Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  “A good jitter?”

  “A very good jitter. Like this cross we’re searching for. I love how it seems to bring together René d’Anjou and Leonardo da Vinci. History is truly incredible. More people should put the time in to study it.”

  “It’s the conspiracy theorists who bother me,” Annja offered. “People searching for hidden symbols and codes supposedly left in artistic works makes me a bit crazy. Although I have to admit I’ve had to follow a clue or two in the past.”

  Annja was starting to relax. Chatting with Scout was...nice.

  “So tell me all you know about the René d’Anjou connection and how he gifted Leonardo da Vinci with Joan of Arc’s cross,” she prompted, hoping to compare his knowledge to what Roux had already told her.

  Their dinner arrived, and they began to eat while Scout explained.

  “Just so you know, I’m a fanatic when it comes to Joan of Arc. Or Jeanne d’Arc, as I prefer to call her.”

  “Is that so?” This could either prove a fascinating conversation or a dangerous one. Annja guarded her secret well and wasn’t about to reveal her connection to Joan of Arc. “Jeanne had been dead twenty years before Leonardo was even born.”

  Scout offered a number of facts and theories, and finally got to Leonardo and his father.

  “His father was the one to recognize his son’s talents, I believe,” Annja said.

  “Can you believe René d’Anjou, or Good King René, as his followers labeled him, wasn’t even a king? Talk about some great press, eh?”

  “He was king of many small lands. His mother, Yolande, a powerful woman in her own right, was one of Jeanne’s tutors.”

  “Right, which is how René might have known Jeanne. There is speculation that they had an affair, but I don’t buy into it. I doubt Jeanne had time for love affairs when she had God speaking in her head.”

  “That does challenge any romantic notions, doesn’t it? God or the guy? Hardly a choice at all.”

  “If you’re into stuff like communicating with the divine,” Scout said.

  “You’re not?”

  Scout shrugged. “I’ll stick with having the usual love life. And wouldn’t you guess a teenage girl might be a little more interested in the guy?”

  “You said you didn’t buy into them having an affair.”

  “I don’t. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t pine for a wink from someone.”

  Annja rolled her eyes. The man had a weird romantic flair to his storytelling. He’d romanticized the story of the thieves as well.

  “So how’s your love life, Creed?”

  A graceless conversational switch if ever there was one. “None of your business. So back to this cross René d’Anjou gave Leonardo.”

  “That diversion was not even subtle.”

  “You started it.”

  “Touché. The world-traveling adventuress keeps her personal life under wraps. I can dig it.” Scout had a sip of water and continued, “Love doesn’t come easy doing what we do. We take it when we can get it, right?”

  She would not dignify that one with a reply, although he was close to the mark. Annja had no great love affairs, but she would never deny herself sex when she was in the mood. As handsome as Scout was, she wasn’t feeling it. She was more interested in the man’s brain than what he could do for her physically. Besides, she still didn’t trust him. And he was kind of flaky.

  “Doing what we do?” she repeated. “I’m not completely sure what it is that you do, Scout. Treasure hunter? Archaeologist?”

  “Former. You checked me out, I’m sure.”

  “Right. Fell out with the University of Columbia over a dig in Peru.”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “And what do you say?”

  He swallowed a forkful of pasta and smiled as he chewed. “No comment.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re very young for a professor, you know that?”

  He emptied his water glass and gestured to the waitress for a refill. Once the waitress had left them, Scout picked up the conversation. “Back to the topic we can both manage without spilling secrets or alluding to our sex lives. Leonardo da Vinci!”

  She’d drop the age question for now. Annja found the garlic-and-chili-pepper-laden pasta much too good to spend the time talking when she could be eating. “Agreed.”

  Scout set down his fork and wiped his lips with a napkin.

  “Some accounts report that d’Anjou and da Vinci were friends,” Annja offered. “I fall more on the side that they were acquaintances.”

