Clockwork Doomsday

by Alex Archer

  “If Selim could see the future, how did he lose the clockwork?”

  “The story goes that as Selim was preparing to sail into battle against the combined European forces, he received word that his wife and son had died in childbirth. The snail never revealed that to him. Broken and humbled, no longer caring whether he lived or died, he reportedly threw the snail overboard, believing it was cursed.”

  “Maybe it was.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because my family found the snail in 1902. They took it aboard their salvage ship and began having terrible dreams. The next day, nearly everyone aboard lost their lives when the ship was destroyed. The survivors, and there were only a few, believed that the snail had somehow caused the destruction.”

  But Roux had been among the survivors, and it was he who had sent them looking for the clockwork. Georgios Andrianou insisted that Roux had used the snail’s power to destroy the ship.

  “And this is why you’re searching for the clockworks?”

  “Yes.” Melina pierced him with her gaze. “In all the years that my family has been searching for these clockworks, why have you never before mentioned Michalis?”

  “Because I never had any reason to tie your search in with Michalis.”

  “It never occurred to you to mention the man?”

  Scuro frowned, but he was careful not to show too much because he knew he was suddenly on dangerous ground. “Michalis is a very special case. The church has studied him and his works for years because of the goat incident. They believe Michalis made some deal with dark powers.”

  “That Michalis had made a deal with Satan? Christianity had not yet developed.”

  That made Scuro smile. “You don’t just find the devil in the Christian Bible, Melina. The ancient Greeks believed in a supernatural personification of evil, as well. As long as there has been the belief in good, there has been a belief in evil.”

  Melina didn’t care about that. She’d made her peace with gods and devils. All she wanted was a chance to get her revenge on Roux. “So you have no clue where I can find Michalis’s island?”

  “No. If I knew, the church would have already been there and picked it bare.” Scuro paused. “Or destroyed it and sowed salt into the earth. Whichever they felt necessary.”

  That meant that the fisherman in Genoa was the only solid lead she had to Roux. She wasn’t after Michalis’s toys, anyway. She only wanted the old man.

  Her grandfather, though, that was a different story.

  “Keep me apprised of your research.”

  Scuro nodded. “Of course.”

  Melina left him standing there as she walked back to her car. She took out her phone and made arrangements to go to Genoa, hoping that Roux would soon be there.

  20

  “Ms. Creed.”

  Hearing the polite voice, Annja struggled up through layers of sleep to return to consciousness. Someone had draped a blanket over her at some point. When she opened her eyes, one of the flight attendants was gazing down at her.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re about to begin final approach to Cristoforo Colombo Airport. You requested to be awakened prior to the landing.”

  “I did. Thank you.” Annja stripped off the blanket and returned the seat to the upright position.

  The attendant took the blanket. “Would you like a coffee? Or juice or tea? We have an assortment of beverages.”

  Of course you do. This is one of Garin’s jets. “How soon will we be landing?”

  “We’ll begin final approach in ten minutes.”

  “Fine. Thanks.”

  The attendant started to leave.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “You mentioned coffee?”

  “I did. We have a selection of coffees, including lattes and espressos. Do you have a preference?”

  “Black. Hot.”

  “Very well.”

  “The bathroom’s still open?”

  “Yes.”

  Annja assembled her gear in the seat beside her and got up. She took out her travel toothbrush and headed for the bathroom.

  * * *

  CRISTOFORO COLOMBO AIRPORT had been built on an artificial peninsula that stuck out from the mainland. The city crowded up into the hills surrounding the coastal area. When the time had come to put in a commercial air service, it had been easier to construct an airport in the sea than to plow through all the surrounding countryside looking for level ground.

  Standing at the top of the gantry leading down to the tarmac, Annja paused to inhale the salt sea breeze. It was a lot warmer in Genoa than it had been in Boston, and a lot brighter. She adjusted her backpack and took a fresh grip on the carry-on she’d had to fight the flight attendants to keep.

  The city looked cluttered, packed tightly together, and the verdant green hills rolled in all directions beyond it. On either side of the airport peninsula, sailboats and yachts occupied marina slips or cut across the blue-green water. There was no hint of danger. Of course, with Roux and Garin involved, there generally wasn’t until it was suddenly life or death.

  A dark sedan waited at the bottom of the gantry. Annja sipped coffee from the disposable cup she’d been given and headed down.

  The sedan’s back door opened and Roux got out.

  Annja’s heart sped up a little. Even though she’d known from the phone call that he’d been all right, it was just so much better seeing him for herself.

  He wore khaki pants, an obnoxious green bowling shirt and a creased fedora. “I take it your trip went well? I tried to reach you, but there was no answer. The attendants said you were sleeping.” He seemed a little put out at that.

  Annja ignored his attitude and gave him a beatific smile. “Good morning, Roux. And how are you today?”

  He stared at her in puzzlement for a moment, then scowled. “I was nearly killed yesterday by some particularly nasty people. I was counting on you to help me find answers.”

