B008AZB1XW EBOK (9 page)

Wells’ behavior at the Ritz with King Zog, his knowledge of politics and languages started to make sense. Combine that with this afternoon and Simon realized who Wells was. A spy. 1942 was too early for the CIA. It was formed after the war. “You’re with the OSS.”

Jack stared at him in the mirror, eyes narrowed. “Not for long, if crap like this keeps happening.”

“Did I mention wow?” Elizabeth said.

“How did they know about us, about where we’re staying?” Simon asked. That point had been particularly troubling. “We’ve only just arrived in town and the only people we’ve met were the hospital staff and you.”

Wells held up a hand in surrender. “I didn’t know anything about your connection to all of this until I saw you in the basement.”

Wells had looked surprised to find them there, but it was still more coincidental than Simon was comfortable with, not that he was in any position to cast stones at the moment. For now, he was grateful whatever the reason.

“I’ll get you a room at St. Ermin’s with me,” Wells said as he drove them back toward the city’s center. “The manager owes me a favor.”

“What about our things?” Elizabeth asked Simon. “They’re still at the apartment.”

“Nothing we can’t do without.”

She looked at him questioningly and Simon opened his jacket, reached into his pocket and showed her the watch was safely in his possession. She reached for the silver necklace Teddy Fiske had given her. She felt along the strand until she came to the small key.

She smiled back at him and took his hand. “I guess we’ve got everything that matters.”

Wells drove them to his hotel, the Jolly Hotel St. Ermin’s, an enormous and elegant old building with Victorian flair in the heart of Westminster. As they walked into a lobby filled with men in uniforms, Simon had a flash of recognition and realized the significance. St. Ermin’s had been the home of many of Churchill’s most important meetings. The SOE, MI6 and God knew who else were headquartered there during the war. Even the infamous Cambridge five of
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
fame had used it for some of their clandestine exchanges.

Wells’ suite wasn’t the biggest the hotel had to offer, but still impressive. The sitting room itself was twice the size of their little flat.

“This is nice,” Elizabeth said as she admired the upscale furnishings.

“Yeah, pretty posh, isn’t it? A friend got transferred back to the States. I just sort of took over the lease,” Wells said as he tossed his jacket onto a chair and loosened his tie. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

He turned on an enormous wireless radio and spun the dial until he stopped on a channel playing Benny Goodman. Then he picked up the phone and tapped the cradle down a few times to reach the operator. “Room service.”

Despite the fact that Wells had saved their lives, Simon wasn’t about to relax. Adrenaline still pulsed through his body. He’d come so close to losing her, too damn close. She picked at a corner of one of the pillows on the sofa, wrapping a lose thread around her finger again and again.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Stop worrying. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. Hell, he wasn’t either. After what they’d just been through, she’d be lucky if he ever let her out of his sight again. “We should ice your cheek.”

“I doubt this place has a minibar.” She was right, of course.

“Bathroom?” he asked Wells who pointed down the hall. “Ice?”

Wells nodded and ordered sandwiches and a bucket of ice.

They found the bath and Simon busied himself preparing a cold washcloth while Elizabeth examined her face in the mirror. His hands shook and he gripped the edges of the sink for a moment. He hadn’t felt this helpless since King Kashian. He pushed the sickening memory away, picked up the cold cloth and placed it against her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. It wasn’t enough. He should have been able to find a way to protect her.

“It’s not too bad. Let’s hope all Nazis hit like girls.”

“Elizabeth—”

“Don’t,” she said. Fear and despair briefly crossed her face before she chased them away. “We made it. That’s what counts, right?”

It mattered more than he could possibly express. He could spend a lifetime trying to explain how much she meant to him and never come close. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Elizabeth’s chin wobbled and she looked up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. Maybe love didn’t always need words.

After a moment, Elizabeth grabbed some tissue and wiped her eyes. “We should get back. Don’t want Jack to think we’re doing strange things in his bathroom.”

Simon held her arm. Wells had saved their lives, but there was no way to know what his end game was. “Can we trust him?”

“Can we really afford not to?”

It was a Hobson’s choice. Trust a man he didn’t know or trust no one. Considering their circumstances, he’d have to trust Wells. A little.

