by Alex Archer
Sirens screamed, coming closer.
“More than that, Roux, whatever danger it is that these clockworks represent, that’s going to remain out there till you find them. If you don’t, someone else will. And if you’re not around, no one’s going to be left who understands the danger.”
Annja sat quietly. It was strange listening to Garin counsel Roux, stranger still to hear him take the path of patience.
Roux sighed. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I am. You know it. Get out of there. Meet me at Kestrel. Let’s see what we can find. You’ve let that woman live for six years, Roux. A few more days isn’t going to matter. She’s not going to give up searching for you. So let her find us when we’re ready, when we can control the situation—or when we don’t have to worry about the police or collateral damage. Let it just be her and us.”
“All right. I will see you at the ship.” Roux hung up and looked at Honeysuckle. “Let’s go.”
Just at that moment, Annja saw a streamer of white smoke at a wharf nearly two hundred yards away. She knew from experience what the smoke represented.
“Go! Now!”
To her credit, Honeysuckle responded immediately, stomping the accelerator. The rocket screamed by only inches away to explode against the front of a Laundromat that was closed for reconstruction. Debris and flames spun into the air, and the thunderous explosion echoed between the buildings.
Annja watched through the back glass as a red-haired woman with an assault rifle in her hands stumbled out of the alley across the street. Even though the woman looked like the pictures of Melina Andrianou Annja had seen in Schrettinger’s folder, it was odd seeing her appear so...human. After everything the woman had done, and the fear she had instilled in Roux, Annja had expected the Andrianou woman to be ten feet tall and equipped with horns, fangs and a tail. Spitting fire wouldn’t have been out of place, either.
“We have to lose the car,” Honeysuckle said. “We’re definitely going to attract attention if we don’t.”
“It has come to my attention,” Roux said, “that you’re extraordinarily unlucky with vehicles.”
“Unlucky?” Honeysuckle looked at him in the rearview mirror and cocked an eyebrow. “You’re still in one piece.”
Roux shoved the MP9 into his satchel.
* * *
IN FRUSTRATION, MELINA watched the damaged sedan roll away. Roux and Annja Creed were visible from behind. She raised her assault rifle and took aim, then knew it would do no good because the glass was bulletproof. The fracture lines she’d seen in it gave that away.
She glanced back at the warehouse. Flames had claimed half the building, churning and twisting high above it. Garin had escaped, as well, and he had the salvage diver, Sebastian Troiai.
And she didn’t know where to look for Roux.
She ran back into the building and went behind the secretary’s desk. She hoped Troiai filed his reports with the woman. If not, he probably used the computer or the network to access his personal documents. She had people who could sort through that and find information about the dive that had turned up the clockwork butterfly.
Reaching into her pocket, she took out a USB equipped with hacks to get into the computer. She slotted the device and called to her grandfather, “Tell the techs I have a machine I need them to gain access to.”
Echoing over the harbor, police sirens screamed louder and louder.
“All right, it’s come through. We have the computer,” her grandfather said. “They will draw the information from it and destroy it. Now get out of there.”
“I almost had him.” The frustration that welled in Melina rendered her almost inarticulate.
“I know, kopela mou,” her grandfather said softly. “Perhaps it is better this way.”
“How is it better?”
“It would be beneficial if we could take Roux and the secret of the clockworks at the same time. If we get him without the butterfly, he might prove as stubborn as last time and tell us nothing.”
Melina said nothing. On Roux’s fate, she and her grandfather did not agree.
“I repeat—get out of there.”
Without a word, Melina left the warehouse, walking down toward the harbor where a boat was waiting for her.
* * *
KESTREL SAT AT anchor out in the harbor. Garin had a crew in a powerboat waiting to pick up Annja and Roux. Honeysuckle Torrey wasn’t making the trip with them, and she clearly wasn’t happy about that.
The woman, dressed now in casual street clothes they’d bought along the way, stood in front of Roux with her hands over her chest. “You’re sure I can’t come along?”
Roux smiled. “Not on this part of the trip.”
“I have to tell you, I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
“I understand. I sympathize. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Am I going to ever find out what this is about?”
“No.”
Honeysuckle grimaced. “At least you’re honest. Still doesn’t make me happy.” Her eyes flicked to Annja. “You know what this is about?”
“Not entirely.”
“But you get to go because he says you can?”
“Yes.”
Honeysuckle nodded. “Take care of him while you’re out there.”
“I will.”
“Call Henshaw and he’ll see to your needs,” Roux said. “You can stay here or return to France. Whichever you prefer. Given the circumstances, though, I’d suggest a different venue. The people who are pursuing us may come looking for you.”
“If any of them find me, there’ll be fewer of them for you to worry about.” She gave him a wink, then turned and walked away, turning heads as she went.
“That’s a very strong woman.” Roux took a deep breath and let it out as they headed for the waiting boat. “How many people have you told about that sword?”
