The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  “How can we be sure Roux is headed toward Malpensa?” Annja asked as they drove the A8 toward the airport. The road, lined sporadically with tall trees, power lines and businesses, reminded her of a standard Midwestern freeway back in the States. Malpensa was the largest of three airports that served Milan.

  “We can’t. But does it matter? We’ve got to take the quickest route to try to catch him. We’re just following at the moment.”

  “You don’t strike me as a follower, Garin.”

  He smiled and flashed her a look, his attention veering briefly from the road.

  “So I seem to be on your team now?”

  “You’re never on anyone’s team, Annja. Except maybe that of the tired and poor. The huddled masses—”

  “I think you’ve spent too much time at the Statue of Liberty lately. I just like to do what’s right, when I can. And where a possible artifact such as this is concerned?”

  “I’ll get the box back, Annja. I’m not going to let Roux get away with this one.”

  A surprising act of selflessness. But Annja wouldn’t for one second buy that Garin didn’t have his own plans for the device.

  “How long have you known about Roux’s quest for this artifact? Do you believe in time travel?”

  “It’s a time shifter, Annja.”

  “So I’ve been told. Numerous times. Huge difference from time traveling, I’m sure. Really? Why would you want to go back in time?”

  “I don’t. And I don’t believe the thing works. But on the off chance that it does? It’s in the possession of the one man who could change history, Annja. I’ve known about his search since the day he met Scout Roberts, or Evan Merrick, or whoever he is. I keep tabs, you know.”

  “You both do. It disturbs me, and then it doesn’t.”

  “Yes, well, keeping tabs has been a lifesaver on more than a few occasions. This time? It could mean preventing a catastrophic change to history as we know it.”

  “Such dramatics. Cue the ominous movie score.”

  Garin frowned.

  A shrug was the only appropriate response.

  “With Roux headed to Rouen,” Garin said, “you know what that means.”

  The landscape rushed by as Annja nodded and tapped the window. Did Roux believe he could stop Joan’s execution? Did he not understand the consequences if he actually managed it? He didn’t strike her as a man who was overly concerned with the nuances of things. And it must have been a horrid experience for him to have witnessed a person who was so special to him be burned at the stake. But to go back and change the course of everything that had happened afterward was mind-boggling.

  Annja dismissed all of it; she knew what she believed. The notion of changing history was absurd. The same was true of time travel. At least the way they were considering it now.

  She had to concede to time traveling a lot in the sense that when she was on a dig site, she would sit back and wonder about the origins of a mysterious skeleton or object she’d uncovered. What and who had that person been in his or her lifetime? A peasant? Merchant? King or queen?

  “It is possible,” she felt the urge to say. “But only through history and science and the knowledge we gain by studying the past.”

  “Works for me,” Garin said. He shifted gears and turned into the Milan Malpensa Airport terminal.

  Annja used her phone and went online to check the schedule of outgoing flights.

  The only flight to France had left ten minutes before they got to the airport. Bad timing. But Garin showed no signs of worry as he drove beyond the main parking lot, toward a smaller terminal where private jets waited. Of course the man would never fly with others, not even first-class.

  “Roux didn’t take a private jet here?” she wondered.

  “I don’t know. Not on our team, remember?”

  “I’m not really on your team, Garin.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. But just know, I’m the one you should be cheering for this time.”

  Annja would reserve judgment on that. For the time being, she would stick with Garin because he knew Roux better than she did, and he had the insights to the music box and cross that could be their only advantage.

  She thought back to where they had left Evan in the warehouse in Milan. Garin had taken the Lorraine cross and still had it now. Meanwhile, Roux had the notebook. And now Roux also had the music box. Without a piece on the board, would Evan now leave the game?

  “Let me see the cross,” Annja asked.

  Garin reached into his suit coat and then slapped the outside pockets. He swore.

  “Don’t even tell me,” she said. “Sitting at the bottom of a hole on some Sheetrock?”

  “I don’t think so. That old coot! We argued in the gardens.”

  “What’s new?”

  “He shoved me. I shoved back. We had a tussle. I think he stole it from me.”

  “You’d better hope so. Otherwise we should go back to Lake Como right now.”

  “He’s got it,” Garin decided and punctuated his anger with a growl.

  Chapter 29

  Roux disembarked from the domestic flight, which he had chosen specifically because Garin Braden would be trying to follow him. He’d only had a ten-minute head start, so he expected Braden to catch up. But by then, Roux wanted to have figured out the time-shifting device.

  As he was looking for the exit, a fellow passenger bumped into him, but quickly apologized.

  “Désolé,” the man offered and straightened Roux’s jacket in an attempt to make nice.

  Roux walked on, clutching the brown paper bag to his chest. The bag had been the quickest and easiest solution he could find to hold, if not hide, the music box and notebook.

  And inside his pocket he had the cross that Garin hadn’t been the wiser—

  “No!”

  Roux spun around, trying to catch sight of the man who had bumped into him. He’d worn dark clothing, but Roux hadn’t paid much attention to his face. A good distance away, leading to the parking lot, he saw someone run through the sliding glass doors.

