To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Sleep tight, Chiquita.” he said. There was no time to react, no opportunity to even let the horror of his face register in my mind. The room started to blur. Nausea swept through me, and then the lights began to rapidly retreat. A moment later, all went black.

  CHAPTER 30

  Schloss von Dietz, Bern, Switzerland

  October 22, 2011

  My first conscious perception was of my head. It felt like it was in a vise and someone was turning the wheel tighter and tighter. It was pounding so hard I was sure it was going to shatter.

  My second awareness was that it was day. And the sun was shining outside. Not sure how I knew that, I pried my eyes open a crack. On the wall opposite, but higher up, was a small window. I could see a corner of blue sky, and sunlight was streaming through the bars to make shadows on the opposite wall.

  Bars? Wait. Hotels didn’t have bars on their windows. Did they?

  Finally, a third and more pressing realization came forth out of the thickness that filled my head. It was cold. Very, very cold. I realized that I was hugging myself tightly and shivering violently.

  With a groan, I threw off my very thin blanket and rolled my legs over the side of my—cot? I was on a cot? What kind of a hotel was this?

  With a great effort I pulled myself up into a sitting position, groaning as my head screamed in protest. It was so cold! For a moment, I thought I was naked. But when I looked down, I was hugely relieved to see that I had clothes on. Not the parka. Not my shoes or socks. But a blouse, pants—the essentials. But I was shivering uncontrollably. Instinctively, I reached up and felt my hair. Ugh! It was a wild tangle and felt greasy.

  I forced myself to ignore the pounding in my head and looked around. This was definitely not a hotel room. Not unless hotels had cots bolted into the wall with nothing but an inch-thick mattress. And a small, porcelain toilet with no seat stuck in one corner. And steel bars for a door. And gray cement floors. And gray cement walls. And gray cement ceilings. And a small video camera mounted on the ceiling in one corner of the room.

  I let my eyes move back to the window. It was about seven feet up the wall and about three feet beyond the end of my cot, just far enough that I couldn’t reach it from the cot. There was glass in it, but behind steel bars. As if the glass had not been put in until later. I got to my feet, wincing as the cold cement connected with my bare flesh, then walked to where I was directly below the window. It was recessed into the wall, which was about fifteen inches thick. The bars were set in the cement and spaced about four inches apart. The glass was set back a couple of inches from the bars and looked like it was at least half an inch thick.

  I could reach the sill with my hands if I stretched, but the surface was too slick for me to get a grip. I jumped up and caught hold of the bars, then pulled myself up enough to look out. What I saw was so totally unexpected, I was momentarily disoriented. I was looking out on an expanse of blue water. I could see a snow-covered shoreline some distance away. A couple of sailboats with brilliantly colored sails were visible about midway across the water. But it was what I saw beyond the lake that stunned me. In the distance, looking very much like a gigantic picture postcard, was a towering wall of snow-covered mountains. It was breathtaking.

  I stared at it, trying to make my mind compute how this could be so, but then I realized I was about to lose my grip, so I dropped back down and returned to my cot to try to sort this out.

  I had never been to Switzerland, but I knew that was where I was. We had decided as a family that we would go there before we went home. So we had gotten on the Internet and started working out a possible itinerary. We had settled on the area around Bern and Interlaken, which had some of the most beautiful country in the world, and I was pretty sure that was what I had just seen.

  I drew my feet up beneath me to get them warm. How could I be in Switzerland? The last I remembered, I was in Caen, France. We had been—and that was when it all came rushing back. My family getting sick. Louis Girard. Grandpère’s disappearance. Philippe busting into our room with gendarmes.

  And Doc and that enormous needle!

  I leaped up again and strode over to the steel-barred door, realizing now that I was in a cell of some kind. Like the window, the door was recessed into the wall, and while I was looking out into a narrow hallway, I couldn’t see very far in either direction. Directly across from me was another cell, however. From what I could see, it was identical to mine. There was a momentary flash of hope, but then I saw that the door was half open. It was empty. But one thing was clear. I was in a cell block, which meant I was in a prison. My heart plummeted.

  I listened intently. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. I looked more closely at the opposite door. The door had the usual square metal box that held the locking mechanism, but I couldn’t see a keyhole. Curious, I examined my own door, reaching through the bars, feeling for the keyhole. What I found instead was a flat metal box mounted on the door with a slot in it. Then I understood. The door was opened by a card reader, like you see in hotels.

  I grasped the bars with both hands, shoved my face as far through the opening as I could, and called out in a loud whisper, “Rick? Rick, are you here?”

  I heard a scuffling noise, then, “Danni?”

  “Rick! Is that you?”

  “Hey!” It was a man’s voice and it was angry. “I told you to keep your mouth shut.” More footsteps, this time heavy ones from boots, and moving fast. They stopped. There was a sharp clicking sound, a muffled scream, a heavy thud, then the sounds of someone in agony—grunts and gasps, feet thrashing on the floor.

  “Rick!” I screamed and shook the bars as hard as I could. “Leave him alone!”

