Magic Lantern

7

A few tense minutes later, Annja got out of the cab in front of Edmund’s apartment building in Chelsea. She paid the driver and walked up to the security door. Frustrated, she rang Edmund again, but he still didn’t answer.

She knew it was possible the professor was asleep and had turned his phone off. However, she couldn’t get the Triad members—if that’s who they were—out of her mind. She didn’t doubt they’d go after Edmund.

She retreated to the back of the building. Studying the old metal fire escape, she leaped up, caught hold of the bottom rung on the ladder leading up to it and was pleasantly surprised when the ladder rolled down more quietly than she would have figured.

For a moment, she lingered in the shadows, watching the windows of the back apartments to see if any lights came on or if anyone looked out to check on the sound. Then, when nothing happened, she went up the ladder. There was still the chance that someone could have called the police, but she was willing to take the risk.

On the third-floor landing, she stayed low, duckwalking under two windows to reach Edmund’s flat. The window was locked. The room was dark. When she peered inside, she couldn’t see anything.

She liked Edmund. She wanted to know he was all right. But if she got caught breaking into his flat—either by Edmund or by the police—the situation was going to be really embarrassing.

She could finesse Edmund. He’d wanted to show her the magic lantern, and her news that someone was searching for it, even to the point of shooting at her, would gloss over the forced entry.

The police would be a different matter.

Taking out the Leatherman multitool she’d purchased after arriving in London, because she hated to travel without some sort of tools, she opened the longest blade. Working carefully, she ran the blade around the glass and removed the plastic liner that held the window together.

When she finished, she set the liner aside, then used the knife blade to leverage the glass free. The pane popped out easily and she set it aside, as well. She folded the knife and put it away. Then she stepped into the flat.

Inside the room, after negotiating a small sofa, Annja moved to one side and waited for her vision to acclimate to the darkness. She also listened intently. Someone in another flat was watching television, a program with an obnoxious laugh track. In another flat, farther down, people were in the midst of an argument. And there was a crying baby somewhere in there.

Annja wished she had her backpack, where she kept her Mini Maglite. Abruptly, she realized her possessions might not be safe in the hotel. Her mysterious abductors had mentioned that they’d missed her there, but she didn’t know if that meant they’d broken in or merely seen her leave.

Eyes adjusted, Annja looked around the small studio flat. It was basically a tiny office under a miniloft that held a modest bed. Two separate areas for Edmund to work and sleep.

Clutter covered the floor. Most of the mess was books and papers, but Annja knew Edmund wouldn’t have left them like that. He was responsible for the corkboards on the walls and the books piled on the small dining table, but not for the haphazard way everything had been thrown.

The door was ajar and light from the outside hallway leaked in. Someone had broken in.

Remaining calm, Annja closed the drapes over the windows and crossed the room by memory to find the lamp mounted on the wall. She switched it on with a curled knuckle and soft yellow light filled the studio.

She closed the door, then picked up three of the biggest books she could find. She used her sleeves to cover her hands so she wouldn’t leave fingerprints behind in case any crime scene techs got overly industrious.

Moving quickly, she stacked the books against the bottom of the broken door. They wouldn’t keep anyone out, but they would serve as an early warning system if anyone tried to enter.

The small desk had once held a notebook computer. A network cable lay abandoned on the desk. She checked through the drawers, but it was obvious they had been searched. Judging from the clutter in front of the desk, the searchers had simply emptied the drawers onto the floor.

There were no thumb drives, no CDs or DVDs, nothing that could have been used to store files. A business card file folder lay abandoned upside down. Evidently the searchers had been instructed to find anything high-tech.

Again using her sleeves, Annja picked up the folder and flipped through it. Most of it was contact information for various agencies, libraries, library staff, other Oxford professors, plumbers and electricians. She guessed that Edmund didn’t entirely trust his computer to remember everything for him. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t, either. That was one of the reasons she maintained her journals as well as her private blog.

One of the cards caught her attention.

Gaetano Carlini stood out in a heavily embossed but simple font against the grayed image of a rabbit peering over the edge of a top hat. The number on the front of the card was to the club. With difficulty, Annja extracted the card from the plastic holder using her sleeved fingers.

When she flipped the card over, she found another telephone number. Feeling a little better, she tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans, then continued her search.

Twenty minutes later, Annja was satisfied she’d combed the entire flat. Edmund Beswick lived the cramped life of a confirmed scholar with too much to do and too little space to do it in.

Although Edmund had spoken proudly of the collection of magical props he’d assembled, only a handful of small things occupied the built-in bookshelves in the office area. Decks of playing cards, coins, scarves, cups and balls, and even a gibecière, the large pouch street magicians used to hold props while putting on shows, shared space with the books on magic.

