In the Shadow of Men

by Darren Swart

He stared at it. It was truly the most incredible thing he had ever seen. The only thing he could think about were Rachel’s lingering words ringing in his ear: “Remain strong. The pain will linger only for a moment before you die…”

  Chapter 36

  Jozef stood quietly with a two day old copy of the Prague Post. The big Czech liked reading the copy in English. It kept him polished on his use of the Western tongue. He never knew when he would have to use it next. The paper served two purposes today, current events and camouflage.

  “I have to go to the loo.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together, as she eased out a long sigh. She regarded him for a moment before responding, “Oh, very well.”

  Digger’s eyes widened, slightly. Gillian watched him squirm slightly before Digger weakly volunteered, “I guess I can watch him.”

  Gillian gave him a sly grin. “That’s okay. I can handle this. This is Europe, you know.”

  He blinked at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow?”

  She rolled her eyes. “They have unisex restrooms here. I’ll keep an eye on him. You finish your lunch.”

  Digger looked relieved and somewhat confused, all at the same time. He was really bright, but a little naïve sometimes when the conversation strayed too far from Quantum Theory. He returned to his food, plowing away at the last of the bowl. It had turned out to be quite good. Gillian looked Franz in the eye. “Let’s be straight with each other for once, shall we? One funny move on your part and I will take a great amount of personal pleasure making sure that you suffer immeasurably. Are we clear?”

  He regarded her warily. “Crystal. You know you don’t have to be so insufferable about all this.”

  Her eyes narrowed and the blood drained from her lips, as they thinned. “Just move,” she said, tightly.

  Feeling that he might be pushing his luck, Franz did not try to press her anymore. Standing, he straightened himself out and moved toward the back of the restaurant. Gillian was a stride behind him. The lavatory was small, even by European standards. It was one toilet with a hand basin outside the door. Still, all the fixtures were immaculate and the room smelled like tulips.

  Franz gave Gillian an imploring look. “I’m not going to hang myself. May I at least close the door? I promise, I won’t try anything.”

  He reached into his pocket. Removing the keys to the Range Rover, he handed them to Gillian. “Here, take my keys. Where could I possibly go?”

  She pushed him into the room and carefully looked over the walls and ceiling. There were no vents, windows or doors for him to slip out. She doubted that he had the gumption to kill himself.

  “All right, but make this snappy.”

  “Quite civil of you.” He feigned a weak smile.

  She glared at him. “Don’t push it.”

  She pulled the door behind him. Something in her gut made her uneasy. The room was at the end of a narrow hallway. There was no other exit, with no way out. She stood there, radar on, watching and waiting. The floors down the hall groaned under footsteps, as someone approached from the end of the hall. A massive dark-haired man rounded the corner and headed toward her. He smiled, disarmingly. Her body tingled from the adrenaline rush.

  The man asked. “Is the WC occupied?”

  Despite herself, she stared at him quizzically, “Pardon?”

  “The water closet, is there someone in there?” The big man was still smiling politely.

  “Oh, yes, quite sorry. He should be out in a minute.”

  “Thanks.”

  He eased past her and stood a short distance away to wait. He nonchalantly leaned against the wall and removed the newspaper from under his arm. His attention turned toward the paper and seemed to pay little attention to Gillian. She relaxed a bit.

  With her back to the door, she turned her head and rapped on the door. “Are you almost done in there? There’s a line forming.”

  “Almost.”

  She heard a tiny click which was followed by an almost immediate burning sensation on her belly. Looking down, she struggled to focus on the small silver dart sticking out of her abdomen. She looked up to find the big man standing beside her. Her body seemed paralyzed, as did her mind. She watched absently, as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. His broad face smiled down upon her. Almost gently, he said, “Here, let me help you.” He guided her body to the wall where she began a steady slump downward. She was unconscious before she reached the floor. The big man removed the dart from her and placed it back in a small titanium case which fit neatly back in his pocket.

