The engine coughed and caught, and he leaned against it for support. After a moment’s rest, he pushed himself back up and turned to Charlotte.
She cowered in the bottom of the boat.
“It’s all—”
The gunshot echoed across the swamp and the pain in his shoulder was joined by a new one in his side. Victor stumbled forward. The world started to twist in on itself.
Charlotte’s face, contorted in a scream, was the last thing he saw before he fell into the water.
It was cool and welcoming.
He could feel himself sinking, the light above dimming. He saw a small hand reaching down into the water, reaching out to him, and then nothing.
He wasn’t sure how many hours later it was when he came to. He was lying face down in the weeds along the shore, no more than twenty feet from the house. A few embers from the fire still burned, fighting against the rain. It couldn’t have been long.
He managed to push himself up and stood on wobbly legs.
“Charlotte,” he said and stumbled back to the dock.
The boat had floated out into the water, drifting there in the rain. Empty.
“Charlotte!”
There was no answer.
~~~
Simon held Elizabeth’s hand in a death grip as the cab took them from the airport to Council Headquarters. He appeared calm, but she knew the more stoic he was on the outside, the angrier he was on the inside.
Ever since their brief conversation with Jack, they’d had more questions than answers. Jack had told them what had happened with Tess and Skavo, and that it had been his phone calls that had given away their location. In fact, that conversation was probably being monitored. And if that wasn’t disturbing enough, his attempts to reach Travers were as unsuccessful as theirs. Although unspoken, she knew they were all thinking the worst. What if Travers was one of them?
What if Victor was?
Elizabeth shuddered and Simon turned to her in concern.
She shook her head. He stared at her, his eyes so intense they seemed to look right through her. With an effort, he nodded and looked back out of the window.
After the call with Jack, they’d thrown away their cell and gotten a burner from a local store, but calls to Travers’ cell still went unanswered. It was a risk to call the Council offices, but they were well beyond the point of caring now. They needed to know what was going on.
All they’d managed to learn from Travers’ secretary was that he hadn’t been in the office since yesterday and all of her attempts to reach him had come up empty.
Without Travers they couldn’t reach Victor, or Charlotte.
The flight home had been the longest of their lives. As the cab pulled up in front of the Aion Society building, she had a horrible feeling that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
By the time they got through security and down to Travers’ office, Elizabeth could see the tether holding Simon’s emotions was fraying badly.
For her part, she didn’t bother to tie them down or keep them in; hers was a fully blooming state of panic.
Simon pulled open the door to the outer office and Grace Mills nearly jumped out of her seat. “Oh, I hoped you were him.”
“Where is he?” Simon demanded.
Grace took off her glasses and looked as stricken as they felt. “I wish I knew, Mr. Cross. He’s just disappeared.”
She sniffled and dabbed at her nose with a tissue. They’d obviously caught her crying. “It’s not like him,” she said. “Not like him at all.”
Simon strode over to her desk. “How do I reach Renaud?”
“Victor?” She seemed surprised by the question.
“Yes,” Simon bit out impatiently. “Travers was our connection. You must know how to reach him.”
“Oh,” she said as she paled a little more. “I thought you knew.”
Elizabeth’s heart stopped. Simon glanced anxiously over at her.
“Knew what?”
“Oh dear,” Grace said softly, her eyes darting around the room, overwhelmed. With every passing second, Elizabeth’s heart tightened.
Finally, Grace waved helplessly toward the inner office. “Monsieur Renaud’s in there. Although he really should be—”
“Charlotte?” Simon called out as they hurried toward the door to the inner office.
Simon yanked it open and Elizabeth ran inside. “Charlotte?”
She looked around the large office, but Charlotte wasn’t there. It took her a moment to see that anyone was there. Finally, she saw Victor sitting in one of the large chairs in the seating area.
“Where is our daughter?” Simon demanded.
Victor moved forward in his chair, slowly and with great effort. One sleeve of his black leather jacket hung limp and empty. His face was ghostly pale and shined with sweat.
Simon was in front of him by the time he managed to stand.
“Renaud?”
Victor looked him in the eye and then over at Elizabeth before looking back to Simon. Elizabeth gripped the back of a nearby chair to keep from passing out. Only one thing could have happened. She braced herself.
“They have taken her.”
Elizabeth looked up, an odd wave of relief washing over her. She’d thought Charlotte was dead. If she was alive, there was hope. She would take any hope right now, no matter how slim.
“She’s alive?” Elizabeth asked, her heart beating erratically.
“I believe so.”
The gossamer thread Elizabeth held onto unraveled. “Believe?”
“I cannot be sure.”
Victor looked back at Simon and stood up as straight as his obvious pain would allow. “I realize that saying I’m sorry—”
Simon’s fist connected with Victor’s jaw with a loud crack. Victor stumbled back and fell into his chair, wincing and groaning.
“I should break your neck,” Simon ground out.
Victor looked up at him from the corner of his eye as he blinked and shook his head to clear it.
“Yes, you should,” he agreed softly.
