From the middle of London Bridge, the Tower Bridge was visible, arching its way over the river. “If we have time,” she said, “I’d love to see the Tower of London.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible. I don’t think it’s open for tourism. I’m fairly certain it’s a working prison right now. Hess was kept there, I think.”
She remembered only sketchy details of Rudolf Hess’s mysterious flight to Scotland and capture. It was a little creepy to think of Nazi prisoners being held so close to where they were. It was more than likely, she realized, that there were Nazi prisoners all over London.
It was unnerving, but not even the thought of Nazi spies could take her mind off what was important - lunch. It was past noon and the bread and jam they’d eaten that morning had long since worn off. Her stomach grumbled and she idly wondered if she was part Hobbit.
“You know what I’d like to do,” she said.
“Buy shoes?”
“Oh, that too, but first, can we get something to eat? I’m starvin’ Marvin’.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he said as he slipped an arm around her shoulder.
They took the underground from Blackfriars back to South Kensington and started back up toward their flat. They found a small restaurant and had fish pie, which was a bit like shepherd’s pie, but with fish instead of beef and Queen cakes, a sort of sponge cake with sultanas mixed in, for dessert. The whole meal cost them one and six, one shilling and sixpence, or about the equivalent of three dollars in modern money.
Filled with fish, they made their way up to Harrod’s. In many ways, life seemed so normal. When she focused just on that instant, on the minutia of the moment, it was easy to forget that there was a war on. Then there was a reminder like the pile of rubble of what had once been someone’s home or office. Then she remembered that the little brown boxes most people had slung over their shoulders with pieces of string didn’t hold lunches, but gasmasks. Even Harrod’s was a constant reminder of the war outside.
The store covered an entire block all by itself and, despite the war and shortages, was filled with every good, even if most of the items weren’t technically for sale. The shoes she’d picked out, like nearly everything else, could only be bought with ration coupons. They’d managed to bring a book with them, but when push came to shove, Elizabeth couldn’t use them. Even in the short time they’d been there, she could see the hardships the people endured. Knowing that the end wasn’t as near as they’d hoped, but still three years away, she couldn’t bring herself to take what little they had. She’d make do with what she’d brought. The shoes weren’t that bad really. She knew she’d get used to them and, in light of what every single person around her was willing to endure, had to endure, it felt like the least she could do.
However, by mid-afternoon, she was pooped. It was kind of embarrassing. They hadn’t done much really, but neither of them was used to walking so much. Her aching feet and tired legs were a shameful realization that most of her modern life was spent sitting on her bum. They decided a little rest in their flat was in order before they searched for a place for dinner.
As they climbed the stairs to their room, she felt the fatigue of the long, restless night and the day out finally catching up with her.
Simon keyed open their door and held it open for her.
“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I could use a nap.”
“Do you mean nap or nap?” Simon said with a leer.
Elizabeth walked backwards into the room and ran her hand down Simon’s chest as she did. “Maybe we should travel more often.”
He followed her in and the door closed behind them. For a moment, they were in pitch black. Then, there was an unexpected click from next to the bed and the room was suddenly illuminated. Elizabeth startled and whirled around, blinking rapidly against the light. When she saw a strange man sitting on the bed, she instinctively stepped back into Simon.
The man had a long scar that ran the length of his cheek and a big black gun in his hand. He stood up and pointed it at them. “Fancy a trip now?”
Chapter Eight
Simon’s first instinct was to protect Elizabeth and he tried to pull her behind him, but a second man stepped out of the shadows near the door. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of Simon’s grasp.
“Let her go,” Simon demanded. His heart and his mind raced. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The man by the door made a show of jabbing his gun into Elizabeth’s side. The shape of the gun answered Simon’s first question — broad grip, long narrow barrel — a Luger. That meant only one thing; they were Germans.
The one with Elizabeth whispered a hushed sibilant shushing sound in her ear that made Elizabeth visibly shiver. Simon’s fists clenched with an effort to stay still. He knew he couldn’t risk fighting the men. Not both of them. Not here.
“We will be the ones asking the questions,” the man with the scar said. “Pray you have the right answers, Professor.”
Simon’s body tensed as he struggled to keep from moving, his eyes fixed on the gun pressed into Elizabeth’s ribs.
“I know you are a smart man, Professor,” the man with the scar said.
Professor. That word echoed in Simon’s mind and released a torrent of questions. How did they know who he was? What did they want? And, above all else, how could he keep Elizabeth from being hurt?
“You will come with us,” the man continued. “And you will not make a scene or my friend will empty his gun into your wife’s belly.”
Simon ignored the chill that ran through his veins and sought out Elizabeth’s eyes across the room. She was frightened, but defiant. He silently begged her to go along and not to struggle. He knew her impulse was to fight back and he knew with equal certainty that she’d die in the trying. Have faith, he silently urged her. We will find a way.
Simon nodded to the man with the scar. “I understand.”
“Very good.” He prodded Simon with the gun before slipping it into his pocket. The other man held Elizabeth close and the gun even closer. The four of them left the little flat and made their way downstairs. They passed a couple in the stairwell that simply smiled and bid them a good day.
