by Alex Archer
“Yes.”
“If you get the lantern, if there are three wishes, you get one, I get one, then we flip for the third. Deal?”
* * *
A FEW MINUTES LATER AFTER hanging up on Doug, Annja discovered the large library where Fiona and Edmund sat at a table with a buffet spread out before them. They hadn’t hesitated about digging in. Edmund’s new suit fit him well and he looked refreshed except for the bruises and small bandages on his cheek and chin.
“Sorry.” Annja took a seat across from Edmund. Fiona sat at the head. “Didn’t realize I took so long.”
“You didn’t take long.” Fiona placed ham and cheese and vegetables on a flatbread wrap. “Edmund and I just got here a few minutes ago ourselves.”
Annja picked up a plate and selected sliced meat, cheese, vegetables and a boiled egg, with a selection of fresh berries and cut melon on the side.
She glanced at Edmund. “Did you know that Dutilleaux’s lantern was on Hitler’s list of arcane items?”
Edmund nodded. “I did.”
“You didn’t think that was significant?”
“I saw no reason to give that particular myth credence. There was nothing to support it. Unless you’ve discovered something I couldn’t… Did you find something?”
“Nothing to substantiate it, no. But I did hear from researchers in the field about some of the lantern’s myths.”
“Did they mention the legend about how Dutilleaux was using the lantern to enter the spirit world and steal gold and gems to finance himself in the real world?”
“No.” Annja dug into her meal, surprised at how hungry she was.
“You’ll get to that one eventually. Laframboise seemed to be particularly enchanted with the idea of the lantern’s mystical properties.”
“I suppose.” Annja bit into a boiled egg, chewed and swallowed. “Did you know that Dutilleaux worked for the Shanghai banking companies?”
Edmund frowned and winced almost immediately as the expression caused him obvious pain. The bruises on his face and mouth had started to show up a little more. Some of the swelling had gone down, though. “Yes.”
“Dutilleaux was an aide to the French businessmen trading with China through Shanghai.”
Fiona sipped her drink and set it aside. “I thought the First Opium War and the Treaty of Nanking were what opened the port cities to outsider trading. That was well after Dutilleaux died in the catacombs in Paris.”
Annja raised an eyebrow. “History buff?”
Fiona smiled and reached for a peach. “Traveling for years with Roux.”
Annja wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “The Opium Wars gave the Chinese no choice about opening the ports. Once that happened, the British, French and Americans were there to stay. Those were the big three. From the information I received, Dutilleaux was a banker first for the French, then worked for the Chinese.”
“Why is that important?” Edmund pushed his plate aside. “And who is Roux?”
She ignored his second question. “Why did he take employment? Or why did the Chinese offer it?”
“Either.”
Fiona held up a forefinger. “The Chinese would have wanted an insider. Someone they could trust who could explain to them the Western mind-set.” She took another bite out of her peach. “They would have sought out someone they believed they could control.”
Annja nodded. “They made a mistake with Dutilleaux. He worked there for three years, then was discovered to be pilfering gold and gems from the bank where he worked. According to the papers I was sent, Dutilleaux got out of Shanghai just ahead of the Qianlong Emperor’s royal executioners.”
22
“Anton Dutilleaux was just a common thief?” Edmund looked shocked and dismayed, and Annja couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger. “That can’t be.”
“I’d hardly call a man who could steal a small fortune from under a Chinese emperor’s nose a common thief.” Fiona shook her head. “A walking dead man, perhaps. But never common. He had to have been very skilled at what he was doing, with nerves of steel.”
Annja silently agreed. She watched Edmund and felt sorry for him because he’d obviously built Dutilleaux up into so much more. During her early years working in archaeology, heroes and legends had sometimes fallen like wheat before a thresher.
“The missing money could explain why Dutilleaux’s murderer was Asian.” Annja maneuvered a chunk of honeydew melon into her mouth.
