A Time of Shadows (Out of Time #8) (26 page)

Tess smiled. “Don’t feel bad. I’m very good at what I do.”

“Is Travers in on it too?” Jack asked, wondering just how deep the corruption in the Council ran.

Tess laughed. “Peter? No. He was just useful.”

Was?
Jack thought. That was not good. Not good in a growing pile of not good.

“I have to admit, you surprised me,” she said, “when you and not Quint came out of the hammam. I was impressed. He’s no pushover.”

Jack’s head throbbed as he clenched his jaw.

She turned her attention back to Skavo. “You’ll be coming with me, Mr. Skavo.”

He shook his head. “I cannot give you what you want.”

“Oh, I think you can. And will. I’d hate to see anything happen to Luka.”

Skavo’s breathing sped up. “Please…?”

Jack shifted his eyes from Tess’ gun to the room around them, looking for something, anything, he could use as a weapon.

“Simple leverage, Mr. Skavo,” she said and then turned to Jack. “And as for you, Mr. Wells, I’m afraid our partnership has come to an end. Don’t worry, though. Once we get the watch working, none of this will have happened.”

She pointed the gun at his chest.

Jack felt an odd calm come over him. He’d felt it before when death seemed the only way out. But he’d found another way then, and he would find another now.

“No one should be able to play God,” Jack said.

She gave him a shrugging smile. “Maybe not. But we’re going to give it a go.”

“I cannot let this be,” Skavo said and then looked imploringly at Jack, as if he was trying to tell him something Jack was too stupid to understand.
 

Tess ignored him.

“It cannot be,” Skavo whispered.

Tess grinned, giving herself one final moment of triumph to relish before her finger began to tighten on the trigger. Jack tensed. The next few seconds were a blur.
 

With a strength and speed Jack didn’t think he had in his frail body, Skavo pushed himself from his chair and leapt in front of Jack just as the gunshot sounded.

Skavo’s face, only inches from Jack’s, went wide with shock and then grimaced in pain. Stunned at not being shot, at the old man’s sacrifice, Jack wrapped his arms around Skavo as he went limp in his arms.
 

“No!” Tess said in shock, stepping forward.

Jack started to lower Skavo to the ground when Luka appeared in the doorway, eyes wild.

“Father!”
 

Tess turned toward him and Jack lunged forward. He caught her hand just as she raised it for another shot. He wrenched the gun from her hand. She reached for the gun at her waist, but Jack was too fast. He gripped her wrist and pressed the point of the gun he held into her stomach as he shoved her against the wall.

“Still feeling like God?” he asked.

Her eyes were bright and furious as they danced across his face. Keeping one gun against her body, he took the other one from her waistband and then stepped back.

Luka knelt on the floor, sobbing, cradling his father’s body.

Skavo’s eyes were unfocused, but then he turned his head and looked at his son. “It was the only way,” he said, lifting a shaking hand to caress his son’s cheek, “to keep you safe.”

Jack looked back at Tess, her cold features were unmoved. The only emotion they betrayed was anger, anger at
her
loss.
 

“What a fool,” Tess muttered as she looked at Skavo.

Jack felt sick. Skavo had saved him, saved them all by killing himself.
 

“I think you should shut up now,” Jack said.

She whipped her head back to him, her lips twitching with another insult, but he glared her into silence. One of the villagers appeared in the doorway. His face went pale from the scene before him.

“Doctor,” Jack ordered, although he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Nothing would. “Get a doctor.”

The man hesitated, but nodded and left.
 

Making quick work of it, Jack tied Tess’ hands to a chair with a length of flexible wire he’d found on Skavo’s table. Then he went to Luka’s side, though there was nothing he could do now for father or son.

Jack moved so Skavo could see his face. “Thank you.”

Skavo moved his head slightly in acknowledgment and closed his eyes briefly. “Everyone is safe now.”

Jack nodded, but he knew that wasn’t exactly true. That all depended on Simon and Elizabeth. And he prayed they were doing better than he was.

