Chapter 33 #2
My grip on him tightens and he hisses, losing his edge.
Bes touches the tip of the blade with his finger. “We’re reasonable people, Mr. Gurlitt. If you tell us where the Arma Christi are, we’ll let you go, no harm done. If you don’t, then at least the information dies with you. We don’t particularly care which choice you make.”
A trace of fear whitens what I can see of his face. Still, he spits on the ground. “I’d be dead already if you didn’t need the information. But it doesn’t matter because I’m never going to tell you anything.”
At that, Bes stands, stroking the dull side of the blade. Unnecessary theatrics, but it can’t hurt. I glance around us. Truly, where the hell are Cec and Mara? They should’ve heard some commotion by now and come running.
Unless they got caught somehow.
“I never promised death would be simple if you chose it.”
When Gurlitt still refuses to answer, Bes shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
With very little warning, he gently drags the sharp edge down the front of his left forearm, splitting open the skin. I flinch as Gurlitt’s eyes scrunch closed in silent pain.
Bes’s voice lowers. “I’ll ask again: where are the Arma Christi?”
Gurlitt’s blood dribbles silently onto the dirt path. I stare at Bes. This is the man I’ve only seen on one other occasion: the vengeful Bes, hellbent on ridding the world of evil. No matter how many moral codes he breaks in the process.
I feel like a spectator, helplessly watching all this unfold, despite having the power to do something about it. Not that I want to help this man, but I’m learning that I don’t have the stomach for torture.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Gurlitt baits him.
“Hmm,” Bes considers. “What can’t you do without and still be alive to miss?”
He circles around Gurlitt, behind me, and back again, like a predator toying with its prey.
“Your eyes, I think. You won’t be able to make shady art deals with bloodthirsty fascists if you can no longer see the art.”
Gurlitt’s breathing grows shallow. “You wouldn’t.”
Bes crouches again to look the man dead in the eye. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Mr. Gurlitt. Though I’m happy to demonstrate.”
In response, Gurlitt coughs in his face; Bes wipes the spittle away with the back of his hand, unperturbed.
I’d normally write something like that off as a tickle in the throat, or him trying to rile Bes up. But, as I glance down at the man, his gaze shifts expectantly from right to left, and my gut tells me something’s wrong.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Belzoni.”
Pure panic injects ice into my veins. Fuck. Without looking, I know who’s joined us.
Ingrid.
Never have I regretted not killing someone as much as I do her.
The God Men crony and the two men from the church appear from behind a castle wall and approach, circling us like vultures with their guns drawn until we’re completely surrounded.
How the fuck did she find us?
Bes holds up his hands and drops the switchblade to the grass. One of the men immediately yanks his arms behind his back, rendering him immobile. We share a look of panic before I turn back to Ingrid.
My breath hastens as our eyes meet, my mind numbing at the likelihood of getting out of this alive.
This is not at all how I imagined this would go.
Worst-case scenario was Gurlitt escaping before he could give us the information about the Arma Christi.
Now, there’s a good chance we’re all about to die.
And it’s my own damned fault for going after him in the first place.
What have I done?
Despite being the least threatening person here, Ingrid only has eyes for me.
Except for the bruised scab at her temple where I knocked her unconscious back at the museum, she looks as put together as the first time we met. Only now, wary determination pinches her done-up eyes and purses her painted lips.
“Miss Hawkins, step away from the nice art dealer.”
One of her men points their gun at me and I release him. He scrambles to his feet, nursing the open wound on his arm.
“Did you think I’d let you get away with the Amulet of Amun?” she asks me. “That you could escape me?”
The bloodstone scarab against my chest warms. She must’ve known I’d never part with it. And I couldn’t risk leaving it with the order.
“That’s what you’re here for? The amulet?” I ask. Just like last time we met, I’m hoping if I can keep her talking, it’ll buy the actual order member here time to think of some way out of this. Goddammit, where are Cec and Mara? “How can one piece of jewelry be worth all this trouble?”
“It’s not merely a piece of jewelry, as I’m sure you well know.”
“You’re not here for Gurlitt?” Bes asks.
Ingrid turns to Bes and smiles like she’s hiding a great secret. My stomach sinks.
“I never did properly thank you for killing my brother in Cairo.”
She nods at one of the Liechtenstein Nazis, who points his gun at Bes. Before I can utter a word, a shot rings out. Blood spatters across my pants. Bes! I pivot toward him—he’s crouching down and gripping the outside of his leg, pain pinching his face. I release a quivering breath.