They rejoined Jack in the sitting area. “Everything okay?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Now, about those Nazis. “

“Technically, they’re SS,” Wells said. “Himmler’s own.”

Simon looked to the heavens. Wonderful. They’d somehow managed not just to get involved in something dangerous, but something that involved the bloody SS. The sooner they got out of the country the better.

Wells gestured for them to sit down. “Why don’t we start with you telling me just what this family business is you’re here for?”

Simon and Elizabeth exchanged uncomfortable glances as they sat down. No matter who this man was they could never tell him the real truth. Of course, Simon was fairly certain that cut both ways.

“Look,” Wells said. “I’m one of the good guys. I’d hope saving your lives might have earned me a little trust.”

Elizabeth cast a quick glance at Simon. “We do trust you.”

Wells gave Simon an appraising look. Gone was the easy-going adventurer from the Ritz. These were the eyes of a keen observer and shrewd judge. He took full stock of Simon, of his anger, his fear, and his suspicion in a matter of seconds and smiled. It was wholly discomfiting to be read so quickly and so clearly.

“Good,” Jack said.

Simon shifted in his seat and let out a breath. “They asked me about some sort of shard.” He hoped to redirect the conversation away from their reasons for being there and back to why someone had nearly killed them.

“And you don’t know what that is?” Wells asked skeptically.

“No idea,” Simon said. “But after our…experience this afternoon, I’d very much like to.”

Wells studied them carefully and then cocked his head to the side. “You’re either two of the best liars I’ve ever seen or you really don’t know what’s going on.”

“We’re terrible liars,” Elizabeth said. “Especially me.”

Wells chuckled. “That I believe.”

“What
is
going on?” Simon asked.

Wells considered that for a moment, lit a cigarette and offered them one. They both declined and he took a deep drag before he started. “About three months ago two Swiss agents turned up dead just outside of Swindon. Ends up they’re transporting something important, some sort of artifact. Supposedly, they were there to make a deal with someone. We don’t know if it was the Germans or someone else, but whatever the plan was it didn’t work out and they got themselves killed. And the artifact turned up missing.”

“The Shard.”

“Right. And the last man to see them alive was your friend, Evan Eldridge.”

“Uncle.” Elizabeth corrected him. “How is he involved?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. When MI5 finally found him, he was near dead, probably should have been. Got cracked on the head pretty good. When he finally came to, he had no idea where he was or what he was doing there. They took him away and have been trying to get information out of him ever since, but he kind of comes and goes. Just about every spy service in London has been waiting for months for someone to make contact with him.”

“And we did yesterday,” Simon said. At least part of the puzzle was fitting together. “But what’s the shard? Why is it so important?”

“This is gonna sound a little nutty, but have you ever heard of Nothung?”

“Nothing?” Elizabeth said.

“No, Nothung.”

“Who’s on first?”

“What?”

“Elizabeth,” Simon chided before she continued with the entire Abbot and Costello routine. He knew it was nerves, and he hardly blamed her, but details of the shard were important.

She had the good sense to look chagrined. “Sorry.”

“I mean the sword,” Wells said. “From the opera, ya know?”

“
Der Ring des Nibelungen
,” Simon said. That did not bode well. “Wagner.”

“Yeah, well, it’s real or at least the Germans think so. And they’re pretty hell-bent on finding all the pieces.”

“Pieces?” Elizabeth said. “I don’t understand.”

“The shard,” Simon said as he worked it through. “In the story, Siegfried is given the shards of his father’s sword, Nothung or Gram or Balmung. It goes by many names.”

Simon couldn’t think sitting down and got up to pace the length of the room. “The opera is based on several different stories — folktales and Norse legends — but basically it tells the story of a man, Siegfried, who is on a quest to destroy a dragon with the sword and find a ring that will give him dominion over the earth.”

“Like the One Ring in Tolkien.”

“A bit, yes. There are some similarities. But Wagner’s version is, by many accounts, frighteningly anti-Semitic and ultimately a parable for the ascension of the Arian race to its preordained status as Gods among men.”

