Читать книгу Thieves of the Black Sea - Joe O'Neill - Страница 20

Margaret and Inez stumbled through the forest. Margaret’s right ankle throbbed, while Inez felt a sharp pain on her temple and blood trickled down her face.

Through the thicket of trees, in the darkness, it was impossible to see any kind of trail. The girls ran blindly—falling, picking themselves up, falling again, and continuing to move in any direction they could, so long as it was away from the crash site they had fled. Their knees, elbows, and palms were covered in dirt and scraped with blood. The only sound that could be heard, in the otherwise stillness of the forest, was the crackling of branches under their feet and their labored breath.

They ran until their legs screamed with pain and their lungs shouted to stop. Finally, when they arrived at the edge of a small stream, Margaret allowed them to rest.

Both girls doubled over, gulping air into their pleading lungs. Sweat poured down their necks and soaked their shirts. They were bloodied and bruised, a feeling of shock resonating throughout their bodies.

After a moment, Margaret leaned down to the water’s edge and began scooping handfuls of water into her mouth. Her ankle throbbed, and she wanted nothing more than to take off her boot and let it soak in the cool water. Inez followed suit until both girls felt their breath return to normal and their bodies cool a bit. They rinsed the blood and sweat from their faces.

“Let’s go,” Margaret urged and soon they were running through the forest again, staying as close to the stream as they could.

Inez ran, and Margaret limped, for another twenty minutes, until Margaret finally stopped and leaned against a tree.

“Inez, I have to stop. My ankle is killing me. Besides, I don’t hear them following us anymore.”

Inez was bent over in exhaustion as well, and her face was drenched with sweat.

“Yes, let’s stop for a minute.”

After catching her breath, Inez looked at Margaret. Margaret was dirty and sweaty and grimacing with pain, but Inez had never been happier to see anyone in her life.

“Margaret, how did you find me? What happened? I thought I was all alone—those men were so scary,” Inez said and went and hugged her friend tightly. Margaret, unaccustomed to any kind of display of affection from Inez, was taken aback for a moment. She held her friend close, and could feel Inez shake in her arms as she cried into Margaret’s chest.

“You would have done the same for me,” she whispered in Inez’s ear.

Finally, Inez released her grip on Margaret, her eyes watery from tears.

“How did you find me?” Inez asked again with a sniffle.

“When you went missing from school, I knew there was only one place you would have gone, and that was to spy on the Germans. I found your notebook and binoculars on the hillside by the farmhouse. I saw them put you in the truck, so I ran down and hopped in the second truck. It was luck, really,” Margaret said, remembering her British humility to never embellish.

“You’re a hero! That is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of!” Inez exclaimed.

Margaret had to smile at the enthusiasm in her friend’s face. She never thought of herself as brave, or as any kind of hero, but seeing the joy in Inez’s eyes, she now realized how alone she’d been.

“It was nothing. Now, we’ve got to figure out where we are,” Margaret replied, wanting to shift the attention from herself.

Margaret tried to peer through the darkness, but it was hopeless. Without some kind of light, they would simply be walking blind.

“I think we need to rest a bit until dawn and then begin walking. We mustn’t go to the main road because they might be patrolling it, so, we’ll stick to the forest.”

“I have no idea where we are,” Inez said.

“We traveled for a long while. I think we’re in Germany.”

“Germany! Why would they want to bring me to Germany? If they were going to kill me, why not just kill me in France?”

“That’s just it. I don’t think they wanted to kill you, but I also don’t know what they wanted with you.”

Inez stood and thought for a moment.

“It’s getting cold, Margaret,” Inez said.

“Let’s make a quick shelter. Grab as many long branches as you can and I’ll collect leaves. The drier the branches, the better,” Margaret ordered.

The girls gathered all the leaves and branches they could find, and then Margaret went about preparing a kind of teepee fort made of branches with leaves for flooring and spread on the outside for insulation.

Inez watched her in amazement.

“That is so neat. Who taught you how to make a fort?”

“My father. I’m making it small so it will keep us warm. It will be cramped, but that’s the point.”

In no time, the fort was built and both girls crawled inside. It was small, so they had to curl up together. Still, it was warm.

Inez felt Margaret next to her. She finally posed a question that had been bothering her.

“Margaret, all the time you were in that truck, how did you go to the bathroom?” she asked.

Margaret shook her head in frustration.

“Really, that’s what you’re asking me right now? After I risked my life to save you, and we’re stuck nowhere, and we have no food or water?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” Inez squeamishly answered.

“There was a bucket, okay?” Margaret tersely answered.

“Any paper?” Inez questioned.

“Oh my goodness, be quiet!” Margaret admonished and Inez knew better than to ask any further questions.

Both girls curled together. The shock in their bodies subsided and gave way to exhaustion. Soon, they drifted into a fitful sleep.

“Inez, wake up!” Margaret said.

Inez slowly opened her eyes. Margaret was kneeling and looking into the shelter from outside. It was now daylight, but just barely, and the chirping of many varieties of birds could be heard all around them.

Inez was notoriously crabby in the morning, and at school, the girls avoided waking her at all costs. Once awake, she was the most courageous of all of them, but early in the morning, she had the sensibilities of a two-year-old baby.

