Canon in Crimson (Symphony in Red Book 1)

by Rachel Kastin

  R7 ducked and slid to the side as the robot reached down to pound her into the pavement, cratering the street instead.

  “Perfect!” Percival yelled. “Keep it occupied!”

  He turned to thump back to his car, while R7 dodged another couple of crushing blows that turned the street to rubble in their wake. If he had a plan, it might just work. She could do this all day. But then the operator wised up, and the robot turned toward Percival.

  Fear like the antenna’s killer current gripped her as the robot reached for the defenseless professor, bent over the tracer device and oblivious to his own danger. It wasgoing to kill him, she realized. It was going to crush him, and it was her fault. She couldn’t save him.

  It was all happening again.

  Chapter 32—Fell On Black Days

  “Alger,” I said as I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup for warmth in the bitter February morning, insulated only by the thin walls of the cabin we were borrowing outside Zurich, “why won’t you take me to meet Levak and his people?”

  “Itching to spend more time with that delightful lot?”

  “Not really,” I admitted, curling into an overstuffed chair with him like a cat, “but you know that’s not the point. I want to help you.”

  I’d been planning to ask him all month, ever since we’d started working for Levak. You see, it had turned out that the deal Alger had negotiated involved proving ourselves before we could start the real work of finding the box together—sort of like an audition. At first, the Gang and I hadn’t been very happy about it, having spent the last year proving ourselves to the rest of the world already. But in spite of my initial serious doubts, working for Levak had actually turned out to be pretty peachy. He’d paid well enough to satisfy even Shifty, and the jobs had been top notch.

  I mean, sure, maybe they’d been a little different from the heists we would’ve pulled before—taking more blackmail material and letters than art, breaking into more offices than museums, and stealing from more politicians and businessmen than collectors and socialites. But the principles were basically the same, and after months of boredom, we’d been in rare form. For me, that meant that the Queen of Spades had returned with a vengeance: I’d pulled out dresses, lines, and looks I hadn’t touched since Martin Cointreau’s to turn heads away from anything Levak set his sights on.

  And of course, these days Alger and I had been spending practically every waking moment (which, because it was Alger, was pretty much every moment) together, when we hadn’t been on the job. Late at night, lying awake, he’d tell me his plan for the next few days in agonizing detail, and I’d ask questions and offer my ideas, or just listen and enjoy the sound of his velvet voice and the safe, comforting feeling of his arms around me. There were times I almost had myself convinced that he was taking my advice—and, as always, that just made me want more. If I was going to be Alger’s partner, and not just his best weapon, I needed a seat at the table with him. And right now, that meant pressing him to let me meet our latest client.

  “I understand why you want to go,” Alger said, pulling me closer with one arm while he held his teacup with the other. “But you know why I can’t risk that. It’s far too dangerous.”

  But I might be bulletproof, I thought. Or, then again, you might not.

  “Everything’s dangerous,” I said. “We stole that wine bottle from a damn Swiss bank last night, and you put me front and center for that. So what’s the difference?”

  “Believe me, interacting with Levak is far more of a risk than anything else we do.” When I looked skeptical, he shifted my position in the chair and turned to meet my eyes with his serious gaze. “I’ve almost lost you too many times, Victoria,” he told me. “I have no intention of putting you in a situation where you’ll be defenseless again.”

  “Then you should just teach me to fight!”

  The exclamation spilled out before I could contain it, like a pot of water boiling over. But Alger didn’t look angry, or even annoyed. He just gave me a long, discerning look, and then finished his tea and set it aside.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  “I am?”

  He shrugged.

  “If you’re going to keep becoming involved in touchy situations no matter what I do, it’s only practical, I suppose.”

  “Well then…okay,” I said. “When should we get started?”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid,” he told me, clearly enjoying the fact that his answer had thrown me off. “That sort of endeavor will take some time. But when this is over, we’ll have more than enough, so we’ll start then. Would you consider that fair?”