“No one ever proved the nationality of Dutilleaux’s killer. That person was never caught. Dutilleaux had rivals as well as jealous husbands of his lovers.” Edmund returned his attention to the buffet, but his heart wasn’t in it and he merely picked at the food.
“No matter what the truth is, the cold, hard fact of the matter is that we may never know.” As always, Fiona looked unflappable. “Sometimes the truth does hide in history.” She paused for a moment. “Ollie was able to put together quite the package on the man who kidnapped Professor Beswick. If we choose to pursue the lantern, we’re up against an accomplished foe.”
The doors to the library opened and Ollie strode in. “Did I just hear my name mentioned?” He carried a small computer tablet tucked under one arm.
“I thought I was going to have to call for you.”
“Never.” Ollie flashed a winning smile. He paused near the table and tapped on the computer screen.
A wide-screen television monitor dropped from the ceiling to cover a section of the bookshelves. Almost immediately, the image of the man Annja had noticed with Edmund in the warehouse filled the screen.
“As you know, this is Jean-Baptiste Laframboise, not one of the biggest criminals in Paris, but certainly one of the most lethal,” Ollie said in a calm, clear voice. “He’s never risen to the top of anyone’s list, but that’s more by design than ability. Laframboise has deliberately stayed away from high-profile crimes that caught the national eye, much less international attention.”
Annja worked to build another sandwich. “He’s been taking small jobs?”
“On the contrary, he’s taken very lucrative jobs. But he’s been careful to pick very quiet ones, as well. Things that ran under the radar when you consider the varied nature of criminal enterprise. He’s done quite well for himself.” Ollie tapped the tablet again.
On the screen, pictures rotated quickly, showing a penthouse, a country home, a yacht and Laframboise in either a Jaguar or a Lotus. There were also several pictures of him at big social gatherings.
“He’s become something of a gentleman crook.” Ollie smiled. “He’s even ingratiated himself with the Parisian government by undertaking to buy back some paintings taken from the Louvre a few years ago.”
Fiona stared at the screen. “Did Laframboise steal the paintings first?”
“No, surprisingly.”
“Then who selected him as the go-between?”
“The thieves.”
“Interesting. That means the thieves knew Laframboise had a connection he could go to. Are we aware who that is?”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Pioche. At least, not yet.”
Edmund frowned. “Laframboise’s contact within the Parisian government, especially an entity like the Louvre, could explain how he knows so much about Anton Dutilleaux.”
Annja regarded him. “Laframboise doesn’t exactly strike me as the scholarly type. Is there anything in his background to suggest interests like that?”
Ollie sniffed delicately. “The man never even finished a secondary education. By all accounts, though, he’s a reasonably intelligent man. I did discover one oddity that might be interesting to you. It appears that Laframboise’s mother was a fortune-teller.”
“What kind of fortune-teller?” Fiona looked surprised.
“Cards, Ms. Pioche. Tarot, to be exact, though the reports I’ve obtained from police records indicate that she was taken into custody a number of times with a regular deck of cards.”
“Whi
ch is nothing more than an abbreviated tarot deck.”
“She claimed she was a Gypsy and possessed otherworldly skills.”
“Why was she arrested?”
“The bunco squad pulled her in. She was convicted of numerous cons. She even served jail time. No more than a few months at a stretch.”
“Where’s the mother now?”
“Dead, I’m afraid. Nine years ago from cancer.”
“Was Jean-Baptiste Laframboise ever indicted in his mother’s crimes?”
“No, but by then he was well on his way down the criminal career path. Robbery. Burglary.”
“He had no ties to the metaphysical?”
“None that I’ve found.”
Fiona leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Laframboise didn’t find Dutilleaux’s lantern on his own. He wouldn’t have had an interest in something like that.”
Annja picked up on the other woman’s line of thinking. “I think we’re safe in assuming Puyi-Jin brought the lantern to Laframboise’s attention.”