Stretching her arms, she brought her torso up and yawned.

“I’m stiff and sore and hungry,” she complained.

“So am I. Let’s get a move on.”

“Do we have to? I want to sleep for a few more minutes,” Inez pouted and turned over.

“Inez, we don’t have time for that, we have to move!”

Inez sat up, folded her arms, and stared crossly at Margaret.

“Fine!”

Trying to ignore her, Margaret walked over to the stream, put a bit of water in a large leaf, and then produced a pin from her hair. She rubbed the pin a few times on her clothes to charge the pin. She then broke off a blade of grass and floated a small, wide piece in the leaf and carefully placed the hairpin on the floating grass. Slowly it spun around until it stopped.

“This is a trick my dad taught me. Float a small piece of metal in a leaf with water and it should point to magnetic north. With sunrise on one side, we can determine which end of the hairpin is north. We know we want to head south, so—that way,” she said, pointing.

Inez stared at the hairpin in the water.

“Are you sure that thing works?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Of course it works, now let’s get a move on.”

Inez stood up and soon the two girls were tramping through the forest. Margaret winced in pain from her ankle, but it wasn’t so bad she couldn’t walk. They had found a long stick for Margaret to use as a cane, which helped. Twigs snapped under their feet and mud caked to their shoes. They walked for two hours until the morning was bright and the sun was in full view.

“If we are in Germany, it means they may have taken us through Italy and through Switzerland. No, that doesn’t make any sense, because I don’t remember going through a mountain pass. They would have taken us north through France and then headed directly east. I would imagine it would be southern Germany and the Alps would be just below us. I think those are the mountains we’ve been staring at.”

Inez gazed at the mountain range in front of them.

“The Alps?”

“I’ve visited them several times on skiing vacations. They’re very beautiful,” Margaret explained.

“So how do we get out of here?”

“I’m not sure. But we need to stay away from the main roads and towns. No doubt the Germans will be looking for us.”

“How will we eat?”

“Inez, I don’t know. We’ll figure something out, just keep walking.”

The girls continued on, at one point finding another stream, where they washed their hands and faces and cooled themselves off. Walking up a hill, Margaret thought she heard something on the other side. As they drew closer to the crest of the hill, the noise became louder. It sounded like a hammer hitting a nail.

“Get down Inez, let’s see what’s over that hill.”

The two girls crouched down, stayed hidden behind trees, and then continued their walk to the top. The forest was dense so it was easy to hide.

Over the hill, the girls came upon a scene that both amazed and surprised them.

Approximately a quarter-mile down, they could see a makeshift camp. It looked to be about two hundred yards square. Barbed wire surrounded the outskirts of the camp, and a guard tower was at each corner. To the right were a series of large canvas tents, about twenty in all. The camp was a buzz of activity, but it was difficult to see who occupied it from such a distance.

“What is this?” Inez asked.

“I don’t know, maybe some kind of army camp? I think those are all soldiers,” Margaret answered.

Suddenly, as they were peering down at the camp, both girls were grabbed from behind. Strong hands dug into their triceps and pinched their skin. Then they heard shouting in German.

They were staring at a couple of German soldiers dressed in black uniforms.

“Was is das?”

“Was is die?”

Inez and Margaret felt the gruff hands on them. The two young soldiers continued to question them in German. After a few moments, four more soldiers joined them.

“I don’t speak German,” Margaret in both English and French.

“Was?” one of them answered, an older and squalid man who was obviously the one in authority.

He motioned for the others and soon Inez and Margaret were being led down the hill to the camp. As they approached, the barbed wire around the fence now looked ominous. Margaret spotted people dressed in rags who looked at them as they were marched down the hill by the group of soldiers. Coming closer, Margaret could see that some of the people were in chains and were being forced to work, overseen by German soldiers. Many people emerged from their tents to stare at the girls. They looked malnourished and Margaret could clearly see the despair on their faces.

“Margaret, this isn’t a camp…it’s a prison!” Inez whispered.

Foster Crowe arrived in Bremen on an early morning train. The ride had been comfortable, and he had managed to get some much-needed sleep after the rigorous sea journey. The aroma of a bakery filled the air as Foster stepped out of the train station. He followed the delicious smell to a door in an alleyway. It was a small bakery with just one table. Although it was early, the baker had already been up for four hours and was just now taking pans of pastries from his wood-fired oven. Foster negotiated for a Berliner, a type of doughnut without the hole, filled with fresh raspberry filling. The baker poured Foster a cup of strong coffee as they spoke to one another in German.

Looking out onto the Bremen city streets, he was reminded of his childhood in Belgium.

In the early morning, Bremen was chilly and gray and a fog held steady on the cobblestone streets. Foster was in some kind of city square. A large fountain with the statue of a robed man, most likely a saint, with tiny angels surrounding him anchored the center of the square. Spouting water shot up from the basin of the fountain. On one end of the square was a Gothic cathedral with long and narrow stained-glass windows and a stone griffin—a mythical lion and eagle hybrid—on the roof, acting as a guardian of the supposed gold and riches hidden inside the cathedral. Statues of saints were sculpted into the facade just above the massive wooden door that acted as an entrance.

