Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9)

by Monique Martin

  Another bad lie.

  If this was the way Niels wanted to play, that’s how they’d play it. For now.

  “You should be more careful,” Simon said.

  He nodded, but the movement made him wince again. “Yes.”

  He tried to stand. Simon rose and gave him a hand up.

  Niels looked at him and then Elizabeth, clearly embarrassed. “I owe you my thanks yet again.”

  He held out his hand toward Simon. “I am in your debt.”

  “I’m just glad we were here,” Simon said as he shook Niels’ hand.

  “That is twice in as many days that you have come to my rescue,” he said with a grateful smile. “Almost makes one believe in guardian angels.”

  “He’s seraphim and I’m cherubim,” Elizabeth said. “I’m the cute one.”

  Niels laughed and then frowned, putting a hand to the back of his head. “Please, do not make me laugh.”

  “We should take you to a doctor. Have that head looked at.”

  “Thank you, but I am fine,” he said and, right on cue, nearly toppled over, and would have if Simon hadn’t steadied him.

  “A doctor,” Simon repeated in a voice that brooked no argument.

  Niels turned to Elizabeth to appeal, but she shook her head. “Don’t even try.”

  ~~~

  It had taken some doing; Bohr was hell to argue with, but Simon finally convinced him to rest. The doctor had pronounced him concussed, but luckily, not too badly. As a precautionary measure, they were told that he would have to be looked after for the next twelve to twenty-four hours, just in case. He would need sleep, but someone would have to wake him every two to three hours. Simon and Elizabeth were more than happy to volunteer.

  If Bohr found their solicitude worrying, he didn’t show it. He was probably too tired after all he’d been through to resist further. And it was a good thing. Staying close to him had just become that much more pressing. Whoever this mystery man was, he hadn’t wasted any time trying to murder Bohr. Somehow, Simon doubted it would be his only attempt.

  With one last look, Simon closed the door to Bohr’s bedroom and rejoined Elizabeth in the sitting room of the rented flat.

  She stood by the window, no doubt keeping an eye out for Mr. Personality. “How is he?”

  “Fussy. Sleeping, finally.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  Simon frowned as he joined her by the window. “What?”

  She shrugged. “You sounded like you’d just put our daughter to bed.”

  As soon as she’d finished speaking her face fell. “I mean,” she added quickly, but fumbled. “If we had … Hell. You know what I mean.”

  Simon took her hand. “I do. And I look forward to it. All of it.”

  She nodded, but he could see she was still troubled by her slip. He understood all too well. He’d done the same more times than he could count. It felt so natural to say. And the realization that it wasn’t true—not true yet—was disappointing.

  They’d always wanted children and, despite the fear the idea struck in his heart, it filled it as well. During those intimate nights in the dark when the future is all promise and possibility, they’d even given their future child a name—Charlotte. Somehow, he knew having her wasn’t a dream of what might be, but a certainty. One he couldn’t wait to arrive.

  “2 AM feedings, colic, teething,” he said. “Everything up to her first date, I think.” He pulled her closer. “After that, all bets are off.”

  He won the smile he’d so wanted to see.

  She put her hand on his chest. “Your clothes are still wet.”

  He shrugged. ‘They’re nearly dry.”

  Her fingers played with the buttons of his vest. “You could take them off.”

  Simon laughed but was brought up short by her expression. Was she joking or not?

  “With Bohr in the other room?”

  She leaned in closer. “He’s a scientist. He knows how it works.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  She kissed his neck and he closed his eyes. He allowed himself that much and then he eased her away.

  “Elizabeth.”

  She looked up at him with her most calculated guileless expression, eyes wide and soft, mouth slightly parted. “Simon.”

  He narrowed his eyes. What was she playing at? Not that he minded. Under different circumstance, any other circumstances, he would have gladly—but …

  A soft knock at the door interrupted them. Simon went to answer it. It was the delivery boy from a nearby restaurant. Since they’d all missed lunch they’d arranged for sandwiches to be delivered.

  Simon paid the boy and before he could put the bag down on the table, Elizabeth took it from his hands.

  She dove into it and pulled out a bundle wrapped in wax paper. “I am Starvin’ Marvin.”

  Without having any idea what it was, she took an enormous bite and smiled happily as she chewed.

  Now, that was his Elizabeth.

  For the next ten hours they took turns looking in on Bohr. He slept the day away, but seemed to be doing well otherwise. He finally emerged in the evening to join them for leftover sandwiches for dinner.

  The ensuing argument over whether they should stay or go was testament to his improved health. But, in the end, Elizabeth won him over with some good old fashioned guilt. Margrethe would never forgive her or him if anything happened to him …

  Reluctantly, he’d given in and gone back into his bedroom to rest. Something Simon was starting to feel envious over. They’d been cooped up in his sitting room all day and half the evening. Fatigue was setting in. Doing nothing was exhausting.

  Simon sat up straighter to stretch his back and Elizabeth’s head slipped off his shoulder. “Sorry.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

  Simon took out his pocket watch to check the time, glad, not for the first time, that the thing was waterproof. “Nearly ten.”

  She nodded sleepily and pushed herself up. “Time to check on our patient.”

  She continued to rub her eyes as she shuffled over to the bedroom door. She eased it open and stepped inside.

  An enormous yawn overtook Simon and he threw in a massive stretch to match.

  “Simon,” Elizabeth called from the bedroom. “Simon!”

  He ran into the bedroom and found her standing next to the bed. He was about to ask what was wrong when he saw for himself. The bed was empty and the window was open.

  Chapter Four

  SIMON SWORE UNDER HIS breath and strode over to the window. The street outside was empty, dark, quiet.

  “Dammit.” He slammed his palm against the window frame.

  They were on the second floor. He’d foolishly thought that would be enough to keep Bohr safe. And it would have been if the man had stayed put.

  If they kept making mistakes like this, this was going to be a very short mission indeed. If there was still a mission left to be had.

  “Do you think …?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon shook his head. It was possible that the mystery had man had scaled the drain pipe and kidnapped Bohr at gunpoint, but there was a much more logical explanation. “No. Bohr left on his own.”

  Elizabeth nodded and looked around the room. “Why would he run?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we were too helpful?”

  Elizabeth chewed her lip in thought. “Maybe.”

  She walked over to the dresser and opened a few drawers. “Empty. And his suitcase was there,” she said, dipping her head toward an empty chair.

  She was right. Bohr hadn’t just made a quick run for it, he was planning on traveling. But where?

