by Darren Swart
In perfect English, Gretchen responded, “I think I may have something you might want, Ms. Kelly.”
“Call me Gillian, please.”
“Very well, Gillian. I think this might help you.” She dipped her hand deep within her cleavage.
Gillian arched her eyebrow. “Sorry, Toots, I don’t swing that way.”
For the first time, Gretchen’s face formed a slight expression as she furrowed her eyebrows and scowled at her. Wordlessly, she tugged the stone free and offered it with an open palm. Gillian’s gaze locked onto the object without thinking. She moved her free hand forward; it was like Gretchen were holding a scorpion. As soon as Gillian was close enough, Gretchen plunked it into her hand. It had been a long time since Gillian had been at a loss for words. She furrowed her brow, as she looked from Gretchen to the jewel. “How did you get this?”
“That is irrelevant. What’s important is that the duke does not know the stone he has is a counterfeit. You hold a bargaining chip beyond value. Please use it wisely.” Gretchen looked at her watch. “I must be getting back.”
Gillian stared at the stone. When she looked up, the woman was gone. She finished toweling off, holding the stone tightly as she did. Fresh underwear had been laid out for her. She took the stone and placed it in her own bra. Sometimes, the old tricks were the best tricks. She had been searched thoroughly before she came in. They would not suspect she had anything hidden, or so she hoped.
She walked out to find Frau Schmidt waiting for her. Several outfits were laid out on the bed for her. She looked at the worsted wool dress and white linen blouse and snorted but said nothing. Frau Schmidt eyed her. She grabbed the least offensive outfit offered, a pair of khakis and a short sleeve mock turtleneck. There were four pairs of sensible low heels and one pair of flat loafers. The loafers would have to do.
Frau Schmidt led Gillian unescorted through the castle to the main dining hall for dinner. She considered her surroundings. As they went she picked out items along the hall: the catch on the rosewood panel; it was probably a hatch to a secret room; a miniature camera embedded in an eighteenth century sconce; an infra-red laser hidden in the doorframe. She saw the magnetic sensor on the frame of the hanging painting and the motion sensor a few feet away, but missed the painting itself. The subtle pastel overtones of Monet, himself, were lost to her.
She could sense the eyes on her by all the surveillance equipment, but she wasn’t going to make it obvious that she knew. They entered the dining hall from a side door. As she looked across the room, it occurred to her that it was the same size as a hockey rink. She wished she were playing hockey right now versus this dangerous charade. Frau Schmidt maneuvered her to a specific seat. The room was quiet, except for the staff shuffling behind her. Digger and Franz entered from another doorway shortly after her. Digger was seated beside her. She leaned over to him and whispered, “Are you okay?”
He grinned. “Beautiful. I don’t know what kind of pharmaceutical cocktail I had going there, but if they every start selling that over the counter I’m buying stock.”
She grinned. It was the same old Digger. His cup was perpetually half-full. One of the servants opened the door on the west wall for a distinguished gentleman and a dapper young man. They smiled and chatted, as he walked across the room. McPherson padded along behind them like a cur waiting for scraps. He looked none too happy. A chill went up Gillian’s spine. As McPherson looked at her, he gave her an evil grin. She tried to ignore him and pay attention to the two he had entered the room with.
The distinguished looking man wore refinement like a comfortable pair of shoes. His clothes were tailored; his hair, teeth and grooming were perfect to the point of being artificial. He stood ramrod straight inches above the young man beside him. She looked closer at the young man. There was something very familiar about him. Her jaw dropped when she realized that it was Marty. He looked like he had just walked out of a Scotch ad.
He looked up and saw her. Smiling broadly he walked across the room to her. “Hello, Love.” Taking her hand, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She was too stunned to move. As he did, he whispered, “Trust me.” in her ear.
She smiled falsely, as her open hand popped against the side of his face. It sounded like a rifle shot in the room. The room paused of activity in a moment of awkward silence. “That’s for wandering off and making me worry.”
Marty looked a little flustered and mumbled, “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The duke covered a bemused smile with his hand, but calmly carried on like nothing had happened. He looked Gillian in the eye, as he spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Duke Fredrick Lindenspear.” He extended his hand. She gripped his hand like a lumberjack and pumped it like a machine. She caught a tiny involuntary wince on one side of his neck for just an instant. She hoped it hurt.
