by Alex Archer
The house was a two-story brick structure that looked as if it had been built in the 1930s. A small circular drive surrounded a fountain. A wrought iron gate-blocked entrance, and tall fences covered in blossoming hibiscus surrounded the estate.
Annja guessed that the house had at one time belonged to old Hollywood royalty, and she wondered how Racz had afforded the place on a professor’s salary.
A midsize security sedan rolled up to a stop behind Annja as she stood at the gates. The passenger window sank into its housing to reveal a large older man sitting behind the steering wheel.
“Are you lost, miss?”
“No, I’m here to see Dr. Racz. I was about to buzz.”
The guard waved to let her know she could help herself. He waited.
A call box was to the right of the wrought iron gate. Annja crossed over to it and pressed a red button. The camera mounted above it swiveled into position to view her.
“Ms. Creed?” The man’s voice sounded tinny over the intercom.
“Yes.”
“You’re not driving?”
“I took a cab.”
“Ah, I see. Please come ahead.”
With a small squeak, the wrought iron gate pulled to the side. Annja waved to the security guard, who nodded and rolled up his window as he took his foot from the brake and continued on his way. After Annja passed through, the gate closed behind her.
She walked around the gurgling fountain and crossed to the half-dozen wooden steps leading to the front door. The porch was wood, solid and well cared for. Before she could press the doorbell, the door opened.
“Ms. Creed?” The man was about Annja’s height, built slender and wiry. His complexion was dark enough to pass as Hispanic, but his last name indicated a Hungarian heritage. She guessed that he was in his midforties.
“Dr. Racz?” Annja offered her hand.
“Yes.” Racz turned aside and swept a hand toward the interior of his house. “Please. Won’t you come in?”
20
Istvan Racz escorted Annja to a sunroom at the back of the house. The large plate-glass window overlooked a sprawling backyard equipped with a water feature that formed a moat around a small medieval stone castle. A flotilla of brass sailing ships bombarded the castle with water cannons and the spray created rainbows that danced in the breeze.
Everything looked neatly tended. Brightly colored flowers in startling oranges, yellows and reds bordered stone paths that meandered through the trees. Annja couldn’t help staring and wondering again how a college professor could afford the house and grounds.
“I know, I know.” Racz laughed good-naturedly. “The house is a little showy. My grandfather was a wealthy man who indulged my grandmother. She had a green thumb and tended everything herself when she was alive. Now it takes a small army of landscapers to keep everything just so.”
“It’s very beautiful.”
“It is, but I felt some explanation was in order because this place, as you know, is far beyond anything I could afford on a professor’s salary. I come from old money. Very old money. I don’t feel guilty about that. Still, I sometimes wish I had the will to just let it all die. But I can’t.” Racz waved to one of the plush chairs in the room. “Please. Sit.”
“Maybe we could sit somewhere else.” Annja gestured to her jeans, stained with dirt from her scramble from the parking lot. “I had an accident this morning.”
“I promise, all of this can be cleaned.”
“I’d feel better if we did this somewhere else.”
Racz nodded. “If you insist. My office is outfitted with leather and wood. It can be easily cleaned.”
Annja thought she would have felt better if it had come outfitted with vinyl and imitation wood, but she followed him.
* * *
THE OFFICE WAS smaller than the sunroom and reeked of ancient pipe smoke. A mahogany desk claimed one end of the room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books and maps and objects from around the world. Most of the items had come from Europe—medieval coins, fired clay figures that looked like animals, but the majority of the display consisted of beaten metal rings and headbands from medieval times.
“Your grandfather was a collector.” Annja bent to look at a collection of gold plates, bowls and pitchers behind the glass of a display case. “Ninth-century Magyar period?”
Racz joined her beside the case. “You’ve got an excellent eye, Ms. Creed. Of course, you should. I have to admit, after I got your call, I looked you up on the internet. It turns out you’re quite famous.”
“Not so famous. Especially in this town. Most people here wouldn’t give a cable show a second glance.”
“Be that as it may, I’m impressed. And I wasn’t talking about the television show. I was referring to your work in the field.”
“Well, thank you.” Annja straightened. “Your grandfather must have traveled a lot.”
“He did.” Racz waved her to a leather chair in front of the desk. “The money came from a several-times-removed grandfather down the line who made a fortune in shipping. From what I understand, he began accruing his wealth while working opium fields in India in the early nineteenth century. The Indians there raised the poppies so the British, the Americans and the French could sell it to China markets.”
“I know.” Annja sat and put her backpack at her feet. She liked the fact that Racz wasn’t embarrassed about his family’s wealth or how they’d acquired it.
“Times were different back then.” Racz took his seat behind the desk and looked comfortable. “These days I would be called a narco-baron or something.”
“Several members of the House of Lords in London tried to cover up where they’d made their money at the time. And some of today’s pharmacological corporations would like to pretend they didn’t get their start from those profits.”