The distaste on Elizabeth’s face mirrored his feelings exactly.

Simon nodded in agreement and continued. “The idea is that Siegfried, with the re-forged fragments of his father’s sword, can defeat the mighty dragon, seize the ring and rule the world. Substitute Hitler for Siegfried and, well, you get the picture.”

“That about sums it up,” Wells said.

Elizabeth tucked her feet under her, a sure sign they were in for the long haul. “Shouldn’t we be worried about the ring and not the sword?”

Simon considered that. “Without the sword he can’t win the ring. And there have been references to the sword specifically through the centuries in several texts. Primarily Austrian and Scandinavian. Supposedly, it was shattered in battle and the pieces spread across the land. Of course, I’ve never actually seen the codices myself.”

Wells, who’d been conspicuously quiet, stubbed out his cigarette. His hand edged closer to the gun hanging from his shoulder holster. “You know an awful lot about this stuff. How is that?”

Wells had been testing them and it looked like a passing grade might have been worse than failing. There was no backing away from it now. “I’m a professor of the Occult. I’ve studied these legends for most of my life.”

“And you’re being here now is just coincidence, huh?”

“As absurd as that sounds,” Simon said. “Yes.”

Wells leaned forward and regarded them skeptically. “No offense, but I’m finding that a bit hard to swallow.”

“If I’d known what Eldridge was involved in, what the dangers were, do you think I would have risked Elizabeth’s life?”

Wells narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.

Simon looked at Elizabeth. Without taking his eyes off her he continued. “Have you ever been in love Mr. Wells?”

“War changes things.”

“Not everything, Mr. Wells. Not everything.”

“All right,” Wells said. “Suppose I believe you. About the sword. I’m just a guy from the streets of Chicago. We don’t have magical swords where I come from. Do you really believe this mumbo-jumbo?”

It was horrifying to consider. If Nothung were real, if the legends were true…”It really isn’t important if I believe it, is it?”

“No,” Wells agreed. “Even if the damn thing is just a sword, if
they
believe it, if the German people believe it’s real…Give zealots something to latch onto and—” He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Simon instinctively reached for Elizabeth and started to stand.

Wells motioned for him to stay where he was and un-holstered his gun. Why did everyone in this blasted city have a gun but him?

“Who is it?” Wells said as he went to the door.

“Room service.”

He cracked the door a few inches before shouldering his gun and opening it the rest of the way. Simon relaxed back into his seat.

Wells took the tray from the young attendant. “Cross? You want to…?” he nodded toward the boy and his outstretched hand.

Cheeky. Simon dug a few coins out of his pocket, tipped the boy and closed the door. Wells set down the tray of sandwiches and took a few handfuls of ice from the ice bucket. He put them into a towel, tied it up like a hobo’s bag and handed it to Elizabeth. “They were out of steak. Rations.”

Wells drank down half a glass of beer and frowned. “I hate English beer.”

Elizabeth pressed the ice-bag to the side of her face and winced. Despite that, she reached for a sandwich that seemed to distract her from the pain.

Wells picked up a sandwich and took a bite. “A lot of good men,” he said with his mouth full, “died letting us know the Germans have the rest of the sword. Now, everybody wants the last shard. Of course, we Americans think it would be safest in our hands.”

Elizabeth nodded, her mouth full. Simon shook his head and she shrugged. “Danger makes me hungry.”

“The only lead any of us have is Evan Eldridge, who can’t or won’t talk.” Wells finished his sandwich. “And then came you.”

“But we don’t have anything to do with it,” Elizabeth said.

“You do now.”

Chapter Ten

Elizabeth watched Simon pace across the floor of their hotel room. “Trust him, he says.”

True to his word, Jack arranged a room down the hall from his. It wasn’t a suite, but it was a definite improvement over their room at the B&B. No more freezing cold trips down the hall in the middle of the night. And, hopefully no Nazis.

“Well, he did save our lives.”

Simon looked at his watch. “We’ll give it another few minutes.”

“And then?” Elizabeth said with more bite than she’d meant. She’d anticipated this conversation and dreaded having it. Her nerves were so frayed around the edges, one tug and she was sure she would unravel.