  “No answers. Yet. But I have redefined the question. As to why you couldn’t reach me on the phone, I had it turned off so I could sleep. If anything happened while I was in the air, it was pretty much out of my hands and I wanted to be fresh as I could be when I touched the ground here.”

  Roux only snorted and walked past her and into the waiting car. Annja walked to the back of the sedan where a female driver in chauffeur’s livery stood military erect. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Creed.” The woman spoke with an Australian accent. She opened the trunk. “I’ll take your bags.”

  “Just the carry-on. The backpack stays with me.”

  “Very well.” The woman took the carry-on from Annja and stowed it carefully. “Do you have anything else aboard the jet?”

  “No. I travel light.”

  “Efficient. You don’t usually find that in scholarly types.”

  Despite the boldness of the statement, Annja couldn’t help liking the woman. “You’re new. I was expecting to see Henshaw.”

  “My name is Torrey. Honeysuckle Torrey. I’m Mr. Roux’s driver. Mr. Henshaw is watching over the house.” Even in livery, the woman was beautiful. Her concealer hadn’t been able to hide the bruise along her left jaw, though.

  “You were with Roux yesterday?”

  “I was.” Honeysuckle smiled. “Quite exciting. For a civilian matter.”

  “You’re military.”

  “I was. Hope to be again. When a few small matters get tidied up. I took this job as a bit of a lark, actually. Ran into Mr. Roux and was intrigued with how he conducts his business.”

  “Someone tried to kill him then, too, didn’t they?”

  Honeysuckle closed the trunk. “I’m afraid I don’t discuss client’s private ma
tters.”

  Annja grinned. “I know Roux. I also know he goes through young women when he has the chance.”

  Roux tapped impatiently on the window from inside the car, then opened the door ajar. “Are the two of you quite finished gossiping?”

  “Not gossiping, Mr. Roux.”

  “You do realize that a sniper with a high-powered rifle could end your employment.” Roux cursed beneath his breath and shut the door again.

  “Well, the two of you must have an interesting relationship.”

  Honeysuckle nodded. “When I first heard him talk about you, I wondered about your relationship. Especially in light of the dalliances he sometimes keeps.”

  “No. I was not ever a dalliance. Never going to be a dalliance.”

  “I didn’t think that you would. He thinks of you more like a daughter. You know, annoying but somehow endearing?”

  Annja didn’t know how to take that, but it made her feel good to know that Roux had left that kind of impression.

  Honeysuckle glanced at her watch. “We’re supposed to be meeting Mr. Braden soon.” She waved Annja to the other side of the car and opened the door.

  * * *

  INSIDE THE SEDAN, Annja took out her satphone and started checking the sites where she’d put out feelers about the clockworks. Roux sat on his side of the sedan and stared out at the harbor. His hands and the side of his neck were covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises.

  “Are you all right?” Annja watched as the sites populated on her phone, then selected the first thread she’d created.

  “I’m fine.” Roux drummed his fingers on the armrest.

  “You seem tense.”

  “I’m not tense. We’re starting out late in the game on this.”

  “Garin still has the butterfly, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ve got more information than Melina Andrianou does.”

  Roux frowned. “She still managed to get pictures of the clockwork from the man who sold it to Garin. It’s possible that she could have had the inscription translated by now.” He looked at her. “I don’t suppose your resources have come up with anything.”

  “They’re still working on it.” There’d been no email from Papassavas, and she figured he would call when he knew something, anyway.

  “I’d expected to have something by now.”

  “Seriously?” Annja put her satphone back in her pocket. “I was asked to take a look into this less than twenty-four hours ago. You’ve had at least a hundred years.”

  “You’re the specialist.”

  In all the time Annja had known Roux, from the time she’d found the last piece of Joan’s sword in France, she’d known him to be crotchety and irascible, but she’d never heard him sound so demeaning.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Annja didn’t believe that for a moment. Intrigued, she watched him.

  Roux scowled imperiously at her. “Don’t stare. It’s impolite.”

  “You haven’t exactly been the paragon of ‘politely correct’ this morning. I’m beginning to think I would have rather had Garin pick me up.”

  “As would I. But he dictated the division of labor.”

  “Who made him king?”

  “He has the clockwork. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Well, now I feel really wanted. I could have made my own way to you guys.”

  Roux sighed. “I apologize, Annja. I’m not in the best of moods this morning. Neither Garin nor I felt comfortable about leaving you to your own devices this morning. Events for both of us were extremely deadly yesterday, and as good as you are at extricating yourself from tenuous situations, we felt compelled to be with you in case something untoward happened.”

  It was more than that, though. Annja saw the quaver of fear in his blue eyes. That gave her pause. Roux had said the Andrianou family had captured him and tortured him only a few years ago.

  “I’m having second thoughts about involving you in this,” he said. “Seeing you here reminded me I have no right to risk you in this. It is, after all, a personal matter. It might be better if we turned around and put you back on that jet before you get mixed up any deeper in this.”