Foster surmised it might have taken twenty or thirty years to build the cathedral, even with hundreds of masons working tirelessly on the tiniest of details.

The entire square was surrounded by Gothic-looking apartment buildings with gray bricks, long windows, and pointed arches at the top. The apartments were crammed together.

In front of the cathedral, steel tracks made way for a lazy red streetcar moving slowly through the rising fog.

Gathering his thoughts, Foster went and sat at the fountain and took out a black leather notebook he carried with him for jotting down notes and ideas. He’d been thinking about nothing else but Wu Chiang on the journey over. He took a minute to look over his previous notes.

He had tried to put himself in Wu Chiang’s shoes. What would he do? Where would he stay?

He knew next to nothing about the man—only a vague outline of his appearance and not much more. He didn’t know his travel habits. He had no inkling if he had any friends.

Foster decided the first thing he would do is visit the harbor to see if the ship from Ceylon was still docked. If it was, perhaps he would get lucky and a dockhand might remember Wu Chiang. If that didn’t work, Foster could check the passport office next.

It was a start.

The baker came out with a cup of coffee and sat next to him.

“Such a peaceful plaza, and such a shame about the Serbian embassy,” he said, taking a slurp of his coffee.

“Serbian embassy?” Foster asked.

“You didn’t hear? It was bombed two days ago. Two bombs actually. Over fifty people dead, and now the Serbs are blaming the German police. Such madness in the world. This is such a peaceful city; why would anyone want to kill innocent people?”

“This happened two days ago?”

“Yes, here, let me get you a paper. You can read for yourself.”

The baker went back inside his bakery and returned with a paper. He handed it to Foster.

The headline was in large bold font: No clues into bombing of Serbian embassy. Serbs still blame German police.

The article included a photograph of the scene after the bombing. It showed a blown-up building with bricks scattered everywhere, and a woman in a white dress who was crying in the street.

Foster read about the bombing, and about the mobs in Serbia who blamed the Germans, even beating a German tourist who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It all made perfect sense.

Wu Chiang was behind this bombing. That’s why he was in Bremen. He was creating tensions between Serbia and Germany. Tensions that might eventually lead to a war.

Foster hoisted his backpack over his shoulder, asked the baker for the general vicinity of the Serbian embassy, and made his way across town.

Two hours later, Foster stood at the Serbian embassy bomb site.

The outside of the embassy looked like a giant monster had chewed it up and spat it out. Spikes of steel that were once the embassy gates stuck up from the ground like broken toothpicks. The front of the building was completely blasted away—like a wrecking ball had shattered the front wall and only a few lonely bricks remained. Dust had settled everywhere.

There was a constant crowd of mourners, and people had taken to placing bunches of flowers along the outer embassy wall. The bouquets numbered in the hundreds and stretched down the wall for over a block. In one section, someone had erected a makeshift shrine on a column and pasted a piece of paper with a note to someone lost in the blast and a candle underneath. Others followed suit until the shrine was covered in leaflets and letters with dozens of candles on the ground.

An old woman dressed in black sat next to the wall where she had slept through the night. Her body and face were covered in dust. She held her hand against the brick wall in the faint hope that her dead husband would come for her.

Over one hundred soldiers dressed in gray uniforms surrounded the embassy. They were positioned outside the embassy gate and all around the interior grounds. Absolutely no one was allowed in or out of the building without specific clearance—clearance that Foster Crowe most assuredly did not have.

He had hoped to get inside the embassy grounds to the blast site for a clue of some kind, but he now saw that would be an impossibility.

Foster stared at the old woman and the hundreds of people gathered around the embassy. A small group circled together in prayer, while others merely stood and observed the destruction.

A man called out with fresh pastries and hot apple cider. Foster purchased a strudel and cider and then approached the old woman by the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her.

She looked up at him. Her eyes wanting and full of pain. Her face and gray hair covered in dust.

“Who would do this?” she asked him.

Foster shook his head.

“Only someone who cares nothing for the world.”

“A person such as this should not be allowed to exist,” she answered.

He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort her. But the pain and grief in her eyes told him that was impossible.

“I brought you some breakfast. Do you need anything else?” he asked, and placed the cider and strudel next to her.

“You are very kind. No, I just need to be here. To be here with him.”

“I understand,” Foster answered, put his hand on her shoulder, and then returned to the crowd outside the former gate.

He thought deeply about Wu Chiang. He understood, now, that he planned to create tensions among countries. He probably already had agents in place around Europe. It was as if he’d been building a bonfire and now he was lighting a match.

There was something else that was bothering him.

The newspaper article had stated that tensions were high in Serbia and mobs were already forming to attack German tourists.

It was peculiar how fast these German newspapers had the story, Foster mused.

Too much of a coincidence—was it possible that Wu Chiang had someone within the German newspaper writing planted stories about events in Serbia?

If Wu Chiang’s work in Bremen was now done, Foster knew he would be on the move toward his next target.

Foster slung his backpack over his shoulder and ran back to the train station.