Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord (7 page)

“He doesn’t. The show steps into other territory every now and then by featuring historical figures. I don’t know if this dive will produce anything worthy of the show, but I’d rather be safe than sorry and have footage rather than regret having nothing later.”

“I’ll give you that. No monsters rising from the depths or winged creatures swooping down from the heavens to carry off the pretty archaeologist. Did you know Leonardo actually sketched a dragon?”

Annja did remember reading something about that and finding it fascinating when compared to his other subjects, most of them depicting religious topics, such as the Last Supper. The man’s mind must have been a vast repository filled with all sorts of ideas. She wondered now if he had slept much. Most geniuses did not.

What she wouldn’t give to have a chat with the master. Ask him,
Who was Mona Lisa, anyway?
Historians posited she was the wife of Francesco del Giocondo, a wealthy Florentine silk merchant who may have commissioned the portrait for their new home and to celebrate the birth of their second son. Others theorized it was Leonardo’s mother, Caterina, painted using his own likeness.

The next best thing to talking to Leonardo could be Roux. Where was the old man, anyway? He should have arrived in the city by now. Apparently, he wasn’t too concerned about this dive.

“My major was medieval studies,” she said. “And I do recall a dragon sketch by Leonardo. He had done so much, I’m sure we’ll be discovering works by him for a long time to come. All those dukes and lords who may have acquired a sketch or notebook at auction thinking it pretty and intriguing, and having no idea of its value or origin.”

“Yes, and then when bored of it, stuffing it away in some old musty castle. I love considering how many great treasures are yet out there to be uncovered. Makes a man’s heart jitter.”

“A good jitter?”

“A very good jitter. Like this cross we’re searching for. I love how it seems to bring together René d’Anjou and Leonardo da Vinci. History is truly incredible. More people should put the time in to study it.”

“It’s the conspiracy theorists who bother me,” Annja offered. “People searching for hidden symbols and codes supposedly left in artistic works makes me a bit crazy. Although I have to admit I’ve had to follow a clue or two in the past.”

Annja was starting to relax. Chatting with Scout was...nice.

“So tell me all you know about the René d’Anjou connection and how he gifted Leonardo da Vinci with Joan of Arc’s cross,” she prompted, hoping to compare his knowledge to what Roux had already told her.

Their dinner arrived, and they began to eat while Scout explained.

“Just so you know, I’m a fanatic when it comes to Joan of Arc. Or Jeanne d’Arc, as I prefer to call her.”

“Is that so?” This could either prove a fascinating conversation or a dangerous one. Annja guarded her secret well and wasn’t about to reveal her connection to Joan of Arc. “Jeanne had been dead twenty years before Leonardo was even born.”

Scout offered a number of facts and theories, and finally got to Leonardo and his father.

“His father was the one to recognize his son’s talents, I believe,” Annja said.

“Can you believe René d’Anjou, or Good King René, as his followers labeled him, wasn’t even a king? Talk about some great press, eh?”

“He was king of many small lands. His mother, Yolande, a powerful woman in her own right, was one of Jeanne’s tutors.”

“Right, which is how René might have known Jeanne. There is speculation that they had an affair, but I don’t buy into it. I doubt Jeanne had time for love affairs when she had God speaking in her head.”

“That does challenge any romantic notions, doesn’t it? God or the guy? Hardly a choice at all.”

“If you’re into stuff like communicating with the divine,” Scout said.

“You’re not?”

Scout shrugged. “I’ll stick with having the usual love life. And wouldn’t you guess a teenage girl might be a little more interested in the guy?”

“You said you didn’t buy into them having an affair.”

“I don’t. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t pine for a wink from someone.”

Annja rolled her eyes. The man had a weird romantic flair to his storytelling. He’d romanticized the story of the thieves as well.

“So how’s your love life, Creed?”

A graceless conversational switch if ever there was one. “None of your business. So back to this cross René d’Anjou gave Leonardo.”

“That diversion was not even subtle.”

“You started it.”

“Touché. The world-traveling adventuress keeps her personal life under wraps. I can dig it.” Scout had a sip of water and continued, “Love doesn’t come easy doing what we do. We take it when we can get it, right?”