Every step down the hall and out into the street, Simon looked for an opportunity, but the man held Elizabeth too closely. The four of them walked down the street to a large black sedan. Simon scanned the sidewalk for something, anything that might help them escape, but with the gun digging into Elizabeth’s side, there was no move Simon could make that wouldn’t risk her life in the bargain.
The one with the gun on Elizabeth opened the back passenger side door. “Get in,” he said. “Move over.”
“Where are you taking us?” Simon asked.
“What did I say about questions?” the man with the scar said as he nodded to the man in the backseat with Elizabeth. He thrust the gun into Elizabeth’s ribs and she arched away from him and grimaced in pain.
“Don’t,” Simon pleaded.
Elizabeth caught Simon’s eyes and tried to assure him she was all right. She wasn’t. Nothing about this was all right.
“Get in.”
Simon gripped the edge of the car door and got into the passenger seat. The man with the scar got behind the wheel. He turned to Simon. “If you try anything clever, my friend will kill your wife. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” Simon said and looked back to see the man in the back seat put one arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder with his gun-hand pressed into her side. He tried to calm his racing heart and clear his head. He couldn’t let his rage take control of him. These men wanted something, something from him, but what could it possibly be? No one here knew who they really were. They’d been here less than a day; they hadn’t seen anything they shouldn’t have. He hoped it was all a mistake, a horrible mistake. That thought didn’t hold much comfort though. If anything, it was worse. Mistake or not, these men had no intention of letting them go. They hadn’t hidden t
heir faces nor had they bothered to blindfold them. It was painfully clear that these men had no intention of letting them out of this alive. Simon could only hope whatever these thugs needed him for gave him some leverage or bought him sufficient time so he could find a way to save Elizabeth and himself.
They drove for another ten minutes before the car turned off into an alley. Simon didn’t know the exact streets they’d taken, but he knew they were somewhere in Camden. They got out of the car and the gunmen led them down the alley.
Simon and Elizabeth’s eyes met again. Neither needed words to say what they were feeling. She was frightened, but she was ready to follow his lead. It was clear she understood as well as he did that the only escape from this would be one of their own making. Simon tried to silently assure her he’d find a way, when the man holding her jerked to a stop.
One of the men unlocked a heavy metal door and forced them inside. The man with the scar flipped on a light. They were in what looked like a storage room for some sort of music store. Crates of records and a few instruments were piled along the walls.
He led them through the storage room and into a dark hall where he opened another door. He turned on the light and gestured for Simon to go first. Simon turned back to check on Elizabeth. The man held her tightly, gun still pressed into her side. Simon clenched his jaw and. with little other choice, went through the door. It led to a rickety wooden staircase to the basement. He heard Elizabeth and the other man follow him down the stairs. The basement was large and mostly empty. A few crates were stacked along the walls and two chairs sat alone in the middle of the room, one tipped on its side. A single bare light bulb dangled from a ceiling chain.
When Simon reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned around. For a brief moment it was just the three of them. The man with the scar was still upstairs. He could tell from her expression that Elizabeth realized it too and her eyes took on a wide-eyed urgency. If they were going to move against the gunmen, now was the time.
The sound of a Glenn Miller record playing upstairs filtered down to them. The other man must have put on a record to muffle the sounds that would come from the basement. The sounds of their cries of anguish. Simon could not let that happen. The music distracted the man with the gun on Elizabeth.
This was Simon’s opportunity. He’d been plotting this moment in his head since they’d been taken from their room. First, a sharp blow to the temple to stun him and get control of the weapon. Second, a jab to the larynx to silence him. And, third, whatever the hell had to do to get Elizabeth out alive.
The man took his eyes off them and looked up the stairs. As he turned, the gun pivoted away from Elizabeth’s side.
Simon’s hand clenched into a fist. He started to lunge.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Simon whipped his head around and saw the man with the scar standing at the top of the stairs, his gun trained on Elizabeth. He’d been too slow and it had cost them their chance. With a grunt Simon stepped back and caught Elizabeth’s eyes. They both knew the moment and quite possibly their one chance at escape had come and gone.
“Idiot,” the man with the scar said to the other as he tossed him a few lengths of rope. “Tie them up.”
He kept his gun trained on Elizabeth as his partner picked up the toppled wooden chair and positioned it back to back with the other. He moved the chairs so that they were about two feet apart and facing away from each other. The man with the scar motioned for Simon and Elizabeth to sit down and his partner bound Simon’s hands to the wooden slats and then added ropes around his waist and ankles to secure him to the chair. As the minutes ticked past, Simon could do nothing but sit helplessly by. His hands strained against the bonds as he tried vainly to reach Elizabeth, to touch her. She was only a few feet away, but it felt like so much more.
The worst part though, was not being able to see her anymore. If he could just see her…He tried to turn his head to catch a glimpse of her, but one of the men shoved his head back around. Once they were sure the ropes were secure, the man with the scar casually walked around to stand in front of Simon. He smiled down at him, but there was no kindness in it. This man was ruthless and took joy in it.
