The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  She did not see a revolving cylinder whose pins would pluck out a tune rumored to have once called to the devil, but suspected that was inside the box. There were no interior drawings, it seemed. She closed the notebook, looking again at the cover. Less fine forgeries had fooled many a scholar over the years.

  “It’s the real thing,” Evan offered. “I sure didn’t make up all that stuff inside.”

  “Someone else could have.”

  “Really? To have been aware of a device you’ve confirmed to me that only a few people should know about? Exactly one person, by my count. And that would be the man who came from that time period and who possesses such knowledge because he knew Leonardo da Vinci.”

  Annja tilted her head, silently conceding to his wild, yet remarkably accurate, guess. Not as far as Roux time shifting, but for having known Leonardo. Well.

  But that he hadn’t included Garin as a time traveler meant he knew little about his recently discarded employer. In fact, it was likely Evan hadn’t even met him in person, but rather had been manipulated through calls from Garin and visits from his thugs.

  “So where do you expect to find the device?” Annja asked. “The graveyard was a bust. Does the notebook indicate where it was kept?”

  Evan shrugged.

  She referred back to the page with the sketch, but the words around the sketch were in a strange sort of writing. She stood and held the notebook up to the mirror, but her interpretation of the Italian was slowgoing because the script was tiny and fading.

  A name did stand out, though.

  “Jeanne d’Arc?”

  “Really?” Evan joined her and stared into the mirror, squinting. “Where does it say that?”

  “At the right side of the box, see? Near that impression on the side. It’s very small. I wonder if that’s where the key fits. There’s only the one view of the box, as if looking on it from above. No side schematics?”

  “That’s the only page with the sketch.”

  She leafed through the notebook. The pages were delicate, yet at the same time, she didn’t expect them to crumble or fall apart. There were sketches of people milling in a market square. A closeup of a cross section of a pear, showing the seeds and growing seasons. Another drawing showed the pear cut through the center belly, giving a top-down perspective of the fruit.

  “Leonardo da Vinci was so meticulous,” she marveled aloud.

  The Lorraine cross had been drawn at the front of the notebook. Very small, about as long as her baby finger, though again, the detail was intricate. The three-dimensional drawing was drawn from the back of the cross, which wasn’t flat and plain as Annja would expect from a wall hanging or a personal item one kept on the end of a rosary or tucked in their pocket. It was notched, almost like a key, but an elaborate key at that. And a few pieces looked movable, and she guessed from the directional arrows drawn beside the cross that they did indeed move. It might snap out from the main part of the cross, like an electronic key some cars boasted, or perhaps the notches were inset for a reason. The cross fitted onto a specific position on the music box.

  “Interesting. This notebook needs to be studied by historians and placed in a museum for the whole world to share.”

  “Yeah, that’s not my choice. Highest bidder gets to do as he desires with it.”

  “I could keep it. Not give it back to you.”

  The almost imperceptible snick of a gun safety being slid off alerted Annja. She looked up from the notebook. Evan held the semiautomatic pistol casually and then aimed it directly at her.

  “Go ahead and finish browsing through the book,” he said. “Since you’re without a cameraman to record details, I won’t deny you the thrill. It’ll be your first and last chance, though, so look carefully. But understand, I have to protect my investment.”

  “Of course.”

  And instead of arguing or even lunging across the hotel room to fight for the gun, Annja switched her attention to the notebook. The historian in her was too greedy to give up this opportunity. As well, that part of her that preferred to stand up for what was right needed a few minutes to think through a plan.

  The only idea that spoke to her was to stay close to the notebook. Sooner or later it would lead to the music box.

  She returned to the page that had the sketch of Roux. Was he aware that Leonardo had drawn his face and labeled it thief? The painter may have shown him the sketch over a goblet of wine, yet to judge the ink used to write the word thief, as opposed to the red pencil used for the sketch and Roux’s name, she suspected Leonardo had added the accusatory label at a later point.

  What had Roux stolen from Leonardo da Vinci? And had it anything to do with the music box or the Lorraine cross? Again, she turned back to the first page that detailed the cross.

  “You have the key all figured out?” she asked Evan.

  “As best I can figure, it fits onto the music box. There are no diagrams of the key mechanism, as you’ve seen. But the text that reads Jeanne d’Arc is now my best guess.”

  “But her name doesn’t mean anything. It’s just another detail...” That could mean something if Annja put some thought into it.

  She scanned another page that looked like a list of trees and another filled with sketches of various body parts, such as knees, elbows and wrists. The music-box page kept drawing her back to it. Annja tried to fix it and the page with the study of the cross to memory in case she did not see the notebook again.

  Back to the diagram of the music box. Could Joan’s name be the real key to unlocking that riddle?

  Wishing she had the actual object here so she could turn it over and study it from all angles, Annja traced the lines of the sketch carefully, yet her latex-gloved fingertip didn’t quite touch the paper.

  Evan leaned across the table and tapped the notebook with the barrel of the pistol. Annja had forgotten he was holding that. “You’re done. Close it up and slide it across the table like a good girl who doesn’t want a hole in her head.”

