Magic Lantern (Rogue Angel) Page 9

  Efficient and crisp, Ollie folded himself into the chair behind the big desk and studied the three monitors in front of him. He tapped the keyboard in rapid syncopation, then looked up at Annja. “Were you at the Cleburne storage unit this morning?”

  Surprised, Annja nodded. “How did you know that?”

  “It appears Detective Chief Inspector Westcox has interviewed men taken from there who named you as their attacker.”

  “Preposterous.” Gaetano was so upset he almost lost his tea, but he recovered quickly. “Those men attacked us.”

  Ollie typed more. “Oh, I’m certain their claims will fall apart once the inspector pulls their records. They each have long criminal histories. I’m quite convinced you’d be exonerated even without Ms. Pioche’s help.”

  Watching Ollie work both impressed and irritated Annja. She shifted in the chair, wishing she could just take a quick nap, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to until Edmund was safe.

  “We’ve got a friend out there who’s in trouble. If it’s going to be a while before Ms. Pioche can see us—”

  “Ms. Pioche is already working on that. That is to say, I am already working on that. Your friend’s troubles—Professor Beswick’s kidnapping—is precisely the reason I have broken into the Metro Police Division’s files.” Ollie shot her a small smile. “If I am discovered, they will be properly vexed.”

  “I’m sure they would.” And I’m going to be one step closer to deportation. Annja sat tensely. “But shouldn’t we have some kind of arrangement before she starts working?”

  Ollie glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. “You should. Ms. Pioche assures me that we don’t need the usual contract agreement in your case. She considers you…special.”

  “Why?”

  “She did not see her way clear to elucidate. Mystifying, actually.” Ollie shrugged. “I have been through your files and see nothing that connects you to Ms. Pioche.”

  “Until this morning, I’d never heard of her.”

  Ollie grimaced at that. “Oh, dear. She’s quite well-known. And getting her known—to the right people—is part of my job description.”

  “Maybe I’m not the right people.”

  Ollie nodded and smiled. “Judging from the background checks I’ve done on you, you seem to travel in areas outside Ms. Pioche’s normal purview. Though you both certainly have been in the news regarding aggressive involvement with criminal types.”

  “One of the drawbacks of the job.”

  “As a television personality?”

  “As an archaeologist.”

  “Ah.” Ollie nodded again. “To be sure. There are any number of unsavory types in that job field. Ms. Pioche has dealt with some of them, as well.”

  “She’s an archaeologist?”

  “No. But she has worked for those who are.” Ollie cocked his head to one side. “Yes, Ms. Pioche?” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, Ms. Pioche. Straightaway.” He stood and looked at Annja and Gaetano. “Ms. Pioche will see you now.”

  Gaetano frowned. “If that was supposed to be ESP, I’m not impressed. All you had to do was set up a prearranged time to make that announcement.”

  Ollie grinned. “Nothing so esoteric, I’m afraid. I have an earbud that keeps me in touch with her. Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. Carlini?”

  * * *

  THE INNER OFFICE WAS AT ONCE imposing and impressive. Blond wood covered the walls and Italian marble covered the floor. Persian rugs added a layer of wealth that the paintings and sculptures might not have fully expressed.

  Annja stood in awe of the artifacts that were on such casual display. Arranged as they were, though, she didn’t get the sense that they were shown to intimidate prospective clientele. Rather, the pieces were there as keepsakes of an extraordinary life.

  Drawn to a brass gladiator mask, Annja noted that it hadn’t been restored. Instead, it showed the scars of having been taken in battle centuries earlier.

  And beside it was a ceramic Russian icon, an image taken from Christian stories of Christ, which showed an angel Annja assumed was Archangel Michael. The figure brandished a flaming sword.

  “That one is a particular favorite of mine.”

  At the sound of the woman’s voice, Annja turned. “Ms. Pioche?”