She would not dignify that one with a reply, although he was close to the mark. Annja had no great love affairs, but she would never deny herself sex when she was in the mood. As handsome as Scout was, she wasn’t feeling it. She was more interested in the man’s brain than what he could do for her physically. Besides, she still didn’t trust him. And he was kind of flaky.

“Doing what
we
do?” she repeated. “I’m not completely sure what it is that you do, Scout. Treasure hunter? Archaeologist?”

“Former. You checked me out, I’m sure.”

“Right. Fell out with the University of Columbia over a dig in Peru.”

“That’s what it says.”

“And what do you say?”

He swallowed a forkful of pasta and smiled as he chewed. “No comment.”

“Uh-huh. You’re very young for a professor, you know that?”

He emptied his water glass and gestured to the waitress for a refill. Once the waitress had left them, Scout picked up the conversation. “Back to the topic we can both manage without spilling secrets or alluding to our sex lives. Leonardo da Vinci!”

She’d drop the age question for now. Annja found the garlic-and-chili-pepper-laden pasta much too good to spend the time talking when she could be eating. “Agreed.”

Scout set down his fork and wiped his lips with a napkin.

“Some accounts report that d’Anjou and da Vinci were friends,” Annja offered. “I fall more on the side that they were acquaintances.”

“That’s where we get to the conspiracy theorists versus the purists. Could Leonardo have been involved in the Priory of Sion or the Order of the Crescent? Two secret organizations d’Anjou was known to have participated in.”

“Who knows?” Annja bypassed her glass of water and took a drink from her wine goblet instead. “No definitive evidence has been brought forth to verify Leonardo was ever interested in the occult,” she continued. “And frankly, if you want to find something in a drawing or painting, you will, if you are determined and believe in it hard enough. There are so many crazy theories, I remain a skeptic until proven otherwise.”

“Fine.” Scout rapped his fingernails on his goblet. The waitress removed their dinner plates and brought another bottle of wine.

The last rays of sun turned the waters of the Cana Reggio golden as they softly beat against the dock. Times like this, when she had a calm moment with no looming deadline or dig to consider, Annja found she had to remind herself to enjoy them. And yet, even when she’d found such a quiet minute, things always seemed to be happening. Best to stay alert.

“How long have you known Roux?” Scout asked from behind a swallow of wine.

She shrugged. It was never wise to divulge too much information about her relationship with a man who shouldn’t exist in this century. “Awhile. Why do you ask?”

“He seems to have been around,” Scout tossed out. “Seen a lot.”

“You said you had met him at an auction?”

“Yes, I introduced myself to him. Took the risk in bringing up the Lorraine cross.”

“I’m surprised you got to know him all that well. He keeps his personal information close to the vest.”

“That he does. Nothing about him on the internet, you know that?”

She nodded. Roux was careful. Yet it did surprise her he was able to have no mention of himself online, what with all his traveling and antiques buying.

“So you think we’re simply diving for a decorative cross?” Scout asked, a tone of intrigue tracing the question.

Annja blinked. “Aren’t we?”

The man’s laughter echoed across the patio. The people at the next table paused from their quiet conversation to peer over their shoulders at them. Annja shushed him and the couple resumed their meal.

“Is there something more in the attaché case?” she asked.

“No. Just a cross. Or so I expect, according—”

“—to the police reports,” she finished.

She really should get ahold of these police reports. Could Roux have gotten the information, but failed to pass it on to her? No, Scout had gone to Roux about this dive.

“There’s something more? Knock my socks off,” she challenged.

“Oh, it will knock your skeptical socks right into the canal.” Scout leaned forward, the eagerness in his eyes inexplicably drawing Annja forward, as well. “The cross isn’t just some pretty little object to hang on a wall in a dusty old museum. It’s actually—” Scout dramatically performed a curious scan of his surroundings “—a key.”

Annja smirked and assumed a wondrous tone. “A key? Do tell.”

Scout exhaled and sat back. “I don’t think so. You don’t have the ability to set aside your skepticism. It’s all dry history to you, isn’t it? Or in this case, wet. Find the case, discover the missing artifact, hand it back to the museum. Then it’s on to the next dig or dive, or whatever, resulting in yet another chipped pot or broken vase.”