  Still drying his hand on a clean towel, Franz opened the door. “You young people have no idea what havoc you’re…” his voice trailed off in mid-sentence. His gaze scanned up to the Czech and then down to Gillian. Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees and placed his fingers on her neck. He sighed quietly. There was strong pulse, albeit somewhat erratic. His gaze climbed until he found the massive face before him. “What did you use?”

  His tone was disinterested. “Trolamine, fifth generation.”

  The color drained slightly from the old man’s face. “Idiot! You could have killed her.”

  Jozef rolled his eyes. “Honestly, don’t you keep up with anything other than your rocks, old man? The side effects of fifth strain are no more than a headache and a nosebleed. She’ll be fine.” He reached down, picked up Gillian like a bag of grain and hefted her to his shoulder. “We must go. The duke grows impatient. We have played this game long enough.”

  “What of the young man?”

  “He’s already loaded in the car.”

  “Car?”

  “Surely, you don’t think I’m going to drive that piece of junk you call transportation to the estate, do you?”

  They were halfway down the hall when Franz asked, “What about the restaurant staff?”

  “They decided to take a break.” He sneered to himself, as he said it.

  The pretty blonde waitress lay behind the polished wood of the bar. Her face was pure and unblemished, her blue eyes now fixed in a permanent gaze which complemented the awkward angle in her neck.

  ****

  Jozef dumped Gillian into the trunk of the large black sedan. He liked the older car because he could fit two people in the trunk without having to cut them up first. It was pretty convenient at times. He rearranged Digger’s feet, so Gillian would lay flat on the floor on her side. He took a moment to rearrange the unconscious victims, so that they were on their side.

  Franz watched in disbelief, as he fussed with the pair as though they were luggage. There were few people in the street, but anyone could see what they were doing if they wanted to. He was becoming more agitated by the moment. “Could you hurry, please?”

  Jozef gave him a dour look. “This is what I do, old man. Don’t tell me how to run my business.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied, weakly.

  Comfortable that the duo were arranged properly for the ride, the big man slammed the trunk lid and moved to the driver’s seat. Franz sank into the plush black leather on the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. One hundred meters away, a backup team lay poised with rifles. They were invisible against the surrounding foliage. They silently waited for the first indication of trouble. Not even a bird chirped, as the long black sedan eased out into the street and purred down the road.

  The sun cast long shadows of the firs along the private road to the Castle Lindenspear. The piercing edifice skewered the cloudless sky, gleaming like black ice against a backdrop of azure blue. It winked in and out of the trees growing more ominous each time they saw it. They eased past a small contingent of armed guards at the final gate and proceeded away from the front entrance to a more private entrance along the east wing of the castle. McPherson stood stoically, hands crossed in front of him like a hangman waiting for the next condemned man. The car had barely stopped when he opened the door for Franz and motioned for him out. “Let’s ’ave it then” he said, holding his hand out.

 
“Have what?”

  “Don’t get cheeky. Just ’and it over.”

  Franz reached into his pocket, withdrawing the oval diamond. He dropped it in McPherson’s waiting hand. McPherson patted him on the cheek, none too gently. “That’s a good lad.” He turned and strode into the castle, leaving a detail of heavily-muscled men behind to help with Gillian and Digger. He hesitated in the half-open doorway. “Get your guests cleaned up. We all meet for dinner in two hours with the Governor, ’imself. I suggest you look presentable.”

  Franz lips were a thin line. He had eaten many meals with the duke. The Scot’s impudence irked him, but he let it go. Dinner would be a civilized event. There would be no surprises. After that, there was no way of telling. He had seen many a man terminated after a meal.

  Jozef reached in the trunk and removed Digger like a piece of luggage. He was no gentler with Gillian. Neither seemed the worse for wear, other than the thin line of drool from Digger’s to the floor of the trunk. Gillian was still out cold. Franz motioned for the guards to assist. One of the guards barked orders into a radio. Within moments, men in black jumpsuits appeared with wheelchairs. A minute later, Gillian and Digger were on their way to separate attended rooms. As they were wheeled into luxurious suites, the drug began to wear off. Gillian sat on the edge of her bed. She looked up at the attendant, who had to be the missing link in a starched white uniform dress. She wondered if the frau understood English at all. She wracked her brain for a phrase that would work. “Sprechen Sie englisch?”