  “Yes.” The woman sitting behind the desk was in her late fifties. Her silver hair was cropped at her jaw and parted on the left side. She wore red lipstick that enhanced her dark blue eyes. Diamond earrings glistened from under her bob. Her white cashmere sweater, black skinny pants and black boots suggested wealth, class and good taste.

  “I apologize. I just didn’t expect to see anything like this here.”

  Ms. Pioche’s right eyebrow arched. “What were you expecting?”

  “For starters, a much smaller office.”

  “Roux told you nothing of me?”

  Annja couldn’t decide whether the older woman sounded angry or hurt. Of course, with a man in the picture—especially with a man like Roux—the one wasn’t very far from the other.

  “Only that you were very good at what you do.”

  “I am.” She glared at Annja.

  Annja folded her arms and returned the woman’s challenging gaze full measure. She didn’t know the source of the animosity between them, but she wasn’t simply going to roll over. “Perhaps coming here wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry to have imposed.” She turned to Gaetano, who appeared to be too dazed to know what was going on. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  “Nonsense.” The woman’s voice was a razor claw in a velvet glove. “That poor man is almost out on his feet. If you ask him to move from that chair, he might well collapse.”

  Gaetano started to force himself out of the comfortable chair in front of the massive Louis XIV desk. “Madam, I am quite capable of—”

  “Oh, do sit down, Mr. Carlini, before you topple over.” She never took her eyes off Annja.

  “Quite right, madam.” Annja didn’t know if it was Gaetano’s realization of his own infirmity or Ms. Pioche’s imposing will that motivated him, but he sat.

  “Ollie, be a dear and ask Dr. Whitehead to come around.”

  Ollie took out a small, slim cell phone and punched a single digit.

  “I’m awaiting orders, Ms. Pioche, but I have yet to figure out whether you’re helping this young woman.” Ollie beamed at Annja.

  “Oh, God.” Ms. Pioche leaned back in her chair. “Annja Creed, I apologize for my behavior and would like to do my best to help you rescue your kidnapped friend.”

  The woman stood and offered her hand. “Although you obviously do not know the history involved in this situation, I hope we can put that aside and bring your friend—Mr. Edmund Beswick—home safely.”

  Annja took the offered hand and felt the calm, cool strength of it. “Roux said you were the best at this. Please, call me Annja.”

  Her blue eyes glittered. “I am. On that we can agree. My name is Fiona.” She waved Annja toward a chair beside Gaetano.

  Ollie spoke rapidly on the phone and put it away. “The physician is on his way.”

  Gaetano shifted in his chair. “Being able to call a physician in so quickly is most impressive.”

  “Not so impressive. He has an office in this building.”

  “Still, proximity alone—”

  “I also own the building.”

  Gaetano was silent for a moment. “That, too, is most impressive.”

  Well, that explains the office space. Annja settled into her chair as Fiona did the same across the wide expanse of the ornate desk.

  “Ollie has been sending me files all morning, since I got Roux’s call predicament. Apparently, Jean-Baptiste Laframboise is a criminal of the worst cut. And you don’t know where your friend is.”

  “I have a lead.”

  Fiona looked at Annja.

  “He’s being held somewhere on the Isle of Dogs. And by now Laframboise also has the object he’s been searching for.”
>
  “How do you know this?” Her blue eyes searched Annja’s face.

  “Because it was in the storage unit and I lost it to one of Laframboise’s men.”

  Gaetano sat up straighter. “We lost it.”

  “Ollie, be a dear and have Jenkins bring the car around.” Fiona Pioche stood, opened a locked desk drawer and took out a small black automatic. She slipped the pistol into place at the small of her back, then turned and opened a hidden compartment in the wall. She took out a thigh-length shapeless beige jacket and pulled it on.

  “Would you like me to accompany you, Ms. Pioche?” Ollie asked.

  “That won’t be necessary.” She nodded at Annja. “Annja and I should be able to handle things for the moment.” She took out extra magazines for the pistol and an elegant cell phone, then dropped them into her jacket pockets. “I’ll need you to take care of Mr. Carlini and keep me apprised of any developments we may need to know about.”

