by Kate Breslin
“Captain!” Colin glanced toward the hermitage opening, praying Marcus was able to come to his aid. He blinked as the sweat stung his eyes, and every muscle in his good arm screamed from the strain of holding Petit’s weight.
The American was staring up at him with frightened eyes when one of the handles on the bag snapped. Petit let out a cry, and Colin thrust the hook at him. “Grab my arm!”
He grabbed at Colin’s metal hook, first with one hand, then with the other. Colin let out a savage cry as he tossed the kit bag back onto the path before gripping Petit’s arm.
Again his muscles convulsed, and the stump beneath his metal terminal ached with the pressure.
Suddenly the harness around his chest went slack, and the hook shifted against his wrist.
It was breaking away! Lord, please help us. . . .
Colin sensed someone beside him. “I’ve got him, Lieutenant.”
Marcus lay flat against the ledge and, using both strong hands, helped Colin to pull Petit back onto solid ground.
For several seconds, all three men lay on their backs, panting. Then Marcus finally stretched out his hand and retrieved Johanna’s bag from the path.
With his face etched in pain, he handed Colin his revolver. “You take it from here.”
CHAPTER
29
I wonder what’s taking them so long.”
Jo stared anxiously at the narrow cave opening through which she and her father had returned to the main chamber. They encountered Captain Weatherford on the way back and offered to give him assistance, but he insisted on going after Colin, and Jo was relieved.
That was before they heard the gunshot echoing through the cave. Now she fretted, waiting for their return.
“Your young man seems capable of taking care of himself.”
Warmth tinged her cheeks. “He’s not really my young man, Papa. At least, he . . . he hasn’t said anything.”
“I saw the way he looks at you.” His eyes twinkled. “And I saw that kiss in the cave. It’s obvious how you feel about him.”
Jo ducked her head, wondering if she should tell her father about Colin’s initial reason for coming with her on this journey: to keep his promise of love to Papa’s other daughter, Jewel.
Yet even now, Jo realized how much she and Colin had grown in their affection for one another. She yearned to be beside him and wondered if he had ever felt this same kind of yearning for her sister. He’d told her that coming back for Jewel was his chance at redemption, but was it the same thing as love?
“Do you love him?”
Startled at the question, she looked up at him, then decided to speak her heart. “Yes, Papa, I do love him. But there are things I need to tell him first.” She hesitated. “About my past.”
“I understand.” He touched her arm. Pain flashed across his features. “I have many secrets of my own, and now I must live with them.”
“Will you . . . tell me?”
His smile was kind. “I don’t think so, at least no more than what you probably already know. It is time for a fresh start.”
“What will you do now? I mean, if the book is recovered and you receive amnesty?”
“I’ve agreed to offer my services to the Americans. Beyond that, I don’t know, child.”
She started to ask him another question when a flash of light illuminated the narrow opening. “Look, I think they’re here!”
Her father raised his revolver toward the dark space, and Jo hoped it wouldn’t be Petit. That would mean something had happened to Colin or the captain.
“Jacob! I need your help.”
Colin! Jo’s chest grew tight as she watched her father approach the opening.
Petit stumbled across the threshold first, dirty and disheveled, his hands tied in front of him. Colin followed closely behind, appearing equally unkempt as he held a gun at Petit’s back while Jo’s kit bag dangled from the steel hook at his wrist.
Relief flowed through her at seeing him unharmed. Jo rushed to him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Colin kept his gaze fixed on Petit and held up the bag. “Take this. I’ve got to go back for Captain Weatherford.”
Her father already had his revolver trained on Petit. “Go and get Marcus, Lieutenant.”
Fifteen minutes later, Colin reemerged from the cave opening with Captain Weatherford. The captain looked a terrible sight, more tousled than the others and his pant leg soaked in blood.
“Let’s get out of here.” Colin’s face was grim. “Captain Weatherford needs a doctor.”
As her father escorted Petit at gunpoint from the caves and down the hill, Colin and Jo helped to support the captain.
“I can take Marcus down the mountain to a clinic in Collbató,” her father offered once they reached the cars in the parking area.
Colin hesitated, eyes on Zero. Finally he nodded and turned to Jo. “Can you manage Petit’s car while I keep an eye on him in the back seat?”
“Of course.”
Once they got the captain into his car, Colin went to relieve her father of Petit’s custody.
Jo withdrew her purse before handing the kit bag over to Captain Weatherford, and despite his pain, he grimaced a smile. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a card and gave it to her. “Here is . . . information for the general staff officer at the British Consulate in Barcelona.” His tone rasped with pain. “Colin can speak with him . . . they will keep Petit confined.”
Jo took the card. “We will see you there when you return.”
Leaning back in the seat, he winced with his injury. “Be . . . careful.”
Her father came around and shut the captain’s car door before embracing her in another fierce hug. “I will see you back in Barcelona, my little bluebird.”
His voice was as soft as she’d remembered from childhood. Emotion filled her as she closed her eyes against his shoulder. “I look forward to it, Papa.”
