A Time of Shadows (Out of Time #8)

by Monique Martin

  She almost giggled but remembered herself. “It must be the heat. I was having palpitations.”

  Simon helped her sit up. “There, there, Blanche.”

  She frowned at that but then looked up at the crowd that had gathered.

  “Here,” a woman said, handing her a bottle of water.

  Elizabeth shook her head guiltily. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I feel much better now.”

  Simon scanned the crowd and noticed that the man who’d been watching him was standing over the spot he’d pried the tube from.

  “Can you stand?” Simon asked, hoping she heard the urgency in his voice.

  Elizabeth looked past him and her eyes went round. She gestured for him to help her up and he did so quickly.

  She took Charlotte’s hand, said thank you to the people who’d helped her, and wove her way toward the street.

  Simon started after them but bumped into someone in his haste. “Excuse me,” he said and then pulled up short. It was the man from the Ferry Building. The one who’d run into Elizabeth; the one with the scar on his lip.

  Immediately, Simon looked to make sure Elizabeth and Charlotte were all right. Thank God, they were. They were still hurrying toward the sidewalk. By the time he turned back, the man was gone.

  With a sudden prickle of heat gripping his chest, Simon realized what had happened and patted down his pocket. The tube was gone. Dammit. A myriad of dark thoughts raced through his mind in a matter of seconds. Without the clue they would be lost, their search over and their best chance at helping Charlotte would be gone. Swearing, he started to push his way through the crowd. The man couldn’t be far, but before he’d taken two steps, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Simon spun around, fists raised.

  “Hey,” a man in a Spider-Man costume said, raising his hand in defense. “Just trying to help.”

  Simon frowned and tried to move past him.

  He held out his gloved hand. “You dropped this.”

  Resting in his palm was the tube.

  “Oh,” Simon replied, relief like a splash of cold water. “Thank you.”

  “Just your friendly neighborhood—”

  “Yes, yes,” Simon put the canister into his pocket and took out his wallet. He shoved a few bills at the man.

  “Cool. Thanks, man. You want a pic?”

  “Some other time,” Simon said and hurried toward the sidewalk.

  Elizabeth and Charlotte were there waiting for him.

  “Simon Cross, secret Marvelite?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon didn’t bother to ask her what that meant, he simply put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her and Charlotte down the street.