  “Of course.” Ollie was all business now.

  The woman took a tiny earpiece from a small box and slipped it into her ear. She looked at Annja. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Annja had chafed at waiting. If she’d known where to go, she’d have gone already.

  Fiona walked to a back corner of the room, pressed a hidden button, and a section of the wall swung out to reveal a passageway. Without another word, she stepped through the secret door.

  12

  Evidently once Fiona Pioche made up her mind about a course of action, things happened quickly. Annja was hard-pressed to keep up with the woman as they strode down the long, narrow tunnel.

  “Private route to the parking garage.” Fiona had her hands in her jacket and her eyes fixed straight ahead. “That’s one of the reasons to own the building.”

  “It wasn’t just the office space?”

  Fiona laughed in delight. “Don’t make me laugh. I’d rather not like you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re with Roux.”

  Annja thought about that for only a moment before the ramifications of that declaration set in. “Eww!” She looked at the older woman. “When you say with, are you talking about—” She couldn’t go on.

  “Sleeping with him?” Fiona’s eyebrows arched. “Of course. What else would I be talking about?”

  Annja cringed.

  Her response obviously puzzled the other woman. “Do you mean to say you’re not?”

  “No! Pigs will fly before that happens. On second thought, there will be flying pigs and it still won’t happen.”

  Fiona chuckled. “I have to beg your pardon. It appears I have jumped to an incorrect assumption. When Roux called me and spoke so glowingly of you—”

  “Glowingly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Roux treats me like I’m a pain in the butt most of the time. Like I’m some kind of kid that prattles on incessantly about things he has no interest in.”

  “That part, unfortunately, is probably true.”

  “That I prattle?”

  “No, that Roux would find you boring.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled again, then reached over and took Annja by the hand and squeezed. “Given his background, I think Roux finds most people boring. Don’t take it personally.”

  Annja looked at Fiona as she took back her hand. “What background?”

  “The fact that he’s lived five hundred years. He told me that you knew.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Yes, and I rather think he’s lying about his age. I think he’s lived considerably longer than that.”

  “He told you he’s lived that long?” Annja couldn’t wrap her head around that. Roux had told her only after the sword had reforged itself and she’d needed some kind of confirmation. His age wasn’t something he talked about.

  “Yes. Of course, at the time he thought he was dying. Someone named Garin had tried to kill him. I arrived in time to get Roux to a physician.” Fiona shrugged. “Even given his inexplicable existence, there are things that can still kill Roux.”

  “I know.” Annja remembered how frail the old man had looked in the hospital bed after that business in Loulan City. She’d thought Roux was going to die then, and she’d been distraught when faced with the possibility. Until that point, she hadn’t known for certain how much he’d meant in her life.

  “Well, since I was wrong and you’re not sleeping with that old goat, I insist you call me Fiona.”

  “And I’d really prefer Annja.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Annja, and this time I mean that. I look forward to knowing you better. There aren’t many people I can share stories with about Roux.”

  Fiona reached the end of the corridor, pressed her hand against a section of the wall and stepped back as a door flipped inside on well-oiled hinges. On the other side of the threshold, a small office space overlooked the parking garage. She led the way to the office door, then through it.

  No sooner did they reach the curb than a sleek, silver sports coupe pulled to a stop. The gullwing doors opened like a raptor about to launch itself after prey and a small man climbed from the driver’s seat.

  “’Ello, Ms. Pioche.” The man smiled and helped Fiona into the car as Annja climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “She’s filled with petrol and clean as clean can be. Do try to bring her back in one piece.”

  “I shall so endeavor, Mr. Jenkins.” Fiona pulled the seat belt around her and buckled in. As soon as the connection snapped together, the door lowered. She pulled on a pair of supple driving gloves.

  Annja buckled in, as well, and the door folded in.

