In the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thier

  I did not know. I didn’t really care.

  Through the daze around my mind, I heard a crash. My eyes, closed in bliss up until then, flew open to see the double doors to the master bedroom swinging loosely on their hinges. A moment later, I heard the creak of metal feathers from beneath me and felt something soft at my back. The chaise lounge again?

  But… wait just a moment! There was no chaise lounge in the bedroom. It was a bedroom. There was only one thing with feathers in here, and it started with a b!

  The realization flooded through me like a whole bucket chain of cold water. I was in bed! I was in bed with a man!

  You’re both still dressed, aren’t you? What’s the harm?

  The harm? I was a feminist! I was supposed to despise men! That was the harm!

  Well, you can despise him far better if you’re up close, can’t you?

  Bloody hell, no!

  Just relax. He’s still dressed, you’re still dressed - this is harmless. And oh… quite nice, by the way. Don’t you feel that?

  That was the moment when I felt Mr Ambrose’s fingers at the buttons of my dress. They didn’t seem to be there to check how large the buttons were. No, his intent was an entirely different one. Looking up at his dark form above me, I saw that somehow he had managed to remove his tailcoat again. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the smooth, hard planes of his chest.

  My breath caught.

  ‘So far, your acting hasn’t been bad, my love,’ he murmured into my ear, his breath caressing my earlobe. ‘But there’s one marital duty you’ve not fulfilled so far.’

  A shiver raced down my spine, delicious fear and terrifying wonder in one.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes. We are on our honeymoon, after all. We still haven’t had our wedding night. Not a true one.’

  His fingers opened the first button. My heartrate picked up, hammering a drumbeat of ecstasy against my ribs.

  What was wrong with me? I should be screaming bloody murder! Instead, my heart was ready to explode, and the traitorous corners of my mouth were curving up in a smirk. Reaching up for his free hand, I led it to my lips and placed a single, nipping kiss on the tips of his fingers.

  ‘Indeed? But why should we? After all, Dalgliesh’s spies won’t know what we do or don’t do in private.’

  His eyes caught mine and held them. ‘They might. They could be watching us right now.’

  Another exhilarating thrill went down my back. Not that I truly believed they were, but…

  ‘Do you really think so?’ My smirk grew a bit wider, and I gently bit on the pad of his forefinger.

  Out of the dark, I heard a cold hiss. ‘Definitely! We have no choice but to keep up the pretence, my love.’

  ‘Oh, well, if that’s the case…’

  I was going mad - completely and utterly mad! That was the only explanation for the words that were coming out of my mouth:

  ‘In that case you had better get on with it, Dick.’

  This time, the sound that came out of the dark was an infuriated growl. ‘I told you… Do not call me that!’

  I laughed. ‘Why not, Di-’

  My words were cut off by his mouth sealing mine. I wanted to protest - it was bloody rude to interrupt a lady! But his magic tongue started working, and I soon forgot about rudeness, I forgot about the letter r, I forgot about the whole bloody world! What the hell did I care if he was rude, if he could make me feel like this? If he could send flames through my veins and set fire to my secret, hidden pyre?

  Without any conscious command, my arms went up around him, pulling him closer until I could feel his rock-hard chest pressing into me. Some part of my mind, somewhere, kept wondering what exactly was going to happen. Truth be told, I had no clue what happened between a husband and wife on their wedding night. My mother had died when I was five, not exactly the right age to share that kind of information with a daughter, and I had never bothered to ask anyone else. After all, why would I? I was a dedicated feminist! I would never give myself up to a man like that!

  Only… now I was.

  His mouth moved away from mine, over my cheek and my chin, down to my throat. Wherever it went, it left burning brands of bloody unfeminist desire!

  ‘I want you!’ he growled out of the darkness.

  ‘I want you, too!’ I heard some female with a confoundedly weak and breathy voice whisper. Bloody hell! That couldn’t have been me, could it?

  Keep calm. It’s all right. Remember: you’re only pretending. This is all part of your job!

  Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten that.

