Rogue Angel 46: Treasure of Lima by Alex Archer

Reyes relaxed and lowered his weapon, glancing back at Annja as he did so.
    “It’s Jimenez,” he said. “From the engine room.”
    Reyes waved the other man forward and the two clasped hands, exchanging greetings in Spanish as they did so. Reyes had just started questioning the other man about what he’d seen when Annja heard the quiet click of a door closing behind them.
    Spinning around, she saw another man enter the passageway through the door at the far end that they’d just used. The newcomer was young, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five in Annja’s view, with dreadlocks that spilled down to surround a lean face with a sharp nose. His eyes lit up when he saw them, and he licked his lips as he brought the machete in his hands up so Annja could get a good look at it.
    “We’ve got company,” she said to Reyes, interrupting him, and both he and Jimenez turned to look.
    Dreadlocks gave a shout and began to run toward them.
    Annja flattened herself against the corridor wall, giving Reyes a clear shot.
    Reyes brought the rifle up, sighted down its length and then stiffened, a groan escaping his lips.
    Annja stared, uncomprehending, until Jimenez took a step back, away from Reyes, and the knife in his right hand was revealed, dripping blood— Reyes’s blood —onto the deck at his feet.
    Reyes tried to hand her the rifle, but he didn’t have the strength, Jimenez’s blow having punctured not only a lung but his heart, as well. The rifle clattered to the deck and he collapsed forward, falling atop it.
    Jimenez grinned and stepped toward her, knife in hand.
    Time seemed to slow as Annja assessed and evaluated the situation. With two opponents bearing down on her from opposite directions, she needed to eliminate one of the threats as quickly as possible. Doing so would prevent her from having to split her attention and would also increase her chances of getting out of this in better shape than her companion had.
    Since Jimenez was closest, she decided to deal with him first.
    The crewman-turned-pirate no doubt expected her to run, or at least panic, but Annja did neither of those things. In fact, when he smiled at her a second time, brandishing his knife, she smiled back.
    That confused him. His steps faltered, then stopped as he stared at her in surprise.
    Annja knew he must have been wondering what she had to smile about, why she wasn’t quavering in fear, and so she decided to show him.
    She called her sword to hand and plunged it into his chest while he stood there in shocked surprise.
    That’s for Reyes, she thought as she yanked the weapon free.
    Jimenez stood there for a second, a thin stream of blood slipping free of the side of his mouth, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over backward.
    If he wasn’t dead, he soon would be.
    Annja dismissed him without another thought and turned to face his partner in crime. Dreadlocks had covered more than half the distance between them in the few moments it had taken her to deal with Jimenez, and seeing how close he was, Annja slipped into a defensive position, legs braced and sword out in front of her, ready to beat back his charge.
    But Dreadlocks’s reflexes were better than she expected and he managed to skid to a stop a few yards away, his own weapon raised, as well.
    His gaze flicked to Jimenez and then back to her.
    “I’m going to kill you for that,” he told her.
    Annja grinned. “You can try.”
    Dreadlocks gave a shout and came for her, his machete slashing back and forth.
    Annja parried with her sword, conscious of the advantage that the other man’s shorter weapon gave him. Due to the narrow corridor and low ceilings, her range of motion with the sword was limited; overhead or wide, slashing blows were out of the question. If she tried them, all she’d wind up doing was get her sword caught against the wall or ceiling and leave herself vulnerable to Dreadlocks’s attack.
    Dreadlocks slashed at her, leaving his rib