  Well, after Satoshi’s lessons, I knew that it might not take as long as he believed—but then, considering that this was already an unexpected stroke of luck, I figured I shouldn’t push it. So instead, I just reached out and shook his hand with exaggerated solemnity.

  “It’s a deal,” I declared, before I stood up to let him leave.

  When this is over, he’d said. I thought about it as his footsteps faded into the distance. Now that we were working with someone with resources like this, we were bound to find the box soon, and then, finally, we could move on with our lives. It couldn’t be long now.

  And only a few weeks later, when the chill was dissipating from the air, we were informed that we had earned a visit to Draegan Levak’s place—which, everyone seemed to agree, meant we seemed to have passed his tests. So we traveled out to a stunning little area on the Azure Coast, where France kissed Italy and brushed up against the Mediterranean. After a long drive through the countryside, we met our new allies at a remote villa.

  Now, I’d seen mansion after mansion, but this place was magnificent: open, airy, and bigger than most hotels, classically built in white stone, with elegant, hopelessly expensive décor. And most spectacularly, there was the veranda, overlooking a sheer cliff, dropping straight down into the pure blue of the sea. I admit, as we walked up the long pathway and the first set of stairs to the front porch, I was taken in by the majesty of the scenery.

  But soon enough, I remembered all the reasons I should be worried. The servant who came to the door carried a gun, and he looked like he wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to use it. He gave us all a wary once-over before turning to Alger.

  “You’re Slade?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “As promised,” Alger said.

  “You have proof?”

  By way of answer, Alger held out his hand, a card manifesting itself between his fingers. As he gave it to the doorman, I got a quick look at it: a white business card with a gold seal in the center: a stylized lion, clutching a spear in its left hand, surrounded by flames. I had no idea what it represented, but it seemed to mean something to the guard, who nodded brusquely and let us in without another word. Making a mental note to ask about it later, I followed them through the door.

  The inside matched the tasteful, artistic grace of the exterior, with expansive rooms, polished wood floors, and twin spiral staircases. It was all very awe-inspiring. But our recently acquired allies were…well, less so. When we walked into the sitting room, the men I knew only as “the army” were already there, giant brute and all, apparently waiting to meet us. I took Alger’s arm and suppressed a flinch. Suddenly, watching them stare us down, it didn’t seem so odd that he hadn’t wanted me around them. But as usual, he didn’t seem at all unsettled; he just acknowledged them with professional detachment before turning to us.

  “We’ll be meeting with Levak in another wing,” he said quietly, nodding to Shifty to indicate that he was coming as well. “I trust you’ll manage to get along.”

  He turned to leave, but I seemed to be having trouble letting go of him. Gently loosening my fingers from his arm, he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

  “I know they’re not the most pleasant company, my dear,” he said with distaste, “but don’t worry. They’re only guard dogs.” I swallowed hard, trying valiantly to put up a brave front, and nodded. He kissed my for
ehead, and seconds later, he and Shifty had disappeared at the top of the stairs. We were alone with the army.

  “Guard dogs,” he’d called them—but I felt more like we’d been left with a den of wolves. Their leers and snarls effectively staved off the natural urge to make introductions or shake hands, so instead, we just sat there eyeing each other suspiciously until the Brute finally spoke up first.

  “So you’re the Boss’ new pet thieves?” he asked, in English with an American accent.

  “We’re working with you, if that’s what you mean,” I said carefully, realizing no one else was going to answer.

  “Right,” he said with a sneer. “And that’s why your man’s been fetching, rolling over and playing dead for us since Marrakesh?”

  I stepped forward and clenched my fists, my temper flaring.

  “You know damn well who got the better end of the exchange there,” I hissed, “so you’d better watch it or you’ll do more than play dead.”

  The Brute just snickered.

  “She’s a mouthy one, isn’t she?” he asked Big Six, who’d stood up and caught my elbow to pull me back. “You always let a skirt do the talking? Or just hussies who think it’s clever to send fellas jumping into a river?”

