Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Marilyn Baron
The Siege A Novel
Copyright
Dedication
The Tanais Tragedy:
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Part Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Three
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Acknowledgments
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Go back to your room,” the American tour director ordered, shouting at the woman.
“I can’t get the door to open,” Theia protested, thrusting her key card at him in frustration.
The tour director hurriedly took the proffered card in sweaty hands and tried the lock, which didn’t click. He jammed the key card into the slot again, to no avail.
A man opened the door and stuck his head out of the room. “What’s wrong? Is this some kind of a fire drill?”
“It’s no drill. Get back in your room and shelter in place until I give the all-clear. Don’t open the door to anyone.” The tour director returned Theia’s card. “Get back in your room with your husband.”
“This is my room, but he’s not my husband,” Theia insisted.
“There must be some kind of mistake,” the man in the room announced. “This is my room.”
The tour director grabbed the woman’s key card again and examined the key holder. He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and looked at Theia like she was a recalcitrant child. “You’re on the wrong floor, miss. This is Room 515. You’re in Room 415.”
“I’m sorry.” Theia blew out a breath and turned to leave. The tour director blocked her way.
“Excuse me, but I need to get back to my room.” Tears of exhaustion pooled in her eyes. She wanted to scream.
“I’m afraid you can’t go anywhere. We’ve disabled the elevators for your safety, and hotel security is blocking the stairs, for now.” He ushered her into Room 515 and pushed her into the arms of the man standing at the door.
Praise for Marilyn Baron
“Marilyn Baron’s STUMBLE STONES grabbed me from the start with its opening hook… STUMBLE STONES, named so for the plaques laid in tribute to victims of the Holocaust, possesses the best qualities of historical romance. Baron knows her settings and her history, and her characters, those both contemporary and in the past, are well-drawn and convincing. Baron has a great talent for dialogue, both in the banter of her modern lovers, as well as those engaged in much more serious conversations in the novel’s past narrative.”
~Georgia Author of the Year Judge
“THE ALIBI is an unfolding of a tale filled with Southern, small town mystery, intrigue, suspense, murder, and a bit of down home charm. [It] is humorous, shocking, downright scandalous in a small town sort of way, and an absolute enjoyable read.”
~Gabrielle Sally, The Romance Reviews (5 Stars)
“Baron has a compelling and entertaining story that will leave readers craving more of these characters’ lives! …a superb job with character development and credibility. As this mystery slowly unfolds, so many things are thrown at these characters in rapid succession—making the story fun and enticing! If you are a reader of mystery, suspense, and crime fiction, you may want to pick this up!”
~Turning Another Page, Book Unleashed (5 Stars)
“Marilyn Baron brings a unique style to her quirky and fast-paced stories that keeps readers turning pages.”
~New York Times Bestseller Dianna Love
“A treasure trove of mystery and intrigue….”
~Andrew Kirby
The Siege
A Novel
by
Marilyn Baron
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Siege
A Novel
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Marilyn Baron
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Women’s Fiction Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1863-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1864-6
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the Jews of Crete and Rhodes who perished
in the Holocaust,
and to what might have been.
To those who survived, and the next generations.
The Tanais Tragedy:
What Happened to the Jews of Crete
On the morning of May 29, 1944, the two hundred and sixty-five Jews of Crete, along with some Christian resistance fighters and Italian prisoners, were rounded up and arrested by German occupying forces in the old Jewish quarter. They were herded together and transferred into a convoy of trucks, taken to Ayias Prison, located not far from Chania (Hania), Crete’s second largest city, where they were kept in inhuman conditions.
On the moonlit night of June 8, 1944, they were transferred to Heraklion, the largest city on the island of Crete, and herded into the cargo hold of the Tanais, a requisitioned merchant vessel sailing in a convoy to Piraeus (Athens). There they would have joined Jews from Corfu and Zakynthos, headed by train for the concentration camp at Auschwitz.
At 2:31 a.m., on June 9, thirty-three miles northeast of Heraklion, off the island of Santorini, the Tanais was sighted by the British submarine HMS Vivid. At 3:12 a.m., the submarine fired two torpedoes and sank the ship within fifteen minutes, wiping out almost the entire Jewish population of Crete: the Jews and all aboard in its hold went down to a watery grave. Of the hundreds of victims, more than one hundred were children.
There was no counterattack. Wreckage was sighted—fifteen floating pieces of wood of various shapes and sizes and twelve forty-gallon oil drums, probably fuel.