That meant Edmund kept his collection somewhere else.

Annja returned to the card file and flipped through the thick plastic pages till she found three business cards for storage units. Two of the storage businesses were in Chelsea and one was in Mayfair.

She’d been relieved to discover there was no blood in the apartment. If the men had gotten to Edmund, they’d taken him easily enough. She didn’t know if he would tell them about his storage unit. Then she realized almost in the same thought that he would. He would be fearful for his life, for good reason, and wouldn’t hold back when asked.

But what would the Triad do with Edmund when it recovered the magic lantern?

Antsy, ready to move, Annja retreated to the window and climbed out. She took a moment to replace the glass pane in the window so others—less altruistic—wouldn’t be tempted by an easy mark. Then she clambered back down the fire escape.

* * *

ANNJA BOUGHT A CUP OF COFFEE at a pub around the corner, fended off a couple halfhearted attempts at picking her up and retreated to the back area and the phone. She was happy to find one there because public phones were a dying business now that everyone had cell phones. Still, cell phones were known to go dead at inopportune moments.

She switched off her sat-phone because it had a GPS chip in it that would allow police to track her if they wanted to. After she finished speaking with DCI Westcox, she was pretty sure the man would want to find her.

She dialed Westcox’s office and was greeted by a polite male voice. She identified herself and asked to speak with Westcox.

“I’m afraid DCI Westcox is unavailable at the moment, Ms. Creed.”

“I know. He’s working the fourth Mr. Hyde murder.”

The assistant didn’t respond to that.

“I just left him less than an hour ago.”

“I understand that, Ms. Creed, but DCI Westcox asked not to be disturbed—”

“A man has been kidnapped and it might have something to do with Mr. Hyde. Do you think that will interest DCI Westcox?”

“Wait a tick, Ms. Creed.”

Annja sipped her coffee and waited anxiously. She didn’t know if Edmund’s disappearance was connected with the Mr. Hyde murders or not, but it was a way of getting Westcox’s attention. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Ms. Creed, where are you?”

Annja ignored that, but she felt certain that the chief inspector already knew. The landline would show up immediately. If he really wanted to see her, a patrol unit would already be en route.

“Professor Edmund Beswick has been kidnapped.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to get into this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to find him. I think it would be better if you were looking, too.”

“Come into my office. We’ll talk.”

“Haven’t you already sent someone to pick me up?”

Westcox didn’t bother to deny the charge.

“I don’t know what Professor Beswick is involved in—”

“The Mr. Hyde murders?”

“I doubt it. Saying that was the only way I had of getting your attention.”

“That also constitutes interfering in a police investigation. I’ll have you up on charges.”

“Fine. If that’s what it takes to get you looking for Professor Beswick, do it. In the meantime, he needs to be found. His life is in danger.”

“What makes you so certain of that?”

Annja peeked down the hallway to assure herself the police had not yet arrived. “Because the men looking for him also kidnapped me.”

“Really?” Westcox’s tone indicated he wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Yes. Right from under your nose. Now that I think about it, maybe calling you is a waste of time.”

“Ms. Creed, you’re not doing much to endear yourself to this office.”

“You’re not very endearing, either, Inspector. I need you to help me find my friend.”

“I was given a report only a short time ago. Something about a shooting involving an automobile loaded with possible Asian gangsters and a young red-haired woman spotted fleeing the scene. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“Have those men been taken into custody?”

“Not as yet. We’re searching for them. Nor do I intend to discuss this over the phone with you, Ms. Creed. We’ll talk in my office.”

“Thanks for the invitation, Inspector, but I’m going to decline for the moment.”

Westcox’s voice was hard as he replied, “That course of action wouldn’t be prudent.”

“With all due respect, you weren’t in the back of that car when the guns came out. I like my chances on my own at the moment. Find my friend. Then I’ll be happy to speak with you.” Annja hung up.

She regretted not having gotten her backpack from her hotel room, but it was possible that Westcox already had men there. Or that the Triad had set up camp there.

Or both, which would have been interesting.

She started for the front of the pub, noticed the police car pulling to a stop out on the street in front of the building and headed for the back door. She was in the wind before the police arrived.

8

A few blocks from the pub, Annja stopped at a bodega and used the pay phone. She called the number she’d found for Gaetano Carlini’s home and listened to it ring twice before it was picked up.

“Hello?” Gaetano sounded half-asleep.

“It’s Annja Creed. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” Annja glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter. The young Indian male working the counter watched her, though whether he just liked looking or was suspicious she couldn’t say.

“Ah, Annja.” She heard fumbling noises over the line. “It’s very late, isn’t it?”

“Or very early, depending on your point of view.”

Gaetano chuckled. “Yes, it is. Are you all right?”

