Magic Lantern (Rogue Angel) (16 page)

“Have you heard of a man named Puyi-Jin?”

“No.”

Laframboise tapped the revolver muzzle against his thigh irritably. “You’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

“He is a Chinaman.”

Seeing the man’s obvious frustration with him, Edmund grew more afraid. “I don’t know anyone named Puyi-Jin.”

“A few days ago, Puyi-Jin came to me and asked me to acquire this object for him.” Laframboise tapped the box containing the lantern with his boot. “Why is he so interested in this thing?”

Edmund hesitated only a moment, then realized that Laframboise at least knew part of the story concerning Anton Dutilleaux’s magic lantern. Sensing that his life was on the line, Edmund resolved to tell the truth.

“You’re sure this man, Puyi-Jin, is Chinese?”

“With a name like that, I should hope so.” Laframboise smiled at his own wit and his two thugs laughed.

“Just because he has a Chinese name doesn’t mean he’s Chinese. There are many people of Chinese heritage born in London.”

The Frenchman’s face hardened. He stood and walked over to Edmund. The big revolver rose to touch the end of Edmund’s nose. The cold steel felt alien. “Are you trying to be the wise mouth with me?”

“No.” Edmund could scarcely speak for the fear that coursed through him. “It helps to know this man’s culture. To know where he would have picked up knowledge of the lantern.” He sipped his breath, his eyes crossed as he stared at the revolver muzzle. “The lantern has a lengthy history.”

Laframboise considered that. “Keep talking.”

Edmund licked his lips and tasted more blood. “I just don’t know what you’re looking for. Anton Dutilleaux’s lantern has inspired many rumors. The foremost is that it’s cursed and brings bad luck to anyone who owns it. That story rose predominantly after Dutilleaux’s murder in Paris, but I believe the lantern already held a malign aura about it from China before then.”

One of the thugs shifted uneasily.

Laframboise leaned in and the barrel of the revolver mashed Edmund’s nose hard enough to bring tears. “Men
run
from curses. They don’t
chase
them.”

“There’s also the belief that the lantern actually opens a gateway to the dead. Or at least to another place.”

“Now you’re trying my patience.”

Edmund blinked the tears from his eyes and concentrated. He didn’t know what his captor wanted. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “It’s also rumored that the Nazis chased after the lantern.” Actually, he’d never confirmed that was a rumor, and he’d never particularly cared because his interest in the lantern was as a keepsake, nothing more.

“Why would they do that?”

“During World War II, Adolph Hitler organized special units to search for things related to Aryan history, and for things repudiated to have mystical properties.” Edmund’s jaw ached as he spoke, but he forced himself to go on. As long as he was talking, he was staying alive. “One of the sources I turned up about the lantern suggested it was on those lists, but I couldn’t confirm that.”

Laframboise breathed out in exasperation. “I get the notion you are trifling with me. This is a very dangerous thing.”

“I’m telling you everything I know.” Edmund felt desperate, caged and as though he were looking death in the eyes. And, in that moment, he knew that he was.

“Then Puyi-Jin knows more than you do. Pity.” Laframboise didn’t seem happy about that.

“I had only just acquired the lantern.” Edmund swallowed and tasted blood again. “I have not even been able to verify that the lantern I bought at the estate sale truly belonged to Anton Dutilleaux.”

Laframboise tapped the pistol barrel against his thigh. “This is very upsetting. I have betrayed an employer in order to get you and the lantern.” He shrugged. “Not such a big thing, usually, but I always turn a profit. On this, I am not so sure I will profit.” He frowned. “Sadly, I have made a very powerful enemy.”

Edmund forced himself to think. He was an escapologist. He’d trained himself to pay attention to an audience. One of the basic tenets in dealing with an audience was to always give them what they wanted. Obviously Laframboise wanted to believe the lantern had some secret. So Edmund had to manufacture one. But it had to be based on truth.

“Has Puyi-Jin told you anything of the lantern?”

Laframboise scratched his beard with his free hand. “No. The only reason he came to me was because I had people in London who could snatch you. He didn’t want to trust the young thugs he has access to. They tend to be messy and not so trustworthy.”

And trusting you turned out so much better, Edmund thought, but didn’t say. Desperately, he focused on Laframboise, seeking some kind of leverage. All he needed was a hint of doubt. “But you have your reasons for betraying Puyi-Jin.”

The Frenchman’s eyes slitted.

“What I’m saying is that you have your suspicions about why Puyi-Jin wants the lantern. Tell me what you think and I’ll see if that information triggers something I may know.”

“You said you know nothing more.”

“But I might know and not be aware.” Edmund licked his split lips. “I read a lot of information about phantasmagoria and phantasmagorists. I’m not at my best at the moment. Not like this.” He strained against his bonds but didn’t get anywhere. “What you tell me may trigger something. So please, if you want answers, tell me.”

“All right.” Laframboise rested the long muzzle of his pistol over his shoulder again. “The Chinaman is certain the lantern marks the location of a treasure.”

“Whose treasure?”

Laframboise looked displeased.

Nervously, Edmund hesitated for just a moment. “There is a rumor, but it’s only a rumor, mind you, that Dutilleaux had hidden away a fortune in gold.”

For a moment, Laframboise looked unmoved. Then interest flickered in his dark eyes. “Gold?”

Edmund nodded. “I couldn’t confirm it, and I thought it was just a legend.”

“You’re saying it isn’t?”

“I’m telling you I don’t know.” Edmund gathered himself the way he would before he got ready to free himself from a trap and cleared his mind of fear. It was harder than during a performance. “But I do know that Anton Dutilleaux worked in Shanghai before he came to Paris.”

