The Long Chain

by Dan Willis

  Cross motioned a uniformed man with a clipboard to come forward.

  “He’s in the galley,” Cross said after consulting the clipboard.

  “Lead me there,” Sorsha said. “But keep your men back, I’ll handle Seaman Frakes myself.”

  Cross turned and motioned for Sorsha to follow, then headed off across the deck. Alex fell into line behind them. He followed Sorsha and the captain into the ship and down two levels. The Captain entered a narrow hall that seemed to run the length of the ship, but when Alex turned to follow, he felt the muzzle of a pistol shoved into his back.

  “Hello Lockerby,” Leavitt’s voice came softly in his ear. “I just knew you were going to be trouble.”

  “I guess you should have killed me when you had the chance, David” Alex said.

  “How do you know that name,” he snarled.

  “I know everything,” Alex said. “How do you think I found you?”

  “I really don’t care,” he said, putting his free arm around Alex’s neck and pulling him backward down the side passage. “Now you’re going to help me escape.”

  Alex laughed at that.

  “Escape to where?” he asked. “We’re in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  Now it was David’s turn to laugh.

  “You don’t think I just picked this ship out of a hat, do you?” he sneered. “The Tripoli has a Captain’s Launch.”

  Alex had no idea what that might be.

  “It’s a little boat that hangs over the stern,” David explained in annoyance. “It’s not much, but it has a motor. That’ll be enough to get me back to shore.”

  “I can do better than that,” Alex said, still walking backwards as David pulled him along. “Just give me the notebook and I’ll help you escape.”

  Alex didn’t expect David Henderson to accept that offer, but he laughed almost before Alex finished saying it.

  “I can’t do that,” he said. “I need that notebook. The Germans will pay handsomely for it, and I’m going to need more than just what the Chinese paid me.”

  “What about New York?” Alex asked. “Your parents are still in the city.”

  “That’s what makes this perfect,” he sneered. “My precious father will burn when that machine finally runs out of fuel and I’ll be laughing and rich on the Riviera.”

  They reached the end of the corridor and David took his hand away from Alex’s neck long enough to open a metal door. He stepped back and used his pistol to motion for Alex to go through. Beyond the door, Alex found himself on a narrow catwalk suspended over the stern of the ship.

  A small boat hung just beyond the catwalk. It had an engine with a round fuel tank in the stern, and was big enough to have a small area below its top deck. Alex didn’t know much about boats, but he didn’t relish the idea of being in the middle of the ocean in that tiny thing.

  “Get on board,” David said.

  Alex did as he was told, then turned around as David dropped into the boat after him. He moved aft and grabbed hold of a thick rope that held the boat secure to the Tripoli.

  “Go forward and take hold of that line,” David said.

  Alex just grinned at him.

  “No, I don’t think I will,” he said.

  “You think I won’t shoot,” David snarled.

  “Actually, I think you would,” Alex said. “You aren’t very smart.”

  “Who’s got the gun, here?” he said. “I’m more than smart enough for you.” He held out the gun, leveling it at Alex’s chest. “Now get on that line.”

  “And if you shoot me,” Alex pointed out, “how will you escape? Who will take hold of the line and lower this boat into the water?”

  David’s face blanched. He clearly hadn’t thought of that.

  “Also,” Alex went on. “Since you’re ready to leave right this minute, I know you’ve hidden Dr. Burnham’s notebook here on the launch. That was really very accommodating of you.”

  David’s look of confusion and fear melted off his face and he smiled again. Clearly he’d thought of something at last.

  “But if I shoot you, then I don’t have to hold the gun,” he said. “I can lower both lines by myself.”

  Alex had to admit, that was a fairly rational plan.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sadness. “That would have worked, except for this.”

  He held out his closed right hand and when he opened it, he ignited his flash ring.

  Alex couldn’t shut his eyes until the very last second or David might have been tipped off. As it was, he’d been staring right at Alex’s hand when the rune went off. He shrieked in furious anger and fired his pistol.