P
OOR
S
IMON
, E
LIZABETH
THOUGHT
. If there were a seventh circle of personal hell, waiting in line for an amusement park ride would be Simon’s. The lights, the tourists, the jaunty music, they were nearly enough to break him. And she couldn’t help but smile.

The clue they’d found in Bedlam was simple enough. Or at least Simon had thought so.
 

A tuppence, a cigar and a turnip.

Only an Englishman would have been able to figure that one out. And thankfully, she had one of her very own who was currently scowling at the endlessly winding queue. It was all so very simple, Simon had explained. The tuppence was clearly meant to be London and the cigar and the turnip were obviously Churchill.
 

She’d looked at him blankly because it might be obvious to him, but.…A cigar she could see, but what did turnips have to do with it? It seemed Churchill, like so many other men, named his precious possessions—cars, boats and, in this case, watches.

Why the heck he’d called his watch a turnip Elizabeth didn’t understand, but she trusted Simon. And that had led them to Madame Tussauds, where they’d last had a run in with the former Prime Minister’s wax likeness.
 

While on an assignment in World War II, Evan Eldridge had hidden his pocket watch in Churchill’s pocket. Finding it had saved their lives; looking for it had nearly killed them.

Judging from the look on Simon’s face, this time might as well. Madame Tussauds was still Madame Tussauds, only just a lot more. The exhibits were not quite so steeped in history. Where old Wellington had stood years before, the boys from New Direction smiled back now.
 

“Most disconcerting,” Simon had mumbled.

Elizabeth couldn’t argue that one. That wasn’t the only change at the museum. Churchill wasn’t standing in his old spot waiting for some tourist’s selfie. He had moved up in the world, to the Spirit of London, an “exciting animatronic riding adventure.”
 

“Step in,” a young man in a maroon t-shirt ordered them as their turn in line came.

Simon glared at him and at the miniature black cabs that served as the cars for the ride.
 

Elizabeth got in first and slid across the seat to make room. Simon sat down and the attendant pulled the safety bar down across their laps. Lights flashed as their car bumped down the track and into the attraction.
 

“Welcome to the Spirit of London,” a voice intoned.

“How long is this?” Simon asked, already impatient.

“You are now going back 400 years to the London of Queen Elizabeth I.”

“Oh, bugger,” Simon said.

Elizabeth couldn’t contain her laugh, but swallowed it as quickly as she could. Simon was not amused. Even so, an unladylike snort escaped and she started laughing again.

“Elizabeth.”

Animatronic figures of minstrels and court jesters moved back and forth as jaunty pipe music played.
 

The ride slowly brought them along through history from Tudor London to the Great Fire. And finally, the war. The sound of air raid sirens and bombs filtered through the dark tunnel.

Just up ahead, around the bend, Elizabeth could see Churchill standing by piles of sandbags in the middle of the Blitz, which was stupid because no one stood around during the Blitz, least of all Churchill.

“There he is,” she said.

Simon tried to lift the bar, but it wouldn’t budge and his legs were too long to easily slip out from under. Elizabeth didn’t have that problem and easily twisted in her seat, freeing her legs.

Stumbling over Simon, she jumped out of the car and landed right in front of Churchill. Wasting no time, she rifled through his pockets.

“Oi!” someone in another car called out.

Elizabeth ignored him. Where was it?

“Hurry,” Simon said and she turned to see their black cab was nearly around the next corner.

Patting Winston down, she felt the outline of the tube in his inside pocket. “Pardon me,” she said as she reached in and got it.

She ran back to their cab and nearly slipped on the lip of the platform, but Simon caught her and pulled her back in.

She held the last canister up in triumph. They’d gotten it. The last one. She gripped it tightly in her hand. That went better than she’d thought it would.

As their car pulled back into the loading and unloading area, Simon pulled on the safety bar, trying to urge it to move faster.

“Come on.”

Finally, it released. He got out and helped Elizabeth onto the platform. The man in the car behind them also got out and called out to one of the attendants. He was clearly angry and pointing them out to security.

“Uh-oh,” Elizabeth said.
 