  “Stop!” Roux’s shout served its purpose. The first face to turn toward him was the man running outside. Blond hair, square jaw and a glint at his ear that must be an earring.

  Roux raced down the carpeted aisle, doing his best to dodge other travelers. Had Garin sent someone ahead to trouble him until Garin himself could get here? But why not also take the two artifacts—the music box and notebook? If not Garin, then Evan? He wouldn’t have known Roux was in possession of both artifacts....

  “Should have ended that man when we had the chance,” he muttered, rushing through the open doors leading to the parking lot. He looked left and right.

  The blond man hopped into the passenger side of a waiting dark blue sports car and it peeled away from the curb. Roux dashed toward the row of cabs, eyed a limo that was idling and its driver helping a customer with her bag.

  No time for explanations.

  Roux pulled open the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel, tossing the brown paper bag onto the seat next to him. The aggravated driver volleyed French curses at him as he sped away.

  Roux shifted into gear and negotiated the labyrinth of vehicles ahead of him. He’d lost sight of the sports car, but it wouldn’t be headed out of town, so he veered onto the exit toward town.

  The city of Rouen had changed, and it hadn’t. A man could still navigate merely by knowing the location of the Seine, which was to his right.

  And ahead, he spied the navy blue sports car.

  * * *

  SEATED IN A COMFY leather chair in the airport’s private lounge, outfitted with gourmet food and cocktails—she was surprised there were no sexy women to serve Garin’s every need—Annja dug out her laptop. She was pleased to h
ave a Wi-Fi connection.

  She’d been in Rouen on a few occasions. One particular time a nasty professor with a Charlemagne complex had been trying to steal her sword for his collection. He’d sought twelve swords to complete his plans to rule the world and had employed some deadly minions who hadn’t a care for human life to achieve his goal. Ultimately, though, cancer had beat him to world domination.

  As the keep of Joan’s sword, she shouldn’t be surprised that her adventures would bring her back to the city over and over. Though it was not Joan of Arc’s birthplace—that was Domrémy—Rouen was steeped with the martyr’s memory, perhaps even her spirit.

  “We’re headed for the Place du Vieux-Marché?” she asked Garin. It was the site of Joan of Arc’s pyre. A monument had been struck in her honor.

  He nodded. “The Lorraine cross did have Rouen inscribed on it, yes?”

  “Yes. And the coordinates are also for Rouen. Did you have an opportunity to look it over, uh, now or a few centuries ago?”

  “Leonardo showed it to me, and I remember not being terribly impressed with it. Simple crosses that people wore around their necks or carried in a pocket were so common.”

  She glanced around the lounge. It seemed unusually quiet. And Garin seemed to be in an oddly reflective mood. Maybe he was tired. Now that she thought of it, she was tired, too. She should try to catch a few winks before they got to Rouen. But she wanted to check the central square, where they guessed Roux would go, and familiarize herself with all the surrounding streets. Though she’d been there before, the layout may have changed.

  At one end of the square stood the Joan of Arc church. It was beautiful. Annja had been inside it a few times. She could spend a lot of time losing herself in the architecture. Of any church, actually.

  “Did Roux mention why Leonardo da Vinci had labeled him a thief in the notebook, Annja?”

  “No. Will you tell me?”

  Garin shrugged.

  “Give me a clue, then. Has it anything to do with the Lorraine cross?”

  “No. Actually, Leonardo once owned a piece of Joan’s sword.”

  Her gaze met Garin’s brown eyes and her heartbeat spiked. Annja knew Roux had traversed the world to track down every piece of Joan’s sword, until he’d been drawn to the very last piece—and Annja—by destiny.

  “Oh...” She paused, unsure what could be said.

  She knew the story after that. Roux had gathered the sword pieces, yet nothing had happened. Until she had looked it over and suddenly she’d held Joan’s sword in her hand. And now it was hers, claimed only by her, called from the otherwhere to serve her bidding when she should need it.

  Incredible.

  “Just thought you’d like to know,” Garin said. He tilted his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  Annja let her fingers fall slack on the keyboard. It was weird how the tidbits of history she gained from Garin or Roux directly correlated with her life. It never ceased to amaze her.

  Glancing across the room, she saw Garin snoring. The man had his hands folded on his chest, and his feet up on the chair opposite where he sat. While thoroughly modern in every way, she could easily imagine him outfitted in armor and wielding a sword or halberd while riding siege on an enemy’s castle. He had that noble warrior appeal.

  Not that he appealed to her, personally. But she could understand why it was easy for him to attract a lot of women. Add to that the private jet and a billionaire’s bank account.

  “The centuries have been good to you,” she muttered.

  Powering off the laptop, Annja slid it onto the chair next to hers, then reclined in her seat and closed her eyes. She might not sleep now, for remarkable memories kept her adrenaline racing.

  * * *

  THE BLOND MAN from the airport had eluded Roux, even though he’d briefly caught up to him while entering the city. He’d lost him in a traffic jam detouring around construction on the Pont Mathilde near the river.