Edmund nodded and his eyes looked distant. “That’s what Laframboise said. That Puyi-Jin had told him about the lantern. Had, in fact, hired Laframboise to get the lantern from me.”
“Maybe Laframboise picked up on the lantern because of the supernatural story connected to it.”
Fiona nodded. “Laframboise would have had to have a personal reason for betraying an employer—especially a dangerous employer—if there wasn’t an immediate payoff of some kind. And I think we’re all in agreement that we don’t see one. The lantern, unless it is worth more somehow than its presence would suggest, is worthless for the simple materials involved in its construction. There has to be something more.”
Stunned, Edmund looked at both women. “Are you saying you believe there’s something magical about that lantern?”
Fiona smiled. “Do you mean, do I believe in magic, Professor Beswick?”
Edmund looked uncomfortable as he nodded.
“Of course I believe in magic.” Fiona glanced at Annja. “I’ve seen it.”
Annja felt the sword blaze hot for just a moment.
“But why should we go to such extreme lengths to get this lantern back?” Edmund shook his head. “People have died in pursuit of this lantern. You’ve already—” He stopped himself short.
Fiona tapped her glass with an elegant forefinger. “I’ve already killed people. Is that what you were going to say?”
Edmund squirmed in embarrassment. “I had no right to say anything about that.”
“There is a distinction in how Laframboise and his Chinese counterpart are going about their business,” Fiona said, her voice cool and soft.
If Fiona hadn’t liked Edmund, Annja was sure she wouldn’t be controlling herself so well. Roux and Garin tended toward a more simplistic view of life, of predator and prey, of kill or be killed. Annja had seen a lot of that life herself, but she hadn’t quite bought into it. Killing, though sometimes necessary, was still something to be avoided.
When possible.
“Those men are killing to obtain the lantern, and to obtain you. I killed to save you.”
“I know. And I’m grateful. Truly I am.” Edmund knotted a fist uncertainly. “But at this point, I’m safe. We could step away from this thing.”
Annja felt a sick twist in her stomach that told her she wasn’t ready to let go of the hunt.
Fiona smiled. “Hasn’t all of this made you curious, Professor?” She held up her forefinger and thumb a fraction of an inch apart. “Just a little?”
Edmund hesitated, then nodded. “Of course. I don’t believe any of the stories that I’ve heard circulating about that lantern—”
“But you know there must be something there. Otherwise, Laframboise and his ex-employer wouldn’t be working so hard to get it.”
“They could be wrong.”
Fiona shrugged, then glanced at Annja. “Maybe they are. But I feel certain Annja will attempt to find the lantern. Or am I wrong?”
“No.” Annja shook her head. “You’re not wrong.”
Fiona shifted her gaze back to Edmund. “Furthermore, even should you decide to stay out of this, there is every possibility Laframboise or someone else looking for the lantern will think you know more than you’re telling.”
Edmund paled a little, and Annja didn’t blame him. She’d thought the very same thing, but she hadn’t wanted to mention it. Of course, not mentioning it would have been irresponsible.
Fiona continued in a deadpan voice. “Personally, I believe it would be better if we had the matter settled. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“There’s no guarantee you’ll do anything except get yourself killed. And Annja.”
Fiona pursed her lips. “We’re going, Professor. All I need to know is whether I should make reservations for you, as well.”
Edmund vacillated for only a moment. Then he took a deep breath and nodded. “But I want to stop short of getting killed for my curiosity.”
“We’re going to work on that.”
* * *
DESPITE THE SPACIOUS TRUNK of the limousine parked in front of Fiona’s building, Annja kept her backpack with her. Ollie stood by with his computer tablet and chatted on his Bluetooth headset while overseeing the loading of Fiona’s bags by the chauffeur. A bodyguard in a black suit and wraparound sunglasses stood watch nearby.
With her backpack slung over one shoulder, Annja joined Fiona. The woman looked elegant in casual wear and sunglasses.
