Ambrose Chapel, London
August 29, 1933 CE
Haakon twisted on the cramped cot and tried to ignore the out-of-tune choir practicing in the chapel below. Sweat burned his eyes and his body was dustier than an Oklahoma sharecropper. After Kutzenov dumped him here in this garret, he hadn't even bothered with an interrogation. The SOB had just stripped him to his underwear, locked him up, and then ignored him. At least he'd left a pot to piss in. That was something.
Genteel knuckles tapped at the door to Haakon's prison and a polite, boyish voice piped, "Mr. Sigurdson?"
Great. That would be his barely-post-pubescent minder. Haakon grimaced, but then rolled out of his cot and answered in a cheery tone, "Kim? Is that you?"
"Yes, sir. The Vicar is busy with the choir, so I managed to sneak a cold one for you from the pub across the street." An eye-level hatch opened in the door and a clay tankard thrust into the room.
"Thanks be to you, lad." Haakon accepted the gift and quaffed half in a single gulp. "Argh! That's good stuff."
The boy's crystalline eyes peered at him through the opening. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
"The keys would be good." Haakon rolled the tankard across his bare chest, savoring the coolness.
"Now, Mr. Sigurdson, you know I cannot do that. Comrade Kutzenov assures me that he'll treat you right. We're all about overthrowing the bourgeoisie, don't you know? We wouldn't hurt a worker like you." His gaze roamed about Haakon's prison. "Does your chamber pot need cleaned? I could have the Vicar's wife come fetch it."
"Not necessary, but thank you for your consideration." Haakon kept his voice cordial. Overthrowing the bourgeoisie apparently didn't include Kim doing unsavory tasks like cleaning a chamber pot, which seemed to be more suited to the proletariat. Best be friendly, though. The lad was naïve enough to maybe present an opportunity for escape. "Why are you in London on a school day? Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Oh, I graduated university last spring, sir. I've been staying at a Brother Apostle's home in Bloomsbury, but I'll be leaving soon for Vienna. A friend from King's College arranged a position there helping refugees from the Nazis."
Haakon paused to think. The Apostles were some sort of secret society at Cambridge. At least that's what he thought he remembered. "Using your connections, I see. Bloomsbury is pretty upper crust, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. We'll use the capitalists' greed against them. It's like Tovarisch Stalin says: they will sell us the rope we use to hang them."
Haakon shrugged. No point in arguing with a true believer. "Well, thanks for the brew."
"Yes, sir."
Haakon expected him to close the hatch and leave, but for some reason he lingered. "What is it, Kim?" Couldn't hurt to ask.
"We have another guest, Mr. Sigurdson. A Yank. He's a bit wonky, I'm afraid. They were going to take him to the Rezidentura, but for some reason they brought him here instead. I've been having a bit of a chin wag with him in the scullery."
"A Yank, you say? What's his name?"
"Nathan Hilbert. He seems to know you. At least, when I mentioned you, he got his knickers in a twist."
An electric thrill tingled down Haakon's arms and out his fingers. He jerked his gaze back to peer into Kim's eyes. Stay calm. He took a deep breath and then asked in his best ‘who gives a rat's ass’ tone. "Do tell? Nathan Dilbert, did you say? Can't seem to recall anyone by that name."
"Hilbert. He said you met in Idaho, or Ohio, or one of those Yank places with all vowels in their names. He was keen on speaking with you."
Haakon's heart thumped, and the prospect of seeing Nathan again sent warm tingles other places than his fingers. He adjusted his boxers while cursing Kutzenov for taking his pants. This was so unprofessional. Focus! "Well, then, if he's keen on it, why not bring him up here?"
"I don't know. Comrade Otto said to keep him busy." His voice swelled with pride. "I'm to keep an eye on both of you."
"Well, how can you keep an eye on the two of us if we're in different rooms? He didn't forbid us to speak to each other, did he?"
"Well, no. I guess not. He didn't say anything like that at all." Kim dithered a few seconds more. "I guess it would be all right." His voice turned stern. "On your word as a gentleman, you won't try anything?"
"On my word as a gentleman." A proletarian gentleman, you worthless twit.
"We'll be right back, then." The hatch slammed closed, and his feet clattered on the wooden floors as he scampered away.
Haakon's breath caught in his throat, and his fingers trembled. He paced the room, plotting what to say to Nathan. So many questions. How did he come to be here? Why was there no trace of him in Iowa? Haakon winced as the chapel bell went clang, clang, clang on the hour. His mouth quirked as his mind jittered to the anachronistic tune of Judy Garland singing, "Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings." What kind of fool am I? He twisted his boxers tried to calm his excitement. Ice cubes. Think of ice cubes.