  Mr Ambrose’s mouth found the little hollow at the base of my throat, and he groaned as he reached it. ‘You’re so…God! I want you now!’

  ‘Then stop wasting time! Knowledge is power is time is money, remember?’ Grabbing the next two buttons, I fumbled, trying to get them open - and when they wouldn’t open, just ripped them off! ‘Show me your power! Go ahead!’

  In a thin beam of moonlight, I briefly saw his eyes. They were burning with cold fire. Uttering a sound that no man, only beasts, should be able to make, he claimed my mouth again, and his hands went to claim the rest of me.

  No! That’s going too far! I shouldn’t…! Should I…? No! No… no… n…… Y-yes… Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yeeees!

  My hands slid up towards him and met with the unwelcome barrier of his shirt. Scowling, I gripped it at the placket.

  He’s not going to like this much, you know. He’s going to make you pay for having the buttons stitched back on.

  Oh, to hell with the buttons! I got a good grip and, with one tug, ripped his shirt open, surging towards him!

  That was the moment when the wall exploded.

  Explosions and Abductions

  Just to be clear: I’m not speaking in metaphors. I don’t mean that an emotional wall between Mr Ambrose and me exploded and we were suddenly free to engage in unbridled lust. (Because that had, of course, already happened five minutes ago.) No, I mean that the wall literally exploded.

  Which wall, you want to know?

  To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. It’s not very easy to register such things when you’re thrown through the air by the force of a terrific blast. One moment, Mr Ambrose and I were clenched in a passionate (though, of course, fake!) embrace on the bed, the next we were hurled with passionate force against the nearest wall that was still standing, the bed raining down in splinters around us.

  I hadn’t even started to figure out which way was up and which was down when the first gunshot exploded through the night. Through the hole in the wall, I could see flashes from outside, and with a thud, something hard buried itself in the wall next to my head.

  ‘Down!’ Apparently, Mr Ambrose was quicker than me at figuring out the up-and-down thing. He knew which was which, and proceeded to demonstrate it to me by throwing himself on top of me and slamming me down onto the floor, squashing all the air out of me.

  ‘Oumpf!’

  ‘Stay down! They’re firing!’

  I opened my mouth to tell him I had noticed that, thanks very much, but I got a mouthful of mortar and wood splinters, and choked.

  Crash!

  The door flew open and Karim loomed in the doorway, his sabre in one hand, a gun in the other. He took in the scene with one fierce glare.

  Roaring a guttural battle cry, he rushed forward and leapt through the hole in the wall without the slightest hesitation. From beyond the ragged opening came a scream. It wasn’t his.

  ‘That’s right!’ Shoving Mr Ambrose off me, I struggled to my feet. ‘Show those bastards!’ Grabbing the nearest thing to a weapon - a copper statue of the Egyptian god Ra with a wickedly sharp hawk’s beak - I made to step forward. I wasn’t going to be outdone by Karim!

  ‘Not so fast!’ An iron-hard arm encircled my waist, holding me back without the least effort. ‘Where do you think you are going?’

  ‘Let me go!’ Struggling against Mr Ambrose’s unbreakable grip, I tr
ied to get nearer to the smoking opening in the wall. ‘Let me go, I said! I’m going to show them! I’m going to-’

  ‘…come with me without making any trouble.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes.’

  With a swift kick, he swept my feet out from under me. Giving a startled cry, I fell back, and he caught me, lifting me into the air.

  ‘You bloody bastard! Let me down!’

  ‘No.’

  He started forward.

  ‘Let me down, now! I will not be carried out of here like a damn parcel!’

  ‘No, not like a parcel,’ he agreed, his eyes burning with cold fire. ‘Not at all.’ And, bending down, he pressed a passionate kiss on my lips. By the time he released my mouth and I could remember how to breathe, we were already out in the hallway - over the threshold.

  Only he didn’t carry you into your new home, clad in a white dress. He carried you out of a recently exploded hotel suite with a dress that is practically ripped in half!

  Well, a girl can’t have everything.

  ‘Let me down!’ I commanded once more. ‘I can walk perfectly well on my own, do you hear me? Let me down!’

