Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (17 page)

Somehow he got through the brief conversation without making a fool of himself, answered Hess’s polite questions and Udet’s exuberance, but he couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief when they finally moved away. Stasi was looking at him curiously.

“Are you all right, darling?”

“Fine.” The line at the buffet had diminished, and he forced a smile. “I should get Al some supper, she’s been waiting long enough.”

“I’ll tell her you’re coming,” Stasi said, “and then we can talk.”

There was rarely any fooling Stasi. Lewis nodded, and turned toward the long table. He filled a plate at random, exerting himself only to be sure he didn’t pick up any of the soft, smelly cheese that Alma hated, then found his way back to her table, Mitch trailing behind him with another filled plate.

“Sorry about that,” Lewis said, setting his plate in front of Alma, and she waved the words away,

“Stasi said you were talking to an actual Reichsminister.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you see?” Stasi asked. She pitched her voice low enough that she couldn’t be heard by anyone who wasn’t leaning over the table with them. “Come on, darling, this could be important.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Lewis said.  “It’s nothing to do with — our new job. It was just — didn’t you feel it? When you shook hands?”

“Feel what?” Mitch asked, frowning now, and Stasi shook her head.

“I’m wearing gloves, darling, and that’s not Mitch’s talent. What was it?”

“A ring,” Lewis said. “He was wearing a ring. Silver, like a wedding ring or maybe a signet, only with a silver skull and crossbones on it instead of a stone, with carvings all around the band. I touched it, I think, and it — it was full of power. Full of magic. And I didn’t like the feel of it.”

Mitch looked as though he wanted to turn around and stare, but Stasi laid a hand on his arm and he subsided.

“But not directed at us,” Alma said. “Was it directed at anyone?”

Lewis considered the question, trying to push past the unpleasant sensation to focus on its purpose.  “I don’t — no, I don’t think so.  It just was.”

Alma started to press her fingers to her lips, then remembered her makeup. “Well. We’re not the only Lodge in the world. Not by a long shot. And there are plenty of groups that work with what you and I would consider darker forces.”

Lewis nodded reluctantly. One of the things he’d had to learn since joining Alma’s Lodge was that not everyone agreed on what was and wasn’t acceptable practice. He trusted Alma implicitly, but he’d met other people that he didn’t think had a lot of common sense. And this…This just felt wrong.

“He’s part of the German government,” Mitch said, and sounded genuinely shocked.

“That doesn’t mean the government knows he’s part of a Lodge,” Alma said. “Or would approve of it if it did. I imagine there are people in our government who are Lodge members, Theosophists and the like. If it’s not directed at anyone — if it’s not directed at us —”

Mitch nodded.  “I know.  What can we do?”

“We tell Jerry when we get to Alexandria,” Alma said. “He’s bound to know someone who’d find it useful knowledge.”

“And we tell Henry,” Mitch said. “And we write Bullfinch and company once we get back to the States.”

Alma nodded. “Agreed.”

“I can take care of that, darling,” Stasi said. “In the meantime —” She gave another brilliant smile, any tension she might have been feeling utterly invisible. “In the meantime, let’s enjoy this lovely party.”

I
t was getting on toward midnight, and the party was growing more lively, a few jazzy numbers creeping into the orchestra’s repertoire.  Mitch applauded the end of a lively foxtrot, but turned his back resolutely on the next number. Stasi tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and he led her through the arch that led to the cloakrooms and to the entrance to the enclosed courtyard garden. The garden itself looked like something out of a Renaissance painting, with a quartet of small trees pruned into lollipop shapes at the center. Wrought-iron lanterns hung at intervals from them and in the arches of the loggia, the candles casting dim circles of light. Shapes moved in pairs between the raised beds, and Mitch took a step sideways, bringing them deeper into the loggia’s shadows.

“We shouldn’t be gone long,” he said quietly, and Stasi turned into his embrace, twining long arms round his neck.

“I wouldn’t count on it, darling.”