  I heard the footsteps start again, this time coming in my direction. I folded myself up as tightly as I could on my cot. A short man with a barrel chest appeared in the hallway, then stepped up to the barred door. I had never seen him before. Then I saw that he held this squarish-looking pistol with wires dangling from the barrel. I recognized it immediately from TV cop shows. It was a Taser—a stun gun—that shot out electrical impulses and shocked a person into immobility.

  “Your boyfriend just got Tasered,” the man said. His accent was thick and obviously German. “And, just so you know, if I hear another sound from either of you, he will be Tasered again. And again.” He spoke with much relish. “Ever had fifty thousand volts of electricity discharged into your body, little girl? It temporarily fries the central nervous system, and all your muscles lock up.” His grin was so evil I felt another kind of chill. “I would be happy to give you a demonstration.”

  I said nothing. As he started to back away, he got in one final barb. “Breakfast is in half an hour. Why don’t you take a hot bath before then? You look a little chilly.” He thought that was enormously funny. I watched his belly jiggle as he cawed in delight. Then, with those glittering black eyes leering at me, he reached in his shirt pocket and drew out a plastic card. I got a glimpse of a photo on it and guessed immediately what it was. He stepped up to the door and swiped it. There was a distinct snap as the lock opened.

  I was on my feet instantly as he stepped inside. My eyes swept the cell, looking for something—anything—to use against him. He took another step. I cringed and fell back. Then he threw back his head and roared. Without another word, he backed out again, clanged the door shut, and started away. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me. “Oh, and by the way, it was stupid of your grandfather to try to escape. Especially in a blizzard.”

  I straightened, instantly alert. Something had changed in his countenance. This wasn’t a game anymore. “What about my grandfather?”

  “A couple of our men saw him trying to escape and went after him. Your grandfather took a curve too fast and lost control of the van. It went through the guardrail and into the river.”

  “No! I don’t believe you.” And yet, even as I spoke, I remembered that as w
e entered Caen, the road ran parallel to a river that flowed right through the city.

  He shrugged. “They haven’t found the body yet. The driver’s door popped open with the impact. Probably won’t find it for several days. When the water’s this cold, the body doesn’t decompose as fast, and—”

  I turned away.

  He went right on. “As the body decomposes, gases form inside the body. That’s what causes it to float to the surface. Who knows how far downriver he’ll be by that time. Maybe even out to sea, where he will never be found.”

  “Stop. Please.”

  Another raucous laugh. “Have a good day, little one.” He gave me a jaunty wave, then turned and disappeared.

  For a long moment, I stared through the cell door at the empty hall. I wanted to scream at him that it was a lie. To ask where Mom and Dad and Cody were. But I knew that would be futile. I dropped back on my cot and buried my face in my hands.

  It had to be a lie. Grandpère was gone. He had to have gotten out.

  I threw myself down, covering my face with my arms. There was one thing wrong with that reasoning, and I knew it. Grandpère knew. He knew he was going to die. That’s why he bid you adieu.

  I’m not sure how long I lay there, wallowing in sorrow. It felt like a long time. I knew I had fallen back asleep for part of it. But I also knew that was partly because they had drugged me with some pretty powerful stuff. When I finally sat up, my mind was clear. And I had exhausted my supply of tears—for the moment, at least.

  I forced myself not to think about Grandpère. I was able to do that only because I had to believe that he had escaped from the van. Heck, knowing Grandpère, this was probably another trick birthday candle that wouldn’t go out, even if you put it in the punch. I straightened slowly.

  Don’t assume there is no fire just because something isn’t burning or that the pouch is empty just because there’s nothing there.

  It provided the tiniest glimmer of hope. They hadn’t found his body yet, so I wouldn’t give up until I actually saw him dead. But another part of me knew I was looking for any sliver of hope to cling to. With a groan, I swung my feet over the cot and sat up. As I did so, I saw a small plastic tray with some food on it just inside my cell door. There was a hard roll along with two boiled eggs on a paper plate, and a paper cup filled with orange juice. No silverware. Nothing else. I ignored it. Food was my last concern right now. I looked around the cell again, seeing if there was anything I could use to get out of here. There wasn’t, but my eyes stopped on the small video camera mounted on the ceiling. I turned away, my heart sinking. The thought of someone—maybe even Barrel Belly himself—watching my every movement, my every tear, was both horrifying and disgusting.

  Pushing that aside, I decided to focus on Philippe and his lovely mother. What had happened there in the hotel? Did Philippe really think we had kidnapped his mother? No! Not when one of the gendarmes was Doc. Which meant that Juliette was almost certainly part of this too, just like Grandpère said. I heard this bitter laugh inside my head. Almost certainly? Talk about blind optimism.

  Then came another sickening thought. If that was true, then she was the one who had my journal. She had read all of my silly, little-girl entries. She knew what a total airhead I was. Talk about an easy target! She had played me like a fiddle. She had fed Cierra the data required to make me look like a fool. I sighed. The shame was almost more painful than the fear and sorrow.