  Elizabeth looked nervously back over her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “Remember how we suspected that we weren’t the only ones looking?” Simon asked. “We were right.”

  ~~~

  After a shower, Jack felt marginally more human. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he debated shaving. He needed one, badly, but the dark and stubbly look was in. At least that’s what Elizabeth kept telling him. He thought it made him look like a vagrant, but Elizabeth knew better than he did what was fashionable. He was out of the loop. Boy, was he out of the loop. Nearly eighty years out.

  Giving his whiskers one last scratch, he decided to ignore them and walked back into the bedroom of his hotel suite. As he put on a fresh shirt, he walked over to the window. The city was restless. It always had been. Maybe that’s why they’d been a good fit, or had been until he’d gotten shot.

  The occasional ache in his shoulder came back as a phantom pain brought on by the memory. He worked his arm around in a circle and then pushed that particular memory away. But it lingered, as he knew it would, on the periphery of his mind, like a pebble in his shoe.

  The stink of failure had a way of doing that.

  “Okay, Jackson, that’s enough of that,” he said to the empty room.

  He could sit here letting the ghosts of the past haunt him, or he could get off his duff and do something.

  He picked up his wristwatch from the side table. 2:30 in the afternoon. He was too antsy to stay here and sleep. Even though he craved it, it was out of the question. With a sigh, he put on his watch and buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his pants.

  He wouldn’t find anyone by sitting here. Now seemed as good a time as any to get on the job. He might not find anything, but it had to be better than doing nothing.

  He considered telling Tess where he was going but thought better of it. He could get more done on his own and she was probably resting anyway. He’d probably be back before she even knew he was gone. They’d agreed to meet for dinner but that still gave him four hours. Plenty of time to at least make a first pass.

  The streets of the Old City were exactly as they had been the last time he was here. Of course, that was only seventy years ago during the war. These streets were probably the same as they had been for nearly two thousand years. It was a helluva city. How many could boast of having been the capital of not one, but four great empires? Roman, Byzantine, Latin, Ottoman—each had called it home.

  The cobblestone streets of the old city were crowded with locals and tourists. That was the main difference he’d noticed. Istanbul had always felt crowded and bustling, but now it was overflowing.

  He passed Hagia Sophia, a basilica turned mosque turned museum. It was the perfect example of the city’s history. Istanbul bent but never broke, always adapting. Even today the modern parts of the city had sprung up next to ancient ruins, old and new coexisting.

  Jack had to laugh at that. The city was doing a better job of that than he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the modern world. It was amazing, but it wasn’t home. And the more he thought about what was, the less he knew.

  After what he’d seen, what he’d been through, the idea of going back to his former life wasn’t an option. He didn’t fit there either. He could try to make a go of it as a modern man. There were perks. Cars were faster, women, too. But if the aimless last few months he’d spent living off the Cross’ generosity had taught him anything about himself, it was that being a man of leisure was not the life for him. He needed to matter.

  He’d mattered during the war. And, while he didn’t miss the brutality, he did miss making a difference. Perhaps, he thought as he headed toward Beyazit Square, this would be a good start.

  The files that Travers gave him said that Skavo was last seen nearly a week ago at the square. What he was doing there, who he might be meeting, was still unknown. The photograph of Skavo was blurry, and whoever he’d been talking to had had their back to the camera. It wasn’t much. And it was the last report the agent had filed before disappearing without a trace.

  A week-old trail was pretty darn cold, but it was all Jack had. That and a grainy photograph. As he neared the large square, he took the photo out of his pocket and studied it. It had been taken from a fair distance and blown up. Around Skavo there were throngs of people, just as there were now. The square was a makeshift bazaar. Judging from the cheap plastic toys and bags of sweat socks, it was more of a flea market than a bazaar. People laid out their wares—cell phone chargers, calculators, tennis shoes—on blankets on the ground. Not too surprisingly, most were men.

  In the thirty feet he’d walked since entering the broad, open square, he’d heard people bargaining in no less than five different languages: Polish, Romanian, Armenian, French and Turkish. A man carrying a rod with dozens of belts hanging from it approached him offering him the deal of a lifetime on one. Jack kept walking.

  The square was enormous and there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people milling around it. Looking at the photo again, he could just make out the edge of a spire between some trees in the background. That was something. Or was it? Looking up, he tried to match it, but matching a spire in Istanbul was like matching a tree in the forest.

  But the spire wasn’t the only thing in the picture. At first he thought it was
just a flower bed, but now he realized they were bunches of flowers. Flowers for sale. It wasn’t much, but it was something. But he’d need help to find them.

  Jack noticed an older man sitting on a folded chair. Despite the heat, he wore a sweater under his blazer with sleeves that were a little too long. He rested both hands on the top of his cane and sat back and watched the world go by. There was no blanket near him, no anything really. He just seemed to have plopped a chair down in the middle of the square for amusement.

  With apologies for bothering him, Jack rolled out what little Turkish he knew. Between that, the man’s kindness, and a short game of charades, they understood each other.

  Taking Jack by the arm, the man led him across the square to a spot where an old woman knelt on a small blanket surrounded by bunches of flowers. Jack thanked the man, who tipped his cap and trundled back to his little chair.

  Jack held up the photograph. From the trees to the spire, it was a perfect match.

  The old woman held out a red tulip to him. Jack smiled and took it, showing her the photograph. She looked at it, shook her head and held up another two tulips.

  Jack dug out some lira and bought the flowers, giving the woman twice the cost. With a sigh, he put the photo back in his pocket and started toward the spire in the distance.

  “Are those for me or do you have a liaison?”

  Jack spun around.

  Tess arched an eyebrow. “It would be preferable if you were having an affair. Otherwise, you ditched me at the hotel just because.”

  Jack held out the flowers as a peace offering, but Tess shook her head.

  He shrugged. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  She narrowed her eyes and he held up three fingers of his right hand. “I promise to wake you in the future. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were a Boy Scout?”

  “Well, I wasn’t a Girl Scout.”

  Tess pursed her lips but then turned away to look around. “Too bad. The uniform would have suited you.”

  Jack laughed, glad she seemed to have forgiven him.

