The Torch Betrayal

by Glenn Dyer

  “Ahh. A man of action, you are. I’m surprised. Not an English gentleman at all, are we?”

  “Enough. Do we have an agreement or not?”

  “Just who are your guests?” The study’s clock chimed softly, announcing the eleven o’clock hour.

  “Investigators . . . a man called Thorn and a woman. Bright’s her name.”

  “I know these people. They are looking for something to do with the American film lab. Is this right?” Toulouse pulled his hand from his pocket.

  “Yes,” Quinn said.

  “Shut up, Quinn.”

  Toulouse studied both Longworth and Quinn for a long moment.

  “Will you assist us or not? If you don’t, you must leave and come back later.”

  “No, no, no. I trust no one. Especially Englishmen. Even less when they’re related to a lowlife like him,” Toulouse said, tilting his head toward Quinn. “I will help you—I despise that American—for one thousand quid.”

  “Agreed. For your help and . . . your silence.”

  “Agreed.”

  Whether Toulouse agreed to and actually followed his terms didn’t concern Longworth. He would personally ensure the man’s silence later.

  #

  Thorn and Bright stood on the doorstep of No. 28. Thorn gave one last look up and down the street for any sign of the backup team. He shook his head.

  “Here we go, and don’t worry—I’ll watch your back,” he said, as he lifted the knocker and let it drop. He could hear it echo inside the home.

  “Come in, Miss Bright, Mr. Thorn.” Longworth stood beside the open door, his arm extended in greeting, his other hand stuffed in his suit coat pocket. “Come in, come in.”

  Thorn and Bright walked past the surprisingly chipper Longworth.

  “Thank you, sir. I apologize for being late,” Bright said.

  Thorn saw the bullet hole in the wall as he walked by Longworth. Where’s the Frenchman?

  “We heard a gunshot. What was that about?” asked Thorn.

  “Just an accident. I’ll explain. Let’s get comfortable in the study, shall we? Right through there.” Longworth pointed the way through an oak pocket door. Bright took the first steps toward the study door; Thorn followed close behind.

  Bright turned toward the sunlit end of the room, and as soon as Thorn entered the study, he spied a figure that had emerged from the darker side. The man grunted as he brought his raised arms down and smashed a weapon on the back of Bright’s head. She crumpled to the floor.

  “Emily!” Thorn yelled. He threw his body at the attacker before he could raise his arms again, but Thorn never made it that far. One step into his attack, Thorn was grabbed from behind, two arms wrapped tightly around his neck; the foul odor of cigarettes filled his nostrils. The weight of a body on his back forced him to the floor, his arms tangled beneath him. The hard landing drove the air from his lungs. He tried to take a breath, but the grip around his neck kept his lungs from expanding. The weight on his back reminded him of the late-night competitions in Bancroft Hall to see who could do the most push-ups with their roommate on their back. He just needed one this time.

  Thorn untangled his arms and fired off. The body on his back bounced off once his elbows locked, but the arms around his neck tightened their hold. As he pulled his knees under him, he felt a hard kick to his ribs. He strained to turn his head, to look where he’d seen Emily fall. It was then he saw Montgomery sitting astride her body. The hold around Thorn’s neck tightened, followed by a harder kick. The little air that was in his lungs escaped.

  I’ll watch your back. That’s what I told her. A lot of talk and no action. I’m so sorry, Emily.

  “Let him up, Toulouse.” Thorn saw Longworth move into view, a German Luger trained on him. Montgomery stood and hovered over Emily’s body.

  Toulouse released his hold and jumped to his feet, pulling a small pistol from his coat pocket. His face was red from exertion; his forehead glistened with sweat.

  “You fucking bastards,” Thorn said, his voice raspy.

  “Search him,” Longworth barked. Montgomery approached Thorn, knelt, and ran his hands up and down Thorn’s body. Thorn winced when Montgomery’s hands slid over his rib cage. He pulled the Colt from Thorn’s waistband, then tossed the gun to Longworth, who dumped it in his suit coat pocket.

  “Thorn, sit in that chair,” Longworth said, pointing to a wooden chair with his pistol. Thorn moved slowly to the chair and sat. Montgomery searched Emily’s prone body and produced her PPK, which he pocketed, then began the process of gagging her and tying her hands and feet.

