by Alex Archer
There were so many styles of crosses. The Lorraine cross was a particular favorite of hers. “Right. A heraldic cross with two horizontal crossbars of the same length. Got it.”
“The Lorraine type of cross was carried into the Crusades by the Knights Templars, and later, the image was adopted by the Duke d’Anjou, but only after receiving such a cross as a gift, reputedly from Joan of Arc.”
“So what you’re saying is...” She strode over to Matteo’s inert body and leaned over him. Still out yet, oddly, smiling in his unconscious slumber. “I’m not following you, Roux.”
“It is speculated that the cross that belonged to Leonardo da Vinci was gifted to him by René d’Anjou.”
“Are you supposing that the cross stolen from the museum was originally a cross that belonged to Joan of Arc?”
“That I am.”
“Huh.” Annja stood, hand to her hip, and paced the clattering stones. Ian now sat on the grassy hillside that inclined toward the parking lot, camera on his lap. A giddy excitement stirred her from exhausted to merely semi-tired. “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Absolutely, Annja. What do you say to a diving excursion in Venice?”
He was inviting her to do something together? Suspicion immediately set off Annja’s warning bells. Roux was always in it for himself, and he’d step over others to get what he wanted.
On the other hand, she’d just been invited to go diving for lost treasure. And she now had a reason to stay in Italy, as she and Ian had just been discussing. And if the stay was funded by Roux, she didn’t need to bother Doug Morrell with the expenses.
“Sounds good. When were you planning this adventure?”
“Now. I know you’re in Palermo. I’ll let the other diver know to expect you at the Fondamenta della Sensa tomorrow, probably afternoon, if you allow for travel time. I have a ticket waiting for you at the Palermo Falcone-Borsellino Airport now. Can you make it?”
How Roux almost always seemed to know where she was, was a question Annja had long ago given up attempting to answer.
“Yes, I can make it, but what about the other diver? You already have someone in place?”
The fact that Roux had expected her to say yes didn’t bother Annja. He knew her well enough to realize that any artifact related to Joan of Arc would pique her interest. And she was always up for an adventure, most especially after days of tracking selkies and only coming up with a bad romance plot.
“Generally I like to gather my own team,” she said.
“This is my expedition, Annja, and I am the one gathering the team. Have a problem with that?”
“Not if you’re footing the bill.”
“I am.”
“Great. What’s the diver’s name?”
“All the information has been gathered in a dossier that will be waiting for you along with the plane ticket.”
“I’ll need two tickets. I’ve got a cameraman.”
“Oh, hmm...”
While Roux considered that one, she gave Ian a thumbs-up and asked, “You want to fly to Venice to film underwater for a few days?”
Ian jumped up eagerly. “I’m in!”
“I’d like him along,” Annja said to Roux. “We’re scouting segments for the TV show.”
“A show which has given me a few knowing smiles and a couple of laughs. Very well, two tickets,” Roux said. “I intend to fly out in a few days. I’m tied up at the moment with, er, details. But fear not. I wouldn’t miss this discovery.”
“That’s it? Just a cross?”
Much as she knew artifacts related to Joan were a love of Roux’s, Annja found it hard to believe he’d invest in a mission simply to bring up a little memento that should by rights be returned directly to the museum from which it had been stolen.
“Just a cross,” Roux replied. “Have a good rest on the flight, Annja. See you in a few days.”
He hung up, and it occurred to Annja that he hadn’t told her when the flight departed.
“Soon,” she guessed.
The airport was a good hour’s drive to the south. The flight to Venice shouldn’t be more than ninety minutes if direct.
In the parking lot behind Ian, a black limo suddenly arrived. The limo driver got out of the expensive vehicle, introduced himself and informed her he was at her beck and call.
“Leave it to Roux to control me like a puppet,” she muttered.
“You were expecting this?” Ian asked.
“Nope. But it’s not a surprise. We’ll head back to the hotel, pack and then on to the airport.”
“But what about the selkies?”
Annja glanced to Matteo. He’d curled onto his side, apparently sleeping off the effects of the alcohol as well as her punch. “We’ll swing by after Venice. But I have a feeling if there is a pelt, it’ll never be found. Too bad for Sirena.”
“Maybe we should call a women’s shelter?”
Annja ran her hands through her hair. She was dirty and tired and yet exhilarated about the new assignment that lay before her.
“Yes, good idea, Ian.”
And then she smiled widely. Sleep? She’d worry about that on the flight like Roux suggested.
“I should let Doug know about our new plans.”
Her producer would probably research every Venetian myth to see if he could come up with a good episode idea for Annja to look into. If she had the time while she was there, she’d be all for it.
The twosome slid into the back of the limo, and the driver offered champagne, which Ian accepted. Annja refused. She was already mentally preparing for the next leg of the trip. It would take five minutes to pack her things because she generally traveled simply, always ready for just such spur-of-the-moment trips.
“On to my next adventure.”
Chapter 3
Roux had purchased her a seat in first class, though Annja wouldn’t award him brownie points. Ian’s seat was back in economy. The cameraman took the news with his usual good-natured attitude, knowing he’d been a last-minute add-on. Besides, economy was not filled to capacity, so he planned to snag a row of seats in the back and lay down to sleep through the flight.