The duke smiled graciously as he released her quickly hand, “So, is it an American custom to slap your lover?”
Gillian felt a little foolish. Pent up angst had gotten the better of her. She would never have let her emotions drive her before. Franz sat. Although his face was stoic, he squirmed mentally. The room was a powder keg of upheaval. McPherson stood behind them like a dog straining against a weak rusty chain. With a snap of his fingers, the duke instantly defused the situation. The staff stood by nervously until the order. Now, they swiftly descended upon the guests with cocktails and appetizers. Marty sat stiffly across Gillian. While he was resolved to see this out, he was torn that she would not understand. It was like she knew what he was thinking, she subtly winked and flashed a flicker of a smile which quickly dissolved, as she instructed her attendant as to how she wanted her end cut of filet mignon. Marty relaxed, as he ordered the filet of sole. The Scotch and soda burned the back of his throat, as he drank it quickly and signaled for another.
The table hummed with activity, as food and drinks flowed in and out like the tide. In the midst of the beehive, Digger could contain himself no longer. Without warning, he stood and faced the duke. “So why are we here?”
Everyone stared at him in surprise. The duke settled back comfortably and interlaced his fingers, which peaked gently on his lips. “That is a complicated answer, Mr. Delgado. I will not insult you with pretense, since all the components I require are in place. You are all aware of certain aspects, but not clear on the grand scheme as it were. Today culminates an operation that has been running for over twenty years. Tomorrow could very well change the course of mankind, as we know it.” He opened his hands toward the three of them. “You and your friends have ushered in the final pieces of the puzzle.”
Marty watched with keen interest to see if the duke’s candor would extend to his friends. Digger continued his role play of a dippy California playboy. “So is this a miracle cure, or some plan to save the rainforest?”
“Nothing so mundane would interest me, Mr. Delgado. My plan is a bit more auspicious than that. In my experience, if you give mankind a golden ring, they will work it until they have turned into lead. I have no desire in solving the world’s problems. Had I, they would have been solved by now. Instead, I will give them something else to consider. Perhaps then, they would solve their own problems and move on. What if we introduced them to a new world order—one that was integrated with our own in a single social hierarchy?”
“I’m sorry… I’m afraid I don’t follow?”
“You may dispense with the play acting Mr. Delgado. What if I found what could be described as a quantum doorway?”
Digger sat and dropped the childish naivety. “So are you suggesting you’ve found a wormhole?”
“More to the point, I have found a means to create a wormhole. I have discussed my findings with several top scientists and theologians. They considered the information too vague and unreliable to be predictable. I fear that some of our greatest minds tend to succumb to mediocrity, if they did not propagate the concept.”
Digger cupped his chin with his hand and tapped his in
dex finger on his lips. “So the experts wouldn’t validate your findings?”
“More accurately, they laughed at the concept.”
“So, if I was to surmise, I would say that you have a hypothesis and now you need a means to test it?”
“Quite the contrary. I have the means to test it. Now comes the task of doing so. There is only one way. Someone must go through the portal to the other side.”
McPherson moved forward from the wall and presented the duke with the final stone. The duke smiled, as he caressed it in his hand. It was warm and smooth to the touch. Without looking up, he said to no one in particular, “My family has sought this for eight centuries, since the age of Lavigne.”
He finally looked up. With a distant look in his eyes he said, “Thank you, Mr. McPherson. Now, would you be so kind as to ready us for a voyage to the Middle East? We leave for Jordan in the morning.”
“For how many, Sir?”
Without looking up, he murmured, “All of us, Mr. McPherson. All of us.”
McPherson was crestfallen. He had hoped there would be killing to be done tonight. Perhaps the duke will allow me to sacrifice them in the Middle East? Then I could throw their bodies off of the side of a mountain and watch them fall out of sight. The fantasy cheered him. As he left the room, everyone could hear him whistling a happy tune. No one wanted to know why.
****
It was late, as they walked back to their rooms holding hands with two attendants following closely in tow. It was a chaperoned first date. Gillian thought it was sweet in a demented kind of way. She gave him a sly sideways glance. “You really had me worried back there.”