“I suppose you noticed the car across the street?” Annja shifted the backpack to a more comfortable spot.
Fiona pulled on a leather glove. “I did indeed.”
“Are they police?”
“Yes. Some of Inspector Westcox’s men. Ollie has already verified their identities.”
A small knot unraveled in Annja’s stomach. She hadn’t noticed the car until only a few moments ago.
Ollie smiled. “I was of a mind to have them move by filing a harassment action with our solicitors, but Ms. Pioche told me not to.”
“There’s no reason.” Fiona tugged her second glove on. “We’ve already tweaked the inspector’s nose enough. Besides, those men will only follow us as far as the airport. There’s really not much for them to see.”
That was true and Annja tried to take solace in it. Being followed made her feel vulnerable.
“Did you find out anything about the Chinese gang that’s involved with the lantern?”
“You mean Puyi-Jin?” Ollie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small thumb drive. “You can review the files at your leisure.”
Fiona took it from him. “Good work.”
Ollie’s ebullient nature gave way to worry for just a moment as he gazed at his employer. “The gang members we’ve identified have led us to one man—Puyi-Jin. This man, Ms. Pioche, is much worse than anything we’ve seen from Laframboise. He has a rather long reach. I’m surprised he needed Laframboise.” Ollie grimaced and nodded at the thumb drive. “You might want to skip over some of the police files. They’re in color and they’re very gruesome. Puyi-Jin is not a nice man.”
Fiona patted Ollie’s cheek. “I am not a nice woman when properly motivated.”
“I do know that, Ms. Pioche.”
“Do we have someone in Paris who can outfit us?”
“Yes. Georges will meet you at the airport with a car. He promised me that you would have everything you needed.”
“Thank you, Ollie.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Pioche.” Ollie grabbed the limousine door before the chauffeur could. “As always.”
23
Even though Fiona had her own personal jet, there was still a fair amount of red tape to go through to get airborne. Despite that, less than an hour later, they were wheels up in the small Embraer Phenom 100 microjet.
Annja had never flown in a jet so small. The four main seats sat in two-by-two formation and faced one another. Toward the rear of the jet, there were two more seats
and a small toilet.
After stowing her gear, Annja strapped herself in. Edmund sat across from her. He looked tired and rumpled. The bruises on his face were even darker. He kept fidgeting after he’d strapped himself in, unable to relax.
Fiona handed him a glass of soda water and a pill. “Take this. It’s an analgesic. It should help with the pain.”
Obediently, Edmund tossed the pill back and drained the glass.
Annja pulled her computer out, then attached it to the outlet in the wall. In addition to the power, the jet also maintained a satellite connection.
She checked the alt.history sites again, looking for updates. Not finding any, she moved on to emails. There were three invitations from universities to speak, galleys for two articles she’d written for magazines and queries from her editor concerning her latest book. Business as usual.
Beside her, Fiona spoke quickly on her cell. Judging from the snippets of conversation Annja was privy to, Fiona kept her hand in several investigations at one time. After a few moments, she finished the calls and tucked the phone back into her jacket pocket.
Annja glanced at her. “You stay busy.”
“I try.” Fiona was contemplative for a moment. “After the time I spent with Roux, a mundane existence seems impossible. I kept telling myself I’d probably slow down at some point.”
“But you haven’t?”
“No. Roux used to always say there would be time enough to rest when you were in the grave.”
“This from a man who seems determined to avoid that particular destination.” Annja glanced over at Edmund, but amazingly, the pill seemed to have knocked him out in record time.
Fiona laughed. “True.” Her expression sobered. “Despite all his years, Roux is vulnerable. He can be killed.”
A chill crept over Annja as she recalled how Roux had looked in the hospital bed in China.
“Yet even facing death, he can be fearless. Not truly heroic, though, because he faces death for his own reasons, not necessarily for the greater good.”
“I’ve also seen him be cautious.”