  “You won’t shoot me, Evan. A bullet through my skull would splatter the wall behind me and drip over the chair and probably into the carpet. Too much cleanup.”

  “Yeah, but you must know I didn’t use my real name to sign in.”

  “Right. But the noise of the gunshot would surely attract attention.”

  He smirked, shaking his head. “Why couldn’t it have been you in the gondola with me, Creed?”

  “You mean you wish I had been your partner in crime? I don’t steal.”

  She closed the notebook but didn’t slide it toward him. From the duffel bag, Evan produced a couple of white zip ties. He tossed them to her.

  “Put two together and use them for your wrists. I’ll tighten it. I can’t risk you running back to Roux, can I? You know too much.”

  Annja wasn’t at all worried that she was putting herself in a dangerous situation. Evan she could deal with. But if he was headed out of the hotel, she wanted to make sure that happened. He would lead her to what she wanted to know and possibly even Garin. So she threaded a plastic strip through the small slot of the other, then formed a loop and put it around her wrists.

  “I can break out of these at any time,” she warned as Evan tugged the ties tightly without setting down the gun.

  “I know. But you’ll play nice so you can learn the location of the music box, right?”

  He was not a stupid thief.

  With no reply necessary, Annja settled back in the chair and watched as Evan got out a laptop and spent the next half hour clacking away at the keys. Emailing contacts? Prospective bidders? Both notions were likely, given the fast responses he seemed to be getting only moments after he appeared to hit the send button.

  Was one of those responses from Garin, wanting to retrieve what he probably felt should have been his to start with
?.

  Or could it be that Garin was unaware Evan had turned against him? The thugs had not been concerned with Evan at the bistro, which led her to believe Garin might be unaware of the dupe.

  That man would not be happy when he finally met the frustratingly indomitable Evan Merrick.

  Chapter 23

  Venice, 1502

  “Thief!”

  Roux stopped abruptly and cast his gaze about. There were but a few people lingering in the doorway to a linen shop, and down the way a cart wobbled, overstacked with hay. Boats floated by quietly on the canal.

  From behind the cart, Leonardo da Vinci rushed forward to accuse him again. “You have stolen something from me!”

  Roux scoffed at the man. He was embarrassed to have been caught out like this. “I’ve nothing that belongs to you.”

  “The sword piece. You were the only one I told.”

  “You’ve lost it? Pity.”

  “You dare to regard me as the fool?” Leonardo stepped up before him, preventing his exit. “But you didn’t take the real prize. That makes you the fool!”

  Da Vinci stormed off, cursing the heavens. Roux rubbed his bearded chin. He recalled but a few notebooks and the Lorraine cross in the safe kept in the graveyard. Also, there was that curious little box.

  Was it the box or the cross the painter considered his most prized possession? Well, he could have them both. A simple cross could not change Roux’s life.

  But the section of Joan of Arc’s sword? That was his future.

  * * *

  EVAN PARKED HIS rental car in the city center. Annja got out of the car herself. Her hands were tied in front of her. And really? She was tired of faking it. Besides, she’d gotten where Evan was going, so she was happy with the situation.

  Fisting her hands, she then brought her elbows forcefully down and toward her hips. The zip ties broke apart, freeing her hands with ease. The plastic strips dropped to the ground and she fell into step behind Evan, who had bolt cutters in hand.

  Given where they were parked, Annja couldn’t see much over the tall buildings surrounding the warehouse they seemed to be heading for. Though they had seen the Sforza palace upon approach. It was about half a mile to the north, she estimated. Walking distance for her. Had Evan pegged a possible location that Leonardo da Vinci had once lived?

  The majority of the buildings in this neighborhood were utilitarian, no historic monuments around here. Shops offered goods and services that were less touristy and more about the essentials, such as a market, a pharmacy and a type of hardware store, and she could smell the fertilizer wafting from a nearby greenhouse.

  It wasn’t as if they had the neighborhood to themselves. People were out and seemed occupied with their daily routine. Annja glanced around curiously. Could this be the spot where da Vinci’s studio once stood?

  Evan flashed her a look from over his shoulder, then frowned. “Really?”

  She held up her unbound hands. “You didn’t think I’d wear them like a bracelet you’d gifted to a lover?”

  “Kind of thought you would.” He flicked her that killer wink. No wonder his partner in crime had ditched him. “We have potential, Creed. Think about it.”

  “Don’t waste my time. What led you to think this is the site of Leonardo da Vinci’s former studio?”

  “The symbol drawn at the back of the notebook. It surrounded a diagram of the Sforza castle in the background.”

  He pointed over his shoulder. The towers of what had once been one of the biggest citadels in Europe were visible. The back of the castle arched out like a horseshoe, and they stood out from the arch. On the opposite side of the castle was the massive Parco Sempione. And somewhere, Annja knew, stood the Arch of Peace, built during Napoleonic rule. The emperor apparently had a thing for stone arches, she thought with a smirk.

  “It is a guess,” Evan offered. “But I think it’s a good one.”

  She eyed the bolt cutters. “Let me guess. You were not the safe cracker in your former duo?”