This was not going to end well, not with all of the gesticulating the man was doing. She tapped Simon’s shoulder and pointed to the now very interested security men.

“Of course someone would choose now to be a concerned citizen,” he muttered and took her hand.

The ride area was crowded, but Simon shouldered his way through, pulling Elizabeth along behind him. They were almost at the exit door when someone grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and tore the canister from her hand.

“I’ll take that.”

“Don’t!” Elizabeth cried out and reached for it, but the guard held her away from it.
 

“Taken from old Winnie, was it?”

The security guard tugged on her arm and Elizabeth saw Simon’s hand clench into a fist.
 

“Give that back to her,” he said.

If they lost the last clue….Elizabeth’s stomach turned.

“We need that,” she pleaded.

“Don’t make a scene now,” the guard said and nodded his head.
 

Another guard, much larger than the first, arrived. “Problem, Sully?”

“Jumpers,” Sully said. “Got handsy with old Winnie. Took this off the old boy.” He held up the silver canister.

“All right, come along,” the new guard said and reached out to grab Simon’s arm.

Elizabeth could see Simon was ready to fight, but with the two of them and the crowd, it was a losing proposition. Simon tried to pull away, but the guard’s grip was strong, and he smiled, that dark kind of smile of someone who’d been looking for mischief and found some.
 

“You wanna play?”
 

“Don’t,” Elizabeth urged Simon.
 

They couldn’t overpower the guards and get out of here with the clue. So much for it being easy. They’d have to find another way.
 

The guard tucked the canister into his pocket and yanked on her arm again. Simon glared at him, but when two more men showed up, he reluctantly came to the same conclusion she had.
 

Simon was good, but four against one were not good odds.

The response seemed like a bit of overkill for a little ride shenanigans. Maybe security had Mall Cop disease, she thought as they were taken to the security office, and any action was met with an overreaction. She would just come up with a reason for it and beg for mercy. And pray they got it. Without the last clue….

They were escorted down a hall and into an office. The man behind the desk looked up, frowning at the interruption.
 

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Chelsea,” the guard said.

Chelsea nodded and sighed, putting down his pen and waved him in.

“Caught these two messin’ about with ol’ Winnie,” the guard said.

“Prime Minister Churchill,” Chelsea said tersely, taking off his reading glasses.

“s’wat I said.” The guard pulled the canister from his pocket and held it out. “Took this off him.”

Chelsea took the canister and put it on his desk.

“Jumped right into the Blitz,” the guard said.

“Yes, yes,” Chelsea said, waving a dismissive hand. “Thank you. Good work.”

The guard left and Chelsea leaned back in his chair and observed them with a disappointed look. “Children I expect this from, but adults….”

He tsked, and Elizabeth could feel the tension rolling off Simon.

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” Elizabeth said.

“You seem to have misunderstood the rules,” Chelsea said. “Or do you think they just don’t apply to you?”

“Now, see here—” Simon said.
 

“No,” Chelsea said loudly. “You people seem to think this is some sort of playground. It’s a business and we take what we do here very seriously. We’ve had enough of your geo-cachetting—”

“Geocaching,” Elizabeth corrected without thinking, earning her a “just keep quiet” flash of annoyance from Simon.

Chelsea waved it away. “These scavenger hunts you people play are not amusing, I promise you.”

Simon started to say something, but gritted his teeth instead.
 

“You’re right,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound as contrite as humanly possible. Maybe if they played along, he’d just let them go. “It was stupid.”

“Yes,” Chelsea said, pleased at her admission. “Very.”

“We won’t do anything like it again, I promise.”

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed. He picked up the canister. And for a moment, Elizabeth thought he was going to hand it to them, but he didn’t. He simply looked at it and turned it over in his hand.

“This is a place of business. A serious museum.” He looked down at the canister with disdain.
 

“You’re right. It was—”

“Don’t bother. He’s not going to give it to us,” Simon said, cutting her off, all pretense gone.

Chelsea smiled. “No, I’m not.”

Simon returned his smile, and it was terrifying. “So I’m just going to have to take it from you.”