For several years, there was a debate surrounding what caused the Tanais to sink. Many people believed that the Germans had sunk the ship themselves, to exterminate the Jewish hostages. The Germans always kept the cargo of their convoys a closely guarded secret, so the British wouldn’t have known the Jews were aboard. The Allied Command regularly made indiscriminate attacks on all German and Italian convoys.
At least 60,000 of Greece’s total pre-war Jewish population perished. Approximately twenty-five Cretan Jews outlived the war. Several evaded the roundup immediately before the deportation, and others, members of the 5th Cretan Division, did not return to the island. Today, there are only a dozen Jews left in Crete.
Part One
The Siege
“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist palette which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.”
~Marc Chagall
Chapter One
Florence, Italy
�
�Shelter in place. Shelter in place! Lock your doors and shelter in place. Stay away from the windows!” A man’s panicked voice, a horseless Paul Revere, harbinger of a coming invasion, echoed down the long, carpeted hallway of the Hotel Dei Fiori in Florence, as Theia Constas, dead on her feet, tried her room key for the second time.
“Go back to your room,” the American tour director ordered, shouting at the woman.
“I can’t get the door to open,” Theia protested, thrusting her key card at him in frustration.
The tour director hurriedly took the proffered card in sweaty hands and tried the lock, which didn’t click. He jammed the key card into the slot again, to no avail.
A man opened the door and stuck his head out of the room. “What’s wrong? Is this some kind of a fire drill?”
“It’s no drill. Get back in your room and shelter in place until I give the all-clear. Don’t open the door to anyone.” The tour director returned Theia’s card. “Get back in your room with your husband.”
“This is my room, but he’s not my husband,” Theia insisted.
“There must be some kind of mistake,” the man in the room announced. “This is my room.”
The tour director grabbed the woman’s key card again and examined the key holder. He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and looked at Theia like she was a recalcitrant child. “You’re on the wrong floor, miss. This is Room 515. You’re in Room 415.”
“I’m sorry.” Theia blew out a breath and turned to leave. The tour director blocked her way.
“Excuse me, but I need to get back to my room.” Tears of exhaustion pooled in her eyes. She wanted to scream.
“I’m afraid you can’t go anywhere. We’ve disabled the elevators for your safety, and hotel security is blocking the stairs, for now.” He ushered her into Room 515 and pushed her into the arms of the man standing at the door. “You need to stay here until we get this all sorted out.”
“But this is not my room!”
The tour director’s patience was wearing thin. “I don’t have time to explain, but you can’t move now!” He started to pull the door closed.
“Wait,” said the man in Room 515, trying to cope with a handful of seriously steamed woman. “What’s going on here?”
Other heads appeared out of other doors down the hall, setting off a buzz of concern.
“Is something wrong?”
“What’s all this racket about?”
“What’s happening?”
“Is there a fire?”
“We have a situation,” explained the frustrated tour director, his face growing progressively redder and his voice more strained. “You need to stay in your rooms and lock your doors until you receive further instructions.”
“But we were just going down to the dining room,” protested a man in a dinner jacket, heading out of his room, followed by his well-dressed wife, who was decked out in an impressive array of jewels.
“Stop,” yelled the tour guide, raising his hand in front of his face.
How could those people eat? Theia wondered. When she got to her room, she was going to shed her clothes, plop face down on the mattress, and zonk out for the rest of the evening. And dream about soaking her feet in a hot tub, which she would totally do, if she could actually summon the strength to climb into the tub. The full-day tour to Cinque Terre had been like a forced death march.
The tour director glared at the complaining couple emerging from Room 517.
He barked a staccato-like warning that brooked no dissent. “Do. Not. Come. Down. To the dining room!” Then he ran down the hall toward the stairwell, issuing a final order as an afterthought before he disappeared. “And don’t panic!”
The buzz continued, but within minutes, doors shut, locks clicked, and the hallway was silent as a darkened cemetery.
“Don’t panic?” Theia repeated incredulously, shaking her head. “He practically threatens us and then he says, ‘Don’t panic’?”
She stood face-to-face with a tall, dangerously handsome stranger, who looked to be about thirty, blocking her way into the room—apparently, his room. As soon as she noticed his Aryan blond hair and blue eyes, she dismissed him. His traditional good looks might as well be a neon sign flashing Not My Type.
“The tour director just pushed me in here,” she said flatly, stating the obvious.
“It’s okay,” the man in the room said calmly, unhanding the struggling girl. “You’re welcome to stay until this, whatever this situation is, is over.”