  At that point, Big Six let go of my arm and stepped forward himself. The Torpedo stood up too, and some of the toughs started doing the same. Things were definitely getting ugly fast.

  “Hey,” Screwdriver piped up meekly, “can’t we just…get past this?”

  “Sure,” said the Brute, reaching into his jacket, “as soon as we show this tramp her place.”

  Well, as you can imagine, that spark could have sent the place up like a powder keg. I think the twins were ready to have it out right then and there. But just then, something happened that seemed more important even than settling the score. Underneath the rustling and the muttering, just faintly, I heard footsteps outside.

  “Shh!” I commanded, throwing my arms out in front of the twins and startling even the toughs into momentary silence. I turned to the Torpedo.

  “Did you hear something?” I whispered.

  He shook his head no, and the others exchanged questioning looks without answers. I closed my eyes and listened closely. Yes—there was definitely someone out there. Putting one finger to my lips, I pointed towards the window. The Torpedo nodded and crept over to it, slowly pulling out a pistol, while the army looked on, now concerned enough to put off our inevitable brawl.

  Everyone stood still as stone while the Torpedo peered out the window, trying to find the source of the sound. After a moment, he looked back at me and shrugged: nothing. But I knew what I’d heard, and I shook my head at him: keep looking. He turned to the window again and kept searching, while I held my breath. After a moment, he squinted, and I saw his finger twitch on the trigger.

  Suddenly, a shot shattered the silence, but it wasn’t the Torpedo’s. He cried out in pain, dropping his gun and clutching his bleeding hand.

  The room surged into motion. The toughs started pulling out guns and shooting at the window; Big Six practically threw me across the room to get me out of the way and then jumped into the fray, and the rest of the Gang hit the floor or scattered. In the midst of the melee, I immediately lost track of who was fighting whom. Cracking gunshots and thwacks of bodily impact assaulted my ears.

  With no one to hide behind and no idea what was going on, I panicked. Doing the only thing that seemed like a good idea, regardless of how reckless it might be under the circumstances: I sprinted upstairs to find Alger. But halfway up one of the winding staircases, I saw that he was already on his way down the other.

  Knowing he’d never hear me over the tumult, I turned and raced him back down. By the time we both reached the bottom of the stairs only seconds later, the fighting had stopped, leaving behind a confusing scene. The sitting room was now littered with shards of glass, bloodstains, and crushed pieces of the wall. My friends had started to pull back into the corner. The toughs, other than a few who lay motionless on the ground, were standing around, holding their guns and—oddly, I noticed a few of them had drawn long knives, all imprinted with the same intricate seal I’d seen on the card: the lion, the spear, and the flames.

  While most of them were watching, Big Six and the Brute were tying an unfamiliar unconscious man to a chair. He didn’t look like much: just a plain fella, around forty years old or so, in an unmarked tan uniform. He must be the intruder—but I still didn’t have any idea what was going on. Alger, finding me unharmed, took stock of the situation, and then walked in and took control of it.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded without preface.

  “This fella snuck up and shot at us,” Big Six explained helpfully. He jerked his head in the direction of his brother, who’d handed his gun to the Driver while he let the Doc wrap a strip of torn curtain around his mangled hand.

  “Who is he?” asked Alger.

  “No idea,” said one of the toughs. “No ID, no badge, nothing. Just a revolver.”

  “And this,” Screwdriver said, holding up a box with a dial and some buttons. “He’s got a radio.”

  Alger nodded.

  “You get to work on that. The rest of you—what else do you know? How did he find us? How long was he at the door?”

  Everyone turned to look at me. Great. Now they cared what I have to say.

  “I mentioned it as soon as I heard,” I said, shrugging miserably. “That’s all I know.”

  Alger crossed his arms, staring at the prisoner as if he could read the answers in the uniformed man’s unconscious form. Everyone, the army included, just watched him, waiting to see what he’d decide.

  “Well, this is a difficult situation,” he said at last. “We need to find out who he’s working for before they come looking.”

