Rogue Angel 52: Death Mask

by Alex Archer

  Annja grinned, sharing his relief. “Goes both ways, old man. Glad you’re not flat. We’re all alive and kicking,” she whispered.

  “For now.”

  They pulled back from the opening to make sure they were out of sight of the men below, not that anyone was looking up. They were utterly engrossed in the act of desecrating the shrine.

  “If you need proof, I can give you proof,” Roux said. “Garin is El Zogoybi. He’s the head of the Brotherhood of the Burning. The hacker managed to find a hell of a lot more about the things that Garin has been getting up to than either of us could have imagined. I’m going to see about putting a spanner in a few works with his help. Someone needs to bring our boy down a peg or two.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  “With Garin, almost anything is possible.”

  “But to become their leader? Why on earth would they trust an outsider?”

  “Because he isn’t an outsider. He didn’t join an organization—he founded one. He must have found out about the name somehow and then went out of his way to recruit a few far-right fanatics. Almost all of the Brotherhood’s early attacks—aimed at striking fear in the public—were on his own buildings. But the movement grew beyond him, and now it’s getting so out of hand that even Europol has to commit manpower to try to bring the rampant spread of racism through this country under control.”

  A string of questions was starting to form inside her head, but before she could voice any of them, she was distracted by the sound of stone grinding on stone.

  Annja eased her way forward again to see Garin instructing two of the guards to move the statue of the Madonna from its plinth.

  Garin had realized that this was the shrine’s true treasure.

  The sound wasn’t just coming from the movement of the statue against the base; it was coming from all around her. Survival instinct screamed that she should run, but where could she go? How could she possibly seek safety if the whole cavern came tumbling down? And how could she leave Garin down there, no matter what he had done? He was one of them.

  She had to speak up. “Garin! No! Don’t move it! Don’t move the statue!”

  But it was too late. The two men struggled to keep hold of the Madonna, its weight too much for them. Garin shot a glare in her direction. He’d expected her. Before he had the chance to say anything else, the bottom step of the spiral stairway fell away from its position, cracking as it hit the floor. An instant later, the second step did the same, then the third and the next and the next. The whole staircase folded in on itself like a house of cards coming down, each dropping to the ground when it no longer had the support of the one below.

  Garin rushed forward as they fell, trying to reach up and grab a handhold before it disappeared.

  In less than half a minute, the entire miraculous construction had fallen away and lay shattered on the ground around his feet.

  Garin stared at the remains, picking up two sections as if he could fit them together like an elaborate jigsaw, but there was nothing to hold them together. He was trapped down there. This was the last trap that the mask had warned them about.

  Annja stood on the ledge, looking at the men stuck down there.

  “Ah, good to see you again, Annja. I was counting on you to get here sooner,” Garin said as if they were catching up over coffee, two friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while. “I don’t suppose you’d do a guy a solid? There’s a rope up there. Would you mind throwing one end down so we can get out of here?”

  “Difficult, old boy,” Roux called down, making his presence known. “Given that it’s tied around a dead man. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Ah, Roux, my old friend. Even better. It’s like a family reunion. Just the three of us. Though I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed in you. I thought you would have worked this all out a long time ago. Or is your memory not what it used to be?”

  Roux said nothing for a moment, then walked over and grabbed the corpse by the collar and dragged him to the edge. Garin stared up at him as he pushed the dead man into the chamber, the rope tumbling after him. “You didn’t say which end,” the old man said, then turned to Annja. “Let’s get out of here.” He took hold of Annja’s arm and led her away from the crumbled staircase.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” she said.

  “Oh, my dear, not only can we, that’s exactly what we are going to do. We leave him here to rot along with the treasure that he used us to get his hands on. He deserves it. He can sit there and enjoy the beauty of it for the rest of his life. Which could be a very long time. We both know that he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to either of us if the positions were reversed.”

  He wouldn’t listen to her arguments.

  He led her out into daylight, where his helicopter was already circling. There was no sign of the guard she’d left slumped against the wall, but he had at least had the foresight to leave a rock jammed in place to stop the huge door from closing in case someone made it out of there alive. Roux kicked the rock away as he let the door slam behind them.

  The only other thing he said all the way back to the hotel was that everything came down to greed over beauty. Had Garin simply been content to savor the beauty of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, he’d be in the helicopter with them, bruised and battered but there just the same. His obsession with owning beautiful things had been his downfall.

  39

  Annja lay in the darkness of the hotel room, the curtains drawn against the brightness of the day.

  Her body told her that she should sleep, but her mind refused to relax.

  Leaving Garin behind in that tomb was eating away at her. Roux could rationalize it all he wanted, and yes, maybe the old man was correct, maybe they were only doing to him what he would have done to them. But that didn’t make it right.