  “Help him, Toulouse. And make sure the hands and feet are bound tight,” Longworth said.

  “He’s doing just fine. I’ll watch. Just like you,” Toulouse said, his breathing labored.

  Montgomery finished with Emily and turned to Thorn and began to tie his feet.

  “So you are the leak. No, that’s not really accurate, is it? You’re a traitor, working inside the cabinet.”

  Longworth’s jaws clenched.

  Toulouse’s eyes bore into Longworth. “What did he say? You’re working for the Germans? Or is it the Russians?”

  “Stay out of this. You’ll get your money,” Longworth said.

  “Oh, you can be assured I will. But maybe now it will have to be double our agreed amount.”

  “Is that what this is all about, Longworth? Money?” asked Thorn.

  “There is no time now to explain everything. But there will be time later. Come on, come on, Quinn. Get a move on, and shut this man up.”

  “My pleasure.” Montgomery pulled a white cloth from his shirt pocket. As the gag was being set, Thorn smelled, then tasted furniture wax on the tattered cloth. The fumes were overpowering. He heard Montgomery’s labored breathing as he finished with the gag and then moved to tie Thorn’s hands and feet. Toulouse lurked in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, gun in one hand. The man smirked—it was the same smirk Thorn had seen when he’d first questioned the man.

  Thorn looked down at Emily’s bound-and-gagged body. Blood had pooled around her head and seeped into the rug.

  I failed you, Emily. But that won’t happen again.

  “Toulouse, move them to the back of the house. And, Quinn, you get rid of their car. Park it a block or so away from MI6 and leave it.”

  Thorn could hear Longworth speaking, but the words were nothing but a buzzing in his head. His eyes were locked on Emily. He tried to break his gaze from her, but he couldn’t. Another example of his failed attempt to protect someone lay on the floor before him, bloodied and unconscious. He fought to stop his trance; he needed to focus on what they were doing and saying. He needed to spot their mistakes and weaknesses. He needed to save Emily.

  Montgomery nodded and searched Thorn’s pockets for the keys. “When you get back here, you and Toulouse dump the three of them into the trunk of the car, along with that rug,” Longworth said.

  Three? What other sorry-ass guy fucked up like me?

  “I’ll move the Rover to the rear door, so no one will see you load them in.”

  Longworth stepped toward Thorn and crouched down to look into his eyes. “And make sure you put in the shovels. We’ll put them to work digging their final resting places.”

  Longworth turned and left the study, Toulouse giving him a deliberate nod of approval.

  Montgomery followed Longworth into the front hall. Toulouse pocketed his gun and stood with the toes of his shoes nearly touching Emily’s shoulders. He bent over her body and shoved his hands under her arms to lift her. He struggled with his grip, and as he lifted her, he fumbled and she crashed to the floor again.

  Thorn roared a string of profanities, all stifled by the stinking gag. He lunged forward in his chair, tipping it in Toulouse’s direction, landing a head butt in Toulouse’s rib cage before falling to the floor.

  Toulouse grunted as he dropped. “Fuck . . . you,” he hissed, not able to give full voice to his words.

  Th
orn, lying on his side, watched Toulouse snag a smallish bat-shaped cudgel from the floor near Emily. Toulouse’s eyes bulged and nostrils flared. A thin rivulet of saliva ran down his chin. He raised the bat over his head with both hands and lowered it in a fierce motion toward Thorn’s head.

  Before the blow landed, Thorn felt a brief waft of air on his sweaty face caused by Toulouse’s arms as they moved swiftly toward him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  1400 Hours, Thursday, October 15, 1942

  Wooded Area Near Whitchurch Airport, Bristol

  When Thorn regained consciousness, the pounding inside his head confirmed that he had fucked up. I let my guard down, and it cost us.

  He sensed he was in a vehicle; there was the muffled sound of an engine, and the vehicle bounced and swayed. His mouth was dry and his jaw ached from the gag. His body was stiff.

