by Linda Hawley
“Yes!” Philippe agreed. He turned to us. “You three will use the tunnel. We have go-bags in the basement with the essentials. Françoise will show you the way,” he said, with the most intensity I’d ever seen from him.
“Wait! What about you?” I demanded.
“I’ll create more time for you to escape,” he said calmly. Then he took my hand, kissed it, and told me, “Ann, you’re our only hope.” He then turned to the armory, shouting, “Go!”
Françoise took me by the arm, pulling me downstairs. Chow and Edwin were on my heels. As we flew down the steep, old stairs, I knew it was my only chance to tell her. “The shoe blade saved my life tonight,” I said gratefully as my foot landed on the last step.
She turned to me, her eyes ablaze, and said, “You must get free…for all of us.”
Then her face turned fierce, and Françoise crossed the basement. Pulling aside a cover, she revealed an old coal chute. It looked like a dark hole in the earth. Françoise was in warrior mode as she spoke with authority to the three of us.
“You enter here,” she said, opening the gate. “It is not a coal chute, but an escape tunnel that will get you to safety. After you’re in the tunnel, I’ll close the gate behind you. You will not be able to reenter the basement once I close it,” she warned us.
“You’re not coming?” Chow asked, his eyebrows knitting together.
“No. I have a date with the man of steel,” she said, fierceness filling her voice. “We will give you as much time as we can.”
Chow took in a breath, realizing that they were sacrificing themselves. He nodded his understanding.
“Where does the tunnel end?” Chow asked.
“An open field,” she said abruptly.
Is this really happening? I thought, unleveled by the course of events in the past half hour.
Françoise took a few steps away and retrieved three large backpacks from a shelf and then handed them to us. Then she pulled three headlamps off the shelf below and gave us each one. We turned them on and strapped them around our heads.
“Adieu, ma chère amie,” she said quietly, stepping back.
Chow entered the tunnel as I hugged her.
He turned his head back to us. “No speaking—except in an emergency—until we emerge on the other side.”
Nodding, I followed him. As I entered the tunnel, I turned my head to glimpse Françoise, tears dripping off my chin as I silently cried. I knew that my friend and her husband would lose their lives tonight to protect mine. Turning forward, I disappeared into the darkness. Each of the three of us left with one belonging of our own, bar the clothes on our backs—the Herkimers around our necks.
Chapter 25
Françoise closed the gate after Edwin entered the tunnel. We made our way through the tunnel in a low crawl. It was a very tight fit with the large backpacks. Chow was not able to wear his in the small space, so he was pushing it ahead of him as he forged through the darkness. It was slow going. The earthy, damp smell and the confined space were calling up my mild claustrophobia. I focused my mind, visualizing an open field, as I broke out in a cold sweat. To help myself, I started to count out each foot of headway I made.
We’d made it fifty feet when we heard a faint popping sound. “Please help them,” I said under my breath in prayer. The fight underway at the safe house urged Chow on, and he began to move faster, even though movement through the space was difficult.
We’d progressed about one hundred and fifty feet when Chow abruptly stopped, forcing me and Edwin to a halt. He was moving his hands over the tunnel ceiling, seeming to be in search of something. He crawled another few feet and repeated his actions.
Hand-gesturing to me in silence, I understood that he’d found the exit. I repeated the gesture to Edwin, who nodded. Chow motioned for me to stay put. I obeyed.
After turning off his headlamp, Chow pushed against the hatch. When it didn’t move, he pushed again. A wave a fear passed through me.
What if the exit is rusted shut? We can’t go back the way we came.
Chow, unable to get it open, turned onto his back, struggling to pull his legs above him in the narrow tunnel. Finally in position, he pushed on the hatch with his feet; it didn’t seem to move. I knew that there was no way that Edwin could slide past me to help him, so I moved forward to help Chow unstick it. Just as I did so, he brought his legs back down towards his chest and shot them out with force. Dirt, dust, and bugs rained down upon us. I began to imagine being buried alive, and panic set in. He repeated the kick again and again. I was screaming inside, and it took all of my effort to lay there, silently cowering. Chow’s next kick finally unseated the hatch, and it flew off the hinges, just as I was about to start screaming in panic at the top of my lungs.