  ~~~

  “He’ll be along,” Simon said.

  Elizabeth poked her head out from under the cover of the doorway and looked up at the threatening rain clouds. “I hope you’re right. Looks like it’s about to rain.”

  “It’s London. It’s always about to rain.”

  Elizabeth didn’t look comfor
ted by that, but she leaned back into the shelter of the doorway they’d been using for their stakeout for the last few hours.

  It had been a gamble coming to London and an even bigger gamble camping out at the Royal Society, but they had little choice. After his escape, Bohr could have gone anywhere at all, but Simon had a feeling he’d come here. After all, Rutherford had told him that Blandings could help. If anyone needed help, it was a man on the run.

  If they only knew who he was running from and, more importantly, who he was running to. That would have made their lives so much easier. Of course, that was clearly not meant to be.

  If Bohr wasn’t in London, or God forbid, even England, they’d have no chance at all of finding him again.

  Next to him, Elizabeth pushed out a tired breath. He didn’t blame her. They’d been up all night. They’d caught the first train to London from Cambridge and had been waiting here since dawn.

  London traffic grew as the morning wore on. Piccadilly was a busy street even at the quietest of times, and now that the world had awakened, it teemed with people and traffic. It was all a strange mixture of old world and new, horse drawn carriages and automobiles, buses and carts. Even the people were of the same odd mixture—an older woman still clinging to the Victorian era and a young man pushing past the Edwardian. He was probably no more than sixteen, his entire life in front of him. Or it would have been, Simon thought with a gloom to rival the rain clouds above, if the First World War wasn’t on the horizon.

  “What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon shook his head.

  “You were grinding your teeth.”

  “Was I?” He hadn’t even noticed. “Just thinking about what’s to come for them.” He inclined his head toward the growing pedestrian traffic.

  “Breakfast?” Elizabeth asked, a hint of hope in her inflection.

  Simon chuckled, his cloudy mood lifting in the face of her sunny disposition. “No. Never mind. I’m sure he’ll be along.”

  “You already said that.”

  Simon pushed himself off the wall and stood straight. “And this time I’m right.”

  Niels Bohr, looking as tired as they felt, suitcase in hand, walked down the sidewalk on the far side of the street. He turned to the right and walked under the massive gateway arch of Burlington House where the Royal Society was held.

  “Come on.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth and they dodged traffic as they crossed the busy street. They made their way into the large courtyard and caught sight of Bohr entering the east wing.

  Simon and Elizabeth found a new hiding place along the colonnade.

  “Hot damn,” Elizabeth muttered. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.”

  She wrinkled her face. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Simon was sympathetic. He was tired and hungry too, but no one did either with quite as much panache as Elizabeth.

  “Wait here.”

  “What else am I gonna do?”

  Simon quickly walked back onto Piccadilly and stepped out into the busy foot traffic. He found a meat pie cart at the corner and purchased two. He didn’t dare ask what was in them.

  “It’s not exactly breakfast at the Ritz,” he said as he handed her one. “But they’ll tide us over. If they don’t kill us,” he added softly looking down at his with concern.

  Happily for them they didn’t, and it was a good thing he’d gotten something. It was another few hours before Bohr emerged again. Looking tired but not quite as nervous, he still looked carefully around to see if he was being followed. Instinctively, Simon did the same.

  As near as he could tell, they were the only ones on his trail this time. And they’d have to be careful. If he saw them, he’d definitely spook and they might not be so lucky next time.

  As Bohr emerged back onto Piccadilly, he crossed through the busy traffic. Following him, Simon and Elizabeth wove their way through cars, nearly getting killed before they made it across.

