by Dan Willis
Connie picked up the box and felt its weight.
“Good stuff?” he asked.
“Thirty years old,” Alex said. “Best I could find. Save it for special occasions.”
“You’re all right,” Connie said with a grin.
Alex hesitated, then turned to Tony.
“Can I have a word?” he asked, nodding toward the hallway. His bodyguards bristled, but Tony waved their concerns away.
“Sure,” he said. “Why don’t you break out that Scotch?” he said to Connie. “We’ll toast your recovery when I get back.”
Connie grinned and tore the paper off the box as Alex and Tony moved to the hall.
“What’s on your mind, Alex?” Tony asked once the door was closed.
Alex steadied himself. He knew what he was about to do was dangerous, but it was necessary, and there really wasn’t any other option.
“I need to get my hands on a book in the government’s rune research facility in Oak Ridge, Tennessee,” he said.
Tony failed to hide the ghost of a smile.
“And you think I can get it for you?”
“You said the way to get things done was to buy a Senator,” Alex said. “I figure a Senator would be able to request the book and then conveniently lose it.”
Tony chuckled and shook his head.
“You’re thinking too big,” he said, putting his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Just find someone who works there and bribe them to slip you the book. But use a go between,” he added. “That way, if your inside man gets caught, he can’t finger you.”
Alex ground his teeth. Tony’s explanation sounded reasonable, but it was well beyond Alex’s experience.
“What’s so important about this book, Alex?”
“Yesterday a bunch of rogue runewrights raided the place,” Alex said. “Sorsha Kincaid and I managed to get there in time to stop them, but they set off some kind of magic bomb. It went off in Sorsha’s face.”
“Is she alive?” Tony asked, his expression neutral.
Alex nodded.
“But something about the spell is weakening her, and the rune is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It twists around itself like a complex knot.”
“And this book you want will help you figure it out?”
“Sorsha used a truth spell on one of the Legion men,” Alex explained.
“Those are illegal,” Tony said with a grin.
“He said they were looking, specifically, for the rune book of a man named Felix Markel, a book that describes something called a Gordian Rune.”
“Gordian? As in the Gordian Knot?”
“I don’t know,” Alex admitted. “But the Legion knew about it, and one of their runes looks like a knot, and it could kill Sorsha.”
Tony nodded, then shrugged.
“Why don’t you tell this to your friend, Andrew Barton? I heard he met with the President; surely he can get this book for you.”
Alex had asked himself the same question, but if he managed to unravel the rune, that would raise suspicions. People would wonder how he knew so much about rune magic. Questions would be asked about how much he really knew about the mythical Archimedean Monograph…and how much his mentor knew.
Questions like that could destroy his life, and Iggy’s to boot. If he was going to save Sorsha, no one could know how he’d done it.
“Let’s just say that’s complicated,” he answered Tony. “I need that book and I don’t have time to wait for six months of meetings and government red tape.”
Tony laughed at that, but there was no malice in his tone.
“You’ve learned a lot since you came here,” he said.
“You have no idea,” Alex said. “I want you to get that book for me and in return, I can help you with your brewery problems.”
Tony raised an eyebrow at Alex.
“What problems?” he asked. “Colton is safe and well in Rio, and soon he’ll have the last ingredient he needs to go into full production.”
Alex reached into his outer coat pocket and pulled out a folded magazine.
“Colton found out about Dr. Bolsonaro’s cashew apple extract from an article in the American Alchemical Journal,” he said, handing over the copy he’d purchased that morning. “I knew Colton had gone to South America, because one of the alchemists I know saw the article on Dr. Bolsonaro’s extract and realized that Colton was looking for a source of Cashew Apples. The reason you can’t get cashew apples here in the states is that they go bad very quickly after being picked.”
“Okay,” Tony said.
“My friend called me yesterday because she re-read the article and pointed out that Dr. Bolsonaro’s extract will last longer than the fruit, but it still spoils. You’d have to fly the extract up here if you want to use it in time, because a boat trip will take too long.”
Lucky Tony’s face hardened as he calculated the increased costs of such expensive transportation. Alex knew he was reaching the same conclusion he had when he cooked up this scheme last night.
“And you can fix that problem?” he asked after a moment.
“I can,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Preservation rune,” he said, handing over the folded paper.
Tony accepted the paper, but looked at it as if it were a piece of trash.
“These’ll keep milk from going bad in your icebox for a week,” he said, holding it out to Alex. “They won’t work on a shipment of delicate fruit.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Alex said with a predatory grin. “That rune is much more powerful than your standard preservation rune. It can protect a greater volume for far longer. Call it a…major preservation rune.”
Tony opened the paper and looked at the incredibly complex rune inside. It was one of Iggy’s inventions that he’d made Alex draw several years ago as part of his training. Alex had never needed it before, but he was glad to have it now. It would take him several days to write another one, but that wouldn’t be a problem.
“This will keep the cashew apples fresh for their boat ride from Brazil?”
Alex nodded.
