Gabriel's Horn. Alex Archer
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international business interests under several dummy corporations and holding companies. Managing an empire like his couldn’t be easy. Especially if much of it was criminal, as she suspected it was. And Garin wasn’t exactly the sort to have someone oversee it for him.
“You’d be better served if you just told the police that you didn’t see the men who did this thing,” Garin said.
“They knew I chased them.”
“Well, that was certainly foolish.”
“I didn’t want them to get away with what they did.”
“So now you’re going to identify them for the police and be a witness at some time-consuming trial.” Garin’s distaste for such a prospect was clear.
“I don’t want them to get away with this,” Annja repeated.
“Then find them and kill them yourself. It’s much simpler and not as dangerous as you might think if done properly.”
Annja sighed. “Not exactly my choice of solutions.”
“I find it very comforting,” Garin said.
“Getting caught could be a problem.”
“Did I need to mention that you’d have to be clever about it? You needn’t claim your kills.”
Annja rubbed the back of her neck. The headache wasn’t going away. She wanted a hot bath and time to enjoy it. Stanley Younts, the writer she’d met while looking to solve a friend’s murder, had couriered a draft of his new book to her because he wanted her to fact-check the history in the text. He was paying her quite handsomely. She’d had hopes of spending some time with it that day.
“I can have an attorney there in twenty minutes,” Garin offered. “You’ll be out five minutes after that.”
“No,” Annja said.
Garin cursed again.
“I’ll handle this.” Annja stared at the thick books of photographs. “And I’ll be on time for dinner.”
“I’ll send a cab for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. It’ll be there.” Garin hung up.
The quick dismissal stung Annja. She almost called him back. But she suspected she wouldn’t get past Garin’s personal assistant. Garin had an infuriating habit of becoming inaccessible.
Just get through tonight, she told herself. Then the debt’s paid.
IN THE END, Skromach wasn’t happy about releasing Annja before she could identify the guilty parties, but he didn’t have a choice. He politely and patiently confirmed her hotel’s information and told her he would be in touch.
A short cab ride later, Annja paid the driver and got out in front of her hotel. She’d chosen to stay in the Old Town where the surroundings were more Gothic than industrial. She loved the older sections of European cities. All she had to do was look at the buildings and she could imagine the wagons, carriages and horses clattering down the cobbled streets. History, hundreds of years of it, was ingrained in the architecture.
Her hotel boasted a collection of gargoyles that perched along the roof and looked ready to swoop down on her. She frowned a little when she realized they made her think of Garin. She didn’t know if it was because they looked like predators or simply devious.
“Are you all right, miss?” the cab driver asked in hesitant English. He held the door open and stood with his cap in his hand.
Jarred back to the present, Annja looked at him. “I am. Thank you.” She reached back into the cab for her backpack. She never went anywhere without it. Her notebook computer, GPS locater, extra batteries, cameras and other electronic equipment, as well as the change of clothes she habitually carried were inside.
She gathered the backpack by the straps and strode up the stone steps leading to the hotel.
“Ah, Miss Creed.”
Barely in the foyer, Annja turned and found one of the hotel’s assistant managers standing there. “Yes, Johan?”
The old man smiled. “You remember my name.” He clapped in delight, then smoothed his long silver mustache with his fingertips.
Annja suspected he was old enough to be her grandfather, but he was thin and elegant and moved like an athlete. His dark suit was immaculate and fit the antique furnishings of the refurbished hotel. Soft yellow light gleamed against the surface of the stone floors.
“You’ve gone out of your way to make my stay here pleasant,” Annja replied. “Of course I’d remember your name.”
“You flatter an old man.” Johan put a hand over his heart.
Annja smiled. During the past few days while she’d been a guest at the hotel, Johan and the other staff had taken good care of her. They’d seemed disappointed that she wasn’t more demanding. As it turned out, several of them were fans of Chasing History’s Monsters.
“There was a bit of a problem while you were gone,” Johan said. He looked a little nervous. “It was most confusing. I was told it was supposed to be a surprise, but I could hardly allow such a thing.”
That troubled Annja a little. “What thing?”
Johan crooked a finger at her and guided her off to the side of the foyer. “The man. I simply couldn’t allow him into your room without you being there.”
“A man tried to get into my room?” Annja thought at once of the men she’d chased. Maybe they had tracked her down.
Johan closed his eyes and shook his head. “Of course not. Had that been so, I would have called hotel security at once, and then the police. The hotel does not put up with such—” he fumbled for an American expression “—shenanigans.”
“Of course.”
“He claimed he was arranged for.”
“Arranged for by whom?”
Johan shook his head. “Why, that is part of the problem. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“What did he want?”
“To dress you.”
That threw Annja off stride. “To dress me?”
“That’s what he said. He said he was arranged for and sent here at his employer’s request. I have his card.”
“The employer’s?”
“No. The man who is here.” Like a magician, Johan’s hand exploded into motion and a card was produced as though he’d plucked it from thin air.
The card was heavily embossed and decorated in an understated manner with pale pink flowers that assured affluence. It had only one word—Gesauldi.
There wasn’t even an address or phone number. Nothing on the card suggested what the man did.
Johan studied her face. “I was hoping that you would know him, Miss Creed.”
“No.” Annja slipped the card into her pocket. “Did he leave?”
Johan shook his head. “I wouldn’t so casually turn away a man such as he.”
“He’s still here?”
“But of course. I put him into a room for the moment.”
“Then let’s go talk to him,” Annja said with a sigh.
6
Gesauldi answered the hotel door but didn’t look happy about it. He had the air of a man who didn’t answer doors, not even his own.
“Mr. Gesauldi,” Johan said. “I present to you Miss Annja Creed.”
Annja