Fragments (Out of Time)

by Monique Martin

  “Not a problem.” Elizabeth said, getting a firm grip.

  They walked down the narrow staircase into a rough-hewn alcove. It was cold and damp. The ceiling was low and Simon had to stoop down to keep from hitting his head. He held the lamp out into the tunnel.

  Bits of the ceiling had fallen recently. Piles of small rocks littered the floor of the tunnel. Small cascades of dirt rained down from the fissures. Elizabeth felt a shiver crawl up her spine and shook it off. After about twenty feet they came to another chamber. It was empty except for a small wooden chair with an ornate box on it. Druidic symbols were carved into the wood — earth squares and Celtic knots. She’d thought using the Book of Iona as a hiding place had been a random choice, but now seeing the box and the ancient symbols of protection on it, she was sure Evan had chosen it carefully. And he’d chosen well. The box had protected the Shard from falling into the wrong hands and now it was their turn.

  They knelt next to the chair and Simon held the lamp close. He lifted the lid and inside was something wrapped in a piece of soft leather. After a nervous glance at Simon, Elizabeth picked it up and unwrapped it. Her mouth went dry.

  Inside the leather wrapping was a piece of metal no more than three inches across, part of an ancient rune etched into the steel. It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn it glowed for an instant. “This is it, isn’t it?” she whispered. “This is the Shard.”

  “Yes,” Simon said, covering it up again. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t about to argue. She folded the leather over the Shard and put it back into the box. Such a small thing held so many lives in the balance. She clutched the box to her chest and followed closely behind Simon as he led them back down the corridor and up the stairs.

  Simon helped her through the hole in the wall and back into the study. She looked down at Watson’s body and silently promised him that he hadn’t died in vain. Simon stepped through the hole.

  He blew out the lamp and put it on a table. He nodded toward the box in her arms. “The sooner we can destroy that thing the better.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” They both spun around toward the voice. Elizabeth’s heart lunged into her throat. Andrew Blake stepped into the doorway to the hall. “I’ll take that.”

  Elizabeth clutched the box to her chest. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

  Blake’s face was dull, impassive. He completely ignored the body lying on the floor between them. “Give me the Shard.”

  Simon and Elizabeth shared a quick glance of concern. They both knew Blake wasn’t there to help them. Or anyone except himself. Simon turned back to Blake and narrowed his eyes. “No. I don’t think we will.”

  Blake’s lips curved in a cruel smile as he pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Elizabeth. “Think again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Blake’s gaze never left Simon and the point of his gun never left Elizabeth. Simon’s heart raced as he realized the truth written plainly across Blake’s face. He’d tossed aside his mask. No remorse; not even a hint of regret remained, just a cold-blooded murderer.

  Simon’s stomach dipped with the full realization. “You did this. You killed that man.”

  “He was very stubborn. And foolish. Let us hope you are not.”

  Elizabeth’s voice quavered as she asked, “How could you do that?”

  Blake ignored her. Simon needed to get closer to Elizabeth. He needed to put himself in the path of the gun. He took a small step toward Elizabeth, but Blake took an angry step forward. “Do not move. Step back.”

  Simon held his hands up in surrender and did as he was ordered. There had to be something he could use as a weapon. The only thing that suited his purpose was the fire poker and it was on the other side of the room. As if he’d sensed Simon’s thoughts, Blake moved further into the room until he stood next to the far edge of Watson’s desk, the fireplace just behind him.

  “You were the mole the whole time,” Elizabeth said.

  Blake’s eyes darted to Elizabeth and he gave her a deferential nod. “Very good. Yes, I was the mole. It was really a rather elegant plan even if I do say so myself.”

  “You leaked information and blamed it on the mole,” Simon said, working it out in his mind. “You were a hero because you’d found a weakness in their defense, but they never suspected you were that weakness. You cultivated their paranoia and their trust at the same time.”

  “And yours.”

  Simon’s jaw clenched. “Did you?”

  Blake’s false smile fell. “Enough. Bring me the Shard.”