The dossier was handed to Annja in a sealed envelope when she received her ticket. Once the plane was in flight, she pored over the information, which was sparse.
The man she was to dive with, Scout Roberts, was a former archaeologist who’d been stripped of his tenure at his university after he’d been involved in a sketchy dig in Peru. The operation had resulted in the unsolved deaths of two crew members. He’d insisted poisonous gases had leaked from the cave walls, yet a forensic team hadn’t found any trace of poison. He’d disappeared approximately five years ago and apparently hadn’t been seen or heard from since. He’d stopped publishing and there wasn’t a phone number or address for him. He’d turned himself into a ghost.
But ghosts didn’t accept offers to dive for lost treasure. He had to have a reason for accepting the invite from Roux. Unless cash was the motivator?
“Could be,” she muttered, knowing Roux’s pockets were deep.
Even deeper, though, was Roux’s love for Joan and anything associated with her. The cross qualified on that score and was likely enough to spur his interest in the artifact. It would probably only look good under glass or on one of the walls in Roux’s château.
The fact that Roux had brought her in on the job also didn’t make sense if he intended to keep the artifact.
“Very odd...”
Flipping over the single page in the dossier, Annja was surprised that was all the information he had. Apparently, Roux knew little about Scout Roberts. Where had he found him? On a street corner? While strolling a stretch of the French countryside in search of treasure?
Annja smiled remembering h
ow she had first met Roux. It had been on just such a stretch in the French countryside. In the Cévennes mountain area in search of a loup-garou, she had stumbled upon a hiker, who’d told her he was after something that was lost.
She’d thought Roux a curious old man who possessed the strength of many, an agility that belied his age and a charm that had won her over despite his obvious nefarious dealings. Over an initial get-to-know-each-other meal, she recalled thinking how the twinkle in his eyes could mean trouble for her. And she hadn’t been wrong.
When they’d finally found the lost item he’d been looking for, it had been the final piece to Joan of Arc’s sword.
Who would have thought that meeting Roux would have led to her owning a sword that once belonged to Joan of Arc, and to a love-hate friendship with a man who had seen and done so much?
At times Roux was harsh and insistent, in it for himself and yet always on mark and aware. He may look old, but the man was agile and swift and could expertly handle any weapon he got his hands on. After she’d claimed the sword, he had mentored her and taught her how to handle the blade correctly and efficiently. At times, he felt very much like a father to her.
But Annja always cautioned herself against letting her guard down completely around the man. At times, Roux allied with Garin Braden. He’d been tied to Roux since Joan’s burning back in the fifteenth century. Braden was another man who possessed the same in-it-for-himself attitude as the older man. And he was not beyond lying to her to get what he wanted.
So that left Scout Roberts as a possible ally in this new adventure. A ghost working for a person of questionable integrity.
Annja shook her head as she perused the sketchy details she held.
She’d worked with strangers before. The nature of her work—traveling to foreign countries, traveling to the middle of nowhere to dig in the dry, dusty dirt—led to interactions with all sorts. Unwilling to pre-judge someone she had never met, she looked forward to meeting Scout and delving into the mystery of how he’d gotten involved with Roux.
Setting aside the dossier, she settled into the cozy first-class nest and pulled up the blanket to her forehead. She wanted to be in top form when she arrived in Venice.
* * *
UPON DISEMBARKING AT Marco Polo Airport, Annja felt refreshed. It was 6:00 a.m. and the day was bright. Ian was also chipper. He’d had extra bags of peanuts and a couple of free drinks and was currently balancing his equipment on one shoulder, his backpack across both shoulders.
“We’ll eat after checking into a hotel. Deal?” Annja asked.
“Deal.”
Annja strode directly to the cabstand and was greeted by a tall, solemn man in black trousers and black turtleneck who held a placard with her name neatly written in block letters.
“Miss Creed. I am Paulo. Your driver here in Venice.” He spoke English well. “I’ve picked up the diving gear, as was requested by Monsieur Roux. Two sets. I’ve had them delivered directly to the boat docked in the canal.” He nodded to Ian. “Welcome to Venice.”
The men shook hands.
“You’re punctual,” Annja said. “I appreciate that. On to Venice?”
“I’ve a car waiting. There’s a bit of a traffic bind, I’m afraid. Accident as I was coming toward the airport. We may have a wait. And then we’ll travel on a water shuttle to the island. I live in the city, so I’ll be at your service. I do have a car and a boat.”
“Thank you. We’d like to head straight to the hotel. If you could recommend a good place to eat nearby, that would be great.”
“I’ll bring you there myself.”
Three hours later—indeed, the traffic had been backed up for kilometers while a crane worked to clear away lumber from an overturned truck—Annja and Ian dropped their things in their respective rooms at the hotel. Then they accompanied Paulo to a quiet restaurant that seemed lacking in tourists yet had immense personality. The cook sang from the back room, and the waitresses giggled as they delivered plates to the tables. Though they’d both skipped breakfast, Annja cautioned Ian against the full plate of pasta if they planned to dive anytime soon, and he reluctantly ordered the smaller size.