  Fiona hit the accelerator and the powerful engine roared to life. The sudden acceleration shoved Annja back into the seat and she closed her eyes twice during near-misses with a support pillar and a wall as the coupe shot out of the garage and screamed into early-morning traffic.

  “Where did you meet Roux?” Fiona drove effortlessly and with audacity, as if nothing on the street would ever cause her any harm.

  “In France. On a dig. I was looking into a local legend. Roux was there.” Annja braced her feet against the floorboard and tried to control the fight-or-flight instinct that screamed through her. She told herself that Fiona knew what she was doing. “Do I need a crash helmet?”

  “No. Of course not. I don’t intend to crash. That would interfere with the whole rescue mission we’re undertaking.” Fiona jetted into the oncoming lane, downshifted and accelerated, breaking the rear wheels free and throwing them into a tire-eating skid across an intersection. Horns blared all around them as she cut the wheel, upshifted, found traction again and veered off in a ninety-degree turn just ahead of the panel truck she’d outrun.

  “And you don’t have a death wish?”

  A faint smile crossed Fiona’s red lips. “If that question should be asked of anyone, it would be you.”

  “Me?”

  “I haven’t had a single shoot-out on the streets in…oh…weeks, I suppose. Things have been dreadfully dull.” Fiona slewed around another two cars, then jumped back into her lane just in time to avoid a head-on collision. Then she turned the next corner into a skid across cobblestones.

  Annja braced her hands against the roof of the car.

  “Don’t be silly. Get your hands down. You’re going to give the other drivers the impression that I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

  Annja dropped her arms at her sides and held on to the bucket seat instead. The scenery blurred by as Fiona roared through the streets. They narrowly missed locking bumpers with a bright red double-decker bus, buzzed through a red light that had just changed and juked back and forth into momentary voids in the traffic.

  “For someone Roux obviously puts stock in, I’d expected you to be made of sterner stuff.”

  Annja closed her eyes as a maintenance vehicle filled the windshield. Then she was slammed against the side of the car as
Fiona applied acceleration, brake and acceleration. Annja would have sworn she’d heard metal scraping as they passed, but it might have been the maintenance vehicle’s worn brakes protesting.

  “I’m pretty stern.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps under other circumstances. Obviously you have no qualms when it comes to personal combat. Driving, however, seems to be another matter.”

  “I’d prefer to be the one driving. And that term seems to be used loosely at the moment.”

  Fiona grinned and slipped on a pair of wraparound sunglasses from the glove box, then smoothly shifted gears again, once more accelerating. “I’m an excellent driver, and this coupe is an excellent machine. Bristol Fighter Turbo. First in its class.”

  “Did it rate well with the crash test dummies?”

  “Your friend’s life is in danger. We are in something of a hurry.”

  Grudgingly, Annja admitted that was true. “We don’t even know where he’s being held.”

  “Isle of Dogs, you said. We’re off to see if we can narrow that down a little.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going to talk to a…an associate of mine. Over in the East End. If there’s anything to know about Laframboise, Paddy will know.”

  Annja dug her feet harder into the floorboard. “How did you meet Roux?”

  “I was a girl. Twenty, I think. Still in university at Oxford.”

  “You went to Oxford?”

  “That surprises you?”

  “The people I’ve known from Oxford are generally a little more reserved— Look out!” Annja pointed at the delivery truck that nosed out of an alley.

  Fiona blasted her horn, cursed, then downshifted again and managed to pull into the alley the delivery truck had just vacated. Annja stared at the rapidly passing brick wall only inches on the other side of the window. The roar of the car engine trebled inside the enclosed space.

  Unbelievably, Fiona was once more accelerating. “I was reserved at that time. Running with Roux changed me. I’ll be the first to admit that.” She pulled on the wheel hard and slid out into the next street, then jockeyed for position in the traffic.

  A taxi driver, forced over to keep from colliding with the sports coupe, made a gesture.