Though I’m grateful, I have no idea why she didn’t just kill him. Maybe she plans to torture him for more information on the order.
I can’t allow that to happen.
Ingrid continues as if she didn’t just have one of her men maim Bes.
“Now, to answer your question: we’re not after Gurlitt.
He’s one of us. We know all about your precious order”—she glances between Bes and I—“so we found a way to pass on a rumor about the Arma Christi through one of our informants on the inside.”
One of their informants on the inside… Anders?
No. My knees wobble beneath me as I remember the trusted source Nonna Alessa received her tip about Gurlitt and the Arma Christi from: Kali.
Fucking Kali. And we even helped them further by sending Kali, and Mara, here for reconnaissance.
But we haven’t seen hide nor hair of her…
Was this all Kali’s doing, and she decided not to stick around to witness the fruits of her labor?
Then again, Mara could be in on it as well. Kali and Mara seemed close the first time I met them, but now that I think on it, Kali didn’t exactly appear happy when Mara found her in the urn room. And Mara had it out for me from the beginning.
No, Mara has to be the mole. She must have something on Kali, something that would force her to feed false information to the order and pass it off as truth. Then, she used this same weakness to get us all here. Ingrid must’ve known I’d want to go off on my own—counted on it even.
And I played right into her hands. All because I let my emotions get the better of me and insisted we go on this suicide mission ourselves.
Panic seizes me. What has Mara done with Cec?
“How did you know I’d be the one to come here in search of Gurlitt?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
“I didn’t,” she admits. “I planned to use whoever the order sent as bait: their lives for yours. But then you went and served yourself up on a silver platter.”
I cross my arms over my stomach, feeling sick. “So, the art, the Arma Christi—it was all a lie? A ruse?”
“Well, the Arma Christi are real and Hitler does seek them, but Mr. Gurlitt has no idea where they are.”
I glance at Gurlitt—instead, finding Mara holding a knife to Cec’s throat as she brings him down onto the grass from the castle. Fear chokes me. Fucking Mara. My assumptions being correct give me no pleasure.
Dread pinches Cec’s brow. I nearly take a step toward him, but I’m not sure what Mara’s reaction will be if I do.
I glare at her instead. “Why?”
She ignores me.
“Now, I won’t ask again.” Ingrid holds out an open palm, though she’s too far away for me to hand it to her. “Give me the Amulet of Amun, and I’ll let you live.”
Time to do what you do best, Mel: keep talking until Bes figures something out.
“Of course, you’ll let me live,” I reason, clenching my fists at my side. “You don’t see me as a threat.”
She pastes on a smile. “A threat? No. A great thorn in my side? Absolutely. Now, hand it over.”
“Why would any of you align yourselves with the Third Reich?” I ask instead.
“The Führer has a great vision for this world,” Ingrid argues. “One that promises to stamp out the filth and usher in a stronger, better human race.”
My stomach roils at her words. How many of them believe this? How many of the German people have always believed this but never spoke their sick fantasies aloud until Hitler made it alright to do so? Encouraged it, even.
“And you, Mara?” I ask, not daring to turn around. “You would betray the people you pledged your life to, and for what?”
“The God Men made me a better offer,” she explains simply.
“But how are you getting around your blood oath?” I wonder, in part, selfishly.
“Ingrid knows a great deal about the order already.”
How? Perhaps the God Men have information on the order the same way the order does for everyone and everything else.
“I can’t, however, tell them about the location, or its leaders. But neither can I help it if they follow me there. This, here, is only the first part of our plan.”
“Traitor,” I bite out between my teeth, wishing I could turn around and say it to her face.
“Enough talking,” Ingrid sighs. “Give me the amulet now, or I will take it from you.”
“No,” I seethe. “I’ll never give you the amulet. You can take it off my corpse.”
Her smile widens, almost as if she’s baring her teeth. “Excellent. I’ve been looking forward to defying this particular direct order since we first met.”
Direct order? “What—”
The next moment happens slowly, sedately, the world slowing down around me.
Ingrid procures a Luger from behind her back and points it at me.
Before I can get my hands up in weak defense, a click sounds—a gunshot rings out—a searing pain slices through my flesh—the force of it pushes me to the ground—I scrape my hands and knees, and collapse onto my back.
Time speeds up again.
A scream wrenches from my throat at the deep ache in my shoulder. I remember this pain.
Fuck, I’ve been shot.