Once both cars were down the hill, Jo left her father and the captain in Collbató while she drove south with Colin and his prisoner. The trip to Barcelona took two long hours, and through it all, she gripped the wheel and endured the tense silence while Colin sat in the rear seat with his gun trained on Petit, who slept or pretended to sleep.
Jo was relieved to finally reach the consulate, and after Colin nudged Petit from the car, he gave her a quick glance. “Wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
Within a half hour, he was back, cranking over the car’s engine before he slid onto the seat beside her. “The general staff officer has Petit locked up until Marcus returns and G-2 can be advised.”
“Did Mr. Petit say anything?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “He thanked me for saving his life. And then he told me to go hang myself.” He shook his head. “Petit doesn’t look happy about his situation at the moment.”
He pocketed the cord she’d seen bound around Petit’s hands earlier. “Is that the rope?”
He retrieved the cord and held it up for her to see. It wasn’t a cord at all.
“Your suspender?”
He shrugged. “I’d already given my necktie to Marcus to bind his leg. I’m still wearing the other brace, so no embarrassing surprises with these baggy trousers.”
Jo arched a brow, smiling at him. “A clever improvisation.”
He grinned and again pocketed the brace.
“What do you think will happen to him? Petit, I mean.”
Colin’s humor faded. “He let his greed get the better of him; it could cost him his life in front of a firing squad.” He frowned. “And now we’ve got his accomplice to catch.”
“What accomplice?” Jo clutched the wheel and stared at him. “Where?”
“Your hotel. And hurry.”
Jo did as he asked, and by the time they arrived at the Coloma Hotel, Colin had told her all that transpired after she’d left him in the cave, including Petit’s reasons for taking the book—to sell to the highest bidder, with the intent to use
the proceeds to run off to South America with his accomplice.
“I should have known better than to believe that actress!” Her anger flared at learning of Odette’s duplicity. “She actually has Kepler tied up in his room?”
“That’s what Petit claims. The consulate is sending over a man from criminal investigations. He’ll meet us in the hotel lobby.”
The lobby was full of guests, and it was a few minutes before a short, stocky man in a dark suit came up and flashed his consulate passport. Using the same document, he parted the crowd, moving toward the front desk to obtain Kepler’s room number and an extra key.
“Johanna, wait for the elevator and take it upstairs to your room.” Colin eyed her with a stern look. “I’ll come for you once this is handled.”
Her heart raced. “Please be careful.”
He reached to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I promise.”
———
With the elevator busy, Colin and the consulate officer took the stairs and stood outside Kepler’s room. Colin banged on the door. “Captain, are you in there?”
Inside the room, a door slammed, followed by a muffled groan.
“Unlock it.”
The consulate officer inserted the key, and Colin withdrew Marcus’s revolver from his holster.
They found Kepler lying prone on the bed, his limbs hobbled with Miss Tremblay’s rope. A handkerchief had been stuffed into his mouth.
Colin scanned the room while the consulate officer approached the bed. Another door slammed nearby, and Kepler made more noises, jerking his chin toward a connecting door.
Gun poised, Colin opened the door and rushed inside. He quickly searched the space, including the bathroom. Both were empty.
He returned to join the two men. “Miss Tremblay is on the run.”
“She’s got a gun!” With the gag removed, Kepler gasped the angry words while the officer worked to remove his bonds.
Colin paled. Johanna was on her way to her room, a place the actress had visited before. “I’ll be right back.” He rushed out the door and down the hall, fear knotting his insides.
A shot rang out as he approached. “Johanna!”
He tried the door. It was locked. He began banging on the wood. “Johanna, are you all right?”
A woman’s cry sounded from within. Colin’s adrenaline surged, and he put his full weight into ramming against the door. When that failed, he used his hook to tear at the wood, trying to claw his way through.
He almost fell forward when the door abruptly opened. Holding a small derringer, Johanna stood with her hair more askew than usual.
The actress lay in a crumpled heap on the floor behind her. Colin rushed inside, checking the woman for signs of blood.
“She’s just fainted.”
His attention returned to Johanna, who looked more disheveled than frightened.
“May I borrow your suspender?”
It was a moment before he got over his shock, and a smile touched his lips. He obliged her, and soon they had Odette’s hands bound behind her back. Kepler and the officer arrived minutes later, and once they had revived the actress with cold water, the men took her and the weapon and departed.
Colin noticed Johanna trembling. “Come and sit.”
He led her over to the divan and took his place beside her, holding her while he tried to still her quaking. “Are you cold?”
“N-no . . . just a painful memory.” She looked at him. “I was opening the door to enter my room when Odette must have slipped up behind me. She shoved me inside, and I stumbled to the floor. Then I heard her close the door and throw the deadbolt.
“I still had my purse, so I rose up and turned to swing it at her.” Johanna pressed closer to him. “I didn’t realize she held a gun.”
Coldness swept through him. The actress could have shot Johanna at point-blank range.
“My purse knocked the gun out of her hand, and I made a grab for it. I held it pointed at her, and she charged me, so I fired a round just past her ear, into the wood of the armoire. I only wanted to scare her.”
“So she fainted?”
She nodded. “I think she believed I had shot her.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “You were very brave.”
“Irrational would be a better description.”
He smiled. “You were a good shot, too.”