  Tenderly, Annja reached out and took his hand. Despite his years, his fingers were supple and strong and warm. “I’m here. You can’t get rid of me. This is a personal matter, and it’s personal to me, as well.”

  “You don’t know what lies ahead of you if this should go badly.” Roux spoke in a soft voice. “That woman is evil incarnate. I’ve never met a darker mind. She is capable of anything.”

  “Yeah?” Annja squeezed Roux’s hand and smiled. “Well, so I’m pretty capable, too. We’ll get through this together. I’m not leaving you or Garin.”

  Wordlessly, Roux squeezed her hand back, but the fear in his eyes remained, although she knew he would never admit it.

  21

  Sebastiano Troiai worked out of a small but serviceable boathouse he shared with two other salvagers. Located in the Sampierdarena area, it was only a few minutes west of central Genoa. When it had first become a center of civilization, primarily fishermen, it had been named after the San Pietro d’Arena Church, Saint Peter of the Sands.

  Garin had first seen the city when he’d been riding with Roux, before Joan had died at the stake and the sword had been shattered.

  Sampierdarena had been beautiful, filled with wonders for a young boy verging on manhood. They had spent the summer there, enjoying the weather, the food and the sailors that had come far and wide to trade and make their fortunes. Roux had listened to the stories those ships’ captains told over wine, and Garin had helped build ships, walked the decks imagining he was a pirate or a king’s man chasing pirates, and he’d pursued young women his age. He’d never given his heart easily, but he had been more naive in those days.

  These days, he was not. He parked his car in front of a small bar three blocks up from Troiai’s salvage shop, reached over for the Glock .45 in the passenger seat and slipped it into a paddle holster at the small of his back as he got out of the car. He wore a pullover and a jacket over khakis and a pair of wraparound sunglasses.

  Four teenagers too young to work the docks held skateboards and ate gelato while hunkered down in front of a small paint store next to the bar. They stared at the sports car with envy.

  A boy in a faded soccer jersey looked defiantly at Garin, and Garin knew that look at once. Rebellious and cocky, the boy would risk a lot in front of his peers to prove that he was fearless.

  “Sweet ride.” He spoke in English, thinking Garin was a tourist perhaps, or just preferring the American slang.

  “It is,” Garin replied in Italian as he approached them.

  They looked tense for a moment, on the brink of scattering and running.

  “I want that ride to stay sweet.” Garin used the English word. “In this neighborhood, maybe it needs someone to look after it.”

  The boy shrugged. “We’re not in the car-sitting business.”

  “You look like an entrepreneur.”

  The boy ate some more gelato. “Entrepreneurs get paid well.”

  “They get paid well enough.” Garin took four twenty-euro notes from his shirt pocket and handed them over to the boy. “If my car is in good shape when I return in a few minutes, I’ll give you and your friends another twenty.”

  “Each.”

  “Yes.”

  The boy took the money and passed it out to his friends. “What if your car isn’t in good shape?”

  Garin took his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the four boys before they could move. He pocketed the phone and smiled at them. “Then I’ll come looking for you. Entrepreneurs like you? Someone in this neighborh
ood will know you.”

  The boy paled a little, but he made a show out of shrugging. “Sure. Lucky for you we’re in the car-sitting business today.”

  “It’s that small-business ethic that’s going to save the world.” Garin left them sitting there and headed down toward the harbor.

  Terns flew high in the sky and swooped down and around the masts of sailboats and the tall wheelhouses of cargo ships. Fishermen hawked the morning’s catch at open bins filled with ice that was stained with blood. Music spilled out of the small shops, tunes from different cultures, but much of it American rock and roll. Several pedestrians were going about their business.

  “You terrified those boys for no reason,” Amalia protested over his earbud. “And you’re keeping them from going to school.”

  “Nonsense. Those boys weren’t going to school, anyway. They were hanging out and eating gelato. I just made their truancy more lucrative.” Garin looked at one of the traffic cams in the intersection and winked, knowing Amalia had hacked into the system to watch over him.

  “Hardly something a parenting magazine would appreciate.”

  “It’s better than them keying my car while I’m gone.”

  “You don’t even care about that car. When you leave Genoa, you’re just going to dump it.”

  “I am, but while I’m driving it, I prefer that it looks good. Plus, those boys are locals. They’ll know if someone who isn’t a local comes prowling around the car.” Garin crossed the street. “They’re an extra layer of protection, and a filter to discriminate between the local thugs and Melina Andrianou’s people.”

  “Do you expect them to be here?”

  “Eyuboglu’s people called one of my services last night and said Eyuboglu had been taken. That might have been because of some other business Eyuboglu had, but it’s coming too closely on the heels of yesterday’s confrontation. Since the Andrianous couldn’t find me or Roux, they could have pursued Eyuboglu. And Eyuboglu knew about Troiai. Yes, I expect someone to be here. That’s why I have Emil and his people around, as well.”

  “Knowing that, you’re still going to walk into what could be a trap?”