  Bohr kept on south toward St. James. The thick morning crowd gave them ample cover, but it also hindered their tracking of Bohr. Simon’s height helped, but it was a difficult balancing act.

  Bohr skirted around the edge of St. James Square and then down to Pall Mall.

  “Where’s he going?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon wished he knew. Bohr seemed to be headed toward Trafalgar Square, but why? Was he meeting someone there?

  Wherever he was going, Bohr wasn’t wasting any time. They hurried along behind him, having to duck into doorways to avoid being seen. So far, so good, Simon thought, until Bohr turned right when he expected him to go straight toward the square.

  He entered a large white building at the peak of a triangular corner.

  “Oceanic House,” Elizabeth said, reading the large letters emblazoned above the massive columns and doorway below. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “One way to find out, right?”

  Simon nodded. They crossed the street and entered the building where they saw Bohr walk through a door marked “White Star Line.”

  “Why do I have a sinking feeling about this?” Elizabeth said.

  Simon looked at her and frowned. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

  Chapter Five

  “WHY?”

  SIMON LOOKED WORRIED. Not just Simon worried, but world class Simon worried, and that was, well, worrying.

  He shook his head. “Let’s not borrow trouble, if none’s needed.”

  “Agreed,” Elizabeth said, still not clear what was going on. “I think.”

  He glared at the door Bohr had gone through and then turned back to her, his face grim. “I can’t be sure, of course, but all signs are pointing toward it.”

  “Toward …?”

  “It’s April 1912. Bohr is apparently planning a trip. We’re in the lobby of the White Star Line booking office. Knowing our luck, that can only mean one thing.” His expression was one of dread. “The Titanic.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “What?”

  “That sinking feeling you had; get used to it.”

  “That’s not funny,” Elizabeth said.

  Simon shook his head. “No, it’s not. Maybe I’m wrong; his name wasn’t in the records, but they’re incomplete. The manifest was lost at sea.”

  She frowned. Simon knew a lot of things, a lot of esoteric things, but that one was surprising. “And how do you know that?”

  His expression grew even more serious. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it did. “My great-grandfather—my namesake, Simon Cross—was supposed to travel on the Titanic, but changed his mind at the last minute.”

  Another thing about him she’d never known.

  “Grandfather Sebastian used to talk about it quite often. Tell me it was a lesson in how our choices, even seemingly small ones, can shape our future. I had no idea what he really meant at the time.”

  His eyes had that faraway look of someone reliving a memory. Then he glanced at her. “I was a boy and all I took away from it was a fascination with the disaster. I even wrote a paper on it for school.”

  He laughed humorlessly and looked back at the door to the ticketing office like it was the gateway to hell.

  Elizabeth really, really, really hoped he was wrong. “Maybe Niels is just asking questions or booking passage on some other ship. There are others, right?”

  Simon nodded. “The Mauretania or possibly the Olympic.”

  “That’s probably what it is.”

  There was a haunted look in his eyes. “Let us hope so. Why don’t you wait here? If I lose him inside, you can stop him from leaving. We can’t afford to lose track of him now.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Simon turned to walk inside, but Elizabeth grabbed onto his arm. “If it is … you know, the Titanic, we have to go.”

  Simon’s jaw tightened. She could see the argument he was having with himself; she’d had it, too. There was only one conclusion to arrive at. The
ir mission was to make sure Niels Bohr made it to his meeting. No matter what.

  Simon nodded, almost imperceptibly, but he did. Then he turned and strode through the doorway.

  Elizabeth pushed out a breath, glanced around the lobby area, and waited for Bohr. What was she going to say to him if he appeared. Last time they’d been together, he’d jumped out of a window to get away from them.

  ~~~

  Elizabeth rolled over and, instead of finding a warm Simon, she found cold sheets. She opened her eyes and it took her a moment to remember where she was. London. Niels.

  She scrunched up her eyes and blinked a few times to get her brain started. It wasn’t being very cooperative though, and she was still half asleep as she got out of bed. It was cold and dark in their hotel bedroom. The only light came from under the door. She groped around for her robe, but couldn’t find it and eventually gave up.

  Wrapping her arms around her chest to stay warm, she shuffled into the sitting room. The sofa and chairs were empty.

  “I’m over here.” Simon stood by the window. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” She walked over to join him. “Looking for our friend?”

  From the booking office, they’d followed Niels to his hotel, the Ritz of all places, and booked a room there themselves. There hadn’t been any sign of Mr. Personality since Cambridge and hopefully there wouldn’t be.

  “Hmm?” he said, then shook his head. “No. Just thinking.”

  She peered out of the window, but there was nothing to see in the dark streets below. The lamp posts were little more than soft glows in the distant night.

  She waited for him to elaborate. Finally, he looked at her, frowned and then walked to the other side of the room.

  “One thousand five hundred and seventeen,” he said, then turned back to face her. “That’s how many people are going to die.”

  Elizabeth felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. She knew some about the disaster. Everyone did. But—

  “And they’re going to die horribly, Elizabeth. One of the survivors said being in the water was like being stabbed a thousand times over.”