Part 19 (1/2)

No, Annja thought. No, I don't. She refused to say it. But she couldn't deny it.

The Protectors only maintained live b.o.o.by traps in a zone around the perimeter of the mesa itself. With a millennium to work on their techniques they clearly had means of keeping track of where the traps were laid, but it was simply too hazardous leaving them all over the place where the drunk or merely inattentive might stumble into them. Or children at play. Also it took work; the Shan Plateau was dry by the standards of lowland Southeast Asia, but that still made it pretty wet by the standards of most other places. Things rotted quickly in the jungle.

The Protectors had displayed remarkable speed and efficiency setting traps to guide the rival ethnic armies into colliding. But that was in a very limited area. They didn't have time to set enough to halt the progress of the rolling gunfight that threatened the heart of their tiny nation.

Ironically, once caught up in a running gunfight, the invaders were less inclined to be slowed by threat of b.o.o.by traps or ambush, rather than more. Walking cold-bloodedly into a mysterious, unfamiliar jungle, knowing some awful fate might take you at any minute, would grind down anybody's nerves. And when somebody did trip a deadfall-or vanished from the rear of a marching file, never to be seen again-what was bad enough in fact was magnified tenfold in emotional impact.

But when blood was hot, and spilling freely, and caps were being busted all around-it was war and men would face ridiculous threats without a second thought.

If nothing else, by dint of Easy hopping and expostulating in energetic Chinese, the Protectors had allowed themselves to be talked out of their taboo against using modern weapons pretty quickly, once it became lethally obvious that blow darts and bows were decisively overmatched in the situation. The Zulu woman struck Annja as remarkably persuasive.

For her part Annja felt vaguely like the serpent in the Garden of Eden for helping introduce them to firearms.

Some village men came in with AK-47s. Their famed ease of use had come in handy, and there were fairly abundant numbers available to be scavenged by people adept at sneaking through the woods.

Easy roused herself to go listen to their report. Exhausted by her own part in the day's strenuous events, Annja sat below a crumbling edifice and rested. In a couple minutes Easy returned.

”They say both sides have stopped for the night,” she reported. ”They don't like doing anything in the dark. Especially with all the danger from traps and ambushes. But they're already a quarter of the way here.”

Annja grimaced. There were, as she appreciated even more keenly now than she had this morning, infinite ways a battle could shape up. The way this one had the only issue was whether the Protectors, and the timeless treasure they guarded with their lives, got overrun tomorrow or in a week. In either case the outcome looked inevitable.

”Quite,” Easy said. Annja looked up at her. ”Unless the Tatmadaw notices all the noise up here and decides to join in. Won't that be fun?”

”You have ESP, too,” Annja said.

”I do,” Easy said, with a tired little laugh, ”but it's hardly necessary. Your thoughts show as clearly as if your forehead was an LCD screen. Under the circ.u.mstances, they're pretty inevitable thoughts, really.”

”Maybe.” Annja stood up. ”But we aren't dead yet. And while there's life, there's-well, not hope, maybe. But there's always something we can do!”

”Like what?” Easy said.

Annja sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Her head sagged; it felt like lead. But she would not let herself slump.

”I don't know,” she said. ”But there's one rule I live by.”

”And that is?”

”When in doubt, bust stuff up.”

ANNJA HEARD THE SOBBING from several feet away.

The woman sat just inside the brush that surrounded the central plaza. She had her knees drawn up and her arms clasped tightly about them. A huge, nearly intact structure rose to her right. The moon came up over the forest to the east.

Annja sat down by her side. She said nothing. Only waited.

”I'm afraid,” Easy said in a broken voice.

Annja looked at her. Her normal impudent-arrogant-poise had deserted her. Its departure deflated her, left her looking like a small adolescent girl.

”Why?” Annja asked. ”You don't seem to be afraid of death.”

”Oh, I am,” Easy said. Strangely, saying that seemed to calm her. If only slightly. ”But that's not what really scares me.”

Annja herself felt terrified. In action she settled into a sort of mindful trance-maintaining the invaluable presence of mind that was life in combat or any kind of blood crisis. Some of her combat instructors, like ex-SAS operator Angus, had remarked upon her gift. It was rare, naturally possessed by one in a thousand, or ten thousand, or even a million. All of special-operations training was designed to impart that ability. And even then it succeeded only part of the time.

But nothing made danger's imminence any easier to take.

Easy uttered a bitter laugh. ”Death seems the easy way out right now.”

”Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling that where you're concerned, the Easy way is really the hard way,” Annja said.

”Found out for the fraud I am!” This time her laugh sounded more genuine. Annja felt a quick rush of relief. Maybe I'm getting through.

It was strange. We started as rivals, she thought. Adversaries on opposite sides of law-and right, she still believed, although she had long recognized those as two very different things. Then I hated her, as much as I've ever hated anyone.

Now I feel like her big sister.

She reached out an arm and hugged the woman to her. Easy almost melted into her. Annja held her for several minutes while she clung and sobbed as if her heart were broken.

At last the pa.s.sion of grief and fear pa.s.sed. Easy pulled away and smiled feebly. ”I'm acting quite the fearless action heroine, aren't I?”

”You're acting human,” Annja said. ”Unfortunately, what we all need-me, the Protectors, even you-is the action heroine back.”

Easy shook her head. ”If only that were really me. And not just a pose.”

”You feel like a phony?” Annja asked.

Easy nodded. ”Just a little girl trying to get her daddy's attention. Maybe, if I am very, very good, his approval. Yet when I well and truly caught the attention of the parental unit the resulting explosion launched me an entire continent away.”

”Welcome to the world, Princess,” Annja said, surprised her own tone sounded bitter, and slightly embarra.s.sed by it. ”Everybody feels like a phony. Everybody lives in fear of being found out.” She laughed, a little too sharply. ”Heck, I thought you might be the exception.”

”Not me,” Easy said. ”Overcompensation is my middle name.”

”I thought it was Calf.”

Easy goggled at her a moment. This time her laugh was free and clear.

But she clouded over again almost at once, huddled back over herself. ”I thought I was so clever. Let's get the red ants and the black ants to fight. I thought it was the answer to all our problems.”

”So did I,” Annja said. ”So did the Protectors. It wasn't just our best shot, Easy. It was a good idea.”

”But it didn't work.”

Annja shrugged. ”Well, good ideas don't always. And sometimes bad ones do. The best we can do is the best we can do.”