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man in an officer's uniform climbed down from the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, looked at the rebel soldiers, all carefully bound and gagged, and then marched over to where Annja stood. He stared at her for a moment, his expression grim, and then said, "Who is in charge, please?" in heavily accented English.

Annja had no idea who these men were, what they were doing here, or even if they might be allied in some way with the rebels that she'd just defeated. Her hand curled ready to summon her sword, but she didn't draw it. Not until, at least. Not till she knew who they were or what they wanted.

Deciding her friends and teammates had had enough for one night, Annja bit the bullet and answered his question. "I am," she replied.

His grim expression broke into a toothy smile. "Then my compliments to you, señorita . You and your people have saved me considerable time and energy in tracking down and detaining these dogs."

As he explained, the officer in question was Major Enrique Hernandez, of La Policia Mexicana, and he and his squad had been tracking this particular group of rebel soldiers for the past several days. Unfortunately they had lost them a few miles to the south of their present position. Hernandez had been trying to pick up the rebels' trail again when they had intercepted an emergency radio signal from the camp indicating it was under attack. The major explained that it had probably been just bad luck that the rebels had stumbled onto the excavation site, but their leaders weren't fools and the chance to add any artifacts that could draw good money on the black market had likely been too good to pass up.

Surprisingly, Hernandez didn't ask many questions about what had happened to the rebels or how a few archaeologists and graduate students had managed to overpower six soldiers armed with heavy weaponry. He seemed happy just to have the problem dealt with and in so final a manner. Perhaps he felt he was better off not knowing.

Either way, Annja wasn't going to complain. The last thing she wanted was more attention from the law enforcement community, in this country or any other. She'd certainly had her fair share of that lately.

As the major began ordering his men to secure the weapons and pick up the bodies, Annja excused herself and went looking for a hose. She could stand the stench of the muck she was covered in for only so long.

5

    "They say that you single-handedly defeated the rebels. Is that true?"

The voice was male, with a clipped British accent, and decidedly unfamiliar to her.

Annja used one hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the floodlights and looked toward the speaker.

The newcomer was tall and good-looking, with dark curly hair and a five-o'clock shadow that somehow made him look more carefully groomed than if he had been simply clean shaven. His white shirt and tan suit had yet to pick up any of the telltale streaks of red dust that quickly covered anyone who had been on location more than a few minutes, which meant that he'd just arrived.

He stood in a relaxed, easygoing manner, but something about him still set her radar to tingling.

Ever since coming into possession of the magically restored sword that had once belonged to Joan of Arc, her life had been full of dangerous situations and even deadlier enemies. She'd been forced to fight for her life in more than a dozen places around the world, from the jungles of the Amazon to the sands of New Mexico, from the snows of Siberia to the waters of Indochina. She'd quickly learned to recognize the wolves moving among the sheep, and the man standing before her was definitely not one of the latter.

Given the close relationship between Mexico and the U.S., Annja pegged him for some kind of government adviser who had come in with the troops. Probably CIA or Department of Defense. It had to be something like that. His complete indifference to the police troops moving about the camp was a dead giveaway.

Having sized him up, she