Page 107 of The Number of Love
“Over here!” Not Red or Camden—Dot herself, from the far side of the cavernous chamber. “Hurry! He’s long gone!”
Drake sprinted down the aisle, dodging a beam, nearly tripping over one of the heavy howitzer shells. He reached her a few seconds after Red, a few before Camden. Red had already pulled her up and given her a quick, fierce embrace by the time Drake skidded to a halt, trying to take stock of her in the moonlight while Red went to work on the ropes at her wrist. Camden crouched down with his knife at the ready to take care of the rope at her ankles.
“Are you injured? Did he hurt you?” Drake gripped her by the shoulders and tilted her face toward the window.
She shook her head. An odd answer, given the spatters of blood he saw on her cheek. “Drugged me, but he didn’t hurt me. We have to hurry though. He’s injured, but he’s been gone for at least twenty minutes.”
Waiting for them. He’d have fetched the codebook by now and be on his way out of the neighborhood. “Injured? How?”
Dot’s smile was a wisp of a thing. Fragile. Yet victorious. “He thought I was still unconscious there at the end, and I let him. When he removed the gag to give me more laudanum, I kicked him in the shin and sent him sprawling into the shells.” She nodded to where afew were indeed knocked over, something dark smearing them. “He was bleeding. Coughing fiercely. And holding his hand. I think one of the shells must have caught it somehow. I expected him to come at me then, but he ran out instead.”
“He wasn’t going to risk being here.” And neither should they. Drake pressed a kiss to her forehead while Red worked through the last of her bonds and then gripped one of her newly freed hands. “We need to get out. Fast.” He looked to Red. “The bloke by the door?”
Red shook his head. “Shot in the head.”
Dot winced. “He tried to stop him. He had come to sooner than expected, I think.”
Drake pressed his lips together. But there was nothing they could do for that man. And still much to do about the one who’d done it. He led the way to the nearest door, knowing Dot would rather have Red’s arm around her, leading her out, than his. “Do you know where he went?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. But he had me somewhere near here earlier. I could just make out the roof of the factory from the window. There was empty space between us. Near the river, perhaps? He may have gone back there.”
Near the river. Across it? In the section that had already been hit by raids once and left largely abandoned?
The place he’d described when Margot had needed a decoy target.
They pushed their way out the door, into the screaming night, just as one of the Gothas banked overhead.
33
The idiots!Das Gespenst stumbled his way out of the building, coughing until he could barely stand. Smoke billowed out after him, stinging his eyes as it burned his lungs. What had gone wrong this time? Were their pilots so incompetent they didn’t know which side of the river to target? Did they not know right from left?
Or had he failed to convince the High Command he was useful? Were they trying—perhapsagain—to eliminate him? How did they know where he’d be?
He tripped over something he couldn’t see through the smoke, fell against the lamppost, and loosed a growl of pain when he landed on his hand. That blighted howitzer shell had crushed it. He had made himself probe it and had counted at least five breaks.
But a broken hand would not kill him. He was still on his feet, still breathing, more or less. He pushed away and turned toward the Thames, waiting to see the flames roar up from the factory.
More Gothas appeared. One, two. Three. Enough to finish the job. Elton would be inside now, trying to free his clever little sister, who had played the innocent so very well. She deserved credit for that last stunt. And he ought to have anticipated it. It was something Ilse would have done.
Even if they got out, they wouldn’t get far enough. All those munitions would go up like the largest bomb in the land. There was no way they would escape its blast.
Except the Gothas were off course. They didn’t veer left, toward Woolwich. They veered right. Toward him.
Biting off a curse, he forced breath into his lungs and ran.
Margot pulled her coat tighter around her and wished her hat covered her ears. One thing to be said for the crisp December night, though—it woke her up. And after the last thirty hours, she needed the jolt it gave her.
But she couldn’t go home to her bed quite yet. That was impossible. She aimed herself instead toward Dot’s flat, where they’d agreed, as Drake rushed out, that they would reconvene. She had to know they were safe, all of them. She had to see it with her own eyes. She had to hear them say they’d apprehended Regnitz. Then, perhaps, she could sleep.
She knew that to the east, sirens were likely still blaring. But here, on the opposite end of London, all was quiet. She’d heard a few reports coming in over the wireless before she left the OB. Enough to know that the German raid was over and damage had been minimal.
That meant the munitions factory had been spared. In that at least, they’d won.
Dot and the rest would be back soon, then. Wouldn’t they? She had to believe they would be. Shewouldbelieve it, cling to it.
The door to Dot’s building opened with its usual squeak, and the dim lights of the entryway greeted her. No one else would be about at this hour.
Except, apparently, for the man sitting on the steps. Looking shorter than he was, hunched over. With a gun at his side pointing straight at her.