  It just made them as bad as he was.

  Now all she could do was lie on the hotel bed and turn the events over and over in her mind.

  In the darkness, she heard the soft creak of her door opening.

  She didn’t need to look at who had entered, didn’t need even the smallest amount of light to know who it was. She recognized his breathing.

  “Hello, Garin,” she said.

  “Am I that predictable?” He laughed.

  She didn’t bother to answer. All she did was reach for the switch to turn the bedside lamp on.

  “I suppose I should thank you,” he said.

  “Thank me?” That surprised her. She’d done nothing worthy of his thanks. Then again, she thought bitterly, when she’d thought his life was at risk, she’d raced halfway across Spain searching for a relic that had been lost for centuries. He should thank her. He should also get down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. “Why would you want to thank me?”

  “For being there. If you hadn’t, I don’t think Roux would have hesitated in pulling the trigger. You being there probably saved my life. Hell, even if I hadn’t tried to take the Madonna, he would have found a way to trip that staircase. He’s a resourceful old bastard.”

  “And yet you managed to get out, anyway.”

  “Only because you are you.”

  “Will you please stop talking in riddles? I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. Just tell me what you mean.”

  “You didn’t kill the brother I left guarding the door. Again, if it had been Roux, he’d have been dead. You let him live. That’s the kind of person you are. That’s why I owe you. Compassion. He wasn’t trying to kill you. None of them were. You just did what you had to do to get past him and make sure that he wasn’t a threat.”

  Annja wondered if that was really true. She hadn’t shown the two guards in the corridor any compassion. She had moved swiftly to eliminate a threat, but what if she could have found a less permanent solution to the problem
they presented?

  “What about Maffrici?”

  Garin shook his head. “He didn’t make it out.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Not me. He fell when it was his turn to climb up the rope. There was nothing we could do for him. He wasn’t exactly athletic, alas. All those years wasted hunched over books instead of hitting the gym.”

  Annja wasn’t sure that she believed him.

  She wasn’t sure if she believed anything that came out of his mouth any longer.

  “So you just left him there.” It was a statement, not a question, and it was obvious that Garin didn’t intend to grace her with an answer. He acted as if none of his actions needed defending. Maybe in his world they didn’t.

  “You used us, Garin. You used me and you used Roux. How many more people did you take advantage of to get what you wanted?”

  “Me? I was trying to protect you, Annja.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Okay, tell me, how was anything you did supposed to protect me? I’m curious.”

  He shook his head. She needed to remember he was good. He was very good. She’d never met a more accomplished liar. The nuns would have said he had the gift of the gab, that one, could charm the birds from the trees. He licked his lips. Another sure sign he was stalling, working out his lies. “I made a mistake, Annja, and I was in too deep before I knew it. When I tried to pull out, they said they would kill you if I didn’t follow through on my promises. You know me, always shouting my mouth off, writing checks my body can’t cash. They said if I walked, I might be able to disappear, but you couldn’t. They’d always be able to find you. I did it for you. I did it all for you.”

  “Who are they?”

  She felt sick to her stomach, listening to him as he came out with lie after lie, each one almost plausible. That word again—almost.

  “Fraternidad de la Quema.”

  She shook her head.

  “They call themselves the Brotherhood of the Burning.”

  “I’ve heard the name,” she said. She was going to let him keep digging until he could dig no deeper. Once she could prove that he was lying, she would tell him, put him out of his misery, and then she would remember this moment. Every time he said he needed her, she would think of this and try to remind herself not to get caught up in his lies. As far as she was concerned, he’d just become the boy who cried wolf.

  “The guy in charge, the real power player, he makes Roux look like a pussycat. I couldn’t let him hurt you, Annja. You have to believe me. I was doing everything I could to protect you.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Name?”

  “Yes, the man in charge of this Brotherhood.”

  “Martínez. Enrique Martínez. Why? Does it matter what his name was? They won’t bother us anymore, Annja. We’ve beaten them—you, me, even the old man. We stood up to them and we won. We should be celebrating here. Today is a good day, Annja.”

  “It really isn’t,” she said. Annja never trusted a man who kept using her name, even less so when it was out of character. Garin only ever used her name when he wanted something. In this case, it was for her to buy the lies he was selling. She wasn’t having any of it. She picked up her phone and scrolled through the information that Roux had sent to her.

  “I know the name,” she said. “Funny, it seems like he didn’t exist until two years ago. I could show you, if you want? Someone made him up and gave him a whole life story, a proper background so that Europol would have someone to go looking for.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going, that much was clear.

  “Of course I am, Garin.” She stressed his name, wondering whether he’d pick up on the sarcasm. “I’ve even got a copy of his driver’s license.”

