The Devil's Chord. Alex Archer
them at the most, and less than two feet the majority of the time. The canal was a few meters deep, and the bottom was littered with timbers, stones and building materials that had been abandoned through the centuries of construction, remodeling and growth. Iron rebar was the most dangerous obstacle, and Annja brushed her hands over the rusted metal often.
Annja loved to scuba dive and had done so all over the world, from the indigo waters of Phuket in Thailand to the volcanic outcrops in Bali. She preferred the bright coral reefs of the Red Sea in Egypt, but the dark and manta ray–infested waters of Belize had fascinated her equally. There was something about the mystery of what lay immediately before her that kicked up her adrenaline and beckoned her forward to discovery.
Ian’s dive light, specially designed for underwater filming, cut a deeper and wider swath through the dimness. He intended to film some initial shots of the canal, then wait for her cue to continue filming. It wasn’t necessary to film the entire dive, and she wanted to reduce later editing.
This area of the canal hugged the buildings and Annja noted the crumbled cement chunks and lots of garbage, including tin cans and broken wood oars.
Venice’s buildings sat upon oak and pine pilings, most having existed since Renaissance times. Since the wood was embedded in airless, muddy soil, it did not decay or rot. It was the constant wetting, drying and shrinking of wood that caused it to rot and that only occurred in wood above the waterline. Another torment to the abovewater wood was decay from fungi and mold. She imagined upkeep on the pilings alone must tax the city’s budget.
Scout’s headlamp beamed in her face briefly, and she saw his hand gesture. Annja started to follow. Yet Scout swam quickly, and she was compelled to pause and beam her light down a narrow channel to her right. Looked like a passage under a building. Couldn’t be more than a foot wide. No way a diver could risk entering. Flashing the headlamp around, she looked for a glint, as the light would catch on the lost object. Scout had said it was in a silver attaché case, so that should stand out in the murk.
Marking off the channel, she pushed back and started in the direction Scout had pointed.
Annja felt something touch her arm, and she swung her head to the right to acknowledge Ian—but it wasn’t him. In fact, she caught a glimpse of the white glow-in-the-dark ribbon sewn down the diver’s arm. Scout hadn’t such a design on his wet suit. Ian had complained about his suit lacking the racing stripes.
There was another diver down here? What were the odds? Had Kard, manning the boat above, seen someone go down?
Veering to the right, where she had last seen Scout, Annja swam into a fizz of oxygen bubbles. An arm slashed across her headlamp beam. Silt stirred up from the canal floor. As she swam closer, she spotted blood in the water.
A pair of fins hung motionless, then kicked as she neared the person. Gripping Scout’s arm, she turned him to face her. His eyes were wide behind the goggles and he slapped his arm. Out spilled more blood in a red cloud. He’d been injured by the other diver?
She tugged him upward, passing Ian. Signaling to him that they intended to surface, the cameraman nodded.
Surfacing, Annja pulled off her mask and tugged out the breathing apparatus. She did the same for Scout. “What the—”
“Didn’t recognize the guy,” he blurted. “Thought it was the cameraman at first. He got me with a harpoon.” He lifted his arm to reveal the slash through the dive suit. “It’s only minor.”
“Kard!” she hollered.
The boat master nearly tumbled over the side of the boat as he righted from what must have been some serious REM sleep. The clatter of beer cans near his feet shouldn’t have been so easy for Annja to hear from where she treaded water.
“Trouble?” Kard called.
Annja pushed Scout toward the boat. “You’re done for the day. He’s been injured!” she yelled to Kard, who reached down to grasp Scout’s good hand. “Ian, we’re done filming.”
The cameraman had followed them and now handed his equipment up to Kard. After a second try, he managed to grip the ladder to climb into the back of the boat.
Too curious to leave the water just yet, Annja slipped her mask over her eyes and adjusted the fit. “I’ll be right back. I want to see if the person’s still around.”
“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