  “That’s where we get to the conspiracy theorists versus the purists. Could Leonardo have been involved in the Priory of Sion or the Order of the Crescent? Two secret organizations d’Anjou was known to have participated in.”

  “Who knows?” Annja bypassed her glass of water and took a drink from her wine goblet instead. “No definitive evidence has been brought forth to verify Leonardo was ever interested in the occult,” she continued. “And frankly, if you want to find something in a drawing or painting, you will, if you are determined and believe in it hard enough. There are so many crazy theories, I remain a skeptic until proven otherwise.”

  “Fine.” Scout rapped his fingernails on his goblet. The waitress removed their dinner plates and brought another bottle of wine.

  The last rays of sun turned the waters of the Cana Reggio golden as they softly beat against the dock. Times like this, when she had a calm moment with no looming deadline or dig to consider, Annja found she had to remind herself to enjoy them. And yet, even when she’d found such a quiet minute, things always seemed to be happening. Best to stay alert.

  “How long have you known Roux?” Scout asked from behind a swallow of wine.

  She shrugged. It was never wise to divulge too much information about her relationship with a man who shouldn’t exist in this century. “Awhile. Why do you ask?”

  “He seems to have been around,” Scout tossed out. “Seen a lot.”

  “You said you had met him at an auction?”

  “Yes, I introduced myself to him. Took the risk in bringing up the Lorraine cross.”

  “I’m surprised you got to know him all that well. He keeps his personal information close to the vest.”

  “That he does. Nothing about him on the internet, you know that?”

  She nodded. Roux was careful. Yet it did surprise her he was able to have no mention of himself online, what with all his traveling and antiques buying.

  “So you think we’re simply diving for a decorative cross?” Scout asked, a tone of intrigue tracing the question.

  Annja blinked. “Aren’t we?”

  The man’s laughter echoed across the patio. The people at the next table paused from their quiet conversation to peer over their shoulders at them. Annja shushed him and the couple resumed their meal.

  “Is there something more in the attaché case?” she asked.

  “No. Just a cross. Or so I expect, according—”

  “—to the police reports,” she finished.

  She really should get ahold of these police reports. Could Roux have gotten the information, but failed to pass it on to her? No, Scout had gone to Roux about this dive.

  “There’s something more? Knock my socks off,” she challenged.

  “Oh, it will knock your skeptical socks right into the canal.” Scout leaned forward, the eagerness in his eyes inexplicably drawing Annja forward, as well. “The cross isn’t just some pretty little object to hang on a wall in a dusty old museum. It’s actually—” Scout dramatically performed a curious scan of his surroundings “—a key.”

  Annja smirked and assumed a wondrous tone. “A key? Do tell.”

  Scout exhaled and sat back. “I don’t think so. You don’t have the ability to set aside your skepticism. It’s all dry history to you, isn’t it? Or in this case, wet. Find the case, discover the missing artifact, hand it back to the museum. Then it’s on to the next dig or dive, or whatever, resulting in yet another chipped pot o
r broken vase.”

  She laughed and poured herself a final serving of wine. “So it’s a key. To what? A safe hoarding millions in fifteenth-century gold? Stacks of Leonardo’s lost notebooks? The map to the Holy Grail? Do you know how many Holy Grail maps I’ve seen, Scout? They are a cottage industry in and of themselves.”

  “To which I have contributed my fair share.” His grin was smarmy, so much so that Annja almost checked the ground to see if a snail had crept by.

  “It’s people like you who give people like me—”

  “The upright, upstanding, stick-in-the-muds who never have any fun?”

  “Legitimate archaeologists who care about provenance and historical value,” Annja corrected. “You do realize that, once found, you have to hand the cross over to Roux, yes?”

  “He is the guy writing the check. But let me guess—you’re not going to let the old man waltz off into the sunset with his prize.”

  “Roux knows where I stand with things. It’s best you get that into your head, as well.”