  How long have I been tied up? Where the hell is Emily? His hands, bound behind his back, throbbed from a restricted blood flow. His feet were numb. His sense of smell was not affected though, as the combination of the odor of gasoline and the stink of damp, moldy canvas was overpowering. He lay on his left side, and there was something covering him. Using his right shoulder and his bound feet, he gradually knocked it off. When that was accomplished, the smell of petrol became stronger. It also helped him see, as a few slivers of light seeped in from around the edges of what appeared to be a trunk lid, where the rubber seals had begun to rot.

  As his eyes adjusted, he made out Emily, lying on her right side. She was facing him with her eyes closed, her hair covering the upper portion of her face. Her arms were pulled behind her back. His relief at seeing her soon changed to fear, as it was impossible to tell if she was still breathing. Thorn struggled to confirm her condition, bringing his knees up to his chest and nudging her once and then again.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when she stirred and began to open her eyes. Thorn’s mouth fought to form a smile, straining against the gag. Stay with me, Emily. We’re not done yet.

  He nodded at her. All she could do was look at him, her eyes barely open. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. He decided to let her rest.

  #

  It had been close to forty-five minutes since Thorn woke. The car was traveling over rough roads, as evidenced by the bouncing the car was doing. Something hard and sharp poked him in his side. He groped with his restricted hands and found a pole. He could only move his hands a few inches down the shaft, where he touched smooth, cool metal. Well, they didn’t forget the shovels.

  He shifted his body in order to use the edge of the shovel to saw at the material that bound his hands. He grunted through the gag as he pushed himself to free his hands, ignoring the numbness creeping into his left side. If I don’t get my hands free, we’re not going to make it.

  The car slowed and jerked to a full stop. Thorn had run out of time, but he managed to get in a few more high-pressure strokes on the edge of the shovel before the engine switched off; then Thorn heard Longworth shout instructions. He shifted to his right side.

  “Untie their feet, then walk them up into the tree line. If they’re still out, we’ll have to drag them. And here, take these,” Longworth said.

  Thorn heard two doors open, then slam shut. An instant later, he heard a third door open.

  “Come on, you bitch. You’re comin’ with me,” Montgomery said between grunts.

  The third door slammed shut. “Here. Open it.” More instructions from Longworth. A moment later, a key was inserted into the trunk’s lock. As the lid was raised, afternoon sun flooded in and blinded Thorn. He could make out three shadowy forms, their features obscured by the sun’s strong backlight. While his eyes adjusted, Montgomery reached in and untied his feet, then reached over Thorn and untied Emily’s. Montgomery shifted his attention to Emily’s face. He hovered over Thorn, sweat dripping from his chin onto Thorn’s cheek, which then ran into his mouth. Montgomery slapped Emily’s cheek three times to get a rise out of her.

  When Emily began to stir, Montgomery backed away from the trunk. Thorn made out Longworth, his Luger in his right hand, and Toulouse, standing a step behind Longworth and holding his own gun at his side. That’s two guns. There’re two more. Longworth gave something to someone. What? And to whom?

  Cracking and popping sounds emanated from under the car as the engine began to cool. A slight breeze dispersed the smell of petrol, leaving only the odor of furniture polish from Thorn’s gag to fill his nostrils.

  “Thorn’s awake. So is she,” Montgomery said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve.

  “Then get on with it,” Longworth said.

  Montgomery grabbed Thorn’s belt and wrapped an arm around his neck, then yanked him out of the trunk and dropped him on the ground facedown. All Thorn could see were Longworth’s black shoes, not more than two feet from his face. He struggled to get his knees pulled under his body, pushed off the ground with his forehead, and then he eased his upper body to an erect position. On his knees, his hands still bound tightly and the gag still in place, he saw another body on the ground: Maggie, bound and gagged.

  Relief took seconds to collide with boiling rage. His breathing ramped up. Longworth had attacked not just him and Emily, but also an innocent member of his family. Someone he loved dearly.

  Maggie was five feet away on her back, her head turned toward Thorn. She blinked, releasing tears that streaked down the side of her face. Her long, wavy, red hair was a tangled mess. One side of her face showed signs of bruising.

  His gaze zeroed in on Montgomery, then Longworth, who smiled.

