by James White
Lucia and Jurgen glanced at each other. “He didn’t tell you anything about it?”
“No.”
“What else has he been keeping from you I wonder?” mused Lucia.
“Quite a lot judging by my current predicament. All he asked me to do was to look into her murder and find out what I could.”
“And what have you found?”
“I found you and the Brigadier and not a whole lot more, until those photos of Carruthers with Ramona.”
“Why did you want to meet the Brigadier?” Jurgen demanded.
Nick gave a sigh. “As you very well know now, I had the negatives Ramona took. I wanted to ask him what they were, how Ramona had got them, what else might have been compromised and over how long a period. That was all. Once I had that I could go to Carruthers with it.”
Lucia let out a laugh. “Carruthers already knows Ramona was passing information from the Brigadier. That wouldn’t be news to Carruthers.”
“Well it was news to me. Listen, all I’m trying to do is find out who killed Ramona. I seem to have stumbled over a lot more.”
“How unfortunate for you. And are you any closer to finding out who was responsible for Ramona’s death?”
“Not yet.”
“I told you, I think Carruthers killed her,” interrupted Jurgen. Lucia scowled at him as Nick gave a start.
“If he did, why get me to look into it?” Nick asked, puzzled.
“Why indeed? A washed-up, disgraced former intelligence officer. I wonder,” Lucia spat sarcastically. “It’s a possibility. But that’s what we want you to find out.”
“What?”
“We want you to find out what Carruthers was doing with Ramona, what information she passed him and what he knows about us. Then kill him.”
Nick mulled this over for a few seconds. “Killing a man isn’t a trivial thing. I can find out what the big plan is, get the information, but killing him?”
“That will be our leverage over you. Once you do that, you disappear, leave us alone, or we tell the police where to start looking.”
“What if he doesn’t know anything about you? Killing him would be pointless. Besides, I’m not a murderer.”
“No? I heard different, Mr Valentine. Tell me, when you kill for your country, is it still not murder?”
There was a long silence while the two of them watched him. His mind raced. They’d gathered a lot of information on him in a short time. They either had well-placed moles or their own counterintelligence records were excellent.
He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s more a question of survival.”
“Consider this the same,” Lucia said coldly.
Nick nodded. “Okay, just out of interest, what if I refuse?”
Jurgen snorted contemptuously. “Then, my friend, I get to kill you now and drive you back to the river for a long swim.” He whipped out a knife and started forward. “He won’t cooperate. Let me finish him!” he snarled.
Nick pulled his knees up to his chest in defence and prepared to throw himself to the side in what he guessed would be a largely futile attempt to save himself. To his surprise, though, Lucia beat him to it, stepping forward and grabbing Jurgen’s knife hand.
“No!” she cried. “We need him for now. Your impulsiveness has already cost us. If you’re going to use that knife, cut his feet free and help him up.”
Jurgen glowered at her, but did as he was asked without making eye contact with Nick. As the restraints came loose, Nick stretched his legs and bounced his thighs to bring the blood back into them. Jurgen pulled him roughly up by his arms and Nick staggered on still-unsteady legs. The German man gave him a rough push and Nick grimaced as his shoulders, pulled back by his bindings, bounced uncomfortably off the wall.
Jurgen slipped his knife away and stepped back, sulking. Lucia smiled, but it lacked warmth and only served to send a chill through Nick.
“You see how it is, Nick,” she said quietly.
“I do. Looks like I owe you some thanks again.”
“Save it.”
Nick decided to push his luck. “I’ve got another question.”
Jurgen shot him a dark look, but Lucia cocked her head slightly to one side, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she’d been expecting this.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“What if I say I’ll go along with this to get out of this scrape I’m in now then go and tell Carruthers everything? Or do nothing at all? What then?”
Jurgen leaned back against the wall and twitched Nick with narrowed eyes. It was a sly, calculating look that Nick found uncomfortable, so he shifted his gaze to Lucia.
