by Eric Walters
“I thought you shot him,” Sir March—Bunny—said.
“Just a bluff. He’s tied up too.”
“Jolly good play, old man. First-rate!”
I pushed open the door. The man was on his feet, standing by the control panel that showed all the closed-circuit monitors, his hands still tied behind his back. I rushed over and swept his feet out from under him, and he crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
“Stay down,” I ordered. I pushed him away from the control panel, and he sort of rolled across the floor. I had to admit, I was glad to see that he was alive and even happier to see that he was still tied up. This would hold him until long after we’d gotten away.
I grabbed the phones and my wallet and handed Charlie’s bag to her.
“Look!” Charlie exclaimed. “There are people out there…people with guns!”
On one of the monitors we could see two men, dressed completely in black and carrying rifles. Another man appeared on a different monitor.
“Who are they?” Charlie exclaimed.
“They could be British security here to rescue us,” I said.
“Or Russian agents. He might have hit a panic button and called for backup,” Sir March said.
“What do we do?” Charlie asked.
I looked from one monitor to another. There was still nobody visible near the cab. They were coming in the other end of the building, and it was a big building. “We run.”
We rushed out of the room. The door to the outside was right in front of us. I eased it open, and light streamed in. I peeked out. I couldn’t see anybody. I motioned for Charlie and Sir March to follow. We climbed into the cab—me behind the wheel—and quietly closed the doors. I turned the key and the engine started with a roar. I had to back it up to get out. I started to inch along the narrow passage and then a man popped out of the door and ran toward us, weapon in hand!
“Hold on!” I screamed. I floored it, and the car careened down the alley, scraping and bouncing against the walls, sparks flying as metal hit brick. We popped out of the alley and I spun the wheel and slammed on the brakes, spinning us around. I hit the gas again and laid a patch of rubber as we squealed away. I looked into the rearview mirror and the man, now joined by a second, was running down the alley, getting smaller and smaller as we sped away.
FIFTEEN
I pulled the cab onto a side street just down from the Underground station. I tried to climb out, but the door wouldn’t open—it was jammed. I put my shoulder into it, and it finally popped out. No wonder we’d been attracting so many curious stares: the car was bashed and scraped, and a piece of metal was hanging down from the rear door.
I hauled open the back door, and it let out a loud groan. Charlie helped Sir March out of the cab. He seemed a little shaky on his feet, but after what he’d gone through, it was remarkable that he was even standing. Throughout the drive, he had kept muttering about the Nazis and how Churchill would be contacting Stalin to express his disapproval of the actions of their so-called allies. I knew Charlie thought I might be able to get information from him about my grandfather, but how could I believe any information he gave me? How could I trust somebody who seemed to have forgotten so many decades of his life?
“Where to?” Charlie asked.
“I’m not sure where to, but I’m sure where from. Let’s get as far away from this cab as fast as we can.”
“Leave the keys with the cab,” Charlie said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe somebody will steal it, and then they won’t be able to trace our movements.”
I tossed the keys in through the open window, and we headed down the stairs to the Tube. Charlie held on to Sir March on one side and I stayed on the other, not wanting to insult him but ready to grab him if he started to tumble.
“At least we’ll be safe down here,” Sir March said. “Even the German bombs can’t reach this deep.”
“You’re right, we’re safe,” Charlie said. She looked at me and whispered, “Just go with it. There’s nothing to be gained by arguing.”
Charlie purchased tickets and we went down another level to the platform. All the way down, I kept looking over my shoulder to see if we were being followed. We were—by about a hundred people—but none of them looked suspicious. Then again, neither had Jack the cab driver or the couple by the Thames. It made me wonder about the overly friendly Canuck who’d bothered me in the lineup for the Eye.
Almost immediately, a train came whooshing into the station. We boarded and helped Sir March into a seat, then stood over him.
“So where should we go now?” I asked.
“Someplace out of the public eye. Someplace private,” Charlie suggested.
“So we don’t risk running into any more Russian spies or somebody looking for our little Bunny here,” I said.
I looked down at Sir Bunny. His eyes were closed, his head angled off to the side; a little bit of drool was running out of the corner of his mouth. He was asleep.
“I guess we should try to get him back home,” I said.
“And get ourselves arrested?” Charlie asked.
“We’ve got to do something. It’s not like we can just leave him on the train.”
“Maybe we could sort of drop him off at the door of a police station,” Charlie suggested.
“That could work.”
“Wait, I have an even better idea. We have to get off right here,” she said.
The train was coming into a station. I roused Sir March. “Bunny, we have to get up.” His eyes popped open, and I helped him stand up, both of us swaying as the train came to a stop. We helped him out onto the platform.
“I’m very tired,” he said. “I really need to sit down…or have a nap.”
“Exactly what I have in mind,” Charlie said.
We took the escalator up to the surface.
“See that hotel?” Charlie said. “It’s the perfect place to get out of the way of prying eyes and let Sir Bunny have a rest.”