“Sure, but why do that?” he said. “Tell Colton to buy Dr. Bolsonaro’s process, then set up a shop down there. You make the extract, then load it in a shipping crate, hit it with the preservation rune, and ship it up here to your brewery.”
Tony’s face was one of naked calculation, then he smiled.
“I get you your book and you’ll provide me with as many of these as I need?” he said.
“One a month,” Alex said. “That should cover more than enough extract to run your brewery.”
“For how long?”
“Let’s say a year,” Alex answered.
“Let’s say five,” Tony countered.
“Three.”
“Okay,” Tony said, “but what about after that? Where am I going to get this very special rune once our deal is over?”
“I’ll sell them to you,” Alex said.
Tony chuckled.
“I like you, Alex,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got just enough of the killer instinct to be dangerous. But what happens to my business if you have a change of heart?”
“I told you I’d sell you major preservation runes, and I will.”
“And I believe that you believe that, here and now.”
“But?” Alex asked.
“But what happens when dear Sorsha is all better? What if you decide to change your mind? What if you need some other favor from me? You could use these runes as leverage and put me over a barrel.”
Alex wanted to protest that he would never do that, but a world-weary businessman like Lucky Tony Casetti would have heard that song and dance many times before.
He sighed.
“What do you want, then?”
“I want you as my partner, Alex,” Tony said, putting a friendly arm around Alex’s shoulders.
“Partner?”
“I’ll get you your book, and you join me in my business venture at…let�
�s say five percent.”
Alex followed the chain of causality fairly easily.
“That way I’m making money off your beer sales,” he said, “and I’m incentivized to make sure the extract shipments go on uninterrupted.”
“I said you were smart,” Tony said. “You get what you want. I get what I want, and you can’t hold me up over it without hurting yourself. That’s a pretty good deal.”
Alex thought about the offer. Tony was right. It was a good deal, one that could make Alex a great deal of money if Homestead Beer sold as well as he suspected it would. The only real downside was that he would be in business with someone who wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him if things went south.
He shook his head to clear it.
It didn’t matter what Lucky Tony the gangster had in mind. All that mattered was getting Felix Markle’s Gordian Rune book before whatever the Legion did to Sorsha killed her.
Alex held out his hand to Tony.
“Deal,” he said, hoping that if he regretted it in the future, he’d actually live to regret it.
Tony took his hand and shook it firmly.
“Deal,” he said. “Now, since we’re partners, that makes you…well, it makes you a member of the family.”
Alex suppressed a shiver when the mob boss said ‘family.’
“Why don’t you come back inside and have a drink with Connie and me to celebrate.”
Alex trudged down the hall of the Hey-Adams hotel for what he hoped would be the last time. Retrieving his hotel key, he let himself into his room. It was as he had remembered it, with his oversized map of D.C. sitting on the coffee table he’d dragged over by the desk, and his kit sitting on the floor nearby. He hadn’t really unpacked anything other than the tools of his trade, leaving his clothes in his vault bedroom, so there wasn’t really very much to pack up.
As Alex shut the door behind him, his senses snapped into sharp focus. There was the faint aroma of cigar smoke in the room. His eyes sought out the chairs and couches by the windows, but no one was there.
He turned toward the bedroom just as the door opened and a man emerged. He had a broad, rectangular face with a large nose and thinning white hair. His suit was stylish and well-tailored, and his hands were manicured. If this man was here to cause trouble, he certainly wasn’t dressed for it.
“I thought I heard someone come in,” he said, giving Alex a genuine smile.
“What are you doing in my room?” Alex asked. His voice was somewhat testy after the day he’d had.
“Nothing too objectionable,” the man said, his grin never slipping. “I always like to see the washroom. You can tell a lot about a man from his washroom.”
He chuckled as if he’d made a joke, but Alex didn’t respond.
“Sorry,” he went on. “Old habit.”
“Who are you?” Alex asked, his temper under better control now.
“Name’s Donovan, Bill Donovan, and you are Alex Lockerby.” He held up his hand in a theatrical sweep. “Runewright extraordinaire, detective to the stars, solver of cold cases.”
“You’ve been reading my press.”
“Yes, and I like what I’ve seen,” Donovan continued, his smile never wavering. “That bit with the rune research facility down south was quite the feather in your cap, at least in my circles.”
Alex got gooseflesh on his arms. The operation in Oak Ridge was supposed to have been a secret, yet Donovan knew about it.
“Yes, I know about that,” he said, reading the expression on Alex’s face.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Donovan?” Alex asked, hoping to get to the point of the strange man’s visit.
“Have you ever heard of the Black Chamber, Mr. Lockerby?” he asked.
“No,” Alex admitted.
“It was an organization of code breakers during the big war,” the man explained. “It was their job to intercept and decrypt coded messages. The members of the Black Chamber were very good at their jobs and, at the time, they were the only intelligence gathering organization in the entire US government.”
“Intelligence,” Alex repeated. “You mean spies.”
“I mean that exactly, Alex,” Donovan said. “Would it surprise you to learn that the government disbanded the Black Chamber almost a decade ago?”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because some snooty congressman didn’t think keeping an eye on our neighbors was honorable.”