  “Creed, now you’ve gone and spoiled my fun. I don’t even want to tell you about the key.” He crossed his arms high on his chest.

  “Yes, the key to a mysterious something that most certainly will possess great power. Great enough to rule the world, or at the very least, a small portion of said world.”

  And yet, she couldn’t deny she’d come across some amazing finds over the years. The Skull of Sidon had been rumored to possess all power to whomever held it, and she had witnessed—something—in the moments it had been held before the holder had been slain. Solomon’s Jar had bound the world’s demons. And many other myths and legends, some that she hadn’t been able to discount and could believe because she had witnessed the truth.

  Though a selkie losing her pelt and being enslaved by a domineering mortal? She had to admit Sirena worried her. Maybe she would give her a call later.

  Annja had learned so much since taking Joan’s sword in hand. It was as if the sword wanted her to experience the marvels this realm was capable of producing.

  “You’re thinking about it,” Scout said. “Excellent. A crack in the woman’s tough skeptic armor.”

  “I haven’t been told what the key opens, so there’s nothing for me to believe or disbelieve right now.”

  She held his gaze, waiting for him to back down from his pout. With a conceding exhale, he did.

  Scout motioned to the waitress and borrowed her pen. He then scribbled a diagram on his napkin. Annja divided her attention between the man’s drawing and the canal; some activity across the way alerted her that she should be on guard. After nearly being taken out twice while diving, she wouldn’t be surprised if she and Scout were being followed.

  “So this is the Lorraine cross.” Scout turned the napkin toward her.

  “Yes, I’m familiar with the double-barred cross. You’ve drawn it with the bars equally distributed along the main bar. Others push up the parallel bars to keep it more in the form of the Christian cross.”

  “Right, but the one Jeanne d’Arc was reputed to have given René was like this.”

  “Did you ever see the cross when it was displayed in the museum?”

  “Yes, er, no, not displayed in the museum. So, uh, here’s where the story takes a slightly science-fiction turnabout.” Scout tapped at the napkin drawing.

  Annja grimaced. And yet, she kept her ears wide open. For as much of a skeptic as she tended to be, she was the first to jump when the idea of proving a myth to be real was presented. Because how cool would that be?

  “Hear me out,” Scout said, making a few more notations on the cross before him. “René d’Anjou was all about the occult and stuff like that. And the connection to Leonardo—who knows? Still, I’m going to guess or assume that there is one between the two men.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. Whether there was a connection by association between symbols and da Vinci’s works through d’Anjou was pure speculation

  “I’m not saying any of this is true, but if it were...”

  “Just spit it out, Scout. What magical properties does the Lorraine cross possess?”

  “The cross isn’t magical. It’s a key. But what that key fits into is truly remarkable.” Scout glanced across the canal, then averted his gaze along the outside tables, before leaning closer and saying in a whisper, “There’s a couple of suspicious-looking men standing at the corner of the entryway. Don’t turn around.”

  Signaling to the waitress to bring them the check, Scout tucked the napkin inside his shirt pocket.

  “Wow, you do the avoid well,” Annja said. “Tell me what it is the key to.”

  “No time.” He signed the credit-card receipt for the waitress and stood up. “It’s time to get out of here. You still in on the project or not? Because my feelings won’t be hurt if the babysitter decides to pack up and head home after getting her skull cracked open.”

  “It was a scratch.” She’d dampened his excitement and he was pouting. Treasure hunters. “I’m in. Tomorrow morning, same time as today?”

  “Ten. See you at the boat. I’m going to head east. Why don’t you leave through the restaurant to give them the slip? Ciao, Creed.”

  She turned as Scout took off, and eyed the two men standing in the corner. Thugs in suits. Her favorite kind. But were these goons really stalking her and Scout, or were they merely businessmen waiting for a table?

  Deciding to give Scout the benefit of the doubt, she exited through the restaurant and noted one of the men did indeed follow Scout in the direction he had left, while the other...she could no longer see.