  If Alex had stayed in one place he probably would have been hit, but he’d moved the instant the ring burst into blinding light. Stepping to the side, he charged across the little ship’s deck and slammed into David, shoulder first. The gun went off again and the bullet hit something, ricocheting with a loud clang.

  Alex’s vision had barely cleared. He saw David sitting on the pilot’s seat in the stern, having been knocked back into the engine. He was off-balance, but he still had the pistol clutched in his hand, so Alex slugged him across the jaw. David’s head snapped back, but he recovered, trying to bring the gun up. Alex hit him again and he went down in a heap.

  The smell of gasoline assaulted Alex as he reached down and took the gun from David. A gash in the gas tank showed where David’s wild shot had hit it. They were both lucky the fuel hadn’t ignited.

  Tossing the gun overboard, Alex turned around and headed up to the bow. A small cargo box was stowed under the forward bench. Since it was the only place to store anything, Alex knew it must be the hiding place of Dr. Burnham’s notebooks. Sure enough, when he opened the lid, he found the missing leather folio inside. Inside that, he found four black notebooks, one yellow one, and what looked like a hundred grand in cash.

  “Alex,” Sorsha’s voice floated down to him. “What’s going on?”

  He looked up to see her along with Captain Cross leaning over the aft rail two decks above him. Alex pulled the yellow notebook from the folio and held it up so the sorceress could see.

  “No,” David yelled behind him.

  Alex turned, surprised that the spoiled rich kid had shaken off being knocked unconscious so quickly. He was more surprised that David had the foresight to bring a second gun. He stood in the stern, pointing a .38 at Alex, and his eyes were wild. He’d lost his fortune and his wild lifestyle when his father had cut him off, and now that he was so close to getting it back, he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

  “Wait!” Alex shouted, but it was far too late.

  For Alex everything slowed down and several things happened at once. First, David fired his pistol. The gun sparked and flamed as it fired but in the damp air of the North Atlantic, it wasn’t enough to ignite the spilled gasoline.

  From above, Alex heard the deep, echoing voice that heralded Sorsha’s magic. As the bullet leapt from the gun, it met a thick piece of ice that appeared in its path. The bullet ricocheted back, slamming into the engine. This time the spark was enough, and the gasoline ignited in a fireball.

  David screamed as the flames engulfed him. They ran along the bottom of the boat, toward Alex, and upward over the rope that held the launch to the back of the Tripoli.

  Alex turned and grabbed the rope attached to the front just as the back rope gave way and the launch tipped, spilling David, the folio, and the money into the ocean below. Heat and flames rushed toward Alex. He looked up and saw Sorsha looking down at him, her startled eyes wide.

  The remaining rope that held the launch to the Tripoli was never meant to hold the entire weight of the little boat. With a groan the pulley that held it began to sag. Below Alex, the climbing fire began to lick his shoes and burn his legs.

  He gripped the yellow notebook in his free hand, lowering it down by his waist, and then flung it upward toward the sorceress. With the sound of rending metal, the
pulley gave way and the burning launch fell. Alex had a momentary vision of Sorsha reaching out and grabbing the notebook with her magic, then he hit the surface of the roiling sea, and it swallowed him whole.

  31

  The Lever

  Alex had seen people dive before. They jumped off a platform and fell gracefully, their bodies knifing easily into water that seemed to gently arrest their fall. When the support holding the launch gave way, he had the presence of mind to push off, to get away from where the boat would fall, but instead of landing gently in the water, it felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

  Air rushed out of his lungs and before he could suck in more, his body slipped beneath the rolling waves. Alex never learned to swim, and he struggled briefly as his sodden clothing dragged him down into the icy water. The cold seemed to seep into his bones and sap his muscles of their strength. He could see the ship above and the light from the burning gasoline, floating on the surface, but they seemed so very far away.