  Elizabeth looked to Simon beseeching him for a plan he didn’t have. Simon realized he could get closer to Blake if he took him the box. Maybe he could wrest the gun away from him.

  Simon stepped forward to take the box from Elizabeth. “I’ll do it.”

  “No,” Blake said. “She will bring it to me. Now,” Blake said, waving the gun for emphasis.

  Elizabeth gave Simon a helpless look before she carefully stepped around Watson’s body and crossed the room to Blake.

  “Put the box on the desk. Gently.” Elizabeth did as he ordered.

  “Now, turn around,” Blake said, the gun trained on her as she did. “On your knees.”

  “No!” Simon said, as he lurched forward.

  Blake grabbed Elizabeth by the hair and yanked her head back toward him and pressed the muzzle of the gun under her chin. She cried out in surprise.

  “One more step and she’s dead!”

  Simon’s muscles tensed as he froze in mid-step. His entire body vibrated with anger and terror. He caught Elizabeth’s eyes for a brief moment and saw her fear and defiance. Simon raised his hands again and stepped back. “Please?”

  Blake shoved Elizabeth to her knees and put the muzzle of his gun to the top of her head. “You will stay where you are. Both of you, do you understand?”

  Simon’s heart clenched at the sight of Elizabeth, head down, hands balled into fists as she kneeled on the floor. Blake could have killed them when they first came out of the priest hole. A man who could torture Watson like that, certainly wouldn’t have had any qualms about killing the two of them. That meant only one thing. He needed them alive. For how long and why, Simon didn’t know, but it gave him hope. And if there was hope, there was a chance.

  “If either of you move,” Blake said, “even an inch. I will fire.”

  He glared at Simon who nodded in understanding.

  Blake kept the gun to Elizabeth’s head and opened the box with his free hand. He took out the leather bundle and put it down on the desk. Slowly, reverently, he unwrapped the Shard. “My honor is my loyalty.”

  Simon knew that phrase. It was the motto of the SS. Blake was one of them. All the pieces started to fall into place. Blake had killed Bernhardt, the German, one of his own, most likely because he bungled his mission to get information. Blake had helped them with Evan’s escape because he knew they would lead him to the Shard. And they’d done just that.

  Blake’s attention was completely fixed on the Shard, but there was no way Simon could move without Blake seeing, without him killing Elizabeth.

  “Wunderhübsch.” Blake stared down at the Shard enraptured. “From the Center of the World the Reich will smite the great dragon. The supreme race shall rule again.”

  It wasn’t political ideology that drove Blake; it was religious fanaticism and with that there was no reasoning.

  Blake folded the leather back over the Shard and put it into his coat pocket. “The Ahnenerbe have done their job and now I have done mine. My quest is almost complete.”

  Simon knew that the Ahnenerbe was the archeological branch of the SS. Their expeditions to find evidence of Nordic races ruling the world and even descending from Gods were well documented. He’d also read that Himmler had a special group of SS agents who thought themselves modern day Knights of the Roundtable, but he’d considered that fiction unti
l now.

  “Get up,” Blake said to Elizabeth. “Stand by your husband.”

  Elizabeth got to her feet and hurried past Watson to Simon’s side. She was pale and trembling, but alive. Thank God. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She nodded and they turned back to face Blake.

  “You are lucky,” Blake said. “And you will remain so if you do as I say.”

  “What do you want from us?” Simon asked.

  Blake kept his gun on them. “From you. She is here to merely ensure your cooperation.”

  “Cooperation in what?”

  “Unless Wells has misinformed me, you are quite knowledgeable in the occult.”

  “Is he one of you too?” Elizabeth asked, her voice raw and angry.

  Blake laughed. “Wells? One of us?” His laughter died. “Puerile American. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Did you know his grandmother was a Jew?”

  The contempt in Blake’s voice made the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stand up. It was one thing to watch documentaries about Nazi atrocities, but something else entirely to be standing face to face with one of the men responsible for them.