Simon reached down, grabbing his shirt, and started to pull him up. Victor didn’t resist, but Elizabeth couldn’t let it happen. As angry and as frightened as she was, it was obvious Victor had not given up Charlotte without a fight. His arm was in a sling wrapped to his body, and fresh blood seeped through the bandages below, staining his shirt.
“Simon!” Elizabeth said, rushing over to them. “Don’t. He’s hurt.”
Simon looked down at his shoulder and let go of his shirt. Victor tottered unsteadily before regaining his balance.
“I trusted you,” Simon said, the pain in his voice going straight to Elizabeth’s heart.
She knew that Simon’s anger wasn’t just directed at Renaud, but at himself. Victor had risked his life by taking her in in the first place. Something he didn’t have to do. And, from the look of his wounds, he’d done so again trying to save her.
Simon turned away and stalked across the room, his chest heaving with the effort to control himself.
“They came last night,” Victor said as he carefully lowered himself back into his chair. “At least four men, possibly more.”
“And?” Simon prompted.
“What more is there to tell?” Victor said, leaning back in his chair. “I tried to save her, but I failed.”
“Yes,” Simon said through clenched teeth.
Elizabeth dug her fingers into her hair, closed her eyes and inhaled, looking for some calm in this terrible storm. Her thoughts were racing too fast and she couldn’t pick one from the others. She released her grip at the same time as she exhaled and then shook her hands out. At least one of them needed a clear head if they were going to help Charlotte. By default, it appeared the job was hers.
She sat down on the coffee table in front of Victor. There had to be something he remembered, something that could help them find her.
“Who were they? Did you see their faces? Do you have any idea where t
hey took her?”
Victor shook his head. “I think I recognized one of them, but I’m not sure.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to reach out and shake him until something useful fell out. She took another cleansing breath and forced a patience she didn’t feel to her voice. “Recognized from where?”
He shook his head and put a hand to his temple. “I don’t remember.”
He shifted in his seat and winced again, reaching for his ribs. “I am sorry. I am no help at all.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to wish all of this away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
Charlotte was gone and they had no idea who had taken her or where she was. They had nothing.
“You should be in the hospital,” she said, feeling oddly flat and empty inside now.
“I should be dead,” he said.
Simon looked like he wanted to agree with him, but closed his mouth.
Victor looked up at them, the agony of having failed clear in his eyes. Unable to hold her gaze, he looked away. She realized that he expected, maybe even welcomed, Simon’s anger, but her sympathy seemed too much for him to bear.
“At least we know she is alive,” he said.
“How can you know that?” Elizabeth said, her stomach curling in on itself. She had to move and stood, but it didn’t help.
“Because they need her to get the watch,” Simon said, rejoining them. He put his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Elizabeth leaned into him and nodded. That was true. As long as she was alive, Charlotte was a negotiating tool. They needed to keep her safe to have something to trade.
“Do you think Travers is in on it? I mean, he disappears the same time she does?”
Victor frowned. “Travers is many things, but a traitor…?” he said and shook his head. “No.”
Elizabeth hoped he was right. “So maybe they took him too? But why?”
“He’s the only one who can reactivate the watches,” Simon said, thinking aloud. “The thirteenth won’t do them any good if they can’t use it.”
Victor nodded. “Do you know where it is?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Then I suggest you go get it,” Victor said. “Now.”
~~~
Simon pulled the car into the parking lot at 501 Poplar Street. Finally. To ensure they weren’t followed, they’d taken a circuitous route to get there that included changing planes in Chicago and cars twice in Philadelphia. Each delay had eaten away at his already tenuous control.
He put the car into park and let out a heavy breath.
Elizabeth put her hand over his as it rested on the gear lever. He looked over at her and, as he always had, found strength. Right now, he needed every ounce he could get.
The thought that Charlotte was out there somewhere, in danger, that he’d failed to protect her, made him sick to the bottom of his soul.
“Well, we’re finally here,” Elizabeth said.
Simon pulled himself back together and glanced at the GPS as it displayed their location:
N40.02.13.34
W76.30.07.99
Eight simple numbers, and they had nearly cost them everything to get.
They got out of the car, and the bright midday sun beat down onto the tarmac of the nearly empty parking lot. The place they’d been searching for, the place that had sent them all over the world, was a fairly nondescript pale brick building in an unremarkable residential section of Pennsylvania—the National Watch and Clock Museum.
The inside was bright and clean and educational, but Simon didn’t give a toss. Glass cases and large displays were scattered around the large main room. Buried somewhere amongst them was Teddy’s watch. He glared around the room looking for some key. They found a stand with brochures on it and took two.
“12,000 items,” Elizabeth read aloud.
“I don’t see any legend or numbering that fits,” Simon said.
They were sure that the sequence of numbers and letters Charlotte had told them about was the key to finding the watch. But if they were wrong…
Simon cleared his throat.
Elizabeth touched his arm. “I know,” she said. “But we’ll find it. What we need is a little help.”