After they’d eaten and Paulo had given them directions, Annja and Ian strolled down the streets in the Cannaregio, where they were to meet Scout Roberts dockside.
“They say the city is sinking nearly a tenth of an inch a year,” she remarked as they passed a wet tiled courtyard sandwiched between two buildings.
“Point zero eight, to be precise,” Ian replied. She gave him a look that said she was impressed. “Two years ago I spent a summer here filming at San Michele.”
Named after the archangel Michael, the Isola di San Michele was located in the Venetian lagoon, northeast of the Cannaregio. It was about half an hour away. One of the first Renaissance churches in Venice, it had been built on the island sometime in the mid-fifteenth century. The same island that had also once served as a prison.
“The team I was traveling with was actually a forensic unit from New York City,” Ian explained. “They were digging up bones in the cemetery. One of the women was full of interesting details about Venice. You know the city is tilting, as well.”
“Yes, I had heard that. But let’s hope it doesn’t topple over while we’re here. I haven’t gone diving in these waters,” Annja said.
“I had the displeasure while at San Michele.”
“Displeasure?”
“The waters around the island were not bad at all. That’s fresh seawater. It’s the canals in the city proper. They’re not really fit for leisurely dives, especially during the hot summer months.”
“Right. Like now.”
Since the canals were the Venetians’ principal method of travel, cars in the city were rare and the water became unhealthy and murky. She wasn’t even going to think about it. On the other hand, the tidal flushes should remove much of the sewage. She’d think positive—only way to go.
Though, now that she’d begun to think about it, she picked up the salty wet-wood scent in the air. The sun was high today, and she sensed it wouldn’t be long before the obnoxious odors would really blossom.
“I understand there’s a crew of volunteer divers who have made it their goal to do an underwater version of street sweeping through the Grand Canal,” Ian added. “They’ve collected quite a bit of rubbish.”
“Good for them. You’ve got to hand it to grassroots efforts. They will improve our world one project at a time.”
“Most of the canals are only about three meters deep. I’ve a headlamp on my camera. I certainly hope there are lamps included with the diving gear. We’ll need them. You didn’t say exactly what artifact you are diving for. Something about Leonardo da Vinci? I can’t imagine we’ll find one of the master’s paintings lying at the bottom of a canal, surely.”
“It’s a cross that once belonged to Leonardo. It was stolen from a museum six months ago.”
“Fascinating. I’m not much for old stuff myself.”
She shifted her backpack, which held a few personal things and her laptop, higher on her shoulder.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You like the unknown.”
“Actually, I’m all about finding the truth. That’s why I’ve partnered with your television show on occasion. Legends and myths fascinate me. Their origins and how they grow and take on a life of their own, becoming real to some, is intriguing.”
“For a guy who doesn’t like old stuff, you must run into a lot of history searching for truths.”
“I do. Like it or not.” Ian chuckled. “It’ll be a good adventure, as you’ve said. I just wish I could get Sirena out of my head.”
Annja offered, “I made sure she got the number for a women’s shelter. And she has my number, of course. I told her if she wants to talk, she can call me any time.”<
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“Guys like Matteo don’t deserve anyone. And a girl so vulnerable and...beautiful like Sirena should be with someone who can appreciate her for whoever she is.”
Annja smiled. Her cameraman seemed smitten.
“I gave Doug a call, as well,” she said. “He’s psyched about this dive, even though I told him not to get his hopes up. I can only see this being of interest to the show if we run into sea monsters.”
“Always a possibility,” Ian suggested a little too cheerfully.
She and Ian walked on, taking their time as they followed Paulo’s directions to the dive site, as specified in Roux’s dossier. The spot they were heading toward was in the Cannaregio, a central neighborhood that was one of the largest of Venice’s six boroughs or, as the Italians called them, sestieres. Annja noted that Canal Regio was Italian for Royal Canal and that this district had once been the main route into the city before a railway from the mainland had been constructed.
“The Ca’ d’Oro,” Ian announced with reverence from behind her.
Annja swept her gaze up the Gothic facade of the fifteenth-century palace that had been heavily adorned with gilt. It had been built with a garden and courtyard. And it housed Giorgio Franchetti’s private art collection. She’d have to make a point to visit the gallery if she could find some free time while in the city.
She loved Venice. No matter what time of day, the city always seemed to glow as if the sun were constantly setting upon the ancient buildings and water. So few cars made it a joy to wander about, and even the constant barrage of tourists in the major piazzas didn’t bother her. So much history surrounded her, she was a bit awestruck.
“Off to find the treasure,” she murmured as they turned down a narrow passageway.
Could Scout have become a treasure hunter after he’d been ousted from the University of Columbia? It was what tended to happen to archaeologists who couldn’t stay away from the dig and the thrill of the find, yet who needed to subsidize their income to survive. She’d gotten a sense from the sparse details in the dossier that she may be dealing with a treasure hunter. In which case, he may not specialize in diving but rather be a jack-of-all-trades. A necessity when country hopping across the world in search of hidden wealth.