  Chapter 7

  Annja sprinted toward a courtyard, hoping that if she could attract the thugs’ attention by running, maybe the one guy wouldn’t follow Scout. Why she was feeling so chivalrous, she wasn’t sure. But she had a weapon and Scout probably did not. Both men were following her now and were gaining on her because she was only jogging, allowing them to catch up. There were only two of them. A number she could easily handle.

  A line of hedges blocked her view of the courtyard that she knew of behind an old church. She wasn’t sure if the church was still in use, but she hoped the courtyard would be empty and provide a private place for whatever the thugs had in mind.

  She sped up and leaped over the hedge, stretching one leg before her, and landed on the loose-pebbled grounds on the other side. She quickly tilted her body into a roll to compensate for the momentum. Coming up to stand, she waited for the thugs to follow suit.

  The first veered right, while the second made the jump, landed right on top of the hedge and rolled off it into an ungraceful splay on the ground before her. But he was quick and hopped upright, displaying an agility that should have seen him over the hedge no problem.

  He slashed a flat hand toward her neck. Annja bent backward, avoiding the strike. She let her shoulders drop and swung up to kick both his knees. That put him off balance and swearing a stream of Italian curses.

  Standing, she stepped over him as he rolled on the ground, and kicked the back of his knee, ensuring the damage was painful. Jumping over him, she clutched his collar and punched his jaw. Blood spurted from his mouth. She dodged to avoid it. This time her boot toe landed at the side of his ribs, targeting the kidney. He yowled and begged her mercy.

  “Really? Big tough guy running after a woman isn’t so sure about that move anymore? Sorry, but guys like you don’t deserve mercy.”

  Another kidney shot reduced his ridiculous pleas to silence.

  Annja turned, and though the night was dim, she saw every detail on the man who approached, holding his coat sides out to reveal a leather holster strung across his broad chest. And along that holster a line of throwing blades glinted menacingly.

  “Not good,” Annja said under her breath.

  The first blade soared toward her, and she dodged it, but felt it fly past her ear. While bent to the side, she called the sword to hand. Three feet of battle steel emerged within her grip. Energized by i
ts presence, Annja blocked the next flying blade with the flat surface of her sword.

  Two more blades soared toward her in rapid succession. She tilted the sword blade downward, preventing a blade from lodging in her calf. The next she felt cut through her sleeve at the shoulder, skimming her skin.

  Not willing to stand there as a target, Annja charged the knife thrower. Even as he released another deadly weapon, she managed to deflect it to the side with a slash of her blade. She rammed into his chest with her shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

  He, too, recovered quickly, but Annja also didn’t waste any time. Drilling her elbow into his ribs, she slid her sword down his arm, not cutting through his leather jacket, but at his bare hand she sliced skin and blood spilled out.

  He yelled and cursed her.

  “Who do you work for?” she asked.

  He said something in a language she didn’t understand. It wasn’t Italian. Likely, he didn’t understand her, either.

  She felt a blade cut along her wrist. How he’d gotten hold of one of his weapons, she wasn’t sure. Releasing him and pushing him away, Annja swung around, drawing her sword across his chest. It didn’t go in so deep she worried he’d die, but it was enough to drop him to his knees and stop his next move.

  Striding away from him, Annja looked around but didn’t see the first thug she had too easily knocked out. He must have come to and was either hiding in the nearby hedges or had hightailed it out of the courtyard.

  After taking in her surroundings, she determined it was only she and the blade man left. “Really? And here I was in the mood for a challenge.”

  Not that the thug without a weapon would have offered her a challenge anyway.

  Hearing the blade man’s body shuffle on the pebbled ground, Annja swung, gripping the thrown blade near her cheek. “Good one.”

  She whipped it toward the thrower, landing it in his throat.

  Striding off, knowing she wouldn’t get any information from the guy struggling to keep his voice box inside his body, she swept out an arm, releasing her sword into the otherwhere.