Racz leaned back in his chair with his elbows resting on the arms. “History has a way of catching up to us. It always has. From what I’ve read, you’ve had a lot of luck in that area yourself.”
“You can call it luck if you want, but there’s a lot of hard work that goes into making that luck happen.”
“Of course. Please don’t think I meant any offense or intended to denigrate your skills.”
“I don’t.” Annja dug inside her backpack for her computer. “Dr. Orta said you might be able to help me with a project he and I turned up.”
“I’d be happy to, though I’m surprised he didn’t come with you.”
“He...had an accident.” Annja saw no need to get into details with Racz. Hopefully, he would just point her in a direction and she would take it from there.
“That’s unfortunate.” Racz’s dark eyes looked sorrowful. “I hope he will be all right?”
“He will be. He just can’t join us now.” Annja booted up her tablet PC. “Do you mind if I use your internet?”
Racz gave her the visitor’s password and she placed her computer on the edge of the desk. He leaned forward in his chair to look at the images she and Orta had captured with the crystal.
“How did you get these?” Racz stared at the images with rapt attention.
Quickly, Annja explained about the crystal Krauzer’s set designer had found, the pages Orta had gotten from his student and Julio Gris’s journal.
“Are these real?”
“We believe so.”
Racz gazed at the images. “May I put these up on a larger screen?” He reached behind his computer monitor and unplugged a cord. He passed it over to Annja.
She had to dig out a converter to make the connection to the tablet’s video output, but she had one and the job was done easily enough. While she was doing that, Racz pushed a button on a remote control and a large screen dropped down from the ceiling over the bookshelves.
“Not my grandfather’s addition.” Racz smiled. “Though he used to watch film he’d shot in other countries at dig sites. I just upgraded.”
Annja pressed the commands to show the images on the screen, which had to be 120 inches diagonally. Abandoning his chair, Racz walked to stand in front of the screen with his hands in his pockets. “Can you read this?”
“I read Spanish fluently.”
“How is your Romanian?”
“Not as good as my Spanish, but I can make do.”
Racz smiled. “Then I must ask you, how is your Hungarian?”
Annja shook her head. “When it comes to reading? Lacking. Put me in a Hungarian culture, I can order food and make my way around, but the written language is presently beyond my capabilities.”
“Then you’re going to need me.”
Annja took a breath and thought about Dr. Racz running from the likes of Sabre Race or de Cerceau. She didn’t think the security leader would be a problem once they got out of California, but the French mercenary wouldn’t give up so easily. And de Cerceau had zero need to hang around California—or probably even the United States after everything he had done.
“You really don’t want to go with me, Dr. Racz. Some really bad people are after me and what they think I know.”
Hands still in his pockets, Racz turned to face her. “What do you know?”
Annja shook her head. “Only what I’ve told you.”
A gentle smile framed his lips. “Which is not enough to help you find what you’re looking for.”
“No. Not even close.”
“And these people won’t believe that without taking extreme measures to satisfy themselves.”
“Probably not.”
“So you remain in danger.” Turning back to the image on the large screen, Racz grinned more broadly. “My grandfather was forever going on about his adventures around the world. When he started in on one of those tales, my grandmother would throw her hands in the air, go get her shears and walk out to her garden. My brother and I, though, we would sit and listen to those stories and our heads would fill with all of the exciting things we might do and see if we ever followed in his footsteps.” He paused. “I have never had a true adventure. I’ve traveled to other countries, of course, and even taken part in digs, but mostly my life has been presenting one paper after another at some boring conference. You know what I’m talking about.”
Annja had been to a few of those conferences, as well. Generally, there wasn’t a whole lot of new information being discussed. She preferred to be in the field.
“I do.”
“This is my opportunity, Ms. Creed. My chance at adventure. I don’t plan on missing it.” Racz paused. “In addition to my desires, you’re going to need me in your quest, and you know that.”
“I can find my way through historical materials quite well enough.”
With a shrug, Racz pursed his lips. “I’m certain that you can, but the trick is to do it before the men chasing you catch you.”
Annja had no argument for that.
“As it happens, I know quite a lot about the time periods we’re discussing, and I know a great number of people who collect things from those eras.” Racz straightened himself with military precision. “The truth of the matter is that you need me if you intend to succeed in your endeavor.” He grimaced. “I realize that is rather bold, but there you have it.”
Gazing at the man, Annja thought maybe de Cerceau would scare Racz off soon enough. If he didn’t get killed during an encounter. That would be the difficult thing to avoid. And as much as he might slow her physically, there was every chance that he could help with the necessary research.
Racz extended his hand and smiled hopefully. “Do we have a deal?”
Reluctantly, Annja took the man’s hand. “We have a deal.” She hoped that she didn’t regret her decision.