They looked around and found a docent near the Running the Trains exhibit giving directions to a young family. Simon’s eyes lingered on the girl as they went off deeper into the museum.
“We were wondering if you could help us?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course,” the man said. “Did you know that until 1883, most Americans relied on the sun to tell the time?”
“No, I didn’t,” Elizabeth said, laying a hand on Simon’s arm and flashing him a warning look.
He clenched his jaw and fought for patience.
“We have sort of a weird question, Clifford,” Elizabeth continued as she read his name tag. “Does WP-9368 mean anything to you?”
The man raised his brow, surprised at the question. He started to shake his head, but Elizabeth pressed on.
“Are you sure? It’s very important.”
He squinted his eyes in thought and then raised his eyebrows in defeat. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but let’s ask Boyd. He knows everything about the collection.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said.
“A real font of knowledge,” Clifford continued. “Just knows it all. From your Atkinses to your Zaandams. He’s—”
“Here?” Simon asked.
“Yup. I think he’s in Asian Horology.”
Elizabeth slipped her arm into Clifford’s and got him moving. “Is that this way?”
“Over here.”
Finally, he led them to another permanent exhibit room and passed them off to Boyd.
He was an older man with a long face and a hawk nose. “WP-9368? Sure.”
Simon’s heart stuttered and he looked around. “Where would it be?”
“Oh, not up here,” Boyd said. “That’s our cataloguing system. Refers to one of the storage drawers in the basement.”
“Could we go down?”
“Off limits to visitors,” Boyd said with an apologetic smile. “But I’ll look into it and see if we can’t bring it upstairs. Next week maybe?”
He started to walk away and Simon grabbed his arm. “We can’t wait.”
Boyd looked down at Simon’s hand and then back up in nervous surprise. Simon looked to make sure there was no one else near, then slipped his gun from his pocket to make sure Boyd saw it.
“We really can’t wait.”
Boyd swallowed nervously.
Simon had never held an innocent man at gunpoint before, but he would do that and more if that’s what it took to get Charlotte back.
“Now,” Simon prompted him.
Boyd nodded quickly and led them down to the basement into the storage area. Drawer after drawer and shelf after shelf were filled with watches and clocks.
They made their way down an aisle, Boyd reading the tags on the ends as they went. “9,200, 9,300. Here.”
“Open it,” Simon demanded.
Boyd looked nervously at him and then Elizabeth.
She returned his look sympathetically, but firmly. Simon knew she didn’t like getting innocent people involved, but they had no choice.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said.
Boyd looked anxiously at Simon, who waved his gun toward the drawer to move things along. Boyd nodded quickly and did as he was told.
He pulled open the large, wide drawer. In small compartments inside it were several dozen watches. Simon kept his eye and his gun on Boyd while Elizabeth searched.
Simon’s eyes danced toward the drawer, unable to resist looking.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Elizabeth chanted softly as she skimmed over each row of watches, until finally a sigh escaped her lips and she reached into the drawer. “Oh, thank God.”
She picked up the watch and held it out. Simon glanced at it. “
You’re sure?”
She nodded and Simon felt a wave of relief, but this was far from over. Elizabeth turned back to Boyd as she put the watch in her purse.
“Must be mighty valuable for you to do all this,” Boyd said.
“It’s worth everything,” Simon said and looked at Elizabeth. “Everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
JACK SAT IN TRAVERS’ outer office and waited. He’d tried reading. He’d tried pacing. Hell, he’d try yoga if it would take away this feeling of helplessness.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Grace asked. Again.
He mustered up a small smile for her and shook his head.
She nodded and they both went back to what they were doing—worrying.
He’d gotten the first flight back to the States after his phone call with Simon and Elizabeth. Tess had been turned over to local authorities. Even if he had been able to reach Travers and other agents had been sent to pick her up, how could he know they weren’t dirty too? It was a helluva a mess.
It had taken him nearly a day to get to San Francisco, and by the time he had, Simon and Elizabeth were already gone. Renaud had been forced to go to the hospital. Jack would have let him stay if the man could have stood on his own, but he was too weak to help. And there was no one else they trusted. They were in this alone.
Jack leaned back in his chair and ran his hands down its padded arms. Just the three of them, and some help he’d been so far. The man he was supposed to find was dead, killed by the one person he shouldn’t have trusted. That was twice now his partners had turned out to be double-agents. From now on, he worked alone. Assuming there was a future.
What a waste his mission had been. He should have stayed here and looked after the kid. Sure as hell, she wouldn’t have been taken if he’d been here.
“Dammit,” he muttered and rolled his shoulders.
Grace looked anxiously at him. She was doing her best to hold it together, but he wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
He sat forward again and looked at the small package addressed to Simon and Elizabeth Cross that had been delivered hours before. He’d tried to track down the delivery man, but it had gone through a series of services, changing hands several times before being delivered to the Aion Society. No matter how much he might want to know, might dread knowing, what was inside, it wasn’t his to open. And so it taunted him as he waited.
A Time of Shadows (Out of Time #8) Page 22