We’re free!
Chow surged out of the tunnel, throwing himself down on the ground above us. Even though I was covered with a layer of dirt, the hatch now open to the night air eased my claustrophobia. I turned off my headlamp, as did Edwin, and then poked my head up through the hatch. That’s when I noticed the gunfire.
I couldn’t seem to work out where it was coming from. Knowing Chow was in the open, I lowered my head back into the tunnel and listened for movement. With Chow’s absolute stillness, I finally guessed that we were hearing the battle from the safe house. I could only imagine what our friends were doing to give us more time to get away. Now I understood why Françoise locked the tunnel entrance behind us. If our enemies entered the basement, they wouldn’t have any idea that we’d exited there.
Chow’s arm reached down toward me, motioning for me to come up. I gratefully hopped out of the tunnel and lay flat, pressing myself against the earth for stealth. The soil’s smell reminded me of a new spring rain. Lying there, I could hear 'Le chant des grillons' not far away. The crickets seemed to be singing a French song of freedom.
It’s Françoise’s music.
Edwin joined us, his Beretta 92 semi-automatic handgun drawn. I realized that the only weapon I had on me was the heel blade I had used to kill Paul. Now that I’d tested my skill with it on him, I was confident that I’d survive the enemy in close combat. But lying in the open field, I wished for only one thing—a sniper rifle.
After a few minutes of lying still, Chow motioned for us to follow him in single file towards a tree line that was barely visible. I guessed it to be about a hundred feet away, but I couldn’t tell for certain in the waning light. We strapped on our backpacks.
Chow took off in a burst of speed, and I followed with Edwin close behind. Halfway there, my boots began to suck into the ground.
Oh crap.
We were running through a marshy area. Chow didn’t seem affected. It was no wonder, considering the strength of his thighs. I was no longer running, but was in a slow jog, as pulling up my legs became more and more difficult. Finally, Edwin grabbed my arm, pulling me along. It didn’t help me at all. Reaching the trees, we joined Chow and then stood motionless, listening for our enemy.
“Can you run full speed for about a mile? We must get out of here, in case they find the tunnel,” Chow whispered in my ear, urgency in his voice.
I nodded, even though I dreaded the run out of the marsh. I hoped that my fear of getting shot would fuel me. Edwin leaned to Chow, telling him something. Chow nodded, then leaned to me again.
“We will each take one of your arms to help,” he said, in response to my slogging jog.
“No,” I whispered back. “It won’t help.”
Chow looked into my eyes, and seeing something, he nodded.
We took off running away from the tunnel in the opposite direction—thankfully, it was away from the marsh. I knew that I was slowing us down, but there was no other option. I focused on Chow’s back as we ran in the darkness.
Chow spotted a building—it looked like a stone garden shed—and he ran for it. There were no other buildings nearby that we could see.
As we entered, I could see that it was a pump house. Chow looked out fo
r a minute and then closed the door as silently as he could. I heard a tiny squeak, like something dragged down slate tiles.
He turned to us and, keeping his voice barely audible, said, “We have not been followed.” He held up his backpack. “We need to know the contents of these.”
He turned on his headlamp, and Edwin and I did too. Chow unzipped his backpack. “Food, water, gun, ammunition, first-aid kit, and two knives,” he said, taking inventory. He pulled a baggy out of the backpack and shone his light into it. “I hoped she would include one,” he said, as he handled the throw-away phone.
Edwin and I found the same items in our bags.
“One more thing,” I said quietly, holding it in the palm of my hand for them to see.
“Tracking Dots,” Edwin whispered intensely.
“Where did you find them?” Chow asked, puzzled.
“Inside the plastic bag—with the safe phone.”