  Ignoring me, he started marching down the corridor, his eyes flicking from right to left.

  ‘I said let me dow-’

  A man with dagger in his hand sprang from a doorway to our left. Mr Ambrose’s hands darted with admirable speed into his tailcoat and drew forth a pistol, which he cocked and aimed. There was only one problem. To use his hand to hold the pistol, those hands did first have to let go of me.

  ‘-ooouuch!’

  Bang!

  The lifeless form of the attacker dropped to the ground beside me, a big hole in his blue shirt that was suddenly rimmed by red. Above me, Mr Ambrose checked to see if any more men were coming, then calmly started reloading his gun.

  ‘You know,’ I moaned from floor-level, rubbing my aching derrière, ‘when I said “let me down”, I meant slowly.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Pressing himself against the wall, Mr Ambrose spied around the corner, his dark eyes sharp and searching. ‘I’ll remember that for the next time we’re bombed and shot at. Now, stay down and be silent!’

  I didn’t particularly care for his tone. But seeing as he was the one with the gun in his hand, I thought it for once wise not to argue. Crawling towards the wall and pressing myself as flat against it as humanly possible, I tried to slow my ragged breathing and listen. Out of the distance came the sound of men’s shouts and ladies’ screams. From a few rooms down the corridor we could hear the sound of something big snarling. That was probably Karim at work. I pitied the poor fools who got in his way.

  Then, from around the corner, the sound of footsteps came. Hasty footsteps, hurrying this way. Taking a deep breath, Mr Ambrose shifted his gun until it was pointing straight forward, ready to shoot anyone who would come around the corner. I caught myself hoping that it would be Mademoiselle Bertrand.

  Be reasonable! It was just a kiss! No, not even that much! You don’t want the girl to die for that, do you?

  No, that was right, I didn’t. I wanted her to be poked with hot irons, subjected to Chinese water torture and forced to beg on her knees for my forgiveness. Then I wanted her to die.

  Someone ran around the corner, and proved that there was no justice in the world: it wasn’t Mademoiselle Bertrand. It wasn’t even some equally shootworthy skunk, but a perfect stranger. A lanky man in Egyptian dress, who stopped dead when Mr Ambrose’s revolver came to rest against his temple. Slowly, the man’s eyes wandered to his right, trying to see, without moving, the barrel of the weapon that was threatening to blow his brains out. Instead, he caught an eyeful of Mr Ambrose.

  ‘E-effendi?’

  ‘Ah, Youssef. It’s you.’ Mr Ambrose lowered his gun. ‘An explanation! How could this have happened? I hired you to guard us!’

  The man winced. ‘I’m sorry, Effendi! They tricked us! The men with the bomb, they did not try to sneak in, but came into the hotel as regular guests, and booked the room next to yours. They looked perfectly harmless! They…’

  Another explosion went off somewhere. The ringing silence that followed was broken only by a gurgling sound that didn’t sound very healthy.

  ‘I think we should leave this place, Effendi,’ the newcomer suggested.

  Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Agreed. Lead the way.’

  Putting two fingers to his lips, Youssef let loose an ear-piercing whistle. In a moment, more men had emerged from around the corner. They were a motley crew, everything from black over brown to white. Yet they all had the same sharp look in their eyes.

  Youssef nodded to them.

  ‘We’re getting out of here. Jabalah, Tahir - you check the corridors to the left. Francois, Umar, you check to the right. Sango, you scout ahead!’

  A brawny, pitch-black individual shot down the corridor in front of us, and four figures less well endowed with pigments immediately vanished down the corridors on either side.

  ‘The rest of you, form a circle around Ambrose Effendi. Yalla![19] What are you waiting for?’

  In an instant, there was a protective wall of bodies around Mr Ambrose. The men were obviously experts at their work. It was all very impressive. There was only one problem: I was outside the wall.

  Slowly, I rose to my feet.

  ‘Um… excuse me?’ I tapped one of the men on the back. Whirling around, he drew his knife and had it at my throat before I could blink.