  Without smiling, the attendant replied. “Yes, I speak very good English.”

  Gillian sighed. “I have a very bad headache. Do you have aspirin?”

  “One moment.”

  She picked up the phone in the room and rattled off several terse phrases in German. She lay back on the pillow and covered her eyes with her open palm. A moment later, the attendant was standing over her. She had a wet towel from the bathroom in her hand. She gently lowered Gillian’s hand and placed the towel on her forehead. “Der Doctor will be in shortly.” The towel felt wonderfully cool and inviting against her skin.

  Gillian nodded. It was all she could do. She napped for what seemed only a moment before she awoke to find a portly, little man with a round face and glasses holding her wrist. He looked down and saw that her eyes were open. He smiled. He seems like a nice man.

  He spoke softly. “I am Dr. Ostermann. You were given a drug to sedate you. I need to give you a shot to counteract the sedative. This will sting a bit, but you will feel much better, I assure you.”

  She nodded, but did not move.

  “I need you to roll over, please.”

  She blinked, but did not move.

  Ostermann looked at the stout attendant and asked, “Frau Schmidt, could you help me for a moment?”

  She moved quickly for such a large woman. Gillian thought she smelled lilac when the woman was near. The little man filled a syringe with some unknown glowing green substance. Without looking, he said, “Roll her onto her side, please.”

  Frau Schmidt grabbed Gillian with an iron grip and flipped her like a Marlin. The move left Gillian nauseous and the room spinning. She felt the back of her pants being jerked down. Sting would not have been the word she would have used. At first, she felt a tingle of nerves in her buttocks before a burning sensation began to radiate up her spine and into her back. This guy must have been a harpooner on a whaling ship. Frau Schmidt pulled her pants up and she was rolled back over. Frau patted her on the arm. “You should feel better in a couple of minutes.”

  Gillian didn’t see how that was possible. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the side of the bed. All traces of the headache and nausea were gone. If she lived through this, she would have given ol’ Doc Ostermann a hug. But that seemed like a remote possibility at the moment.

  Frau Schmidt watched on. “Dinner is in forty-five minutes. Please ready yourself.”

  Gillian looked at her. “I’m not on the menu, am I?”

  Frau Schmidt looked confused, but said nothing. Gillian smiled, as she got up unsteadily and meandered into the bathroom.

  Chapter 37

  Gretchen stared at the square blinking cursor on the screen. A streaming bulletin ran across the top of her computer screen like a stock ticker: All American guests are on site now. They are assigned to general quarters. They are to be escorted at all times. Any irregularities must be reported immediately. She sat stared at the computer screen. She was too stunned to think. Her little sister was dead. Anna was sweet and naïve. There was nothing the duke could say to justify what he had done. Deep within her, she heard the whisper. It was indistinguishable at first, but it grew louder and called out to her: He knows. You must act. Mechanically, she stared at the screen before her. She eased the cherry desk drawer open before her, never once dropping her head to indicate that she was looking for something. Her hand clutched a small remote control from the drawer and placed it into her lap. She knew precisely where the security team placed the camera in her office. Deliberately, she had arranged her desk so the security team could not stare at her all day. There was nothing prudish in her actions. The privacy was necessary for other reasons. She pressed a small red record button on the device and began typing dutifully for five minutes without stopping. She stopped for a moment to look at what she had typed. She turned off the recorder. She reached over and began to shuffle through the paper on her desk. As she reached for one page, the rest tumbled to the floor in a mess. She cursed a small oath and began to pick them up. She angled herself to give the camera an unobstructed view of her ample cleavage, as she shuffled the stray pages off the floor. She straightened up and went back to look at the screen for a moment. As she did, she pressed the loop button on the remote. All they would see her do for the next thirty minutes would be to type and read her screen. The maneuver gave her a window of privacy. There were no cameras in the duke’s personal office. Her brother Felix had spent an entire year designing and overseeing the entire security system. He was her only living relative right now. It could not be defeated by anyone from the outside, or so they thought. It was their sense of arrogance that would play in her favor. She knew more about the system than the security team did. She was also a master at manipulating it.