“Good.” Racz took his hand back and retreated to his desk. After he opened a locked drawer with a key hanging on a chain around his neck, he took out a leather-covered journal that showed years of hard use. He displayed the book with obvious pride. “My personal book of the Merovingian treasure. My grandfather helped me start it when I was only seven.” He chuckled. “I have to admit to several delusions of grandeur because of this thing.”
“Is there anything in there that helps us know where to go next?” Annja returned her tablet PC to her backpack.
“I know that without consulting the journal.” Racz slid the book into a pocket of his slacks. “We need to go to Ordizia.”
“Spain?”
“I know of no other.”
“Why Ordizia?”
“A small museum there houses a grand collection of Friar Andrés de Urdaneta’s ships’ logs and charts. Have you heard of him?”
Annja had to dig through her recollection of recent research, but she had the name. “He was an Augustinian friar, and he was responsible for the second world navigation. He sailed with Miguel López de Legazpi, the commander of the expedition. Philip II arranged for the people and the ships.”
Racz’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You are quite knowledgeable.”
“I remember the names from research I did yesterday and this morning.”
“Then you know that de Urdaneta was considered one of the finest navigators in the known world at that time.”
Annja nodded and stood, swinging the backpack over one shoulder. “Why are we going to Ordizia? If the maps are online, we should be able to access them.”
“We can access the maps and logs the museum is willing to show the public, but there are several that are part of a private collection.” Racz scratched at his chin. “Unfortunately, the person who owns that collection will want something in return.”
“To go with us?” Annja didn’t plan on adding to her party and the prospect left her frustrated.
“No.” Racz laughed. “Sebastian would never want to do something like that. He’s not a big risk-taker. He will be looking for financial remuneration.”
“If it’s not too much, we should be able to deal with that.”
“Excellent.” Racz smiled even bigger. “Shall we make air reservations?”
“I’ll handle that. You go pack a bag.”
“Very well.” Racz nodded and departed.
Taking a burner phone from her backpack, Annja dialed a number she knew and surveyed the room. The phone rang and rang.
21
Sabre glared impassively at the people walking the sidewalks in the neighborhood near the internet café where Annja Creed had last been seen. Impatience seethed within him. They had practically been on top of the woman—now she was in the wind and Dyson was going to be out of action for at least a few hours until the attorneys got him off the hook. After all, they were legally empowered as security agents to try to get property back for their employer. Sabre was certain Krauzer’s attorneys would weigh in, as well.
“Maybe it’s time to reach out.” Meszoly spoke softly because he knew Sabre didn’t react well to someone telling him how to do his job, but he also knew when to offer counsel. “We’ve got more access to intel through other sources than what Saadiya can give us in a short amount of time.”
Sabre knew that Meszoly’s assessment was true, but he also knew he hated calling in favors. Especially from the man Meszoly referred to. They’d both worked for the contact as mercenaries before forming their own security firm, and truthfully, they’d learned a lot while working for the man. Leaving DragonTech had been hard because they’d been paid well and the training had been ongoing. But Sabre liked the idea of managing his own clientele and the personal freedom. More than that, though, his past employer sometimes shaved laws too thin to suit Sabre’s tastes. The man was dangerous.
Meszoly took the next corner slowly an
d they both looked around for Annja Creed even though they knew they weren’t going to find her. They trolled along another sedentary neighborhood street, passing a patrol car that was probably assigned to do the same thing and was doubtless accomplishing just as little.
Maybe Saadiya could track Creed through the taxi services, but Sabre wasn’t holding out any faith in that area. The woman knew what she was doing. He had to give her that. She’d proved herself the previous night and again today by taking out de Cerceau’s men in the hospital and escaping the trap that had nearly closed on her at the internet café.
His estimation of her had risen dramatically, and part of him relished the hunt. When two people were equally matched, only luck separated them. He was willing to bet that his fortune was better than hers.
Finally, knowing the clock was now working against them, Sabre picked up the cell phone and dialed. The overseas connection picked up after one ring and a woman’s sultry voice answered in a professional German accent.
“DragonTech Securities. How may I help you?”
“Who is this?” Sabre spoke English. All of the people on the end of that connection spoke several languages.
“I am Heike.”
“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, Heike.” He oozed charm, hoping it might have some effect. “My name is Sabre Race. I’d like to speak to Mr. Braden.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Race, but Mr. Braden doesn’t take unscheduled calls. Perhaps you would like to leave him a message?”
Sabre curbed his anger. Allowing his temper to slip loose now would be a mistake. “Please forward my message immediately. It’s important, and I know Mr. Braden would want to hear from me.”
“I will, Mr. Race.”
Ignoring the itch to ask if Garin Braden was in the building, Sabre thanked the woman and hung up. Staring at the phone in his hand, he willed it to ring. Luck would be with him.
* * *
IN THE SHADOWS of the multicolored cargo containers that lined the working docks of Rio de Janeiro, Garin Braden looked at the ninety-eight-foot statue of Christ the Redeemer perched on the Corcovado Mountain in the distance.