She looked beyond the man and around the room. It was more of a suite, if she was going to be literal, obviously much larger than hers, featuring a separate living area with a Mediterranean décor. She took in the ceiling beams, skylights, large picture window, and balcony. Besides the elephant in the room, the giant king-sized bed, there was a lot to focus on. She stared suspiciously at the man in front of her.
What if he’s a terrorist?
“Don’t worry. I’m not a terrorist.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because you just asked if I was a terrorist.”
I said that out loud? I must really be exhausted. “I don’t even know you.”
“We’re in the same tour group. You sat next to me on the bus today on the Cinque Terre excursion.”
Theia stared at him blankly. “Well, I don’t remember you.”
The man shrugged. “I get that a lot. I seem to have that effect on women. Look, Miss Always Bringing Up the Rear, I’m exhausted. My feet hurt. I wasn’t even going down to dinner. I need to rest.”
“Bringing up the rear? What do you mean by that?” Theia demanded.
“On the excursion today, you were the perpetual straggler. The other people on the tour nicknamed you ‘the Trailer.’ ”
Theia frowned. “I twisted my ankle on the cobblestones. I was having trouble walking.”
“If you remember, I tried to help you, and you blew me off. I think your exact words were, ‘I don’t need your help. I work out.’ Although I don’t know what working out has to do with anything. I should have run in the opposite direction. You have some mouth on you.” He stared at the mouth of his unwilling guest unflinchingly until she looked away.
“I’m leaving. I don’t need to be insulted in my own room.”
The man chuckled, revealing his dimples, which just served to infuriate her. “It’s not your room now, is it? And you’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her farther into the room by the shoulders, led her over to a desk chair, and plopped her down into it. Then he went back to lock the door and latch it.
Theia pouted and folded her arms across her chest before making her pronouncement. “I don’t want to be here.”
“That makes two of us. I’d rather be enjoying a nice meal downstairs in the dining room. Or a good soak in a hot tub. But I don’t have the strength to move, let alone eat or bathe. You heard what the tour director said. We don’t have a choice. There’s some kind of situation, and we are supposed to stay right here until it’s resolved. It sounded serious.”
“Do you always do what you’re told? Yes, of course you do. You look like the type who always follows orders.”
“Typically, that’s the best course of action. Following the rules usually produces the most positive outcomes.”
Theia looked at him like he had two heads. “I want to go to bed.”
The man indicated the bed beside her. “Be my guest.” He hesitated. “Look, we may as well get to know each other, if we’re going to be stuck here. My name is Wade, by the way. Wade Bingham.”
“Wade in the Water…” She began singing the familiar spiritual in a deep bass tone.
“That’s hardly original. I’ve only heard it a billion times. And what’s wrong with my name?”
“You have to admit Wade sounds sort of stuffy. Sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“And cranky,” Wade added.
“Okay, and cranky. I’m Theia Constas.” She reached out her hand. He shook it.
>
Wade walked over to the window.
“What are you doing?” she asked, close on his heels. “The tour director said to stay away from the windows.”
“I need to find out what’s going on.”
“Do you always disobey instructions?”
He rolled his eyes. “Make your mind up. Am I obedient or disobedient?”
“Sorry, I’m so tired I can’t think straight. Can you see anything?” she asked anxiously, creeping up behind him.
“I don’t want to go all the way out onto the balcony.”
“What do you see out there?” Theia pressed, inching toward the window when all she wanted to do was collapse on the bed.
“A bunch of men dressed in black, wearing hoods and carrying automatic weapons—AK-47s, I think—and black flags. But it’s getting dark. I can’t count how many people there are. There are some bodies on the ground. I didn’t hear any shots.” He pulled the drapes closed.
Theia shivered. “Are you saying there really are terrorists outside our hotel? How can this happen in Italy?”
“Don’t you read the newspapers or watch the news? It can happen anywhere. It is happening everywhere. They could already be inside the hotel.”
“What are we going to do?” Theia twisted the straps of her cross-body bag nervously.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait.”
“Wait to be blown up or shot or beheaded…or worse?”
“What’s worse than being beheaded? Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I can’t help it.” Theia paced the room. Then she plopped back into the desk chair. “Patience isn’t one of my strong suits.”
“I noticed. This is an unusual situation.”
“You’re pretty zen about the whole thing.”
“I’m an actuary.”
Theia burst out laughing. “I would have guessed you were an underwear model. Figures I’d get stuck in a room with an actuary. I couldn’t get trapped with a soldier or a cop or a secret agent or a bodyguard? Or at least a super hero?”
“I create a hell of a spreadsheet. I ‘Excel’ in other areas also.”
Theia narrowed her straight, feathery brows.
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