“I thought you’d ask that.” She was smiling now. “You’ll find a generous payment of five hundred pounds in your bank account, wired to you courtesy of the National Socialist Party in Germany. Consider that ample payment.”
“How convenient, a payment from the party. Thank you.”
“Not at all. You see we’re looking after your interests.”
“And your own. You know a payment like that is going to be tough to explain away.”
“Exactly the point. Not very subtle but it works.” She took his arm and started to lead him out of the room. Nick leaned into her slightly more heavily than he needed to, just in case he got the opportunity to unbalance her and run, but also because he liked the warmth of her contact, not to mention the heady scent, reminiscent of those Mediterranean sunsets that seemed to clear his head. He was aware of Jurgen following them as they headed slowly down along a bare corridor, but his mind wandered with forbidden possibilities, just for a second, but a second too much, because suddenly they’d stopped at another door and he’d missed what Lucia was saying.
“Sorry, what?” Nick asked.
“I said, there are also some other assurances we have. You have delivered us the negatives, which was very kind; we can let certain people know about that. There’s also the matter of the Brigadier being lured into a trap earlier this evening. Carruthers had a tap on Johnson’s telephone just as we did. He will have heard you make the arrangements for the meet, the meet where the Brigadier only narrowly escaped with his life. So, you see, if we were to let all this other information go to the right people, things would not look very good for you at all.”
“I still don’t trust him,” growled Jurgen.
Nick felt a tug on his wrists then his hands were free. He rubbed at the sore welts and shook his hands gently to get the blood flowing again.
“No, nor do I, but he works for us now. If he knows what’s good for him.” Lucia opened the door as she spoke, letting sweet, cold, night air flood in. Nick breathed deeply as Lucia guided him out. She still had his arm. They were at the bottom of some concrete steps: as Nick had suspected, the basement of a house, somewhere central judging by the dull hum of traffic nearby. Nick sniffed and his head cleared slightly, though the dull ache remained.
“One more thing,” Jurgen added. “We’ll be wanting the photos you took from the old man. Those really are our property.”
“Well, you do seem to have me in a bit of an awkward bind,” Nick remarked, “just as Carruthers does. What if I can’t find anything out?”
“You’d better hope that’s not the case,” Lucia replied in a matter of fact tone.
“For your sake, and Clara’s,” Jurgen added with a sneer.
Nick whirled to face the man, his face twisted in rage, but Lucia was already between them.
“Enough! Jurgen, go back inside!” she commanded.
The German glared at Nick before turning his back and stomping inside.
“I’m sorry about that,” Lucia said softly. He looked into her eyes, felt he could melt into the amber wells, and she turned her ahead away and took a step back, suddenly aware of the negligible distance between them. “Jurgen was just making a point, in his own rather clumsy way.”
“I think you made your point already, Lucia, but thanks for having him make it again. Just so we’re clear, if
anything happens to Clara, both of you are dead.”
Lucia turned her gaze back to his and smiled in the pale streetlight that played down the steps. “Of course.” She moved closer and fingered his lapel, looked deep into his eyes. “So we’re clear. We all know where we stand,” she whispered, leaning close. He could taste her sweet warm breath on his lips.
The door crashed opened and Jurgen stood there, hands on hips, watching them. Lucia’s hand lingered on Nick’s lapel.
“He hasn’t gone yet?” barked Jurgen.
“Not yet. We’re just finalising the details,” Lucia said without breaking her eyes away from Nick’s. He was spinning, quite lost again.
“How will I make contact?” he stammered.
“We will contact you,” snapped Jurgen. “We will be watching you, remember that, so no tricks, no stupidity. We will watch you all the time. Our eyes are everywhere…” Jurgen’s voice started to rise in a crescendo and Nick turned to look at him in surprise. The man was about to launch into a speech. Lucia cut him off.
“Or you can always find me at The Blue Rose,” she said softly.
