Garin stayed behind the curtains. It wouldn't have been hard to set up with a sniper rifle on one of the other buildings and shoot him.

"That's good," Garin said. "How did you get this number?"

"I read it in tea leaves."

Garin said nothing. He didn't believe it, but he supposed if that were possible, Roux was the one who could do it. Remaining as calm as he could, he fumbled in the dark for the pants he'd worn earlier, then pulled them on.

"Are you all right?" Garin asked. It felt strange asking that. On several occasions, some of them not so long ago, he'd hoped the old man would die.

In fact, he'd even sent two assassination teams after Roux to accomplish that very thing. Garin had never heard again from the mercenaries he'd hired.

"I'm fine," Roux said.

"You're drinking," Garin accused.

"A little." Roux slurred his words slightly.

"Not just a little. You're drunk."

"Not drunk enough." His voice somehow managed to carry the scowl over the phone connection. "I don't think I'll ever be drunk enough."

Garin paced the room with the pistol in his hand. Talking to Roux was impossible.

"What's happened?" Garin asked. He was surprised that he still wanted to know. But then, Roux was the only man in the world who really knew him.

"I found the sword,Garin. All of it. All the pieces. Every last one of them."

"You're sure?" Garin asked, not wanting to believe it.

"It's taken me over five hundred years to find them all."

A sinking feeling filled Garin's stomach. He tried to detect something different in his physical well-being, then felt comfortable that nothing had changed. But that wasn't true. Something had changed. The sword – her sword – had been found.

"You found the sword?" Garin sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. He edged the curtain open with the pistol barrel.

"I said I did, didn't I?"

"Yes." Garin didn't have to ask why Roux had called him with the news. Even though they were enemies these days, there was no one else in the world Roux could tell about the sword. "What happened?"

Roux paused, then whispered hoarsely, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Something was supposed to happen, right?" Garin asked.

"I don't know."

"Have we changed?"

"Nothing happened, Garin. The sword is just lying there. Still in pieces."

"Maybe you've missed one."

"No."

Garin stood and walked into the next room where the wet bar was. Chrome-and-glass furniture, looking somehow fragile and dangerous at the same time, filled the room. He put the pistol on the bar and fixed himself a tall drink. Roux's announcement had taken the edge off his buzz.

"Maybe the sword can never be put back together," Garin suggested.

"I know it can be."

Garin didn't argue with that. He had always been sure of it himself. "You're missing something," Garin said.

"Don't you think I bloody well know that?" Roux snapped.

"Yes." Garin sighed and took a long drink.

"That's why I called you."

That would be the only reason the old man called, Garin thought. "Tell me what happened."

He listened as Roux told him of the discovery of the last piece of the sword.

"The woman – the American – she was the one who found the last piece of the sword?" Garin asked when he'd finished.

"It was by accident," Roux insisted.

"Roux," Garin said in exasperation, "the earth openedup for her. Don't you find something significant about that?"

"I was there, too."

Garin sighed. He'd forgotten about the old man's ego.

"Who's to say the earth didn't open up for me?" Roux demanded.

"The sword didn't fix itself," Garin pointed out.

"Maybe it's not supposed to," Roux said suddenly. "Maybe I'msupposed to fix it. It's possible that it simply has to be forged once again."

Before Garin could suggest that perhaps being around a forge after drinking as much as Roux had wasn't a good idea, the old man hung up.

Garin's immediate impulse was to call back. He checked the caller ID. It was blocked. He left the phone on the bar.

He sat and drank. By dawn he'd thought up and discarded a hundred plans. But he knew he really had only two options.

One involved killing Roux, which would not have been the most intelligent thing he could do, given that the pieces of the sword had all been found and he didn't know what would happen next.

The other involved finding the American woman.

Neither option appealed to him. Both included the possibility that his life would change. At present, he was worth millions, owned companies and parts of corporations and did whatever he pleased.

He'd come a long way for a German knight's bastard son who had once been apprenticed to an old man who claimed to be a wizard.

It had taken all of five hundred years.

He finished his drink, picked up the gun again and went to take a shower.

Shortly after dawn, Garin was in his car and flying down the autobahn. He just hoped Roux wasn't setting a trap. The old man had never seemed to take any of the assassination attempts personally, but a person never truly knew.

Chapter 11

ANNJA WOKE FEELING refreshed but sore. A quick check of her e-mail and the newsgroups showed that Bart McGilley hadn't responded but there were twenty-seven hits on alt.archaeology.esoterica.

Nineteen of them asked for personal information, as if her age, sex and location had anything to do with the charm's images. Four solicited further information, but Annja didn't have any and suspected the authors just wanted to open a dialogue. Sometimes it felt as if alt.archaeology.esoterica were a lonely-hearts club for geeks. Two offered to do further research – for a price.

But [email protected] wrote:

Don't know about the image of the wolf and mountain, but the other side – the stylized rain –

Curious, Annja looked at the images of the charm. She hadn't thought of the die mark as rain. She'd thought of braille at first, but the coin had been too old to use braille. That language for the blind hadn't even been invented at the time the charm disappeared in La Bête's cave.

Looking at it again, she decided it could be rain. She wished she still had the charm itself, and she faulted herself for getting taken in by the old man.

Annja returned to the Web site posting.

—the stylized rain— looks like something from one of the monasteries in that area. I'm fairly familiar with the Catholic orders here. Do you know the time period?

Annja sighed. She hadn't expected to have all the answers overnight, but it would have been nice. She dashed off a quick reply.

Zoodio,

Thanks for the help. No, I'm afraid I don't know the time period. At least four-hundred-plus years. The disk was worn as a charm. To ward off evil, I think. Kind of fits with the religious motif. If that gives you a clue, please let me know. I'm stumped.

After a quick shower, she dressed and packed the notebook computer in her research backpack. She decided to take the field pack with her, but doubted she'd get up into the mountains again.

Then she went downstairs to see if François could give her a lift into town. Otherwise she was in for a long walk.

"No, Annja, I got the pictures," Doug Morrell said. "They were great. I just need more."