  “The woman had magic fingers.”

  “Don’t need the details.”

  “As I said before, I was the plotter and the logistics man. She did the delicate finessing and entry.”

  “Too much information. So, we’re breaking into this building? I have a problem with that. What is this place?”

  “An old glasswork factory. And we’re only cutting a loop in some chain link. Not officially breaking in. We’ll replace the chain on our way out. And if you think I’m wrong about this place, then take a look behind you.”

  Annja swung around. She recognized the dark hair and rugged face of Garin Braden in the driver’s seat of a black SUV. And stepping out of the passenger side and around the hood of the car?

  “Roux?”

  Chapter 24

  “You and Braden are playing on the same team now?” Annja asked as Roux and his cohort approached. “Interesting.”

  “Not half as interesting as seeing you with him,” Garin said and stabbed a finger at the grinning Evan Merrick. “Long time no see, Creed.”

  “Not long enough,” she replied. She angled a look at Roux. “Thought you two were on opposite sides of the coin with this one?”

  “The old man knows when he’s defeated,” Garin said, stepping toward the building. He was dressed in a business suit, expensive, and brushed Annja’s shoulder as he passed her. “We both want the same thing. And this one—” he gripped Evan by the throat “—has it.”

  Evan raised the hand with the bolt cutters. “The cross is in a safe place. You kill me, you lose any means to operate the device.”

  “You believe in time travel?” Garin asked the thief, who was trying his best not to shake. “Idiot.” Snatching the bolt cutters away, he shoved Evan, sending him stumbling to the ground.

  Propping the cutters over a shoulder, Garin turned to Annja. “You with us or against us?”

  “I prefer to remain the interested bystander. I’m not taking sides. I’m not even sure who’s on what side anymore. The artifacts must be—”

  Garin swept away her perceived trivial morality with a gesture of his hand. “All in good time, Creed. Roux? You think this is the place?”

  The Frenchman had been scanning the area with a hand to his brow to block the sun. He turned slowly, still assessing their location with an expertise Annja imagined had been fixed into his memory a very long time ago. She couldn’t imagine the city resembled what he’d once seen then.

  “It’s possible,” he finally said. “The castle was nearby. If memory serves, the distance seems correct. There was that little bread shop not far from Leonardo’s studio front.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Garin nodded, his smile growing. “I remember the wench selling sweet pastries out front—what was her name?”

  Annja rolled her eyes. The man hadn’t changed much in five hundred years. Garin Braden had been and apparently would always be a ladies’ man. As well, he’d mastered questionable liaisons with certain shady characters who could increase his fortunes. He was a billionaire now, so he had plied his trade well. He had friends in high places, as well as the darkest, lowest niches a person could imagine. But on occasion his hard heart did seem to soften and his conscience would win out. Briefly. Rarely enough that Annja knew not to trust him—ever. Except for when she absolutely needed to.

  Now was not that time. The only one who held the upper hand was Evan, who had the Lorraine cross and the notebook. To play the devil’s chord that would dance them back through time?

  “The wench?” Evan muttered. He looked to Roux and winked.

  Roux and Garin hadn’t been careful with their secret, which was no accident on their part, Annja knew. Now Annja held even less hope of Evan coming out of this alive.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she replied to Garin’s sea
rch for the wench’s name. “If we’re doing this, let’s get inside before someone starts being nosy.”

  Garin cut through the chain link and tested the steel door. It was locked, but a firm kick from his Italian loafers pushed the door inside. Out billowed a cloud of dust that he didn’t even flinch at as he stepped over the threshold and into the cool shadows.

  Evan hustled in after him. Roux gestured that Annja should go next.

  “So you dumped me for him, eh?” she asked Roux as she paused in the doorway.

  “I didn’t dump you, Annja. I’ve been dealing with...” He cleared his throat, obviously unwilling to complain about his gambling troubles. “Garin spotted me with those fools and offered to help get rid of them once and for all.”

  “Once and for all? What do you— Wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Because she could guess it had to do with those thugs that had come after Roux about the gambling winnings. And “once and for all” could entail moving bodies to places where no one would ever find them.

  She stepped inside the building. “It’s still every man for himself, am I right?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “As it should be. Have you a flashlight?” Roux asked.

  “Always.”

  She dug out the small Maglite from a cargo-pants pocket and flashed it inside the big warehouse. It was about two stories high and all open space. Crumbling Sheetrock peeled away from the timber-framed walls. The concrete floors were coated with dust and stray two-by-fours. She couldn’t determine if someone had been trying to fix the place up or had been tearing it down for a DIY project. Either way, no one had been inside this building for months, possibly years.

  Her flashlight beamed across Garin’s broad back as he ran his palm over a wall. Searching for what? If he knew the place, would he know where Leonardo had once kept things? Hid them? Surely the building had been torn down and rebuilt many times since then.

  “This is the place,” Garin decided, rapping the wall with his knuckles. “Roux?”

  The elder man had crossed to the front of the building, where, from the inside, boards had been nailed across a single-frame entry. He scanned along the wall, stretching out his arms as if measuring history in his memory.