  Simon felt Elizabeth shudder at his side and he held her closer.

  “You disapprove,” Blake said. “Don’t you see that it is not a matter of ideology, but cleanliness. They are a parasite that must be removed.”

  Simon squeezed Elizabeth’s shoulder to stave off any reply she might have. He could feel her anger and he shared it, but arguing with a madman wasn’t going to get them out of this alive.

  His gun still trained on them, Blake picked up the handset from the phone with his other hand and dialed. “You will come to understand.”

  “Yes,” he said into the phone. “The flowers have been cut.” He listened intently, checked his watch and then continued, “The basket is in the shed. I understand.”

  Blake hung up and grinned. “We should go. We have an important appointment to keep tonight.”

  “Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked.

  He considered her question and then shrugged. “You will find out soon enough. It is best you understand what is expected of you. Your husband’s knowledge of the occult is the only thing keeping you both alive. If you cooperate, you will live to see Germany and serve the Reich.”

  “And if I don’t?” Simon said.

  Blake merely glanced at Elizabeth.

  Simon felt a wave of nausea. If he helped the Nazis he’d be condemning others to die and if he didn’t, Elizabeth would die.

  Blake tossed the wooden box that had held the shard into the fireplace. “Outside,” he said.

  He forced them to walk to his car and made Simon get behind the wheel. He and Elizabeth got into the backseat. “Give me your ring, Cross.”

  Simon looked down at the wedding band on his finger. It was just a thing. As long as Elizabeth was alive and unhurt nothing else mattered.

  “Take it off,” Blake ordered. “We don’t want to arouse suspicion. If Elizabeth is to be by my side at all times, and she will, she must appear to be my wife and not yours.”

  Cursing silently, Simon pulled the ring from his finger and handed it to Blake.

  Blake forced the ring onto his finger and turned to Elizabeth. “You will be the dutiful wife, do you understand? Stay quiet and do as I say and you might live to see Berlin. It is beautiful in the fall.”

  “If you think—” Elizabeth started, but Simon interrupted.

  “She will. Elizabeth, do as he asks.” He could tell she was struggling against her instinct to do something reckless. “Please?”

  She lowered her eyes and Blake took that to mean submission, but Simon knew Elizabeth too well. She wasn’t the sort to do anything against her will quietly, even if it meant her life.

  They took a winding route on the back roads toward Cornwall. After several hours they arrived in a small fishing village and parked along a lane near a small bed and breakfast. Simon started to open his door, but Blake clamped him on the shoulder. “Do not forget our arrangement.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Simon said. He wasn’t about to risk Elizabeth’s life. He would play along for now and wait for his opportunity.

  “Put the keys under the visor,” Blake said and Simon did as he was told.

  Blake got them a room and escorted them upstairs, careful to keep Simon in front of him and Elizabeth close to his side at all times. Once in the room, he seated Simon in the wooden desk chair by the window. Using his gun hand as a pointer, Blake had Elizabeth tie Simon’s hands and feet with curtain sashes, and then had her do it again until he was satisfied she’d given Simon no chance of escape. Her tearful blue eyes begged Simon for forgiveness as she secured the last sash and stepped away as ordered. He didn’t seem to see her as much of a threat. Truth be told, physically she wasn’t. Andrew Blake could easily overpower her, and worse. Simon prayed Elizabeth recognized that and wouldn’t try to play the hero.

  When Simon was secured to his specifications, Blake made himself comfortable. He used the pillows to make a makeshift headboard, and then leaned against them, one foot on the floor and the other stretched across the mattress, the gun resting on his thigh. He watched Elizabeth as she paced the length of the small room.

  “You really should rest,” he said. “We have a long night ahead of us. In about six hours, a small fishing boat will take us off-shore where we will rendezvous with a glorious U-boat to take us back to Germany. They have been ready and waiting for this moment for many months. It will, with apologies to Mr. Churchill, be our finest hour.”

  Elizabeth turned to Simon. They only had hours to escape. Once they were on the submarine their lives were forfeit and the Shard would be on its way to Germany. They couldn’t let either of those things happen.