  You are such an idiot! Sweet, innocent, gullible, stupid idiot! And the trap had worked with absolute perfection. She had us all now. More to the point, she had Le Gardien. And that made me the sickest. The shame and embarrassment were almost too much to bear. How could I expect any help from the pouch when it had been my own colossal stupidity that had lost it? If I hadn’t left Le Gardien in the room, I might have sensed that we were in danger. But oh no. Not me. Just waltz off as if it didn’t exist.

  Then I remembered Grandpère’s statement. What is the difference between intelligence and stupidity? There’s no limit to stupidity. I was living proof of that. And now it was consequence time.

  A sound out in the hall pulled me out of my stupor. Someone was coming. I sat up, ran my fingers through my hair—as best I could—and faced the door. A moment later, Barrel Belly appeared, carrying a tray of food. He stopped when he saw that the tray he had brought earlier was untouched.

  “Not hungry, Fräulein McAllister? I wonder why.” Laughing, he bent down and started to pull the other tray out.

  “No, wait,” I cried. “I fell asleep again. Leave both the trays, please. I’m very hungry.” And that was not an exaggeration. I had suddenly realized that I was famished. Also, it was stupid not to eat and keep my strength up.

  “Sorry, Fräulein. This isn’t a hotel. And I’m not your room service.” He removed the one tray, slid the other one into place, then left again.

  Even though the lunch was simple—a small, round loaf of hard bread, some cheese, a plastic cup filled with water, and two very hard cookies—it tasted wonderful and did mountains to lift my spirits. I got up and shoved the tray under the door, then returned to my thoughts. I started pacing to see if I could warm myself up. I decided that it wasn’t that the cells were unheated—there was one small vent behind the toilet—but that someone was keeping the temperature at about sixty degrees. That was not enough to cause hypothermia, but sufficient to keep me miserable.

  All right. So I had been colossally stupid. I got it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that piling on more stupidity was not going to solve anything. So I sat down again and forced myself to think. The biggest challenge was that I no longer had the pouch. I assumed that Philippe and Juliette—if those were their real names—had it by now. The next challenge, which was another biggie, was that I was locked in a cell. So there was some justification for my feeling hopeless.

  And that was when I realized what Grandpère had meant. I finally got it.

  I have run with the footmen, and they have wearied me. There was no arguing with that. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Frightened. Scared. Worried. Anxious.

  My head dropped, and I felt the tears coming as it seemed like Grandpère was suddenly speaking in my head. Wearied you? That doesn’t begin to describe it. They absolutely walked over the top of you. They totally creamed you. And don’t blame Juliette and her son for that. Try looking in a mirror.

  “Criminy, Danni! Will you shut up for a minute and listen!”

  I jumped like I had been stabbed with a needle. It was Rick’s voice, but it was inside my head, not coming through my ears.

  “I’ve been calling you and calling you. Geez. Getting through to you is like trying to talk to a high-speed freight train.”

  I stifled a cry of joy. “Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

  “No.” He sounded disgusted. “This is all your imagination.”

  “This is amazing. Are we reading each other’s thoughts?”

  A brief pause, then, “No, I don’t think so. I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now. But I can hear it when you speak to yourself in your head.”

  “Incredible!” I was soaring. “Are you all right? I heard the guard Taser you.”

  “I’m a little sore where I hit the floor, but—”

  “Liar!”

  “Okay, I’m way sore, but otherwise, I’m fine. The effects wear off quickly.”

  “Oh, Rick. I can’t tell you how good it is to—”

  “Danni.” He cut in sharply. “We don’t have much time. Let’s focus.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

  “Danni? Is that you?”

  I jerked up. “Cody?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Hey, I can hear you guys too.”

  Tears were instantly back. I couldn’t remember ever hearing anything more wonderful than the sound of his voice at this moment. “Where are you?”

>   “In some kind of jail.”

  “Are you with Mom and Dad?”

  “Kinda. I can’t see them, but I can hear their voices sometimes. I called out to Mom and she answered, but our guard yelled at us. We can’t talk to each other. But I think they’re all right. Is Grandpère with you?”

  I closed my eyes. “No. I ... I don’t know where he is right now.”

  Then I had another thought. “Dad? Mom? Can you hear us?”

  Nothing. The disappointment was sharp and keen. That would have solved a lot of problems.

  “They’re not there, Danni,” Rick said softly. “But that’s all right. At least we can talk. What do you want to do?”

  Excellent question. With no answers. “Um ... I’m not sure. Let me think about that. You be thinking too. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”

  “Roger that,” Cody said in this pompous radio voice. “Ten-four. Over and out.”

  I actually laughed. But I quickly cut it off, forcing myself not to look up at the cameras. I couldn’t let them know that I was back.

  No, Danni. YOU’RE not back. ALL of you are back!

  “Are you ready yet?” Once again Rick’s voice startled me.

  “Um ... yeah. I guess.”

  “You don’t sound too sure,” Cody said.

  “You got that right. Okay, first question. Cody, how did you and Mom and Dad get here? Do you have any idea exactly where we are?”

  “That’s two questions, but yes, I do. We are in the city of Bern, Switzerland, which is about an hour and a half west of Zurich.”

  I was dumbfounded. From what I had seen through the window, I had guessed that we were somewhere in Switzerland, but it was obvious that he wasn’t guessing. “How do you know that?”