GOG had introduced Tracking Dots to me more than a year ago. They were only given to GOG operatives that were of high value to the organization. They were wrapped in shielded cellophane and were inactive until unwrapped. Their small size made them near invisible, unless someone knew what they were looking for. Exposing them made them active, and they immediately showed up on GOG’s tracking system. Operatives were only to use them in extreme emergencies.
The brothers checked their phone baggy, and sure enough, they both had Tracking Dots. GOG would never have issued them to us unless they were willing to go to extreme measures to keep us alive.
“Keep your Dot in your coin pocket. If we get separated, pull off the wrapper, and it will activate,” Chow instructed us.
“Nice insurance policy,” I said softly.
Chow and Edwin nodded, and we all put them in our pockets.
“We need to call for extraction,” Chow said.
He assembled the phone, dialed the number he’d memorized, and in French, asked for urgent help. Since we didn’t know where we were, we had no option but to have GOG find our location by tracing the phone, so Chow left it on after he hung up. It was a risk but unavoidable.
“We need to split into two groups,” Chow said unquestionably.
“No…no…” I began, forcefully whispering my objection. “We’re stronger if we stay together.”
Edwin peered into my eyes, his face only a foot from mine. “You—better than anyone—know that the American government is running an automated software program, scanning for voice recognition from the three of us. Chow using the phone just revealed us.”
I reluctantly nodded, knowing he was right, but the thought of splitting up made me nauseous. We had trained together, not apart, and whatever we had to do would take all three of us.
Chow began to speak, but Edwin stopped him.
“I will stay here, and you two will go together to another location. When GOG arrives, I will come get you. Until then, stay hidden,” Edwin said emphatically, accepting no rebuttals.
Knowing it was the best plan, I quickly embraced him.
“Don’t take this off,” I said, touching his shirt outside the Herkimer.
He nodded. Somehow the Herkimers connected the three of us, and that comforted me.
“We will travel west from here, about two klicks,” Chow told him. “When help comes, use our signal, and Ann and I will come out. If there is a problem, I will use Ann’s safe phone and call in.”
Edwin nodded.
The twins put their arms to each other, connecting sideways, and communicated in their own special, silent language. Then Chow and I armed ourselves, turned off our headlamps, and took off towards the west in a dead run. My legs were heavy, but the ground had improved since we got out of the swamp. It was now full dark. After running side by side for at least a kilometer, I was again eerily reminded of Barcelona. Just as the thought crystalized in my mind, I stumbled and went down hard. My face hit the ground unimpeded, and I blacked out.
Chapter 26
As my eyelids fluttered open, I slowly realized that I was in a cold metal chair. My thinking was a little slow and fuzzy.
I’ve been drugged, I thought with dread.
The room smelled like cleaning fluid. It was cold and as dark as a moonless night. I attempted to move my limbs but quickly realized that I was restrained at my arms and legs after testing the bonds.
They kidnapped me, I thought, feeling frustration building as I sat bound in the chair.
I’m sick of working so hard to make a difference and then learning that everything I do is useless.
My frustration exploded.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Then continued—over and over – intending to rage on until someone turned on the light. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaa! Aaaaaaaaaaaaa! Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
It wasn’t long before my call was heard.
“Afraid of the dark?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his accented words as he flipped on the light switch at the door.
Temporarily blinded, I squinted. As my vision cleared, I was able to see the room. Nothing hung on the white walls, nor was there a stick of furniture in the room—just me, the light above, and the man. Sensing him standing over me, I looked up to a fifty-something, pock-marked, round face, framed by blond hair in a crew cut. As I made eye contact with his gunmetal blue eyes, an uneasy feeling enveloped me.
“Hello,” he said in clipped English, bearing his yellow crooked teeth.
German? I thought, trying to place his accent.
“And who might you be?” I ask smartly, the frustration raging inside of me.
“You can call me Doctor Clauberg,” he said menacingly, in a flat voice.
I paused, rage replacing my level-ten frustration.