“Me? He is good looking and all, but he’s really not my type. You needn’t worry.”
She gave him a tiny frown for being so flippant.
They reached his room first. He smiled. “Care to come in for a night cap?”
She looked deep into his eyes. She cupped his face softly in her hands and said, “I thought I lost you. I was dying at the thought of it.”
Hans and Frau Schmidt looked at each other, wondering what to do.
Behind the walls, men in black jumpsuits buzzed angrily back and forth like agitated wasps, preparing to protect the hive.
Marty put his arm around her and drew her to him. Her lips were warm and willing. The closeness of her body lit a fire within him. Her wanton embrace fueled it. Hans cleared his throat. Marty could have cared less.
Men in black jumpsuits paced like chained junkyard dogs. Snarling against an invisible chain, they ached for the opportunity to jump the Americans. A tiny earpiece held them at bay. “Hold your position. Engage only on my command.”
Marty drew away, slowly. Gillian rested her head against his chest, as she wrapped her arms around him. He looked over at Hans, smiling. With a loose hand gesture to Frau Schmidt, he said, “Feel free to do the same.”
Frau Schmidt’s thick neck turned red.
Digger snickered from behind. “Get a room, you two.”
He put his chin on the top of Gillian’s head. “It looks like our chaperones are getting impatient.”
She whispered, huskily. “Just one more kiss, please?”
Men in black jumpsuits waited, poised to burst the secret opening in the wall and pounce cat-like on the pair. They waited like track stars for the start gun to sound. In anticipation, their taut muscles rippled beneath black uniforms.
This time, his arms cradled her close to him. They swayed in unison in the moment. Hans gently put his hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Please, Sir, we must go. It’s for you own good.”
Gillian was the first to break away. She moved slowly, her eyes never breaking contact with his. Hoarsely, she said, “In the morning…” It was all she could get out. Her voice was thick with emotion.
Marty caught the tear in her eye. The baseball size lump in his throat threatened to strangle him. It was all he could do to manage a smile back. “Until then…” was all he could manage. His voice was barely above a whisper.
Hans opened his door and ushered him in before they could embrace again. Frau Schmidt shooed Gillian down the hall, all-the-while wishing she could leave the young couple together.
Men in black jumpsuits slunk back to their listening posts, tails between their legs, despondent at the lost opportunity.
Chapter 38
She questioned herself as to why she was even doing this. Perhaps it was that she had never had any real relationships outside of family? Perhaps it was that she was grieving over her dead sister? Perhaps it was an intuitive urge to right the many wrongs she had orchestrated? For whatever the reason, her next action could not be undone. On this hallowed eve of destiny, this final night that everything would be normal in the castle, she chose to do something against her master’s wishes, something so wrong that she would probably die horribly for it. Unlike Anna, who died quickly and cleanly, she would not be afforded such luxury. Hers would be a death of agony and pain. And yet, she still proceeded. Her step hastened, as she approached door number 312. Its numbers faded, its finish worn, but it was still quite legible. The stoic figure of a coal black tunnel cat sat unmoving at the threshold of the door. The staff only fed the creatures occasionally to keep them alive. Otherwise, they remained forever hungry and hunting. Almost all of the creatures were feral. They’d lived for centuries in the dank narrow corridors hunting rats and mice with little to no human contact. She stopped at the door and stared at the animal. Its eyes glared back, challenging her to make the first move. It was an omen that she would face many fears in the coming days, and this was but the first. She tried to shoo the animal away only to have it hiss and growl at her. Stoically it posed like a guardian at the doorway. Gretchen kicked at the animal only to have it spit at her and move a few feet away. It was as though the animal were protecting the room. The hairs on Gretchen’s back stood on end, but it did not deter her.
Gillian sat quietly in a chair, her knees were tucked under her chin, as she stared out of the darkened window before her. Tears streamed across her cheeks, dampening her blouse. Long ago, she had resolved to herself that she would die alone in some hell hole. She had accepted that. Soldiers don’t dwell on it. They focus on survival. It was what made the soft comfort of the room wrapped in despair such a bitter pill now. She was finally ready to abandon her hollow existence and give her life meaning, only to have it stripped away before she could consummate her feelings. She bit her lip, as the tears flowed a little heavier. It was probably the first time since she was ten that she had been distracted. There was a faint click as the catch opened on a secret panel into the room. A silent black figure glided unnoticed into the shadows behind her.