As a detective, Alex understood the power of, and need for, surveillance.
“That’s all very interesting, Mr. Donovan,” Alex said, “but I doubt you’re here to recruit me to be a codebreaker for an organization that closed down. So why are you here?”
“As I said, the US government doesn’t have a formal organization to gather intelligence,” Donovan said, emphasizing the word ‘formal.’
“So you’re the informal one,” Alex guessed.
Donovan chuckled.
“Something like that.”
“And you want to offer me a job as an official government snoop?” Alex scoffed.
“Not right now,” Donovan said. “You and your partner in crime, Miss Kincaid, have exactly the kinds of skills we could use, but now isn’t the time.”
“Well if you’re not going to offer me a job that you seem to already know I’d turn down, what are you doing in my room?”
Donovan reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Alex. There were only two things on the card, the name ‘Bill Donovan,’ and a phone number.
“You and Miss Kincaid wasted almost an entire day putting your strike team together,” he said. “Next time you run across something that needs decisive action, don’t bother hunting up Captain Vaughn or Lieutenant Colonel Patton.”
Alex was more than a little disturbed by how well-informed Donovan was.
“Next time, you call me,” Donovan continued. “If you tell me there’s a group of power-mad runewrights about to storm a top secret government facility, then I’ll believe you.”
“I thought you weren’t an official part of the government,” Alex said, tucking the card into his shirt pocket.
“I’m not,” Donovan said. “But I know things, like who among the official government types can be trusted, and who to call in an emergency.”
Alex smiled in spite of his annoyance. If Donovan was telling the truth, he was a very useful friend to have.
“There is one other thing, Alex,” Donovan said, reaching down to pick up a gray fedora from the couch facing the windows. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while, but your recent activities have attracted other attention as well.”
Alex didn’t like the sound of that.
“What attention?”
“The museum robberies,” Donovan went on. “An alchemical potion that turns regular people into monsters is pretty sophisticated, don’t you think? Does it remind you of anything you might have seen before?”
That shiver that had gone down Alex’s back before returned, and it brought friends.
“No,” he lied. As far as he knew, only Danny and Sorsha knew about Dr. Kellin’s Jekyll and Hyde formula, and neither of them would betray the secret. Either Donovan was fishing, or he had a different connection in mind.
“Do the names Helge Rothenbaur, Greta Albrecht, and Dietrich Strand mean anything to you?” Donovan asked.
Alex nodded.
“They were responsible for that magical plague a few years back,” he said, keeping his response vague. Donovan seemed very well informed, but Alex didn’t know how much information the spy really had, so he resolved not to let anything slip.
“You read Dietrich Strand’s confession, so you know they were trying to stop the plague from being used,” Donovan went on. “Do you remember why they developed it in the first place?”
Alex searched his memory. He’d been told a great deal of technical details about the plague, by Iggy and by the incomprehensible Dr. Halverson, but most of it was over his head and th
us quickly forgotten.
“Something about its being used to help cure diseases?”
“Very good,” Donovan nodded. “The three unfortunate alchemists were lied to by their boss, the man who now runs Hitler’s alchemical weapons lab.”
“Joe something?” Alex said, straining his memory for the name.
“Josef,” Donovan corrected. “Josef Mengele. He’s an alchemist and a medical doctor.”
“And he’s coming after me now?” Alex asked, an amused expression on his face. “That was five years ago. This Mengele fellow sure holds onto a grudge.”
Donovan gave Alex a penetrating look, and Alex connected the dots.
“He’s ‘The Alchemist,’” Alex guessed. “He made the drug that hooked Zelda Pritchard’s domestics, and he supplied them with the transformation serum.”
Donovan nodded.
“The Germans call him Führer der Alchemisten,” Donovan said. “It just means ‘leader of the alchemists,’ but everything sounds more impressive in German. This is the second time you’ve interfered with his plans, and my reports tell me he’s not a very forgiving sort of man.”
Alex suddenly felt the need to work on more shield runes and maybe even a new escape rune. It would take more time than he could spare, but it didn’t sound like he had much of a choice.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said.
“Do that,” Donovan said, heading for the door. When he arrived, he reached for the handle, but stopped short and turned back. “One more thing, Alex,” he said. “I expect that the next time we meet, it’ll be about that job offer.”
“I’ll save you a trip,” Alex said. “Not interested.”
“You’re not interested now,” Donovan said. “But things are changing fast. You might feel differently, and sooner than you think.”
“You mean when war breaks out in Europe.”
It was a statement rather than a question, and it got a knowing smile out of Donovan. He regarded Alex for a long moment, then took hold of the door handle and pulled it open.
“Most people aren’t willing to admit to themselves that war is coming,” he said, stepping out into the hall.
“So people keep telling me.”
“Sounds like you know some smart people,” Donovan said. “You should listen to them.” He started to shut the door but hesitated. “Don’t lose that card, Alex,” he said. “And give Miss. Kincaid my regards for a speedy recovery.”