  “Did you learn anything?”

  He held up his flowers.

  She grunted in disappointment. “What do you think he was doing here?”

  Jack looked around. “I don’t know. Could have been anything. Maybe he needed a new belt?”

  Tess ignored that comment and scanned the square again. “It’s a perfect place for an exchange. No one would think twice about it.”

  “Yeah, but what was he exchanging? And with who?”

  “Whom,” she corrected.

  “Yeah, whom,” Jack said. There had to be something else. Something they were missing. “Why would a man who was hiding come to such a public place?”

  Tess opened her mouth to speak, but whatever idea she’d had never made it out.

  “Unless,” Jack said, turning around to look across the street where the spire was in the back of the photo, “he wasn’t coming here.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. He was here,” she said, jabbing the picture. “Photos don’t lie.”

  “But they don’t always tell the truth either,” Jack said as he looked beyond the square. “What if he was passing through?”

  “Then we’re back to square one.”

  “Maybe not.” Jack smiled, finding what he wanted to see. “If you were looking for a brilliant physicist, where would you look?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  Jack shook his head. “How about a university?”

  Tess shrugged. “I suppose, but—”

  Jack gripped her by the shoulders and turned her to the north.

  “How about that university?”

  Across the street, not more than one hundred feet from where they were standing, was Istanbul University.

  “Okay, that’s possible,” Tess said, trying not to sound impressed. “But still a long shot.”

  “Better than no shot,” Jack said. “Gimme one sec.”

  Before she could say no, Jack hurried back over to the little old man and handed him the flowers.

  “What was that about?” Tess asked when he returned.

  “Just a thank you for a kindness,” Jack said. “Now, what do you say we matriculate our way to the university?”

  Tess grinned. “I always loved school.”

  Chapter Ten

  ELIZABETH SAT DOWN ON the edge of the airport hotel room bed and smoothed down the sheet that lay over Charlotte. Simon seemed to think she took to this mothering thing like a duck to water, but inside, she felt like she was barely staying afloat. Although there were moments when it felt as natural as breathing, like now. It was just the rest of the time she was gasping for air.

  “Okay?” she asked.

  Charlotte nodded, but there was something a little different about her tonight. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Really-really?”

  Charlotte smiled, but it was a little sad, and just that touch of sadness went straight to Elizabeth’s heart. She brushed back Charlotte’s hair.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you think they’re okay? Mom and Dad?”

  Elizabeth was caught off-guard, although she knew she shouldn’t have been. As much as she might feel like Charlotte’s mom, she wasn’t, at least not yet and definitely not to Charlotte.

  “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  Charlotte nodded, unconvinced. “Yeah.”

  Elizabeth searched for the right thing to say, but the best she could come up with was, “It’s okay to be scared.”

  It was obvious that Charlotte was trying very hard not to be.

  Elizabeth shifted her weight so one leg was bent and resting on the bed. She’d lost her mother when she was just a little younger than Charlotte. A small part of her had felt like that frightened little girl every day since. Until now. Until she had one of her own. Maybe that was where that sense of peace came from.

  “I’m sure they’re fine and you’ll be back with them before you know it. But you will never be alone, Charlotte.”

  Elizabeth caressed her hair. “We might not be your parents, yet, but you’re part of us and we love you with everything we are.”

  Charlotte nodded again, her eyes growing moist.

  Elizabeth leaned in and kissed her cheek. “We should leave the worrying to Simon. He’s very good at it.”

  Charlotte giggled and Elizabeth gave her another quick kiss. She walked to the bedroom door and reached for the light switch in silent question.

  “Off,” Charlotte said.

  Elizabeth nodded, turned off the light and closed the door behind her. She took one last lingering look at it, then searched the room for her husband.

  In the sitting room, Simon glanced out of their hotel room window. Again.

  “You can relax a little now.”

  Simon grunted, his eyes unerringly darting toward the bedroom door where Charlotte was, before landing back on Elizabeth. The worry he carried made them heavy and intense. He turned back to his vigil at the window.

  Elizabeth took a seat on the lumpy sofa. “I don’t see how they could have possibly followed us. You drove all over creation and back. Twice.”

  Simon grunted again and let the beige curtain fall over the window. “Let’s hope so.”

  “I didn’t see anybody tailing us.”

  “I don’t know how you could see anything with that traffic,” he said, coming over to join her on the sofa.

  Elizabeth tucked her legs up under her. “We should call Jack. Let him know what’s going on.”

  Simon nodded and then sat down heavily, sinking into the “had seen better days” cushions, and frowned even more deeply.

  She put her hand on his thigh and he covered it with his own before turning it over and taking hold of it. Elizabeth leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Are we doing the right thing? Having her here?”

  Elizabeth lifted her head. “Haven’t we had this conversation?”

  “I
know, but…” He shook his head. “That was before.”

  “We knew we wouldn’t be the only ones looking.”

  Simon nodded. “And yet, now that I’m faced with it.…” He let out a deep breath.

  He turned to look at her, his eyes dancing across her face, searching for something. She cupped his cheek and smiled at him, wanting to reassure him. That seemed to be what he’d been looking for. A smile came to his lips and he kissed the back of the hand he held.

  He tilted his head back, resting it against the sofa back. “Do you think this feeling ever goes away?”

  She laid her head back and turned to look at him.

  “Ever since she arrived, my heart…aches,” he finished with a helpless smile.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I kind of hope not.”

  Simon nodded and Elizabeth inched forward to kiss him. It was soft and gentle. They pulled apart and just looked at each other for a moment. It was one of those peaceful, perfect moments. And it was shattered by the titanic roar of a plane coming in for a landing, apparently ten feet over their heads.

  Elizabeth laughed and sat up. “So, are you ready for phase three?”

  Simon pushed himself up from the sofa and retrieved the canister from his jacket. He brought it back and held it out.

  “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Elizabeth sat up a little straighter and wiggled in her seat. She took the small tube and pulled the cap off. At the top of the slip of paper was the number 99.

  “Ninety-nine?” she said. “How does that follow thirteen?”

  Simon frowned and read the note aloud. “A mad hatter’s tea party fit for a king.”

  “You don’t think he means Zog, do you?”

  She’d actually met, well, tripped, a king once. King Zog, the Albanian monarch had taken a header over her loose shoe at a hotel in war torn London.

  “He’s the only king I’ve met…I think,” she added. “Unless you count mummies.”

  Simon took the paper from her hand. “No, I’m quite sure he doesn’t mean that.” He looked at her with dark, haunted eyes.

  “Then…?”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Kashian. King Kashian.”