“No one. People have seen it, but I never explain it.”
“Why?”
“Because no one would believe it.”
“Even if you pulled it out of thin air in front of them?”
“They’d probably think I’m really good at sleight of hand. But no one is going to believe this sword used to belong to Joan.”
“Eventually, you’d lose whatever friend you trusted with that knowledge.” He frowned. “You’d lose them even faster if you involved them in the things we do. I have learned that.”
Annja passed her carry-on to one of the men aboard the boat, then followed Roux down the short ladder to the watercraft. She sat with Roux in the stern, but neither of them talked as the pilot took them out to sea. Annja watched the surrounding boats, looking for Melina Andrianou or anyone who might be working for her.
* * *
KESTREL WAS IMPRESSIVE. She was over a hundred and fifty feet long and had a swinging stern and A-frame for launch and recovery of submersibles. There was also a lifting jack and a weather station array.
“Welcome aboard.” Dressed in white duck pants and a pullover, Garin looked at home on the ship. “I was beginning to think that witch had gotten you, after all.”
The ship’s crew dropped a rope ladder over the side while the powerboat skipper pulled his craft alongside.
Annja slung her backpack over her shoulder and climbed the ladder. At the top, Garin offered his hand and she took it. A moment later, she stood on the deck and felt the familiar sway of being on a big ship.
“You’re looking good,” he said.
Brushing loose hair back from her face, Annja frowned. She could smell the lingering scent of soap and shampoo coming from Garin and knew that he’d already showered. “For someone who’s been shot at, slept overnight on a jet and hasn’t had a shower in twenty-four hours? Maybe.”
/> One of the crewmen clambered on board with Annja’s carry-on. He looked at Annja with hard eyes that spoke of a military background. “I’ll put this in your cabin, Ms. Creed.”
“I’ve got a cabin?”
Garin smiled. “Of course you do. I’ll show you. Kestrel is a deep-ocean research vessel. She carries fifteen crew under normal conditions, but since these aren’t normal conditions, I’ve beefed the roster to twice that. She’s capable of handling forty people easily.”
“Does this cabin have a shower?”
“It does. Not only that, the cabin I’ve got you set up in has a whirlpool tub.”
That sounded divine. “I don’t suppose there’s any reason I can’t use it now?”
“None at all. Would you like company?”
Annja took in his guileless expression. “No.”
“Too bad. I give a terrific backrub.”
“I’ll bet there are a lot of people who could give testimonials.”
“As a matter of fact—”
Annja held up a hand. “I assume you have a ship’s galley?”
“An excellent one.”
“Good, because I haven’t had breakfast, either. Or dinner last night for that matter.”
* * *
FORTY MINUTES LATER, after a long soak with high-powered jets massaging her body and working out some of the stiffness from the long night in the Salem jail, Annja felt almost human. Except for the gnawing pit in her stomach that was threatening to consume her.
She opened her carry-on on the bed, which was surprisingly large yet still didn’t overpower the room, when she noticed a note on the headboard.
There is clothing in the closet and underthings in the dresser.
G.
Wary of what she might find, though she knew from personal experience that Garin had excellent taste, Annja opened the doors to the built-in closet with trepidation.
Smiling, she chose a pair of charcoal pants that were just her size and a baby-blue turtleneck sweater. She took underwear from the built-in dresser as well as a camisole. The closet also held a selection of footwear, including soft calf-high boots.
Once she was dressed, she slung her backpack over one shoulder and left the cabin. Out in the passageway, she spotted one of the crewmen and asked directions to the galley.
25
Kestrel swayed more now that she was under way, and Annja could feel the engines vibrating through the deck. The ship was at cruising speed. Annja banked her fatigue for the moment as her excitement built.
A few minutes later she reached the galley and the wonderful smells coming from it made her stomach growl. She walked in and was surprised to see a large space outfitted with state-of-the-art kitchen equipment compactly placed on the wall and on the island near the stove and microwaves. Tables and benches were bolted to the floor, but were spread out to make seating comfortable. Four bar stools were mounted in front of the island.
A man seated at one of the tables looked up at her with frightened eyes. A nautical map of the Mediterranean Sea lay on the table in front of him.
Annja stuck out her hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Annja Creed.”
Hesitantly, the man shook hands. His palm was hard, callused. “Sebastiano Troiai.”
Roux and Garin were cooking in the kitchen, working together without saying a word. They moved like parts of a machine even in the tight quarters, as if they’d been preparing meals together all their lives. Of course, over the past few hundred years, they’d perfected the routine. Rachel Ray, Paula Dean and Guy Fieri on the Food Network paled in comparison.
For a moment, Annja just watched them, trying again to imagine what being together for so long must be like for them. You could really get to know somebody with that many years into a relationship. Of course, you could also build up a lot of intolerance.
