Gabriel's Horn
The stranger could be insane. Or he just might be our salvation.Archaeologist Annja Creed is more than curious when a decrepit, ancient-looking man visits her, claiming the end of the world is near. The stranger spins wild tales and speaks as if he actually knew King Arthur. But, strangest of all, he insists that Annja is the only one who can stop the horrible event that is about to happen.When Annja's mentor and friend Roux goes missing, she quickly realizes there may be something to the stranger's stories. Making her way through the dark and violent underbelly of Istanbul, Annja must find her missing friend and the Holy Grail before the relic gets into the wrong hands. She may not fully believe the fate of the world is on the line, but she doesn't really want to die finding out.
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The sensation of being watched was uncomfortable
Annja had experienced such things before. Women generally did. Usually it was better to just ignore things like that, but Annja was aware that she no longer lived in a usually world.
A figure stood at the window, and he was staring at her. Gaunt and dressed in rags, the old man looked more like a scarecrow than a human being. A ragged beard clung to his pointed chin. His hat had flaps that covered his ears and gave his face a pinched look. His eyes were beady and sharp, mired in pits of wrinkles and prominent bone.
He lifted a hand covered in a glove with the fingers cut off. His dirty forefinger pointed directly at Annja, and even from across the room, she read his lips.
âAnnja Creed.â
A chill ghosted through her. How did the man know her name?
âAnnja Creed,â the old man said. âThe world is going to end. Soon.â
Gabrielâs Horn
Rogue Angel>â¢
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Mel Odom for his contribution to this work.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
1
Prague, Czech Republic
âHeâs going to catch fire when the motorcycle hits the back of the overturned car?â Annja Creed asked in disbelief.
âYeah. But the real trick is when he catches fire.â Barney Yellowtail calmly surveyed the wrecked cars in the middle of the narrow street between a line of four-story buildings that had seen far better days.
âWhen?â Annja asked, still trying to grasp the whole idea.
âWhen is important,â Barney continued. He was in his late forties, twenty years older than Annja, and had been a stuntman for almost thirty years. âIf Roy catches on fire too late, weâve hosed the gag.â
Gags, Annja had learned, were what stunt people called the death-defying feats they did almost on a daily basis.
âAnd if you hose the gag,â Annja said, âyou have to do it over and risk Royâs life again.â
Barney grinned. He claimed to be full-blood Choctaw Indian from Oklahoma and looked it. His face was dark and seamed, creased by a couple of scars under his left eye and under his right jawline. He wore rimless glasses that darkened in the bright sunlight, and a straw cowboy hat. His jeans and chambray work shirt were carefully pressed. His boots were hand-tooled brown-and-white leather that Annja thought were to die for.
Annja was five feet ten inches tall with chestnut hair and amber-green eyes. She had an athleteâs build with smooth, rounded muscle. She wore khaki pants, hiking boots, a lightweight white cotton tank under a robinâs-egg-blue blouse, wraparound blue sunglasses and an Australian Colly hat that sheâd developed a fondness for to block the sun.
âThatâs not the worst part,â Barney assured her.
âThatâs not the worst part?â Annja echoed.
âNaw,â Barney replied, smiling wide enough to show a row of perfect teeth. âThe worst part is that the director will be mad.â
âOh.â
Barney looked at her as if sensing that she wasnât completely convinced. âMad directors mean slow checks. They also mean slow work. If you canât hit your marks on a gag, especially on a film that Spielbergâs underwriting, your phone isnât going to ring very often.â
Annja wondered if you had to be certifiable to be a stuntman.
âCâmon, Annja,â Barney said. âIâve read about you in the magazines, seen you on Letterman and kept up with what youâre doing on Chasing Historyâs Monsters. You know life isnât worth living without a little risk.â
Annja knew her life hadnât exactly been risk free. Actually, especially lately, it seemed to go the other way. As a working archaeologist, sheâd traveled to a number of dangerous places, and those places were starting to multiply dramatically as she became more recognized.
She thought about her job at Chasing Historyâs Monsters. Most days she wasnât sure if it was a blessing or a curse. The syndicated show had high enough ratings that the producers could send Annja a number of places that she couldnât have afforded on her own.
The drawback was that the stories she was asked to coverâhistorical madmen, psychopaths, serial killers and even legendary monstersâwere usually less than stellar. Fans of the show couldnât get enough of her, but some of the people in her field of archaeology had grown somewhat leery.
None of that, though, had come without risk.
âOkay,â Annja admitted. âIâll give you that. But Iâve never set myself on fire.â
âRoyâs not going to set himself on fire,â Barney said. âIâm going to do that for him.â
âOh.â
âItâs just that timing is critical.â Barney stepped to one side as his cell phone rang. âExcuse me.â