  Blackness closed in around him and exhaustion overcame him. Somewhere, in the deepest, most primal reaches of his mind, he urged himself to fight. He wanted to struggle, to find the will to propel himself upward toward the light of the fire, and the life-giving air that waited on the surface, but the weariness simply wouldn’t let him.

  He floated like that, suspended in the water, between life and death — heaven and hell. As the all-encompassing darkness began to swallow his vision, Alex became suddenly aware of a light. Not the light of the fire; that had dwindled to a tiny point in his vision. This new light was brighter, and much closer.

  Rousing himself, Alex looked down at his body. He’d heard stories of the afterlife, from Father Harry and others, about how the world dissolved into a plain of bright light. What he saw, glowing from beneath the front of his shirt, wasn’t any opening to a dimension of light — it was a rune.

  As Alex watched, the rune emerged from his shirt, hovering just off his chest and spinning gently. His drifting mind snapped back into focus. He knew that rune. It was an anchor rune, like the kind used to connect an escape rune with a specific location, only this one hadn’t been drawn right. It was backwards.

  No. Not backwards, but inside-out.

  With the desire to see this rune, to know it, came the will to live. Alex flailed, gulping in a lung full of water before he could resist the urge. He began to panic, but then something seemed to grab him by his ribcage. The inside-out anchor rune pulsed and bent as if the center of the construct was tied to an invisible rope that pulled on it. The sensation came again, and Alex felt himself pulled along.

  His lungs burned and it was all he could do to resist the biological imperative to breathe. The invisible line pulled again and this time the rune disappeared into his chest, drawn in by the irresistible force. When it touched him, Alex felt himself jerked backward, like a fish on the end of an angler’s line. Water rushed around him as his body flew across miles in the blink of an eye and he landed heavily on the rough planks of a wooden floor.

  Water that had been suspended around him moments before fell along with him, rushing away on the flat surface. Alex heaved himself up on his arms as the water flowed past his face, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to breathe. He managed three great, gasping lungfuls before his trembling arms gave out and he collapsed back to the floor. His head hit the heavy planks hard and the blackness that had threatened to encompass him in the deep rose up and finally claimed him.

  “All right, boy,” a strange voice said. “I can’t wait around all day, there are things to do. Wakey, wakey.”

  The voice sounded like Iggy, but the accent was a bit different. Definitely British, though.

  Something caustic filled Alex’s nostrils and sent a jolt of adrenaline to his brain. He gasped and jerked his head up, which turned out to be a mistake. Pain erupted in his head, pounding relentlessly with the beating of his heart and threatening to crack his skull and ooze out his ears.

  “Uh,” he muttered as he struggled to open his eyes and keep them open. Dim light glowed in front of him and as his eyes came gradually into focus, Alex could see that he was in a long, wide room. Above him the ceiling sloped down and away from a central ridge beam, meaning wherever this was, he was in an attic. In front of him, about twenty yards away, was a large wooden door, like he’d seen in barns. Hanging from the ridge beam was a bare wire and a dirty lightbulb that cast a yellowish glow over Alex. The air reeked of manure and offal, and from somewhere below, he could hear the sounds of swine.

  He tried to move, but couldn’t. Looking down, Alex found himself sitting in a plain wooden chair with armrests on either side. Thick ropes wrapped around his forearms, securing him to the chair, and when he tried to move his legs, he found them similarly bound.

  “Wha—” he began, but his mouth was dry and he had to force himself to swallow before he could go on. “Where am I?” he managed at last.

  “An excellent question,” a cultured British accent came from behind him. The floor creaked and a slender man of average height walked into view. He wore a well-made suit, but not an expensive one, with a white shirt, silver cufflinks, and several heavy-looking rings on his hands. His dark hair was longish, as if he hadn’t been to his barber for a few months, and he was clean-shaven and handsome. Alex had trouble pinning down his age. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but his expression was that of a much younger man, while his eyes held a wisdom that seemed beyond his years.

  “The question you should be asking, Alex, is ‘Why am I here?’”