  She held out her cell phone so he could see it. The license featured a photograph of Garin’s face.

  “Fair enough.” He shrugged and held his hands up. “Guess I’m busted.”

  “You used me, Garin. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that. I came running because I thought you were in trouble. I thought you needed me. I won’t come running next time. That was your last chance, and you blew it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll forgive me. It might take time, but you love me, really. I’m a lovable rogue. It’s just who I am. It’s my nature. And the thing is, I can wait as long as it takes. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “Not if Roux has his way,” Annja said. Garin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging that he’d misjudged that one, at least. “So why did you come back?”

  “Ah, I almost forgot.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the mask. “I thought you might like this.” He held it out for her to take, but she didn’t move, no matter how much they both knew she wanted to hold it.

  “No use to you any longer, then?” she asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “Tell me the truth, just for once. How did you know about it? About there being a map engraved on the back? No one else did.”

  “Not true. But that’s my girl. Always seeking the answers to everything. Nothing changes.” He smiled. “There was a man I knew a long time ago. He told me about it, said that it led to something worth more than rubies. And he was right, wasn’t he?”

  “Do you think he was talking about the statue or the shrine itself?”

  “If you ask me, the Madonna. You saw her. But I think he probably meant the shrine. He was quite the religious sort. There was a group of them, the first Brotherhood of the Burning, if you like.”

  “Abdul bin Soor,” she said, the name springing to her lips before the thought had fully formed.

  “I knew you’d dig right to the heart of the matter,” he said, sounding delighted that she’d pieced it all together on her own. “He told me that he took great pleasure in placing the whereabouts of the Moorish treasures under Torquemada’s nose. You’d have liked him, I think. Clever. Quick-witted, with a wicked sense of humor. He never told me what the treasure was or where it was hidden, but I always knew it would be somewhere close to the Alhambra. It was in keeping with the games he liked to play. So now you know. Keep the mask. You earned it. And believe me, I really am sorry. If I could have found it without you, I would have.”

  He got back to his feet and walked to the door.

  “What about the Madonna?”

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  And with that he closed the door, leaving her in the dark.

  40

  Roux was already on the flight home when Annja’s call came through.

  It had been a long day. His old bones were aching. He wanted to be in his own bed, in the château, a glass of wine in his hand, cigar tapped out on the ashtray. Content, in peace. He’d been expecting her call. He knew full well she was about to tell him Garin had escaped. He knew his former apprentice far too well to imagine a hole in the ground, no matter how deep, could thwart him.

  “He’s been here,” Annja said. She didn’t need to say anything else.

  “Ah,” he said. “And?”

  “He gave me the mask.”

  “Did he, now? Fancy that. Seems like small reward for the things you’ve been through today, though. Is that all?”

  “He knows that we know he was behind everything, that he used us and lied to us. I told him not to call again.”

  “Good for you. I’m sure he’ll do as he’s been told, too. Until he needs something from you. What are you planning to do with the mask?”

  “There’s a professor in Rome, Aldo Zanetti. I promised to show it to him in person. I think he’s earned the right to look at it. Plus, he wants to buy me lunch. After that, I don’t know.”<
br />
  “Sounds like a fair exchange. For the professor, anyway.”

  “Without him, we would still be scratching our heads in Logroño. Garin would have been long gone with whatever he chose to plunder from the shrine.”

  “So what do we do about him?” Roux asked.

  “We can’t let him hide those things away, especially not the statue. It needs to be somewhere that people can see it, not hidden in some private collection. It should be there for everyone. That’s the nature of great art.”

  “Leave it with me,” Roux said, glad that she had given that response. “And enjoy your trip to Rome.”

  “Look after yourself,” she said and hung up.

  “You, too,” he said to the empty long-distance line.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He brought up another name on his phone and made the call.

  “Elise,” he said when the woman answered, full of charm.

  “Roux? As I live and breathe. Twice in as many days. To what do I owe this honor? No...wait...let me guess, another favor? I’m still explaining the last one.” She wasn’t laughing.

  “Not this time. This one’s on me. I figure I owed you.”

  “You do indeed, you old rogue. So how do you intend to pay me back?”

  “In kind.”

  She laughed. “You forget, I know exactly what you’re like.”

  “Oh, believe me, I may be old, but I never forget. I’ve got some information for you. Might divert some of the flak if people notice you were digging into the Brotherhood of the Burning for me.”

  “Go on, make my day.”

  “There’s a container leaving out of the port of Almería on a cargo ship tomorrow. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Should I be listening to this? This conversation isn’t breaking any laws, is it?”

  “Quite possibly. Here’s the important thing. The container is registered in the name of Enrique Martínez.”

  “Ah, now, that’s interesting. Any idea what’s inside?”