  So instead of driving aimlessly in a random search, Roux headed to the one place he expected the Lorraine cross to show up. If Evan Merrick had any clue about how to operate the time-shifting device, he would arrive in the Place du Vieux-Marché.

  Forgoing a more predictable watch point in the central square, Roux strode along the rooftop of a building that boasted cafés and clothing shops on the ground floor and apartments from the first to fifth floors. He marked the best angle to view entrance to the square from any street below.

  From his position he had a direct view of the statue of Joan of Arc designed by Maxime Real del Sarte. It stood in a corner outside of the Church of Saint Joan of Arc. Put there in 1926, the simple stone statue depicted Joan praying, her eyes cast toward heaven as flames whipped up around her long skirts. Bright red flowers had been planted around the statue, but from this distance they appeared but a blur, almost flamelike.

  Roux looked away.

  Satisfied with this spot to watch the square, Roux sat and pulled the music box out from the paper bag. Running his thumb over the carved wood and bronze fixings, he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer that he had not uttered since the fifteenth century.

  Chapter 30

  Annja answered her cell phone as she strode the short runway toward the waiting limo without plates. The driver nodded to Garin and opened the back door for him. She went to the other side and opened the door herself.

  “Creed, I wasn’t sure you’d answer my call.”

  “Evan, where are you?”

  “I’m probably in the same city as you right now. And yes, thank you for the concern. The cross is safely with me.”

  “Really?” Last she’d known, Roux had lifted it from Garin.

  “The universe has a way of ensuring things end up where they belong,” Annja said. “Ever pause to think that maybe you were not meant to have the Lorraine cross?”

  “Bravo! But since it keeps bouncing back into my hands, I’m going to choose to believe the universe actually wants me to have it. So, did you find the box?”

  “Box? What box?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work. I know you went to Villa Melzi. Good call. I wouldn’t have tracked it next door.”

  “You want to make a trade?” Now that they were inside the limo, Garin asked if it was Evan. She nodded.

  “Trade? What good is the key without the box? What if I split the profits with you?”

  “Fifty-fifty?”

  “Seventy-thirty. The sale of the authenticated items will bring in millions, Creed. You’ll never have to work on that stupid TV show again.”

  “I rather enjoy hosting Chasing History’s Monsters. Only sometimes I end up chasing real-life monsters like you that spoil my day.”

  “Hey, like I’ve said, we could have made a great team.”

  “Where are you, Evan?”

  “At the market, in the central square. Bring the music box.”

  The line went dead, and Annja stuffed the phone into a pocket.

  “Where is the rat?” Garin asked.

  “The center of town,” she said to the driver. The car pulled away from the private terminal. “Evan thinks he’s a lot smarter than he is.”

  “He has managed to hang in the game this long. And find his way here with very little information to go on.”

  “You forget he had the notebook.”

  “Yes, but to decipher the clues Leonardo put in there?”

  “So you’re giving Evan Merrick points now?”

  “Never.” Garin reached beneath the seat for a slim case and placed it on his lap. He opened it, took out the 9-mm Glock and checked the magazine, then inserted it into the pistol. “Let’s go catch us a rat.”

  * * *

  THEY STOPPED IN the market square in front of the Church of Saint Joan of Arc. Th
is late at night, there weren’t a lot of people around. When Annja had looked at the square on a satellite map, she was startled to find such modern architecture plunked down in the middle of a relatively historic neighborhood. The church and the adjoining parish when viewed from above were positively alien in nature, but gorgeous in their own right.

  The park nearby featured a path through areas shaded by massive canopied trees. The nooks offered privacy, even from the cafés directly across the street. Many still had lights on even though they had closed hours earlier.

  An eerie solemnity thickened the air. But instead of making her feel calm, the mood prickled the back of her neck.

  Walking around the church, she and Garin sought the corner where Joan of Arc’s effigy had been preserved in stone behind glass.

  Annja had been here before and had seen the beautiful sculpture of the saint—during daylight—so she gasped now when spying it this time. Low spotlights positioned on the ground beamed up through bright red tulips planted around the base of the statue.

  Garin sucked in a breath. The image had to be even more dramatic for him.

  He turned his back to the statue and scanned about the market square. Chairs and tables were set up before a fountain, which was also lit in the dark hours. A couple sat at one of the tables chatting. But for the most part, the square was quiet, save the occasional taxi rolling by on the Rue de Crosne. Traffic from the nearby river was minimal, but the schush of the Seine’s waters and the scent lingered even here, blocks away.

  Garin strode a few feet away from Annja and spoke into his headset. He’d put the thing on when they’d arrived. He was always working some deal or talking to people in other countries at all hours of the day. He shoved his hands into his front pockets and stared off across the square.

  From behind him, Annja followed his gaze. And then she spotted what must have captured Garin’s attention. A man on the rooftop directly across from the square. Five stories high, it must be a hotel or perhaps an apartment building. Annja couldn’t see any signage because the building front was not well lit. The man had suddenly stood upright as two other men confronted him.