Music filtered down from upstairs. A pulsing big band song filled with the rhythms of life made a strange counterpoint to the slow methodical cruelty below.
Simon strained vainly against the ropes that bound him. He’d brought Elizabeth to England to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him. A rich, full life. It would not end this way, he vowed. These men would not take her from him. Not here. Not today.
The man with the scar placed a foot on one of the crates, lit a cigarette and leaned forward, casually resting an elbow on his knee. He took a deep drag off his cigarette and then exhaled slowly.
“You’ve made a mistake,” Simon said. “We’re not whomever you think we are.”
“No?”
“Let us go and we promise not to say anything about this,” Elizabeth said.
Simon heard the defiance and the fear in her voice. The man with the scar just laughed. Simon knew what that laughter meant. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His only weapon was his mind. Maybe he could negotiate with them. He seemed to be their target.
“Let her go. You can keep me,” Simon said. He was desperate to find some way, any way to get Elizabeth out of there. “I’ll do whatever you ask, if you let her go.”
“Simon—”
“I could help you,” Simon offered. He tried to keep his voice calm. “I don’t know what you need, but I’m not without resources. But I’ll only help you, if you let her go.”
“I think it is the other way around,” the leader said. “You will help me because she is here.”
And then all Simon heard was the whip-crack of the man’s palm as it connected with Elizabeth’s face. She gasped and he could hear her swallow her cry of pain.
“No!” Simon said.
Simon tried to reach out and strangle the man smiling back at him, but the ropes cut into his wrists and the tethers on his rage were tested. His hands shook with the force of his effort, but the bindings were too tight. When he was free of them, he was going to make them both pay for that. He would beat them to a bloody pulp with his bare hands.
He heard Elizabeth take in a deep, unsteady breath. “I’m okay.”
The defiance in her voice made his heart ache and swell.
The man with the scar casually waved his gun toward Elizabeth. “Your wife is a lovely woman, Professor Cross. It would be a shame if anything ruined that.” He put the gun down on a crate. The ball of fear in Simon’s stomach was suddenly electrified.
“Guns are so messy, so indelicate. So quick.”
It was just a few feet away. So damn tantalizingly close. If Simon could just reach it.
Then the man pulled out a switchblade and flicked it open. He cut the air with the knife. “Knives are a tool for the artist.” He motioned for the other man to come to him. He handed him the knife and the man grinned.
“Alas, my friend is no artist. He’s clumsy. Too bad for your wife.”
The man took the knife behind Simon to Elizabeth. Simon’s entire body was on fire. “Elizabeth!”
He struggled against the ropes, cursing every moment that had led them to this. If his will alone were a weapon, both men would have dropped dead on the spot. Simon raged against the helplessness and fixated on how he would exact his revenge. If they touched her…
“Don’t listen to him, Simon.”
“Cut out her tongue.”
“No!” Simon roared. Simon squeezed his eyes shut to wipe out the image from this mind. “Please. What do you want from me?”
The man with the scar waved for his partner to stop. “Now that we have an understanding, we can begin in earnest. Who do you work for?”
Simon stuck with their script. If he could get them to just tell him what they wanted, he could come up with a way to deal with them. “I work for the
United States government. I do research in alternative materials.”
“Don’t tell them anything!” Elizabeth cried.
“Elizabeth, please.”
“You should listen to your husband. But then most wives don’t, do they? I know mine doesn’t.”
He smiled at Simon as if they shared some common kinship. It made Simon sick to his stomach.
“We’re here on family business,” Simon said. “It’s got nothing to do with the war.”
The man with the scar leaned back. “Everything has to do with the war.”
“Not this. We’re just here to take her uncle home.”
The smile faded from the man’s face. “Do not play games with me. What do you know about the Shard? Do you know where it is?”
The Shard. Simon’s mind raced for something, anything to latch onto, but there was nothing. He’d never heard of any Shard. He wished to God he had. He’d tell them anything they wanted to know if it meant saving Elizabeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man with the scar nodded to his partner. Before Simon could protest he heard the horrible sound of another slap. Simon tried to lunge out of his chair, but the ropes held him back. His chair rocked forward and then fell back into position. His arms strained against his restraints. The only thing he wanted in the world at that moment was to burst free and strangle them both with the ropes they’d used to bind him.
“I am not a patient man. But I will ask you again. What do you know about the Shard?”
Simon tried to think of something, anything to buy time, anything to keep the focus on him and not Elizabeth. He wracked his brain for any mention of a shard in history. “The Shard,” he repeated. “Maybe if you can tell me—”
Suddenly, the music stopped. Simon and the man with the scar looked toward the top of the stairs. Someone else was there. Please, dear God, let them be on our side, Simon thought.
The man with the scar picked up his gun and motioned for his partner to stay put. Slowly, he started up the stairs. The door to the hallway burst open and a gunshot rang out. Simon ducked reflexively, but ropes held him in place. The man with the scar grunted and stumbled back down a few stairs. He clutched his shoulder; blood seeped from the wound and stained the white of his shirt beneath his jacket. He returned fire as he retreated back into the basement.
Fragments (Out of Time) Page 6