hand and felt his tongue grow numb. The cocaine was
good, expertly cut.
New energy blossomed within Icepick. He forced himself to wait although his
nerves jangled for him to be up and moving.
He reached under his leather duster and took out the Glock 18C machine pistol.
The weapon looked like a normal semiautomatic handgun, but it was configured
to fire through a 17-round or 33-round magazine in a single pull of the
trigger.
The pistols were usually employed by American law-enforcement agencies, but
Icepick had negotiated the purchase of a few dozen. The weapon had been
featured in one of the Matrix films and Terminator 3. After seeing the Glock
there, Icepick had decided he had to have one.
Several 33-round magazines filled the deep pockets of the duster he'd had
specially made. It was like something Neo from the Matrix movies would wear,
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too. He also wore a Kevlar vest. It was bullet resistant and would stop most
rounds. He'd take a vicious beating from the blunt trauma, but a few bruises
were a small price to pay. But he didn't plan on getting shot at all.
Icepick inserted one of the 33-round magazines. High capacity meant that his
team didn't have to be accurate. They just had to be careful not to shoot each
other.
Pigg and the two men Terrence had chosen drifted away into the night.
Crouching, zinging inside, Icepick whistled tunelessly while he waited.
Hallinger had found a map.
Annja shifted through the images the professor had taken and fed into the
computer. The digital images could be dramatically blown up.
"Do you see it?" Hallinger asked.
"I do." Annja manipulated the image. "The map's unmistakable."
"But we have no reference points." Hallinger sounded tired. "It could be
anywhere in Africa."
"West Africa," Annja said. "We know that because of the Hausa language."
"The Hausa were once scattered across a far larger part of Africa than they
are now," Hallinger pointed out. "Where this map is depends a lot on how old
this stone is."
"Not the stone," Annja said. "The carving."
"Agreed." Hallinger leaned a hip against the table and looked disgusted.
"The carving is exquisite work." Annja studied the lines. "There's not a
misplaced line in the map."
"The Hausa worked in stone."
"But whoever made this was a gifted craftsman. That's going to narrow the
field a bit."
"I shouldn't allow myself to be disappointed," Hallinger said. "It's not like
we're going to get to go look for the treasure."
Annja looked at him and smiled. "Is it the treasure you want?"
"If the Hausa put gold and ivory away for a rainy day, you can bet they put
away more than that. That place, wherever it is, could also be a library
containing records, histories and a real look into the Hausa culture during
those days. Some of the oldest empires of civilization are in those areas."
Hallinger rubbed his jaw. "I wouldn't mind being remembered as the guy who
found something like that."
Neither would I, Annja thought. She turned and leaned against the table, too.
She was aware that some of the security guards were watching and listening to
their conversation even though they were trying to be subtle.
"Maybe we can get a shot at doing that," Annja said.
Hallinger stared at her.
"My producer on Chasing History's Monsters has wanted in on this," Annja said.
"So far I've kept him out of it. The last thing we needed was a film crew
leaning over us."
"Agreed. But you think he might be interested in this?"
Annja smiled. "An ancient map to a lost treasure of a people protected by a
spider god? He'd go for it in a heartbeat. There's only one catch."
Hallinger lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.
"We'll need a monster. Or a legend of a monster."
"We haven't found any monsters yet that weren't of the human variety,"
Hallinger pointed out.
"We could play up the Anansi angle. Anansi wasn't always a good god. He's
believed to have come from the Ashanti people. Maybe there's something there."
"If you're talking about Africa, and especially West Africa, you're talking
about voudoun and zombies."
"I think my producer may finally be as sick of doing stories about zombies as
I am." Annja thought about it. "Maybe we could work with the cult aspect of
the bokors. They lean toward the dark side of voudoun."
"They create the zombies."
"Without getting into the whole zombie litany," Annja said.
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"With the Islamic influence, we also have the jinni."
"Weak." Then Annja reconsidered. "Actually, we haven't done anything with
jinni that I know of."
"Several of the African cultures also believe in lycanthropes," Hallinger
said.
"But we don't have a specific monster. Or person who was thought to be a
monster. A general story about werewolves wouldn't fly."
"That makes a difference?"
"Can you believe it?"
"I have to admit," Hallinger said, "I've seen the show. I wouldn't have
thought there was much criteria for acceptable monsters."
"There is," Annja said.
They both fell silent for a moment.
"What about vampires?" one of the security guards volunteered.
"Vampires," Hallinger said.
Annja shrugged. "My producer loves vampires. He hangs out at vampire clubs and
plays a count."
"Terrific," the professor said dryly. "You know, this is a sad statement on
our profession that we even have to sit around discussing such subjects."
"It's all about acquiring funding," Annja replied. "You have to get creative
when you're going after funding."
"In 2002 and 2003," the security guard said, "they had a bunch of vampire
attacks in some country. Killed a governor and a bunch of other people.
Started a riot."
"Malawi," Annja said.
The guard snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "That's it."
"Only one person was killed during the riot. Four other people, including the
governor, were stoned but lived. The citizens thought the governor was in
league with vampires." Annja had been offered the story at the time. She'd
passed. Kristie Chatham had accepted the story, negotiated a fat bonus for the
travel, then proceeded to run screaming through the streets of Blantyre,
Malawi.
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