Mitch stiffened. “What do you see?”

“Nothing.” It was too dark to see her clearly, but he could feel her smile. “I just think anything serious enough for Jerry to cable you — well, it’s not likely to resolve itself quickly.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” Mitch rested his cheek against her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. “But we’ve only got a week, and that’s all he’s getting.”

“If he needs more —”

“He’ll just have to handle it,” Mitch said.

“I could join you,” she said. “The children could see Egypt — it would be educational—”

“Or I could come back, and Al and Lewis could do whatever Jerry needed,” Mitch interrupted. He closed his eyes for an instant, memorizing her scent, her arms around his neck, the warmth of her body pressed against his. “If it even comes to that. You said yourself you don’t know.”

“True.” Her voice was no different, but he thought he felt her soften a little against him.

“I won’t leave you for any longer than I have to,” Mitch said. It probably went without saying, but he wanted to say it anyway, put it into words so that she had to hear and believe.

“I should hope not, darling! I’ve enough to do with the children.” She leaned up to kiss him, a brush of lips against his own and then a firmer touch, so that his own lips parted beneath hers.

“I don’t really want to go,” he said after a moment, a bit breathless, and felt her smile against his skin.

“Excuse me.”

The voice spoke from the loggia behind them, and Stasi slipped out of his grasp, putting herself to rights with a single swift movement. Mitch turned, not bothering to hide his scowl. “Yeah?”

It was the Count von Rosen, as impeccably dressed as ever, perfect white tie and tails and no sense, apparently, that he might be interrupting something private. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, Mitch thought, meeting the cold eyes.

“I am sorry to interrupt your farewells, but I want a word with you, Mr. Sorley.”

Mitch spread his hands, and used the gesture to put Stasi half a step behind him. “Talk.”

“You and the rest of Gilchrist Aviation are leaving tonight for Alexandria,” von Rosen said. He kept his voice down, but the words were very clear. “You’ll take me with you.”

“I don’t think so,” Mitch said. Stasi laid a hand on his arm, silent warning.

“If you don’t, I will inform everyone here of your plans. And that would, I expect, be rather more than awkward.” Von Rosen’s smile was a chess player’s, putting the king in check.

Damn, damn, damn. Mitch blinked deliberately, doing his best to look slow and sleepy rather than furious. “Go ahead. I don’t reckon it’ll make any difference.”  Except it would; they wouldn’t be able to leave tonight, would have to go in the morning, and that would shave another day off the time they had with Jerry, never mind requiring explanations they didn’t really want to make —

“If it wouldn’t make any difference, you wouldn’t be leaving like this,” von Rosen said. “In secret, leaving your wife behind to cover for you. Look, all I want is a ride to Egypt. I don’t care what your business is, and I won’t interfere with it. But you will take me with you.”

The hell.  Mitch swallowed the words along with the urge to hit the man.  Though if he did — he could probably drop von Rosen, but then what? Tie him up and leave him in a corner, except that he didn’t have anything useful for tying except his and von Rosen’s neckties, and once the man got loose or someone found him, they’d be in even worse trouble than if he’d just told the world what they were doing. “You’ll need to talk to Alma,” he said, and turned away without waiting for von Rosen’s response.

A
lma glanced at Lewis’s watch for the third time, wishing Mitch would hurry. They needed to leave before the crowds started collecting for the fireworks, because a group moving against the tide would be too noticeable, and it was after eleven already. By the door, Henry shifted from foot to foot, as though he wanted to pace but didn’t want to draw attention; beside him, Lewis was still as stone, perfectly at rest and perfectly ready. And then she saw them, Mitch and Stasi moving together through the crowd, Mitch glowering. She stiffened. Von Rosen was with them, his thin face unreadable, matching Mitch stride for stride. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry stop and straighten, and Lewis shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, and then made himself relax.

“Al,” Mitch began, and von Rosen interrupted.

“Mrs. Segura. I know you are planning to leave for Egypt tonight, and if you want to get away discreetly, you are going to take me with you.”

