The Devil's Chord

“You can’t go down there by yourself,” Scout shouted after her. “Not without a weapon!”

Reinserting the breathing apparatus into her mouth, Annja dived. Scout’s last word was distorted by bubbles as she kicked her flippers and headed in the direction where Scout had been injured. It wasn’t wise to return without a weapon, but she did have one that worked in water, on land, in the air and anywhere else she might get in a bind.

Her headlamp swept over the darkness. She assumed if the diver was smart, he or she would have already vacated the area. But if the person was eager and desperate to find the case, then he or she might still be around. Seeking bubbles, she swam slowly through the murk.

Twisting her head side to side, she swam into something solid on her left—that kicked away from her. Jackpot.

Calling the sword from the otherwhere, Annja knew she wouldn’t be able to swing it with any effectiveness, but as she drew it before her and grasped the tip of the blade with her gloved hand, she used it as a deflector.

A flipper kicked near her face. She stabbed the sword toward it, slicing through the heavy rubber. Unsure if she had cut through the shooter’s foot, she kept the blade before her to deflect a return blow. No return contact was made. He swam away from her, swiftly, to judge the trail of bubbles.

She followed him to a concrete wall, where he swam through an open iron gate. Her headlamp beamed on his hand, pulling the gate shut behind him. A padlock and chain secured the gate, so by the time she reached it, she struggled with the lock only momentarily. There was no way in.

She released the sword into the otherwhere. The man who had shot Scout was obviously familiar with the area. He’d probably readied the gate for the quick escape he might need.

She surfaced, her shoulders bobbing in the cool water as she took in her surroundings. The dive boat was anchored twenty yards north. She treaded water on the opposite side of the canal from where she had begun. She waved, signaling to Kard, who waved back. Grasping a heavy iron ring set into the concrete curb once used for docking boats, Annja pulled herself up and heaved her body onto the narrow ledge, twisting to sit with her back against the wall of the building, her flippered feet dangling in the canal.

Looking up and back, she noted the building behind her, where she sat, was under construction. White plastic tarps had been secured over the windows, the tattered ends fluttering in the breeze. The place was abandoned for the time being; no sign of any workers.

The tunnel the shooter had escaped through was just below, so she should have seen him surface within the building. Annja pushed up and pressed her body against the wall. Through a window she could see an empty room littered with plaster buckets, more tarps and several ladders. The tunnel probably led out the other side of this block and into the next canal. She should pursue on foot, but she’d have to take off her flippers and run barefoot. It wasn’t a good idea.

The boat chugged up to the shoreline, and Scout, his wet suit around his hips, waved for her to come aboard.

He’d tied a thin strip of medical gauze around his biceps. Blood stained the tape. Annja guessed it had just been a flesh wound.

“You see anything?” Ian called.

“Followed him but he escaped through a tunnel. Closed an iron gate on me and locked it. I’m positive it’s below this building. I need to investigate further.”

“Why?” Scout leaned over to offer her his hand as boarding assistance. “You want a smackdown with some angry dude carrying a harpoon?”

She jumped onto the boat.

“Don’t you want to find the guy who could have killed you?”

“I’m still alive. I don’t think he was going for the kill. He was close enough to make a kill shot if he’d wanted to.”

“At the very least, we need to report this to the authorities.”

“Creed.” Scout placed a hand on her shoulder. “I admit it, I’m a treasure hunter. Trouble follows me wherever I go. This is nothing new.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. Most people wouldn’t be so casual about being attacked. Shrugging off her air tank, she bent to remove her flippers. “What do you have against my reporting this to the police?”

“Nothing. Go for it.” Scout’s indifference only made her more suspicious. “I’m just saying encounters with idiots wielding harpoons are to be expected. I go after a treasure, the bottom-feeders follow in hordes.”

“Nice.” Not. She unzipped the wet suit to reveal her skintight tank top beneath. “Let’s call it a day.”

“Swell. You go to the authorities and explain to them we almost saw the guy who did it—did you get a good look at his face? Didn’t think so. Meanwhile, I’ll mark out the map for tomorrow’s dive.”

She glanced at Ian. He shrugged, evidently as baffled by Scout’s disregard as she was.

“You want to get something to eat?” Scout asked.

“I think I’ll head back to the hotel after I’ve been to the police station.” Scout’s comment about her not getting a look at the attacker’s face annoyed her. She didn’t need his attitude. And really, she should have paid closer attention to the bad guy’s features. “Reconvene in the morning? Same canal, same boat?”

“Fine,” Scout said. “Give me your cell number?”

She gave it to him, and he promised to text her his number so she would have it, as well.

Ian packed up his gear, and Annja hung the wet suit in the closet provided belowdecks.

Kard offered Annja and then Ian a beer for the walk to the police station and both refused.

“You think they’re a couple cards short of a full deck?” Ian asked as they strolled down the street.

“Possibly.”

“Nice crew, Annja. I’ll count myself lucky if I come out of this unscathed.”

She winced because she took seriously the safety of those around her. She’d have a proper talk with Kard tomorrow. And she’d keep a much closer eye on Scout. The man could be too adventurous for her own good.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_e5e2bf44-fec3-597c-ad8c-69db036ae191)

At the police station in San Marco, Tomaso Damiani greeted Annja with a warm smile and welcomed her into his office. The small room held only his desk, two chairs and on the wall a map of the canals. No family photos. No knickknacks.

A new hire? Or was the man so regimented that he couldn’t bother with clutter?

She explained she was in the city on a dive for stolen artifacts. Tomaso was aware of that. The city had forwarded the dive permit Scout Roberts had applied for just this morning.

Pleased that the city was in close contact with the police, Annja detailed the encounter with the mysterious diver in the Fondamenta della Sensa.

“You are sure you did not surprise another who was merely diving?” Tomaso asked as he jotted down the information on a yellow notepad. “Perhaps the harpoon went off during the surprise?”

“Then why would he swim off? Wouldn’t he want to make sure he hadn’t wounded anyone?”

“Yes, of course. That is what we would hope for.” Tomaso ran a hand over his close-cropped dark hair. His narrow face fit with his tall, tight frame. He was young. A wedding ring shone on his sun-tanned hand, but there was no visible tan line beneath. New job, new wife? “Perhaps he was shocked that he had done such a thing. Perhaps not.”

“Who dives beneath Venice with a harpoon in hand?” Annja asked. “It’s not as if the canals are populated with edible fish. Are they?”

“We have much flora and fauna in the canals, Signorina Creed. But the fish are smaller, such as mullets and bullheads. Still, some are edible. We even get the occasional shark in from the sea. Perhaps your harpoon man was pursuing bigger game?”

“Like humans?”

She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but Tomaso chuckled. Then, noticing she didn’t share his humor, he abruptly stopped.

“I take your report very seriously, signorina. There are drainage pipes and tunnels beneath much of our beautiful city. Some are registered. Others lead into private homes and still others may no longer be used.”

“Which is why I didn’t try to break through the gate—I didn’t know if this was a residence.”