Garin looked up and caught her watching. He leaned back to reach around Roux to the glassware hanging from an overhead rack, took down a wineglass and lifted a bottle from beneath the counter. He filled the glass, then topped off his and Roux’s.
Garin patted the island. “Join us.”
Annja took one of the bar stools and dropped her backpack at her feet. She picked up the wine and sipped. “Nice.”
Garin grinned. “Coming this close to death today, again, I thought maybe I’d open a bottle of the good stuff. Nothing like a near-death experience to sharpen the appreciation for the finer things in life. You’re hungry?”
“Famished.”
Roux took out a plate and put a folded omelet filled with red and green peppers, onions, cheese and sausage on it. “We thought since it was still early we’d have breakfast.”
“Breakfast sounds awesome.”
Garin took the plate, adding homemade hash browns and biscuits. He handed it to Annja, then slid over some cutlery.
“The buttermilk biscuits are heavy,” Roux groused. “Garin rushed the dough instead of letting it breathe.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Annja bit into one of the biscuits. “It tastes good to me.”
“See?” Garin glared at Roux as he pointed the spatula at Annja.
“She’s only being polite.”
“No,” Annja said. “Really. They’re good.”
Roux scowled. “To you, perhaps. You have an untrained palate and you’re too hungry to care. You’re responding with your stomach, not your taste buds.” He returned his attention to the skillet and the next omelet.
Garin sipped his wine. “There’s no pleasing him when it comes to biscuits or omelets. He usually insists on making both.”
Roux pointed his spatula at the contents in the skillet. “I’m very pleased with how these omelets are turning out.”
“Just make sure they’re done in the center. I hate when you make them and they run in the middle.” Garin winked at Annja.
“My omelets never run in the middle.”
“Sometimes they do. You’re not perfect.”
“Give me an honest cooking fire and an iron skillet.”
Annja ignored them as she took a bite. It was absolutely delightful. She pointed over her shoulder at Troiai. “What about our guest?”
“He’s already had breakfast this morning.” Garin took the omelet Roux handed to him and made a point of checking it with a fork to make certain it was done. “And he says he’s too upset to eat.”
Annja could understand that.
Roux sighed in obvious displeasure. When he had his omelet prepared, he allowed Garin to add the hash browns and biscuits. “Perhaps we could dine at one of the tables.”
Backpack over her shoulder, plate in one hand and wineglass in the other, Annja followed Roux to the nearest table. Garin trailed after them. They didn’t talk, concentrating instead on the meal.
A moment later, one of the crewmen entered the galley and addressed Garin.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Klotz says that Mr. Troiai’s family is safe, and to let you know that some men came around to check on them. They also broke into Mr. Troiai’s house and searched for the computer, but Mr. Klotz’s team had already taken it.”
“Good thing we got the family out of there when we did, then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. Annja knew the question was asked for Troiai’s benefit.
Troiai looked at Garin. “May I talk to my wife? She will be frightened.”
“Yes, of course. This man will take you where you can call her.”
“Thank you.” Troiai got up from the table.
“A word of caution, Mr. Troiai.”
Troiai waited.
“Your wife has been given the impression that you’ve received a good contract from a generous employer. One tha
t paid off in a trip for her and your children.”
Troiai appeared confused. “A trip?”
“Yes. I’m paying for it. An all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World in Florida. A surprise from you.”
“Disney World?”
“It’s the safest place I could think of that would keep them all occupied. Children can be exuberant, and hiding out in a safe house all day would be stressful for Mrs. Troiai. I also arranged for a nanny to help your wife with the children. Furthermore, that nanny is a trained bodyguard, one of the best in the business. She and a team of mine will watch over your family and keep them safe.”
The man seemed torn between gratitude and distrust. “Thank you,” he finally said.
Garin nodded. “Your wife will have questions about the events at the salvage yard. I’d suggest saying that it happened after you left, that you don’t know much about what occurred.”
“I will. Thank you.” Troiai followed the crewman out of the room.
Annja looked at Garin and raised an eyebrow. “Soft spot much?”
A scowl darkened his face.
“The kids will love it.”
He shrugged.
She sipped her wine. “Do you have the location of Troiai’s dive that led to the clockwork butterfly?”
“Yes. It will take us almost seven hours to get there.”
Forking up another bite of the omelet, Annja swallowed it down with more wine. She studied Roux. “You never mentioned the name of the ship you were looking for when you found the snail back in 1902. Or how you knew that ship would have one of these clockworks.”
Roux didn’t say anything.
“I need to know if I’m going to help you find what you’re looking for.”
Garin also looked at Roux. “Yes, we need to know these things.”
Sighing, Roux put his fork down and picked up his wineglass. “I found the snail the same way I found so many things back in those days―tracking down legends. In the instance of the snail, I’d heard stories from a merchant ship that had broken down in waters not far from Pylos.”
“On the Bay of Navarino?”