“I’ve had some practice. Moira insisted I learn.”
Her words surprised him. “Were the bullies at school that terrible?”
She straightened and met his gaze. “You remember I told you that Moira had many crusades. One of them was Irish freedom. She became . . . involved with the Cumann na mBan, those women who aided the Irish Volunteers.” She bent her head, looking away. “My mother also took part in the Irish Citizen Army with Countess Markievicz. They carried weapons.”
Dread filled him, watching her twist her hands in her lap. “And?”
She looked at him. “After she brought me home from England, I became privy to secret meetings, and crates of German guns . . .”
Dear Lord, no. Colin closed his eyes. “What happened, Johanna?”
His question came out harsh, and he opened his eyes to see her crimped mouth and blond brows drawn over her dark blue eyes. Eyes so much like her father’s.
———
Jo flinched at his hard expression even as she knew she must put her love to the test. “We were in Dublin, at a shop on Sackville Street.” Haltingly, she told him about the events of that terrible day amid the burning smoke and destruction. “When I saw the soldier who had shot Moira, I drew my rifle up through the window. He must have seen it, because he turned his rifle on me. That’s when I pulled the trigger.”
She dared a look at Colin, whose features seemed almost white.
“And you killed him. A British soldier.”
His voice sounded wooden, and Jo swallowed. “The rifle . . . it was an old Mauser from some other war. It misfired, and nothing happened. I drew back the bolt to drop in a second shot, but then it jammed. I couldn’t do anything. After the soldier fired at me, I . . . I think Moira must have shot him. I fell back with the rifle onto the floor.”
She told him how she’d crawled to where her mother lay bleeding by the door, and then Moira’s final words to her to flee to her father.
Tears stung her eyes as fresh grief over her mother’s death mingled with the knowledge she had just surrendered any hope for a future with Colin. Surely her admission had destroyed what little affection he might have held for her.
“So you didn’t shoot anyone?”
Jo shook her head.
“Would you have kept shooting, Johanna . . . if the rifle had worked?”
His expression held a mixture of sadness and anger, and she swallowed before lifting her chin. “Yes, I would have kept shooting. I had to protect her, Colin. Moira was a rebel and a militant and a woman who followed her own set of rules, but she was still my mother. I could not let them kill her.”
“And you, just seventeen and fighting British soldiers.” He shook his head before he rose from the divan. “I’ve got to get back to my hotel. See if Captain Weatherford has returned.”
Jo stood quickly, keeping her back straight as she mustered what dignity she had left. Inside, her heart was breaking. “Of course. Thank you for your assistance.”
“I wonder that you need anyone, Johanna.” Grim lines formed along either side of his mouth as he studied her. “I’ll see you later.”
She watched him leave, and her broken heart split in two at the sight of the scarred door. Only minutes ago, he’d tried to tear his way through the wood to get to her and save her. Now she was a pariah. Johanna Dougherty Reyer, no better than her mother or her father, traitors all.
Her eyes burned, causing a tightness in her throat. He had said he would see her later, but she knew better. Jo would never see Colin Mabry again.
She was wrong.
Two days later, Jo and her father sat acr
oss from Captain Weatherford at his office in the British Consulate in Barcelona. Jewel’s diary lay on the desk between them.
Colin stood in uniform near the door. Jo glanced at him, her heart aching anew as she observed his rigid posture and remembered for the thousandth time his reaction to her confession.
Her father seemed to sense her distress and reached over to squeeze her hand.
Captain Weatherford sat at an angle behind the desk, his bandaged leg propped against a padded stool. A wooden crutch rested against the wall behind him. He pushed the book across the desk toward her father. “Show me.”
Picking up the book, Papa laid it against his lap. He slowly opened the cover and paused at the first page, running his fingers over the words written in dark ink:
My thoughts and impressions about Life and the War
by Jewel Bernadette Reyer, September 23rd, 1914
Almost reverently he splayed his hand across the page, and Jo’s lower lip quivered at the grief twisting his lined face. Then he set the book on the desk, open-faced. “A letter opener, if you please, Marcus.” His voice was rough with emotion.
The captain offered him a pearl-handled blade from the desk set, and Papa began to carefully peel back the lining from the book board. Once he’d removed it, he pulled away a protective transparent sheet.
Jo was startled to see that beneath the sheet were rows upon rows of tiny, keyhole-sized squares of photographic paper.
The captain leaned forward to examine the squares. Jo sensed Colin’s presence too as he gazed over her father’s shoulder at the tiny dark spots. “The Black Book?” Colin asked.
“The Black Book.” Her father turned to him. “Thousands of names. Thousands of scandalous secrets.”
Jo shook her head. “How can those small bits of paper be an entire book?”
Her father smiled. “Microphotography can shrink full-size documents down to a tiny size, allowing for the transport of hundreds of pages of messages at a time. It had its start with a man named John Dancer eighty years ago. About the time I was born, during the Franco-Prussian War, Paris was cut off from all communication, and pigeons had to carry information in and out of the capital. Once they arrived at their destination, a special lamp or a microscope was used to read and copy the microphotographed information. It’s still read that way now.”