“Why?” Alma kept her voice cool and distant.

“Because if you don’t, I will create enough of a stir that you won’t be able to get out of Palermo tonight. And by tomorrow everyone will know where you’re going.”

“I don’t know how much of a problem that is,” Mitch said, his voice tight.  “I reckon we could manage.”

Stasi fitted a cigarette into her holder, her hands perfectly steady, and Henry lit it for her automatically. “I’m wondering why he wants to go so badly. Surely there are easier ways to get to Egypt than trying to blackmail his fellow pilots.”

Alma thought von Rosen colored at that, and she nodded. “That’s a fair question.”

“I have business in Africa.”

“There are commercial flights,” Henry said. “And steamships. Lots of easier options.”

“If you make a fuss, so will I,” Alma said.  “That’s not going to do either one of us any good.”

“What if I offered to pay for fuel?” von Rosen asked.

“Convince me I can afford to take you,” Alma said. “Then we can talk payment.”

Von Rosen hesitated. “I came to the airshow to buy a cargo plane. The person from whom I was supposed to purchase it never showed up. I can’t find him, and I can’t waste any more time on him, and I need to get back to Africa. As soon as possible.”

“Can’t your uncle help you out?” Alma asked, and thought she saw him flinch.

“My late aunt’s husband and I don’t see eye to eye on this matter. He would try to stop me from going.”

That was something in von Rosen’s favor, if it was true. If. Alma said, “You’re Swedish, right? What does he care what one man does in Africa?”

She saw Henry stiffen, as though he’d suddenly put something together, and von Rosen said, reluctantly, “Göring doesn’t want anyone interfering with Germany’s Italian alliance.”

Henry nodded. “Libya, Ethiopia — Mussolini’s got ambitions, all right —”

“Henry,” Alma said, and he stopped abruptly. She looked at von Rosen. “You’re not German. You’re not his responsibility.”

“They treat everything as personal,” von Rosen said. “As though they were princes in the Middle Ages. It would be an insult, and it would cause trouble, and no one wants that to happen. Not even me, because it wouldn’t make enough trouble. The only thing I can do that will make a difference is in Africa. I was there before, flying for the Red Cross, and I have to get back. And it has to be now.”

Alma thought she heard a kind of desperate truth in that. She looked at Stasi, who shrugged her shoulders, and then at Lewis. He was watching von Rosen, his expression distant, measuring, but she saw no signs of disbelief. “I’ll need more than that.”

“I can’t tell you, not here,” von Rosen said. “Not until we’re in the air.  If we’re stopped before we get out of here — I can’t risk it.”

They needed to get away, Alma thought. Their own time was running out, and she thought von Rosen was more than capable of carrying out his threat. He was the sort to pull the house down on his own head rather than surrender. “If you come,” she said, “you’ll be a passenger and you’ll do exactly what I say. Mitch will search you before you go on board the Cat, and if you’re armed, you’ll get it back once we get to Alexandria. You’ll stay in the passenger compartment and you won’t interfere with anything on board. Is that clear?”

For a second, she thought he was going to protest, but then he nodded once, sharply. “Clear.”

“Right. Then come on.”

T
hey collected coats and the carryall von Rosen had left at the coat check, then slipped out of a side door Stasi had spotted earlier. They huddled for a moment on the street while Henry hailed a taxi, and then Alma embraced Stasi and Henry and climbed into the cab’s rear seat, wedging von Rosen between her and Lewis. Mitch settled himself in the front, giving the directions in a quiet voice. The cab pulled away with a jerk and a grinding of gears, and she leaned back against the seat, trying to compose herself. This was the last thing they needed, a potential enemy on a flight where they were already short-handed, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think of ways to keep him under control. Handcuff him to one of the passenger seats, of course, except that she didn’t own a set of handcuffs. They could tie him down, but that wasn’t nearly as secure. Lock him in the back of the plane and hope he had more sense than to kill them all? That was beginning to look like her only bet.