Laframboise shrugged. “So? This means nothing to me.”

“He worked as a stockbroker in the International Settlement. A lot of money flowed through that city after the Treaty of Nanking opened China to Western colonialism. A man in the right place at the right time, with a plan, could have made a fortune. Several men did.”

For a moment, silence filled the large warehouse. Edmund sat strapped in the chair, and he thought he could hear his heartbeat echo throughout the emptiness, but that was just the blood rushing in his ears. He kept his expression calm. He was a showman.

And he was certain he was about to die.

“Interesting.” Laframboise smiled. “I’d like to hear more,
mon ami.
”

Edmund didn’t know what he was going to do next. He was all out of rabbits. That little tidbit about Dutilleaux’s life prior to his arrival in France was all he had. He didn’t even know much about Shanghai.

And then the double doors of the warehouse exploded inward and a van screeched to a halt a short distance inside the building. The doors flew open and armed Asian youths bolted from the vehicle and took up positions behind piles of debris and crates.

Bullets filled the air and the world turned into a rolling crash of thunder.

15

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Annja unbuckled her seat belt and stepped from the low-slung sports car. The gullwing door protected her from the misty fog rolling in from the river for just a moment, then the cold damp reached her. Fiona had parked the car in a narrow alley between two-story run-down warehouses being eaten away by rust.

The Isle of Dogs wasn’t truly an island. It was a peninsula surrounded on three sides by the Thames. It wasn’t a home to dogs, either, though there were several stories to that effect.

Canary Wharf Tower stood eight hundred feet tall and cast a long shadow over the area. Anyone looking at it would think the whole region was affluent, but Annja knew that wasn’t true. The Canary Wharf office complex tilted the odds on the per capita breakdown. Slums and poor neighborhoods stood shoulder to shoulder with the wharf area.

They were in one of them now, parked in Blackwall not far from the condemned warehouse where Laframboise was supposed to be holding Edmund Beswick.

Fiona slipped off her jacket and left it lying on the car seat. “Do you really want the police?”

Annja hesitated. The police would complicate things, and there was no guarantee they could ensure Edmund’s safety. On the other hand, they weren’t even sure Laframboise and Edmund were there.

“How certain of Paddy’s information are you?”

“Very. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

Annja gazed at the warehouses ahead of them, vaguely aware of the clang and chug noises of the nearby port. The one Paddy’s informants had fingered was three down and to the left. The news had come from a man also doing illicit contraband business in the warehouses.

Out on the river, tugboats and other ships hauled cargo or sat in port awaiting loads or unloading.

“All right. No police.”

Fiona smiled at her. “Brilliant. I do hate working alongside the police when time is of the essence. Oh, don’t get me wrong, those lads are useful, but they tend to move in large groups and get noticed rather more than we will.” She clicked her key fob and the car’s trunk swung open to reveal an arsenal. “Care for a shotgun? Or do you prefer a minisubmachine gun?”

Stunned, Annja gazed at the weapons. They lay in neat order in special boxes. Along with Kevlar vests. “Do you drive around with a weapons locker all the time?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I had Jenkins load the car before he brought it around.” Fiona glanced at Annja, then pulled out one of the Kevlar vests and handed it to her.

Annja started putting it on. “Why?”

“Because I thought we might need them. Things to do with Roux often have a way of going sideways. I’ve been caught unprepared before. I was lucky to get out with my life.” Fiona reached in and took out a military shotgun with an abbreviated barrel. “You do know how to use weapons, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I rather thought you might. Did Roux teach you?”

“No. I’ve picked it up here and there. The first guys to really teach me how to handle a pistol and a rifle were SAS soldiers working security on a dig at Hadrian’s Wall.”

“Do you see anything you like? Don’t be shy.”

As a general rule, Annja didn’t like guns. They were noisy and violent and the people using them often tended not to be discriminating in a pitched battle. She preferred her sword, and she preferred not to have to kill.

However, both Laframboise and Puyi-Jin didn’t seem to have those qualms.

Annja chose a Glock 21 .45 ACP for the knockdown power. She belted that around her hips, tied the holster down and slid the pistol in and out a few times. The belt came with four extra magazines in pouches. She also picked up a military shotgun that had been cut down. She added ammo for the shotgun and a Mini Maglite.

Fiona reached back in for an H&K MP5 submachine gun and slung it over her shoulder. The woman was turning out to be quite the surprise.

Annja indicated the naked weapons. “Not exactly on stealth mode here.”

“You fret entirely too much. Men never understand women’s fashions.” Fiona reached into the trunk and pulled out two brightly colored plastic rain ponchos with collar snaps. She handed one to Annja and pulled her own over her head. The folds covered the weapons easily. “This isn’t my first time at this particular dance.”

Annja pulled hers over her head, too. Then gathered her hair in one hand and pulled it back. She secured it with a hair band from Fiona. The woman thought of everything.

“Right now we’re just trying to help your friend.” Fiona closed the trunk and set the car alarm. She took the lead.

Annja followed behind, overly aware of the weapons she carried. Unconsciously, she felt for the sword hilt and touched the blade. Knowing it was there made her a little more comfortable.

* * *

FIONA WAS A FAST MOVER ON foot as well as in a car. Annja had to step up her pace to match the woman. She didn’t know where Fiona got the energy, but she was definitely a power walker.

“These men are dangerous.” Fiona’s voice was flat and neutral. “If we engage them—
when
we engage them—I want you to remember that. They chose their own fates before they stepped foot inside that warehouse.”