“I am, but I’m afraid something’s happened to Edmund. He’s not with you, is he?”

“No. Why would he be with me?”

“I was just hoping he was there because he’s not at home.” Annja quickly brought Gaetano up to date on her attempted kidnapping and Edmund’s probable abduction.

“Oh, dear. You’ve gone to the police?”

That required a further explanation.

“I see.” Gaetano sounded thoughtful and more awake. “I could, as Edmund’s friend, insist that something be done to find him. You said this inspector’s name is Westcox?”

“Yes. But I was hoping you might be able to help out a little more.”

“How so?”

“What do you know about the magic lantern Edmund bought from the auction house?”

“Only what he’s told me, but I can find out more. I have a number of contacts throughout the city. I’ll try to uncover what I can.”

“That would be awesome.”

“What about you? Are you safe?”

“I think so.”

“But you can’t go back to your hotel, can you?”

“Not without a forced audience with DCI Westcox. And he might be successful in putting me on the first plane out of London.”

“Well, we won’t let things go that far. However, it’s plain that you can’t do anything else until we know more, and you require safe habitation while we look. Would you feel comfortable coming here? There’s an extra room in my quarters, and I don’t mind putting you up.”

Annja almost sighed in relief. Being on the run in London, which she was partially familiar with as a tourist but definitely not as a fugitive, sounded horrible. Her chances of getting caught by the police grew exponentially the longer she stayed on the streets. The trip to London wasn’t turning out the way she’d expected it to.

“You don’t mind?”

Gaetano laughed. “One of my neighbors is an old spinster who is convinced that—because of the magic—I am in league with the devil. I can’t wait for her to catch a glimpse of you arriving at all hours.”

Annja didn’t much feel like laughing.

“Meet me here at the shop. I’ll put on some of that terrible coffee that you Americans treasure so much. And try not to fret about Edmund. He’s a resourceful lad and a skilled escapologist. I’m sure he’s handling himself just fine.”

Even though she wanted to believe that, Annja didn’t hold out much hope. Escapology was all about knowing the traps inside and out. It wasn’t about escaping from people determined to kill you.

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, ANNJA stood in front of the entrance to Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club. The morning had grown colder and the fog had gotten more thick.

Less than a minute later, it opened with the same theatrical creak as before. The weak light in the corridor flared to life as the door closed behind her. For just a moment as she stood there, alone, Annja felt nervous.

Her chances of getting out of the corridor if this turned out to be a trap weren’t good. Just as she felt ready to explode, the door on the right opened and Gaetano stuck his head through. He wore a colorful bathrobe over flannel pajamas.

He waved her forward. “Come on, then.”

Annja walked through the door. As she’d noticed earlier, all the doors actually led to the foyer outside the dining area. The puzzle was that in name only. Of course, a guest could still be wrong, but he or she wouldn’t be turned away.

“You haven’t heard from Edmund?”

Gaetano shook his head as he led the way back into the dining room. “No. I’ve tried some of the friends we have in common. Woke them up and worried them, as well.”

“Then he is missing.” The news hit Annja hard. She’d hoped that the break-in at his flat only signified that his home had been violated and that he might yet be free.

“Yes. I’m afraid so. Please. Sit.” Gaetano gestured to the table he’d set up with a coffee and tea service.

Annja slipped out of her coat and draped it over a chair. She sat in the chair Gaetano pulled out for her, then watched as the man took a seat across from her. He poured coffee and pushed the cup and saucer across.

“Would Edmund call you if he was in trouble?”

Gaetano poured a cup of tea for himself. “About something like this? Something involving magic?” He nodded. “Of course he would. In addition to knowing a lot about legerdemain and the art of illusion, I also know a great number of people. Like, for instance, the auctioneer that worked the estate sale where Edmund picked up Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern.”

Gaetano poured milk into his tea before continuing. “There was nothing special about the sale. Merely a descendant of a collector getting rid of items no one else cared about.” He set the creamer down and looked at Annja.

She blew on her coffee and waited. She wrapped her hands around the cup to absorb the welcome heat.

“In the case of Dutilleaux’s magic lantern, there was another interested party, but he learned of the sale too late to bid. This is where it gets interesting. And, perhaps, more troubling.” Gaetano laced his fingers. “Have you heard of a man named Jean-Baptiste Laframboise?”

From the way Gaetano said the name, Annja knew the person wasn’t a good man. She missed having her computer and a ready internet connection. In seconds she could be infinitely more knowledgeable than she presently was. “No.”

“Neither had I, but the auctioneer told me about him. As it turns out, Laframboise is a black marketer. One of those chaps who can—no matter how difficult or how illegal it is—get it for you. For a price.”

“Laframboise deals in antiquities?”

