The Secret of Lions

by Scott Blade

  “She can’t identify me? She’s the one who led me to you. I’m Charles Blake,” Beowulf said. He smiled at Willem and pointed the gun down at his face.

  The final bullet tore through his head and cut straight into the floor.

  Black Lion was dead.

  Willem was dead.

  Epilogue

  Escaping Secrets

  1950 London

  95

  Beyond the beautiful courtyards and gardens, Barbara walked to the art gallery. She remembered the campus and all of the places she had seen Willem. She peeked behind her and noticed she was being watched. She suspected it was Beowulf.

  She entered the art gallery and stared at the painting. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an old man sweeping the floors. The image of an old ghost swept up in her imagination. It was a vision of Willem sweeping in the distance.

  Barbara’s hair was now long and blonde. A shawl covered her face. She wore a dark blue dress. Barbara smiled sadly at the memories of Willem. They had belonged together.

  Every single day she thought about that night in the cemetery. She’d waited for him. When he did not show up, she did as he’s asked. She looked behind the tombstone and found a box.

  Barbara opened the box and found a bag full of money, a gun equipped with a silencer, and a tattered, old black sketchbook. It was the one his mother had given him.

  The sketchbook was full of sketches by Willem. The first half was done when he was a boy. The second half was more recent. Many of the drawings were of Barbara. Some were of Gracy Kessler, Willem’s mother.

  The sketchbook acted as a kind of journal of Willem’s life. Barbara held it close to her, never letting it out of her possession. Often she would flip through it, using the beautiful illustrations as reminders of Willem’s life.

  Slowly, she walked out of the gallery. She looked down at her belly. It was big now. She had returned to London after disappearing for the last six months abroad. She had come home and was expecting her first child. She wanted to be near Willem. He was the Unknown Soldier.

  Barbara was running out of money and had one last option. She had one last message from Willem. It was an address here in London and a name, Mr. James Bosworth. He was a special agent with British Intelligence. She was going to have to trust him. So far she had not trusted anyone. If they had found Willem, they would find her. Still, she wanted her son to be near his father.

  As the wind blew through Barbara’s surroundings, she rubbed her belly. Before she would go to find Agent Bosworth, she had one last thing to do. She couldn’t allow Beowulf to find her son. She had to protect him at all costs. Beowulf was a loose end. And she wanted to tie up this loose end.

  Killing him wouldn’t just be revenge; it would be assurance of the safety of her son, little Willem.

  She could not see him, as he hid near one of the buildings, but she knew he was there. Beowulf kept his distance, but he was still behind her, still waiting for her to sit and stare at the painting, as she always had.

  Barbara smiled. She knew she would lure him into the art gallery. Finally she did, and now he watched as she began scribbling something underneath Willem’s painting. She wrote the name Willem had signed the painting with:

  Unknown Soldier

  She vanished into the darkness and watched Beowulf walk out to the painting. He stared at the words she’d left, confused and distracted.

  Barbara drew her silenced gun, the one Willem had left for her. Her next move would be for both Willem and her son.

  About the Author

  I grew up in small town in Mississippi on the Gulf of Mexico. If you liked this story and want to read more of my stuff check out www.scottblade.com or just google my name. I appreciate you taking the time to read this one in particular. I spent more than ten years writing and researching this book. It will always have a special place in my heart.