  Elizabeth grimaced and rubbed her temple as she leaned against the wall.

  “Are you all right?” Simon asked.

  She smiled weakly, ashamed. “Hunger headache.”

  For a relatively small woman, Elizabeth had an endless appetite. He couldn’t blame her though. They hadn’t eaten since last night. That thought gave Simon an idea.

  “You need to get her something to eat,” he said.

  Blake arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

  “Unless you want your wife to fall into a coma. Which might be difficult to explain as you carry her to the boat,” Simon said.

  Simon could tell that Blake was on the hook, all he needed to do was reel him in. “She’s hypoglycemic. Low blood sugar. Surely, you’ve noticed how often she eats. If she doesn’t get something soon, she’ll pass out.”

  Elizabeth swooned slightly and even managed to look a little pale. If they could just get Blake to take them downstairs, if they were in public, they might have a chance.

  “I’ll have food sent up,” Blake said.

  “Small inns like this don’t exactly have room service,” Simon said. It was a risk. Everything now was a risk, but he had no choice but to take it. “You have the gun; I’m not going to do something to risk her life. But if you don’t do something to help her, now, you’re as good as sentencing her to death and you’ll find me most uncooperative then.”

  Blake took measure of Simon’s threat and slowly smiled. “I like you.”

  Simon and Elizabeth exchanged worried glances.

  “You understand how the game is played,” Blake said. “No simpering, no weakness. You play from a position of strength, even when you don’t really have it. Very well. I find I’m a bit hungry myself.” He held up the gun. “Best behavior.”

  The pub was crowded and noisy. Blake and Elizabeth sat on a bench together with their backs to the wall with Simon on the opposite side of the table. The gun was in Blake’s right pocket, close to Elizabeth.

  Blake ordered three pints of bitter. “To celebrate. A great moment in history.”

  Neither Elizabeth nor Simon drank to his toast. Blake didn’t seem to mind. He seemed almost giddy at the prospect of going back to
his homeland and bringing such prizes with him.

  The pub didn’t have any juice or sugar, but they did have jam and gave Elizabeth a piece of toast with a healthy glob of the stuff. She ate it like her life depended on it.

  “Better?” Blake said, sipping his beer.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said.

  Simon watched him carefully, waiting for an opportunity. When the food came, Simon realized what it was. Blake ate as many Europeans do. He held his fork in his left hand and his knife in his right and seldom set either down. Blake had a penchant for resting his right hand, the side with the gun, on the table next to his plate. If Simon could just communicate to Elizabeth what he needed her to do.

  Their eyes met over the table and Simon’s eyes beseeched her to see more than his worry. She noticed something and cocked her head to the side, but quickly looked back down at her food when Blake turned to her. It took several minutes for Simon to communicate what would have been five words. He couldn’t be sure she understood, but she was listening and watching.

  Simon changed the grip on his fork briefly, repeatedly, from his natural hold to a knife with the blade down. It looked like a nervous tick, but after a few repetitions, Elizabeth seemed to understand. She mimicked his grip for a split second and then shifted back to normal.

  Simon spread his right hand out on the table, palm down, hoping she’d understand. His eyes flicked to Blake’s hand and back to his own.

  Without much conversation, the meal was nearing its end. Quickly. Too quickly. If she didn’t strike now, they’d lose their chance. He silently begged her to move.

  Blake rested his right hand to the side of the plate and Simon saw Elizabeth’s grip change. With all her might she raised her left hand and stabbed Blake’s right with her fork.

  “Scheisse!”

  Blake pulled the fork out of his hand just as Simon lunged across the table and hit him square in the jaw. Elizabeth tried to grab for the gun, but Blake shoved her aside and she slid off the bench onto the floor. Simon reached over the table and grabbed Blake by both lapels. With one fierce pull, he yanked him out of his seat and dragged him over the table. Dishes crashed to the ground. Simon and Blake fell backwards into a heap on the floor, both struggling for the gun.