“That makes sense.”
“I want you to go in and book a room. Pay them in cash, and we’ll meet by the elevator.”
The three of us entered the hotel lobby, and while Charlie and Sir March went off in one direction, I headed for the front desk. It was a very swanky lobby, with a high ceiling and a big crystal chandelier hanging over an equally big fountain. Off to the side was a lounge area where lots of people were sitting, having drinks, talking, laughing—probably getting ready for New Year’s Eve celebrations.
I walked up to the front desk and stood in front of a clerk. He looked up at me but didn’t appear very interested.
When he finally spoke, all he said was, “Yes?”
“I’d like a room.”
“I’m afraid since it’s New Year’s Eve, we are fully booked for the night.”
“I don’t want it for the night. Just for a few hours…until maybe seven or eight.”
“Oh, I see,” he said and gave me a wink. “I understand. Well, some of the rooms will not be needed until later this evening, and we do pride ourselves on being discreet.”
I was pretty sure he didn’t understand that I wanted the room so an old man we’d kidnapped could have a nap and we could hide out from Russian spies, British security and paparazzi.
“I am assuming you will be paying in cash,” he said.
“Yes, cash.”
“I just need you to fill in this registration information,” he said as he pushed the form toward me.
This was a problem. A big problem. “Could you do without the form if I paid you double the price for the room and also provided a generous tip for a person at the front desk?”
He pulled the form away. “Perhaps we can do all of this, shall we say, off the record. The customer is always right.” He took my money and slid a key card to me.
I went toward the bank of elevators. Charlie and Sir March were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered with horror if they’d been taken again. Then the doo
r to one of the elevators popped open and Charlie stepped out and waved me over. I jumped in and pushed the button for the fourth floor. The door closed and we started up.
“Is this where the safe house is, David?” Sir March asked.
“Safe house…yes it is, Bunny.” I knew from reading spy novels that a safe house was a place you went to hide when things had broken down. Things had definitely broken down for us.
The door opened on the fourth floor. I stepped out, looked both ways and gestured for them to follow. When we got into the room, I closed the door behind us and put on the deadbolt and the chain. I felt a rush of relief. We were safe.
“I’m so sorry to have put you to all this bother, especially after all you’ve already done for the service,” Sir March said.
“That’s all right,” Charlie said. She gave me a knowing look. “You know David is always willing to do what SIS wants him to do. In fact, David was asking me for some clarification on his role…weren’t you, David?”
“Yes, I was, if you could.”
“I’m going around official channels, but I can do that. I owe you that after rescuing me twice in the last twenty-four hours. What would you like clarification on?”
What should I ask? If the first question was wrong, I might not get any answers at all. But if it all revolved around Kim Philby, the ringleader, that was where I had to start.
“How much can I trust Stanley?” I asked, using Philby’s cryptonym.
“I think that’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves,” he said.
“And?”
“I believe you can trust him to continue to do what he is doing. He remains faithful to the cause.”
“What cause?”
He gave me a strange look. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, David.”
I shook my head. “I’m not so sure myself. It’s hard to know who’s on what side.”
“There’s little doubt about Philby’s allegiance—or yours and mine, for that matter.”
Philby was a spy, a traitor, a sleeper, so his allegiance was clear. What was my grandfather’s allegiance? Or Sir March’s? Was it possible that the former head of SIS was actually working for the Russians? Was he the Cambridge sixth?
“Did you attend Cambridge?” I asked.
“You know full well that I went to Oxford—as did you.”
“He knew that,” Charlie jumped in. “He’s just testing you.”
“You’ll have to come up with a better test than that…but I think I need to lie down first. I’m feeling a bit light-headed.”
His legs buckled, and we grabbed him before he could collapse. I helped him onto one of the beds. He looked pale and tired and very old. This had been hard on all of us, but especially him. He needed to rest.
“Bunny, you go to sleep. I’ll stand first watch,” I said.
“Thank you, old friend. Make sure you wake me for my watch.”
“Will do. Go to sleep.”
“After he rests, you might get more information,” Charlie said to me quietly.
“You might want to get some sleep as well. You have a big night ahead, and I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep at eleven fifty-nine.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “I need to answer some calls. Excuse me for a minute, please.”
She got up and stepped into the hall, leaving the door slightly ajar. I went over to the door to flick off the light, throwing the room into darkness so Bunny could sleep. I should have stepped away. Instead, I took shelter behind the door. Curiosity was stronger than consideration or courtesy.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond earlier…yes, it was inconsiderate…again, I’m sorry… well, it’s hard to explain,” Charlie said.
Hard to explain? Maybe if I could hear someone else explain this, I’d know what to say when it was my turn.
“Well, yes, he is with me…I’m downtown…close to where we’re going to meet. We are still going to meet, aren’t we?” she asked.
I waited for the answer. I knew what I wanted to hear.