  Then the Brute chimed in.

  “Take him upstairs,” he suggested, in a tone that made me worry about exactly what was up there. “Just ask the Boss. We can take care of it.”

  Alger didn’t look happy with that idea at all, but without other options, he seemed to be considering it anyway.

  “Wait here,” he ordered, and darted back up the stairs.

  We all waited, looking back and forth from the unconscious man to the second-story landing. Another ten minutes or so passed, and we all shifted and fidgeted, our earlier conflict all but forgotten in the tense silence. Eventually, Alger emerged to deliver the results.

  “Listen carefully,” he said crisply, addressing Levak’s men. “You have three days to find out who he’s working for, using your…methods.” He said methods as if the word itself had an unpleasant taste. “It should take approximately that long for his associates to find us, even after they discover he’s gone missing. If you don’t discover his origins and intent by then, we’ll use our means instead. And that’s only if we don’t learn the answers ourselves earlier,” he added, nodding at Screwdriver. “Is that understood?”

  The guard dogs grinned unnervingly at each other over general murmurs and nods.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get it out of him one way or another,” said the Brute.

  “We’ll see,” Alger answered flatly.

  The Brute dragged the chair upstairs by the legs, the prisoner’s head hitting each step, and Alger put his arm around my shoulders, turning me away so I wouldn’t watch.

  “What are they going to do to him?” I asked, wincing with pity at each thunk. Alger just shook his head grimly.

  “That’s not our concern.”

  Chapter 33 —Things Fall Apart

  Never in my life had I imagined that three days could be so long. Grueling, tense, and nauseating, the hours crawled by. Under the constant watch of either Alger or the twins, I stayed far away from the room where they were interrogating the prisoner, but nothing could keep me from hearing the most loathsome parts of what was going on. Sickening snaps and crunches. Shouted threats and breaking furniture. Once or twice I heard screams, and I didn’t know whose they
were, but the toughs sometimes came out with bleeding fingers, broken noses, swollen and blackened eyes. But that didn’t seem to deter them; Levak had an unending stream of men, and the torture continued without rest. Who are you? What do you know? Who do you work for? Do they know where you are? Smacks. Crashes. Nail-biting silence.

  From the very start, I was appalled. Consumed with worry and revulsion, I spent a lot of time pacing, and I couldn’t even sleep. As you know, I’d seen my share of fights; I’d even seen Alger kill a man in seconds with his bare hands. But torturing a prisoner was something else. We were thieves, not leg-breakers. I was sure there had to be a better way. And if not, I wanted to get the hell out of there.

  By the second day, it was more than I could handle. Unable to pretend I wasn’t upset, I was sitting alone in a bedroom half-listening to “Quadra de Amor” on the radio, and the twins stood guard outside. It was around mid-day when Alger came in to check on me between meetings. I confronted him as soon as he’d closed the door.

  “How can you let them do this?” I asked. “How can you stand it?”

  Sympathy diluted the potent darkness that brewed in his eyes.

  “I told you, I have no choice,” he said.

  “No choice? You’re telling me you could fight off this man’s army, but you can’t convince him to stop torturing a prisoner?”

  “Those are very different tasks,” he said patiently, sitting down next to me. “Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. I would change his mind if such a thing were possible, but it’s simply not.”

  I sighed and gripped his hands in mine.

  “Then do we have to stay around and listen to it?” I asked, practically pleading now. “Can’t we just leave?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Victoria. I’ve told you why this is too important to abandon. And besides,” he added, his arms gentle as they pulled me closer, but his voice relentless, “it’s an inevitability that everyone breaks sooner or later.”

  I did trust him, I reminded myself, burying my face in his shoulder and trying to leave it at that. But try as I might, I couldn’t convince myself that he was right this time. No matter how important this box was, it couldn’t possibly justify being a part of this, could it? He’s killed over that damned box before, the voice echoed in my memory. Knowing how much he cared about it, that didn’t seem as far from the truth as it used to at the moment.