Nick swallowed and nodded. Lucia shot a glance at Jurgen, who stood glowering in the doorway, then leaned in close to Nick, her lips brushing his ear on the side away from Jurgen. “You were a dead man. You owe me,” she whispered. Her breath lingered then she pushed Nick away with a little shove. “Remember what we told you. Remember what I said,” she said with a tone of finality. She turned and flowed towards Jurgen, but stopped and turned. “Oh, and in case you do get any ideas about this place,” she waved an arm, “don’t bother. We won’t use it again. I think you’ll know your way when you get upstairs.” With that, she turned, breezed past Jurgen, who gave Nick one last hard stare, and the door slammed shut.
Nick trudged wearily up the steps to street level and looked around. He recognised the street; he wasn’t far from his own place. Now they’d found him he guessed it would be safe as anywhere to go back to. He looked at his watch and tutted. The pubs would be shutting. Still, he knew a place for a drink not far from here. He needed to think.
CHAPTER 12
Nick knew he was taking a chance, but he had to risk it. He had to get to Clara to warn her and to tell her to pack her things. He figured another day at the most and this would be over; he planned for them both to be long gone by then.
He swiftly skirted the dark streets, keeping to the side alleys and lanes, all too aware that there was a warrant out for him. He knew The Blue Rose would be watched – by the police, by Carruthers, by Jurgen – and it went without saying that Richardson would know everything going on in there. Still he had no choice. He longed to see Clara. The thought flitted into his head that maybe he was so desperate to see her because of the way Lucia kept getting inside of his head, a knee-jerk defensive action, but he angrily dismissed it. Clara and he had history and more importantly, a future.
As he dived across the splash of light that was Tottenham Court Road, he concentrated. If anyone was going to pick him up, it would be here in the top end of Soho. Ducking off the main road as soon as he could, he nipped through a dog-leg alley to come out just above The Blue Rose. He peered around the corner. Sure enough, there was a police car parked bang opposite The Blue Rose entrance. That wouldn’t be good for business. Nick chewed his lip for a second then backtracked to a phone box he’d passed. He slipped in some coins and dialled.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to Mr Richardson,” Nick said.
“You’ve got the wrong number.”
“It’s Nick Valentine.”
There was a silence, some dulled muttering as the receiver was cradled in a hand, then a new voice.
“Nick?”
“Mr Richardson?”
“You know the law are looking to pick you up? What have you been up to? I do hope you’ve got some good news.”
“Actually, yes. I’m getting close now. Another day or so and I’ll have a name for you. Thing is: the police are rather cramping my style a bit.”
“I’m sure they are, Nick. Are you asking me for help?” The line crackled.
“I’m outside The Blue Rose. There’s a police car parked right opposite. I need it to disappear for half an hour.”
“Is that all? Nick, no problem, but remember, I need you to come to me with something concrete after this.”
“I won’t forget. You won’t let me.”
“You’re right, I won’t. Give it ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” Nick said and the line went dead.
Richardson was as good as his word and ten minutes later, the car was gone and Nick could slip into the Rose, he hoped, unnoticed. In the dark fug of the basement it was a twilight zone where nothing had changed. The exhausted-looking band played on in the darkness, while drinkers’ faces were lit by heavy shadows of table-top candlelight.
“Clara in?” Nick asked at the bar.
“Out the back. I’ll fetch her. There’s a table free in the corner? You want a drink? It’s on the house.”
“Sure. Vodka martini.” Nick squinted against the clouds of cigarette smoke as he negotiated his way to a small table tucked away in the gloom. He looked around. No sign of the Germans, the Italians or anyone that looked like they could be with Carruthers’ outfit. Small blessings. He looked at his watch. Less than twenty-five minutes and counting, but he intended to be out of there in less. There was no sense in pushing his luck further; it was already at breaking point.
Clara came over with two martinis and handed one to Nick and she eased herself into the chair opposite. The candlelight reflected off her golden hair, her smoky eye makeup accentuating the ice blue of her pupils. She smiled and Nick felt like the luckiest man alive.
“You left without saying goodbye.”
“You looked so peaceful sleeping. I haven’t known you sleep like that for ages. I thought it best to leave you. You look exhausted, Nick.” She reached a hand out and massaged his thigh.