“Good, good,” she said. “I’ll be there a little bit before midnight.”
Not the answer I wanted. I guess he’d decided she was up to his standards.
“He’s just a friend of the family,” she said.
My ears perked up again. I was now part of this discussion, even though I wasn’t on the phone.
“Well, yes, he is rather handsome, and he’s a rugby player…if you have so many questions about him, perhaps you’d like me to bring him along and you could ask him yourself…fine…”
My phone buzzed, letting me know I’d received a text. I moved away from the door. Bunny was snoring. Good for him. I stepped into the bathroom, closed the door and pulled out my phone. As expected, it was from Steve.
Hey bro. News. Grandpa’s journal has entry that he spoke to reporter in a little place just outside of Barcelona. Did some research—Philby filed a story dateline 2 days later from Barcelona. Doesn’t mean they met but were in roughly the same place at the same time. What does this mean?
I texted back, I wish I knew.
SIXTEEN
There was a knock on the door, and I practically jumped out of my chair. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I had. There was more knocking, this time even louder. I moved through the darkness to the door.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Hello, it’s Mr. Austin…from the front desk.”
I looked through the peephole to make sure it was the clerk from the front desk. I opened the door.
“I need the room now, sir.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven o’clock!
“I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. We’ll be right out.”
“Quickly, please, sir. The maid will be here soon to make up the room for the regular guests.”
I flicked on the light, and Charlie jumped to her feet.
“We have to get going! We fell asleep!” I said.
She looked at her watch. “The time! I have to get ready!” Charlie grabbed her bag and ran into the bathroom.
Sir March was still sound asleep. His eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving—he was breathing, wasn’t he? He suddenly let out a loud, rasping snore. It was like music to my ears.
“Bunny, it’s time to go. We have to leave,” I said.
“Have we been discovered?”
“Yes, we have to leave.”
He got up quickly. I knocked on the bathroom door. “We have to go.”
“I’m almost ready.”
“Do we have an escape route?” Sir March asked. “Should we go down the stairs or jump from rooftop to rooftop?”
“I was thinking the elevator.”
“Excellent! Do the thing they’d least expect! You were always able to think through a strategy.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
I wanted to ask for more details, but this wasn’t the time. Maybe in the cab I could ask him questions. I’d already decided I was going to get him back home as soon as possible.
Charlie came out of the washroom. She had changed into a short red dress and leggings that she must have had in her big purse, and she’d retouched her makeup and put up her hair. My mouth dropped open.
“So?” she asked.
“You do clean up good.”
“I meant, what are we going to do now?” she said.
“First step is getting out of here.”
She took Sir March by the arm, and we left the room and headed for the elevator.
“And then?”
“We’ll get a cab. I’ll drop you off by Trafalgar Square and then I’m going to take him home.”
“You could get out with me and give the cabbie the address and fare and send him on his own the rest of the way,” she suggested.
“I can’t do that. I have to make sure he gets there safe and sound. There are Russian agents out looking for him.”
“And looking for you. Besides, if you return home w
ith him, you’ll get caught by British security,” she said.
“I’m going to drop him off at his front gate and then run like crazy.”
I felt a heightened sense of anxiety as we exited the elevator and started through the lobby. The desk clerk caught my eye, saw Charlie and gave me a thumbs-up. Then he saw Sir March and looked confused—really confused.
I could see through the front windows that there was a line of cabs sitting right outside the front door. We would grab one—first making sure there wasn’t a familiar Russian agent as the driver—and get on our way.
“Hey, if it isn’t my good friend Nigel Finch!” a man called out. The man from the London Eye. He grabbed my hand and started shaking it. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“We’re really in a hurry.” He still had my hand in his, and he tightened his grip.
“I think we should sit down for a drink, although really, there’s no need for introductions. I know of both Sir March and Charlie…although I do prefer the name Charlotte so much more.”
How could he possibly know their names? Unless…
He raised his left hand. There was a newspaper draped over it, and underneath, barely visible, was a pistol. “Let’s just sit down and talk. Talking is a much better alternative.”
He finally released my hand and gestured toward the lounge. We found an open table, and he motioned for us to sit. Charlie and I flanked him, and Sir March sat across from him. He put the newspaper and hidden gun on the table beside his right hand.
“As you must now know, I’m not a friendly Canadian tourist.”
“I didn’t think you were Canadian to begin with. How did you find us?”
“That reminds me. Could I have my pen back?”
“Your pen? Wait...” I pulled it out of my pocket. “This is yours?”
“I slipped it into your pocket when I was having that picture taken. It has a tracking device inside.”
He took the pen from me and examined it. “I’m glad it’s fine. Do you have any idea how expensive these are?”
“Glad I kept it safe for you. But why did you want to follow me to begin with?” I asked.
“The same reason the Russians were after you and the SIS was chasing you. Then, of course, there were the paparazzi and those private detectives.”