  I swear to God, you’ll fucking pay for this.

  And for a moment—at least that—he fully believed he would. And he did his best to hold on to that feeling, because it was that, that would get him through this.

  Toulouse spotted Thorn looking intently at Maggie. He walked over to her and crouched, his eyes never leaving Thorn as he began stroking Maggie’s hair. She pulled as far away as she could; emphatic but garbled words carried on the light breeze. Toulouse swiped a hand at Maggie’s head, snared a handful of her hair, and yanked her back toward him, lifting her off the ground. She screeched. Toulouse looked back at Thorn, who made no effort to hide his seething hatred. Toulouse snorted and released his grip, and Maggie fell back to the ground. Muttering something in French, Toulouse returned to a position behind Longworth.

  Stand in line, you French motherfucker.

  Thorn scanned his surroundings. They were in a secluded area, parked on the edge of thick woods.

  “Get Bright, Quinn,” Longworth ordered.

  Montgomery bent over, reached into the back of the trunk, then wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her out. When he planted her on her feet, her stance was unsteady. Her auburn hair still covered her forehead and eyes, and when she tossed her head back, uncovering her gaze, it darted about. It was clear she was in shock. Then her eyes fell on Maggie’s prone body. She stared for several moments, then looked at Thorn. Her eyes locked on him in a harsh squint.

  Montgomery untied the bindings around Maggie’s feet, then grabbed her around her waist and helped her stand. But once she was on her feet, he didn’t let go; his hands slid up toward her breasts. She forcefully twisted her shoulders to free herself, and Montgomery stepped back, grinning. Then Maggie let loose with a sharp kick that landed deep in his groin, dropping Montgomery to his knees. Thorn’s smile was short-circuited by his gag.

  Toulouse cackled loudly, his head thrown back, thoroughly exposing a pointed Adam’s apple dancing up and down his throat.

  Longworth fired a round into the dirt inches away from Maggie’s feet. “I’d kill you all now, but we have to take a little walk first.” He walked over to Montgomery and bent down toward his face. Thorn’s view was blocked, but when Longworth rose, Montgomery was nodding.

  As Longworth held the Luger on them, Montgomery hobbled to the car, pulled two shovels and a pickax from the trunk, and slammed it shut. He then pul
led Thorn’s Colt from his coat pocket. Thorn knew one thing—graves were to be dug. Their graves. And that means hands have to be untied. But if they expect me to pull anything, it will be once my hands are freed, so I need to make a move sooner.

  “Get going,” Longworth said, waving his Luger toward a narrow dirt path that led into a forest of elm and oak trees. They walked for several minutes, Montgomery in the lead, Emily and Maggie in front of Thorn, followed by Longworth, with Toulouse pulling up the rear. As they continued their march, the path sharply inclined. Trudging along, Thorn continued to consider the timing of his move.

  He turned to look at Longworth and noted the man was breathing heavily. They began a slow descent into a shallow gully as the growing wind whistled though the tree branches and triggered a shower of leaves. The path leveled out as it entered the gully, which was boxed in on three sides by tall limestone formations. Montgomery stopped near the base of the far wall and dropped the tools, then circled Maggie, Emily, and Thorn as they entered the gully, stopping at the base of the far wall. Near them were the remnants of a campfire; rimmed with small rocks, a charred tree branch that hadn’t burned through laid half-buried in ash. Thorn moved to a position between Maggie and Emily and nodded to Emily. She blinked several times and nodded back. Thorn turned toward Longworth and grunted loudly to get his attention. Thorn sent a confusing message by gesturing wildly with his bound hands, pointing at Emily and Maggie, then himself.

  “Go ahead, take their gags off. We’re too deep for anyone to hear them,” Longworth said.

  “Don’t. You’re asking for trouble,” Toulouse said as he leaned against a small rock outcropping several feet from the group.

  Longworth nodded at Montgomery, who took off Emily’s gag first, followed by Maggie’s, then Thorn’s. Thorn worked his jaw in a circular motion, and it didn’t take long for Maggie to summon the saliva to spit at Montgomery. She missed, but it didn’t seem to bother her. And it didn’t bother Toulouse either, who failed at stifling a laugh.