“Clauberg? You’re kidding, right? I’m so sick of these games!” I yelled in his face, after remembering the infamous Nazi doctor who playfully experimented on numberless women by injecting chemicals into their wombs. “Out of all the villains of history, you want to identify with him?” I asked rhetorically.
I can’t take it anymore! I opened my mouth and resumed screaming at the top of my lungs, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
I could have cared less what he thought of my actions, but the power behind his slap surprised me, coming from the tall, skinny man. With my face burning, I pulled on my restraints, imagining gutting him where he stood.
“That should shut your trap,” he said with a smirk.
In complete rage and uncaring of the consequences, I resumed my screams until he plunged a syringe in my arm. I barely felt the burn of the drugs over my hysterical cries.
* * *
“It won’t be long now.”
“No?” I questioned.
“No. Hold on, darling. Just hold on,” Armond told me.
“Why is it all so hard?” I asked him with emotion.
“Good will come of it…this I promise you.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. And you know I’m good for it,” he said, bearing his beautiful smile.
Seeing his smile again reminded me of being in the same place we were when we last spoke.
Then he said, “Just remember the power of the Herkimers.”
* * *
As I began to wake from the haze, Armond felt so close that I thought I could smell his earthy body scent. I allowed myself to bathe in the peace that emanated from him. Something he said clicked, awakening my mind.
He said the Herkimers—plural. So the three of them are important, I reasoned.
The reality of where I was interrupted my train of thought as the dream faded. I’d been drugged, and those pharmaceuticals were making it difficult to concentrate. I tried to keep my mind on simple things.
Moving my face in the again-darkened room, my cheek stung.
That’s gonna be a bruise.
I wished that I could see to verify that I still had the crystal around my neck. This reminded me of something else I hoped was still on my body. I knew from when Psycho-doc turned on the light that I wa
s still wearing the filthy clothes they seized me in.
We may be in luck, I thought with a glimmer of hope.
Even though my wrists were bound to the chair, I could just reach the coin pocket of my jeans with one finger. After some wriggling of my fingers and my body, I finally was able to penetrate the pocket. Digging in, I put all my energy into sensing the cellophane with the Tracking Dot inside. If I could remove it from the wrapper, GOG would be able to find me.
After several seconds of searching, I finally realized that it was gone. My coin pocket was empty. Upon the realization, a wave of despair moved through my chest.
There’s no way GOG knows where I am—so no rescue, I thought, deflated.
As I sat in the silence, my mind drifted to thoughts of Françoise and Philippe and the likelihood that they were dead. My heart began to ache for them. Philippe once told me that he would never allow himself to be taken alive. His last words to me were, “You’re our only hope.” I felt that I’d disappointed him and dishonored their death by being captured. All of it was too much for me to bear, and an uncontrollable sob rose up from me.
“Ann?”
I thought I heard my name whispered far off to my left in the dark. Surprised, I immediately stuffed my emotions and remained quiet to listen.
Ten seconds passed as I waited anxiously.
“Ann?” he repeated, barely loud enough to hear.
I quickly whispered, “If it’s you, tell me what you said in the garden.”
Without any pause, he said, “It was like kissing my sister.”
A whimper left my mouth as gratitude flooded me. It was as if a warm fire drew up in the cold, sterile darkness.
“Chow,” I said. Saying his name out loud seemed to make it more real.
“Present,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”
“I am now that I’ve heard your voice,” I said, releasing the breath I’d held. “Are you okay? You sound weak.”
“I will live. Did they hurt you?”
“Not really. But they keep drugging me. Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“It is not my best day.” His evasiveness hinted that he was injured. He paused for a few seconds, and I waited for him to continue. “I shot a few agents. I fought a few successfully. But the last three beat the stuffing out of me.” I heard him take a breath that I could sense was painful. “They seemed to have saved my painkillers for you, Ann. In here, the more screaming you do earns you the brand-name narcotics,” he said dryly.