“Yes, I’m tired,” he conceded, “and I haven’t been sleeping well, at least not recently.”
“Well, maybe we found a cure for your insomnia.” She winked.
“Could be. I guess we’ll have to try it again and see how it works out.” He placed a hand on hers and took a sip of the ice-cold drink.
“I’m more than happy to. When’s good for you?”
“How about in a couple of days? I’ve booked a place for us, down in Cornwall, by the sea, like last time.”
“How long ago that seems now.” Clara’s eyes drifted off to some place in the past.
“Too long, but now we’re going again.” He squeezed her hand. “It will be how it was. We’ll be how we were. We can take some time to think about how we can escape from all this once and for all.” Nick was holding her hand tightly in his excitement and he looked at her expectantly, but instead of joy, her eyes reflected sadness. She clumsily dabbed at a tear.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just being silly, Nick. I… I just feel like we’ll never get away from this. Like there’s too much holding us both to this life. Maybe our dream of a life by the sea is just that, a dream, a cruel silly dream.” She started to sob.
“Clara, darling, don’t say that. It might feel that way now, but what’s to stop us?”
She looked up at him, her eyes flitting across his own, as if seeking something out. “Who knows, Nick? Maybe something neither of us knows.”
“Darling, you’re being silly. It’s this place, this life. I’m sorry, I know what I’m doing at the moment is making it hard for you.”
“It’s not just this, Nick, it’s…” She stopped.
“It’s what?”
She shrugged and forced a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. I’m being silly. Going away will be lovely. You’re right; we can plan our next move.”
“Exactly.” There and then, Nick suddenly wanted to tell her that he wanted her to be Mrs Valentine, but it wasn’t the time or
the place. Cornwall, he would ask her in Cornwall. “I’m so happy, darling. This will be a break to remember and the start of the rest of our lives.”
A cloud flashed across her features, but it passed so quickly Nick couldn’t be sure if it had even been there. “Yes, darling,” she beamed. “It will be wonderful. Just make sure that you’re careful and that you get to make this holiday without any injuries.”
“I’ll be careful. That’s the other reason I came here. Please, Clara, be extra careful. Do not trust anyone. If you can stay away from your place and mine, go to The Savoy. I’ve phoned to keep a room on under both our names.”
“Oh, Nick, I’ll be careful, but it’s you I’m worried about. Please, get this beastly thing over and come back to me safe.” She finished her drink and gently leant forward to place a long kiss on his lips.
“I’ll come back to you safe. What man wouldn’t?”
She smiled but he could see the concern behind her eyes. He looked at his wristwatch and grimaced. “I’m afraid I have to go.”
“Already?” Her hand clutched at him.
“I’m afraid so. They’re watching this place. I have to leave before the police get back. I arranged a diversion, but it won’t last forever.”
“I wish you could stay, but if it’s safer to go, go. When will I see you again?”
“Soon. I’ll find you. Just stay out of trouble.”
“You, too.”
He kissed her again, long and hard, then got up and walked off. He paused at the stairwell and looked back. She was watching him from the table and he thought he had never seen her look so sad. She blew a kiss and he smiled, nodded and trudged out into the night.
Behind him, Clara started to cry.
CHAPTER 13
Nick settled on the tattered barstool and ordered a martini with a twist. The barman nodded and moved away behind the small black-topped bar, leaving Nick alone with the smoke and the three/four-time swing music playing out from the band at the back of the club. The joint was pretty busy, mainly with couples who were drunk or getting there, occupying the round wooden tables and swaying to the ragged tunes of a band that looked like they needed a rest. Nick stared through the clouds of smoke with stinging eyes. It was the same band every time he came down here, crooning away in their dark corner. He didn’t know how they did it, night after night. Actually he did. He’d sat up late with them himself and knew how they kept fuelled up. Nick guessed most musicians needed something to get through the night. Hell, who didn’t? Booze or faith or nightmares, or all of the above. Nick should know. Nick just couldn’t sleep; he didn’t need anything, the insomnia was enough on its own.