****
The attendant had finally left. The room was silent, save the steady tick of the mantel clock and the occasional pop and crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. Marty stared at the ceiling, as the light wiggled and squirmed above him from the mellowing fire. The whirlwind of events swirled in his mind; Gillian in the back of the Range Rover, the Ark, Gillian kissing him, the Library, Gillian…
Sleep would be impossible tonight. He heard the faint click of a hidden tumbler, as he sensed someone had entered the room. The shadows from the moonlight danced and swayed. He could tell where the shadow ended and where the assailant began. He controlled his breathing and waited. Adrenaline pounded in his ears. He wondered if it was McPherson. Most likely, his attacker would strike at him from his side of the bed. Slowly, quietly, he eased his legs from under the silken sheets. It would be easier than coming across the bed. He waited. His mind was on alert. There were alarm bells ringing in his head. The assault did not come as expected. The assassin came from the opposite of the bed. He drew back his hand, ready to strike when the familiar scent stopped him. “Gillian?” he whispered.
A delicious finger drifted across his lips, followed by an engulfing kiss. His hand found its way from her head to her bare back. They rolled over and he dragged his lips down her neck to her bosom. He felt her
draw a sharp breath. He leisurely worked his way back to her waiting lips. She kissed him, hungrily. Impatiently, she pushed her body against him. He could sense the yearning in her touch as she clawed at his back. They rolled, almost falling out of bed. She giggled, as they worked their way deeper into the silk sheets. Lathered in sweat, their bodies almost stuck together from the suction. He savored every delectable moment that she racked her nails gently down his chest. They rolled again, as her powerful legs drew him tightly against her. They capitalized on the direness of their situation. Overcoming any awkwardness of a first experience, there was only passion left. The hour they spent together felt like moments. Marty lay back, twitching from exhaustion. He drank in her intoxicating scent which permeated the air around them. She nestled against him, purring with contentment. For the briefest of moments, he drifted off into a delicious slumber. As he slept, she watched his chest rise and fall. Ever so gently she touched the soft curl of his hair and felt the silkiness in her hand. Marty dreamed of the soft touch of her lips to his. He was unaware of her silently slipping from their bed. Moments later, his eyes flew open only to find her gone, like a cloud in the night. He lay there, contemplating if this had been another dream. He wiped his face. As his hand rested on his stomach, he felt the moisture she’d left behind. He smiled and fell back into a contented sleep.
****
The cramped hallway was empty except for a half-starved black cat that purred, as it rubbed against her bare leg. She affectionately scratched behind its neck and felt it quiver in her hand. Naked, she padded back to her room.
****
Digger lay awake in his bed. His mind drifted to home. He missed California and his parents. Seeing Gillian and Marty together in the hallway reminded him of his mom and dad. After so many years of marriage, they were still very much in love. He was happy for Gillian and for Marty. He loved them as friends, as he did with most people. So, it pained him to consider Franz’s betrayal. His world tended to be more polarized, more black and white. There were good guys and bad guys. Suddenly, the good guys weren’t so good anymore and the duke didn’t seem like such a bad guy. This would all be easier if he were calculating an orbital path around a halo of dark matter in the Horsehead Nebula. So much for the good old days, he thought. Despite being so wound up, he suddenly drifted into an almost coma-like sleep. His dream carried him far away into the deepest of space. From a vantage point never experienced before, he suddenly changed his perception of what space was. It was like a vast neighborhood of celestial bodies. He whistled to a vast wormhole, which in turn wagged a long conical tail like a puppy. A massive red gas giant drank swirling red superheated gas like a cocktail. A white dwarf invited Digger over. It all seemed so civilized, so well-ordered. The physics of what he had only seen in degrees and equations now suddenly felt like a comfortable community. He slept contentedly like a child. Across the voids of space, Rachel saw his lips turn up in a smile. She smiled to herself. She knew she had made the right choice in him.