  During installation, Felix had given her the remote, so she could help him experiment with it. It was forgotten to everyone but her. He had been instrumental in raising them. Guilt ate at her now with the thought that she was betraying his trust. But then, she rationalized. It was bigger than the both of them now.

  She didn’t bother closing the door behind her, as she entered the duke’s office. She confidently strode across the room to a full size portrait of Frederick the Great, the duke’s namesake. She touched a hidden button in the molding of the frame. With a quiet click the portrait swung open, revealing the large stainless steel safe behind it. Gretchen smiled wryly, as she opened the safe. She considered the irony that the egocentric duke idolized his namesake, Frederick the Great.

  Deftly, she opened the safe and reached inside. She reached past the rare coins and bundles of cash to remove a small wooden box. Careful not to disturb its location, she cautiously opened it where it sat. Inside was a small deep blue Sappir. Removing it, she reached into her bra and removed its twin, placing the replica back in the box. She closed it and placed the real stone in her brassier; It felt strangely warm to her skin. Carefully she set the box back in the safe.

  It had taken the gem cutter in Amsterdam a month to find the correct rough stone and to cut it to her specification. It had been a difficult task. It was unlike any other he had ever seen. The ancient lapidary was an oddity. It represented a great deal of complexity which was unknown during the period in which it was cut. While the Gem cutter was perplexed by it, he reproduced it, nonetheless. The finished piece was flawless.

  She walked briskly back to her office and to the wall across from her desk. She pressed a section of the molding in the panel and heard the relea
se of a latch inside. The large wooden panel slid easily into a cavity behind it. Two dimly lit tunnels branched off from the doorway. Today, she would be using the servant’s tunnel.

  The security team had commandeered many of the broader tunnels for placing guards at strategic points throughout the facility. Their readiness teams could respond to any point in the castle, within seconds of being notified. For the most part, they hung out and played cards. It was a boring existence that hinted of adventure, but resulted in none of it.

  She moved quietly through the dimly-lit corridor to the chamber where the American girl was being kept. She eased the panel to the room open. The American was not in the room. She could hear the shower in the bathroom. It was perfect. Her Dienstmädchen stood primly, towel in hand, waiting on the girl to finish. Unnoticed, Gretchen watched the female valet for a moment, making sure that she was not moving. Again, she used the remote to record a loop of the woman. Much to the surprise of Frau Schmidt, who whirled at the sudden intrusion she entered the room. Recognizing Frau Hapsburg, she immediately bowed her head. Gretchen’s cutthroat politics were legendary in the castle. It was enough to make Frau Schmidt squirm, unquestioningly.

  Gretchen looked at Frau Schmidt, severely. Curtly, she asked, “Why haven’t you provided fresh flowers for our guest?”

  The older woman stared at the fresh flowers on the bed stand and stammered, “But I…”

  “Go find fresh flowers and don’t return until you have them in a crystal vase!”

  Frau Schmidt swallowed hard and quickly shuffled from the room, closing the tunnel panel shut behind her. Gretchen strode past the massive posts of the canopy bed and into the spacious cream-colored bathroom. She made no pretense of modesty. There was no time for it.

  Gillian opened the frosted glass door of the shower to find herself face-to-face with a beautifully sterile looking woman. Her face was unreadable, as Gillian toweled off her glistening body. Gillian made no attempt to hide from her, as she enjoyed the slight roughness of the thick terrycloth towel. She looked the woman in the eye before asking, “Is there something I can get you?”