She laughed and poured herself a final serving of wine. “So it’s a key. To what? A safe hoarding millions in fifteenth-century gold? Stacks of Leonardo’s lost notebooks? The map to the Holy Grail? Do you know how many Holy Grail maps I’ve seen, Scout? They are a cottage industry in and of themselves.”

“To which I have contributed my fair share.” His grin was smarmy, so much so that Annja almost checked the ground to see if a snail had crept by.

“It’s people like you who give people like me—”

“The upright, upstanding, stick-in-the-muds who never have any fun?”

“Legitimate archaeologists who care about provenance and historical value,” Annja corrected. “You do realize that, once found, you have to hand the cross over to Roux, yes?”

“He is the guy writing the check. But let me guess—you’re not going to let the old man waltz off into the sunset with his prize.”

“Roux knows where I stand with things. It’s best you get that into your head, as well.”

“Creed, now you’ve gone and spoiled my fun. I don’t even want to tell you about the key.” He crossed his arms high on his chest.

“Yes, the key to a mysterious something that most certainly will possess great power. Great enough to rule the world, or at the very least, a small portion of said world.”

And yet, she couldn’t deny she’d come across some amazing finds over the years. The Skull of Sidon had been rumored to possess all power to whomever held it, and she had witnessed—something—in the moments it had been held before the holder had been slain. Solomon’s Jar had bound the world’s demons. And many other myths and legends, some that she hadn’t been able to discount and could believe because she had witnessed the truth.

Though a selkie losing her pelt and being enslaved by a domineering mortal? She had to admit Sirena worried her. Maybe she would give her a call later.

Annja had learned so much since taking Joan’s sword in hand. It was as if the sword wanted her to experience the marvels this realm was capable of producing.

“You’re thinking about it,” Scout said. “Excellent. A crack in the woman’s tough skeptic armor.”

“I haven’t been told what the key opens, so there’s nothing for me to believe or disbelieve right now.”

She held his gaze, waiting for him to back down from his pout. With a conceding exhale, he did.

Scout motioned to the waitress and borrowed her pen. He then scribbled a diagram on his napkin. Annja divided her attention between the man’s drawing and the canal; some activity across the way alerted her that she should be on guard. After nearly being taken out twice while diving, she wouldn’t be surprised if she and Scout were being followed.

“So this is the Lorraine cross.” Scout turned the napkin toward her.

“Yes, I’m familiar with the double-barred cross. You’ve drawn it with the bars equally distributed along the main bar. Others push up the parallel bars to keep it more in the form of the Christian cross.”

“Right, but the one Jeanne d’Arc was reputed to have given René was like this.”

“Did you ever see the cross when it was displayed in the museum?”

“Yes, er, no, not displayed in the museum. So, uh, here’s where the story takes a slightly science-fiction turnabout.” Scout tapped at the napkin drawing.

Annja grimaced. And yet, she kept her ears wide open. For as much of a skeptic as she tended to be, she was the first to jump when the idea of proving a myth to be real was presented. Because how cool would that be?

“Hear me out,” Scout said, making a few more notations on the cross before him. “René d’Anjou was all about the occult and stuff like that. And the connection to Leonardo—who knows? Still, I’m going to guess or assume that there is one between the two men.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Whether there was a connection by association between symbols and da Vinci’s works through d’Anjou was pure speculation

“I’m not saying any of this is true, but if it were...”

“Just spit it out, Scout. What magical properties does the Lorraine cross possess?”

“The cross isn’t magical. It’s a key. But what that key fits into is truly remarkable.” Scout glanced across the canal, then averted his gaze along the outside tables, before leaning closer and saying in a whisper, “There’s a couple of suspicious-looking men standing at the corner of the entryway. Don’t turn around.”

Signaling to the waitress to bring them the check, Scout tucked the napkin inside his shirt pocket.

“Wow, you do the avoid well,” Annja said. “Tell me what it is the key to.”

“No time.” He signed the credit-card receipt for the waitress and stood up. “It’s time to get out of here. You still in on the project or not? Because my feelings won’t be hurt if the babysitter decides to pack up and head home after getting her skull cracked open.”