  “Okay,” Alex said, panting as the simple act of speaking seemed to be draining him of energy. “Why am I here?”

  A look of consternation flashed across the man’s face, but it didn’t linger.

  “You’re here,” he said, putting his hands behind his back, “because despite my best efforts, you keep trying to get yourself killed.” He began to pace back and forth in front of the chair. “I’m really quite cross with you, Alex. Of course, spending your life energy to save the people of New York was a noble thing to do, but you seem to think your only option is to die as a result. Good God man, you’ve had two years to think your way out of that, and what have you done?” He turned to Alex, as if expecting an answer, but when Alex tried to reply, he went on. “Nothing, that’s what you’ve done. You just sat in your little office, helping lots of little people with their little problems.”

  Alex wanted to point out that he’d done rather more than that, but he wasn’t really sure what the Brit was talking about. And his tongue didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

  “It’s been two years since you discovered that little red book on the shelf next to the one where you keep your spare cash,” the man went on.

  Alex’s groggy mind flashed into razor focus, observing the man closely, sifting through every detail he could see. He wore a pocketwatch on a gold chain, real gold, not plated, since there was no tarnishing where the links rubbed together. His shoes were newly soled, but the style was old. None of this really helped, though.

  “You’ve been in my home,” Alex said. It wasn’t an accusation. The only way he could know about Alex’s cache and what was next to it on the bookshelf was if he’d actually been inside the brownstone.

  “Well, now you’re paying attention,” the Brit said, turning to Alex with a self-satisfied smile. “It’s about time. And yes, I’ve been in Dr. Doyle’s home. I must confess, some of the protection runes he came up with were very impressive. It actually took me a bit to figure them out.”

  Alex felt his blood run cold. Whoever this Brit was, not only did he know about the Monograph, but he’d managed to get past Iggy’s runes and past Iggy’s false identity. Any one of those bits of information would ruin them both if they got out.

  “The fishhook rune,” Alex guessed, his mind finally running at full speed. “You would have to have put it on me while I was asleep.”

  “Ha!” The Brit laughed out loud and slapped his leg. “There’s the mind I hope
d for, very good. Fishhook rune,” he nodded, an enormous, energetic grin splitting his face. “That’s a good name for it. I think I’ll call it that from now on.”

  “You’re welcome?” Alex said, not sure what he’d done that had so amused the man.

  “Don't you see?” the Brit said, leveling a finger right at Alex’s nose. “You knew what to call that rune because you didn’t just see it, you understood what it was. The only way you could have done that was if you had figured out what runes went into its creation. Not just anyone could have figured that out, boy. You’ve got a great mind for rune magic, and by God, it’s time you started using it.”

  “Who are you?” Alex demanded. “And what is it you want?”

  The Brit smiled, not a smile of mirth, but one that looked almost fatherly.

  “My name isn’t important,” he said. “Suffice it for you to know that I am one of those whose hands made the Archimedean Monograph. I expounded upon the work of my former brothers and sisters, expanding it for the next generation. A work I hope to leave to you one day.”

  Alex shook his head. He didn’t know how this fellow knew about Iggy and the Monograph, but he knew a con when he heard one.

  “Iggy’s had that book for over fifty years,” he said.

  The Brit’s grin turned to one of mirth.

  “And who do you think it was that allowed Dr. Doyle to learn of the cursed finding rune in the first place? Who do you think put his feet on the path that would lead him to unlocking its secrets?”

  Alex didn’t believe it, but one look and he knew that either the Brit believed every word coming out of his mouth, or he was the most spectacular liar in history.

  “Doyle was a lot like you,” the Brit went on. “He has an amazing mind. I assumed he would do as I had done. That he would devour the Monograph, tear it down to its foundations and ferret out all its secrets.”

  “But he didn’t,” Alex said. It wasn’t a guess. Iggy had impressed upon him many times the dangerous temptations that lay in the power of the Monograph. Temptations Iggy was bound and determined to avoid.