“Not as a regular field of operations, no. In fact, the auctioneer inquired after Laframboise to a policeman friend of his. A man in Scotland Yard who deals with forgeries and the like. According to the detective at the Yard, he’s made quite the name for himself in the drug trade and human trafficking.”

“Then why is he after Dutilleaux’s magic lantern?”

Gaetano shook his head. “I have no earthly idea. The auctioneer went on to tell me that Laframboise was quite distraught when he discovered the magic lantern had been sold.”

“When did Laframboise find out?”

“He talked to the auctioneer two days ago.”

“When was the sale?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Laframboise just found out about it?”

Gaetano shrugged. “Evidently. The auction was a small thing. I remember that Edmund was worried someone might snatch up his prize. Professors don’t make a lot, you know.”

Annja nodded. She knew. That was one of the reasons she didn’t teach full-time. But the main reason was because she’d rather be at a dig getting her hands dirty. The chance to see something no one had seen in a very long time was exciting. A lot of archaeologists lived for it.

And a lot of them had died for it.

“How did Laframboise find out about the auction?”

“My friend didn’t know.”

“How did Laframboise track Dutilleaux’s lantern to Edmund?”

A deep frown creased Gaetano’s face. “Two of Laframboise’s bullyboys showed up on my friend’s doorstep and assaulted him.”

“He didn’t think to tell you or Edmund?”

“This only happened a few hours ago. And they threatened him if he told anyone. He has a family to think of. He was very scared the whole time he was talking to me. Had I not gone to him and had we not been longtime friends, I don’t think he would have told me.”

Taking a deep breath, Annja pushed her anger away. “There are a lot of innocents involved in this.”

“Exactly my thoughts.” Gaetano sighed. “I fear I, too, have been remiss in the assistance I could have given Edmund.”

“What do you mean?”

“Edmund was thrilled with his acquisition. I’d promised to help him research the matter and Anton Dutilleaux and I hadn’t. I’m currently endeavoring to correct that oversight by calling in some favors.”

For a moment, Annja was silent, chasing thoughts of her own. “There is one other possibility.”

Gaetano cocked an eyebrow.

“I was at Edmund’s flat. His collection of magic props doesn’t appear to be there.”

“No. He keeps them in a storage unit.”

“Do you know which storage unit?”

Gaetano smiled when he realized what she was actually asking. “Of course I do. That’s where Edmund shows off his collection. There’s no room at his flat.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Let me go change clothes. I have a car around back.”

While waiting for Gaetano to get dressed, Annja wandered the dining area and stared at the caricatures. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her, but she recognized the famous ones.

Then, on the third wall she examined, she found a caricature that she recognized immediately, though the name was new to her. It had been drawn thirty-three years ago.

The man in the picture hadn’t changed in the intervening years. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, had white hair that hung to his shoulders and a beard that extended to his chest. He held a long staff in one hand and was dressed in a robe and tall, pointed hat. His eyes were deep-set and she knew the color of them even though the caricature had been done in charcoal and sprayed with a fixative.

Roux.

9

The name came unbidden to Annja. She was aware that she smiled and grimaced at the same time. Roux and Garin Braden were the two people who, like her, were somehow connected to the mystical sword she carried.

Five hundred years ago, Roux had been charged with watching over Joan of Arc, and he had failed. As penance, he and his apprentice, Garin, had been assigned—or cursed—with finding Joan’s broken sword, reforging it and placing it once more in the hands of a champion.

Most days, Annja was pretty certain a mistake had been made regarding her role as a champion. But she had to admit that the sword had changed her life in a number of ways.

“What do you see?”

Startled, Annja looked at the doorway where Gaetano stood. She didn’t know what to say.

Gaetano walked over to her and pulled on a pair of glasses. He studied the picture. “Ah, yes. The fabulous Raymond the Red.” He smiled happily. “He was quite an amazing performer.”

“Was he?” Annja looked closely. “He looks kind of crotchety and unpleasant.”

“If you can see that, then my father truly captured the essence of this man in his sketch.” Gaetano shook his head. “Raymond the Red had a sweet-and-sour disposition. You never knew what you were going to get with him. Children and women loved him, though.”

“Seriously?” Annja’s own experiences with Roux had left her between camps. She loved him as a mentor, and perhaps even as a father figure—though she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t known her own father—but he often got on her last nerve. Roux could be vexing and irritating, and incredibly demanding.

Over the time they’d known each other, she’d come to look forward to and dread every moment they spent together.

“Oh, yes. I was just a boy when I first met Raymond the Red. Perhaps eight or nine. The adults didn’t care for him so much. He was far too opinionated for their tastes, and he didn’t seem to delight over magic the way they did. But he had the gift.”

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