B008AZB1XW EBOK (7 page)

The nurse nodded and held out the clipboard.

“Thank you.”

She and Simon sat in the waiting room and filled out form after form. After returning those to the nurse, they were told the paperwork would have to be reviewed by his doctor and the Consultant, who was apparently the big cheese. If they were lucky, they might get to see Evan tomorrow, but there weren’t any guarantees.

Impatient and worried that they wouldn’t meet their deadline, the eclipse that would take them home was just a few days away, Simon insisted on seeing the Consultant. Twenty minutes later a small round man with small round glasses agreed to see them.

His office looked like a filing cabinet had exploded. Stacks of folders and papers covered nearly every inch of available floor and desk space. He waved them in and moved stacks of papers that covered the guest chairs.

“Please,” he said gesturing toward two old wooden chairs. “You’ll have to forgive the state of things. The filing room caught fire and these are the refugees.”

“It’s quite all right,” Simon said as they took their seats. “Thank you for seeing us, Doctor…”

“Newman. I’m not sure I’ll be of much help. The administration is rather firm on release policies.”

“I understand, but we’re under a bit of a timeline. We have return tickets on a clipper to the United States next week and, as you can imagine, they’re rather difficult to come by.”

“I should imagine.” Dr. Newman dug through a pile of folders. “Eldridge, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Evan Eldridge.”

The doctor skimmed the file. “Hmm. Head injury, intermittent memory loss. I…oh. I see he’s been assigned to Doctor Webber. I can’t do anything without his approval, you understand.”

“Is it possible we could speak with Doctor Webber?”

“He’s a slippery one,” Newman said with a frown. “But we’ll give it a go.”

He picked up the large black handset from the Dictaphone on his desk and pressed down a lever. “Mrs. Wilson, would you see if you can locate Doctor Webber? I have a couple who…Yes? Oh, would you ask him to step in?” He hung up the phone and grinned. “You’re in luck. Usually have a devil of a time getting a hold of him, but he’s just gone past. I’d offer you some tea, but I’m afraid we’re fresh out at the moment.”

“That’s all right,” Simon said. “We appreciate—”

He was interrupted as the office door opened and a tall, thin disheveled looking man stepped in. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, which proceeded to flop right back into his face. “I was just on my way out, but Ethel said you wanted to see me?”

“Webber, yes, this is Mr. and Mrs. Cross, they’ve come about one of your patients, Evan Eldridge.”

It might have been her imagination, but the mention of Evan’s name brought a spark to the doctor’s eyes. “Eldridge, Eldridge? Oh, yes, the older gentleman with amnesia, isn’t it?”

“He’s my uncle,” Elizabeth said. “We saw a photograph of him in the paper and we’ve come an awful long way to take him back home.”

“I’m sure you have. He’s been a bit of a mystery. No one stepped forward to claim him, until now. No doubt he’ll be quite glad to see you. I’m sure we can work something out, but not today, I’m afraid. He’s undergone some treatment and won’t be quite himself. Tomorrow though. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and I’ll make sure you’re on the list. We’ll get started on the paperwork then. We have your details?”

“We’re staying over in…” Elizabeth said and then faltered with the name.

“Knightsbridge,” Simon provided for her. “It’s on the forms.”

“I’m sure we can get it all sorted,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said as she got up to shake his hand.

“Oh,” he said, obviously surprised at her forwardness. He shook it and then Simon’s. “Until tomorrow.”

~~~

Even though they hadn’t actually seen Evan, they’d found him. Elizabeth had repeatedly assured Simon that it would be easy to get Evan and take him home, but part of her hadn’t really believed it. Until now. Tomorrow they’d see him and a few days later, take him home.

They left Guy’s and walked back across London Bridge. Like most Americans, Elizabeth had always confused London Bridge with Tower Bridge. London Bridge was nice, but it wasn’t that quintessential image with the two towers. It was just a bridge. Tower Bridge, not surprisingly had the famous towers and super, olde-Englishy look to it.

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 their 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.