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend that.’

  The man froze. Both he and I looked to the origin of the voice. A gap had opened in the wall of bodies, and Mr Ambrose was regarding the knife at my throat with cold eyes. Slowly, his gaze rose to the face of the man holding it.

  ‘The lady is with me.’

  The knife clattered to the ground, falling from suddenly limp fingers.

  ‘Come.’ Jerking his head, Mr Ambrose indicated for me to step into the protective wall of bodyguards. For once, I followed his orders without hesitation. ‘I think it’s time we leave.’

  We rushed down the hallway, I sometimes running, sometimes sneaking, Mr Ambrose keeping up a pace steadier than clockwork. More than once I heard a shout, shot or gurgle from outside the protective circle, but never once did I get to see their origin. Down the stairs and out into the dining hall we went. The place looked as if the last dinner guests had been a herd of loony elephants. Tables were turned over or smashed to bits, fans, handkerchiefs and bits of food cluttered the floor, and even one of the chandeliers had fallen, and crashed right through a table. Nobody was in sight - not a single soul.

  ‘Where now?’ I demanded, trying to peek over the heads of our bodyguards. I had only seen the dining hall while coming down the stairs, when the men in front of me had been two steps below, opening my line of sight. Now, with them towering all around me once more, I couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘This way, Hanem.’[20] With a slight bow, Youssef indicated the direction.

  When we entered the lobby, our group of protectors split up. Half stayed around us, in a looser group, the other half darted through the doors out onto the street, knives and pistols at the ready. Dazed, I took a look around. The lobby, too, looked as if a tornado had swept through it. Everyone had to have fled in a rush when they heard the sound of gunfire. Wait, no!

  Not everyone.

  ‘Mr Linton? Stop! What are you doing?’

  Until Mr Ambrose called after me, I hadn’t realized that I had started moving, slipping out of the protective circle of men. But even as his voice reached me, I didn’t stop, but instead strode directly towards my goal, a diminutive little figure snoring in an armchair in the corner of the room. Stooping down beside her, I gently shook her shoulder.

  ‘Ma’am? Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ll have to wake up.’

  Raising her head, the drowsy figure blinked up at me. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re going to wake up and come with us,’ I said, louder this time. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a dis
turbance in the hotel! It’s not safe for you here, at the moment.’

  ‘What did you say, dear? Speak up, I can’t understand you!’ Then the old lady looked around and for the first time noticed the upturned chairs, dropped fans, and broken windowpanes around her. ‘Goodness gracious me! Did those young people throw another of their festivities? Looks like they got a bit above themselves, doesn’t it? I really wish someone would take these youths in hand. Young people nowadays have no discipline, that’s the problem! No discipline, and no consideration.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re quite right, Ma’am, but in this case it’s not really a festivity, you see, it-’

  Somewhere above us, another ear-splitting explosion rocked the hotel.

  ‘There you are!’ Shaking her head, the old woman pointed a stick-like finger upwards. ‘Drinking champagne, popping corks… I can hear it from hear! Disgraceful!’

  ‘Um, yes, certainly, Ma’am. And I’m sure you’d like to leave such a disgraceful place, wouldn’t you? Right now, as a matter of fact?’

  The old lady blinked at me owlishly. ‘What did you say, dear?’

  ‘I said we ought to leave! Right now!’

  ‘Show? Yes, you’re quite right, my dear.’ She patted my head affectionately. ‘Somebody ought to show those rascals what is right! Someone ought to teach them a lesson.’ Reaching for her walking cane, she slowly pushed herself to her feet and stood there, wobbling precariously. ‘I suppose I’d better go and…’

  That was the moment when Mr Ambrose decided to intervene. Striding forward, he grabbed the old lady around the midriff and lifted her over his shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he told an open-mouthed yours truly and turned to march out of the door, the old lady’s walking stick thwacking repeatedly against his back in time to her shrieks of protest. I hurried after him, catching up only when he already was by the door.

  ‘Do you… think this is… really the best idea?’ I panted, pointing to the old lady over his back.