The door jerked open and Nathan stumbled into the room. In the hall, Haakon caught a glimpse of a slender young man with russet-colored hair who gripped a Webley in one fist. That would be Kim, looking younger than his twenty-three years, even younger than he had through the hatch. But then Nathan tumbled against Haakon in the close quarters, and the door slammed shut. He inhaled Nathan's sweet scent and gripped his lithe shoulders. "It is you, thank all that's holy." A shuddering sigh escaped his throat.
Nathan's mouth fell open, and his eyes bulged. "Haakon? Oh my god! I'm so glad you're not dead." His voice quavered, and he reached out a tremulous hand to stroke Haakon's cheek.
Haakon glanced toward the door where Kim peered at them through the hatch. He recoiled a bit from Nathan and gave him a tiny shake of his head. "You are the same Nathan I met in the park at Collier University? The high energy physics student?" He kept his voice hearty but impersonal.
Nathan's eyes narrowed, and his face paled. "Yes. But I thought—"
Haakon grasped one of Nathan's hands in both of his and shook. "It's good to see you again. I'll never forget the tour of the Rune Cave you gave me." He nodded to the hatch. "I see you've met my jailer, Mr. Philby."
"Yeah." Nathan leaned close and whispered, "He's whacked, if you ask me."
"He's a good man. Kim, that ale has made me hungry. Is there any chance you could rustle up some chow for us?"
"What's that you say?" Kim whined. "You Yanks twist the Queen's English all out of shape. If you're saying you're peckish, I could speak to the Vicar's wife on your behalf. She's got some bits and bobs in the scullery."
"We'd be most grateful, lad. Wouldn't we, Mr. Hilbert?"
"Sure. I guess. Whatever you say." Nathan's gaze wobbled back and forth between Kim lurking behind the door and Haakon, still gripping his hand.
Kim seemed dubious, but he replied, "All right then. I'll let the two of you catch up. Remember, you gave your word as a gentleman." The hatch thunked closed and Kim's plodding footsteps retreated.
Haakon whirled to face Nathan and held him by the shoulders. "Let me look at you. You're just as I remembered, except where did you get those ridiculous khakis and boots?" He twisted his hips and hoped Nathan wouldn't notice his physical reaction. Damned Russians, stripping him down to his boxers.
"Well, it's not like I'd change much in just a week." His eyes scanned Haakon and paused at waist level. His face turned deep red, but he didn't look away. "Uh, I've, uh, been busy, though. I'm here by way of the Pleistocene." He finally looked up and into Haakon's eyes. "I had a run-in with a saber-tooth. Which reminds me. You lied about what you did to me. About the nano-docs." He adjusted the bulge that had suddenly appeared in his own slacks.
Haakon glanced at Nathan's pants and at the tent in his own boxers, and then back at Nathan's face. Was that a twinkle in his eyes? Laughter threatened to bubble up, but he controlled it. "Aye, I prevaricated a bit. Let's agree we'll be completely honest with each other from now on, shall we?"
"Agreed." Yes, that was definitely a twinkle.
"All right then." Without pause, Haakon clasped Nathan to him and planted a fierce kiss on his lips. He pulled back, and the twinkle in Nathan's eyes had morphed to shock.
Maybe he'd just made a huge mistake.
But then Nathan returned his embrace and their lips met again. Nathan's rumpled togs brushed against Haakon's bare skin. Their tongues danced a slow tango, and then exploded to a sinuous pas de deux. Haakon clutched him closer. His heart pulsed as Nathan's fingertips strummed his naked torso like a harpist, and his body responded with a symphony of sensation.
Haakon gasped and broke the kiss lest he lose himself forever. "I'm so glad we decided to be honest."
A grin quivered on Nathan's lips and then both men pealed with laughter, falling into each other in a paroxysm of glee and passion. Nathan flopped onto the cot and held Haakon's hand. "You can't know how much I've missed you. I just wasn't sure you really wanted me, though. I mean, what with you being a warrior and looking like the Marlboro man and all."
"The Marlboro man died of cancer. But trust me. I feel the same way about you." Haakon frowned. This just made their current situation more urgent and that much worse. "You know, we've got to get out of here before they kill us."
"You mean Kim? That nice boy wouldn't hurt a flea."
"Don't trust that hypocrite any further than you can spit. He's going to grow up to be the most notorious turncoat spy of the twentieth century. He'll be responsible for recruiting and then killing dozens of Her Majesty's loyal secret agents. Besides, his Russian handlers won't have any compunction about killing us."
Nathan narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't understand. How can we really be in danger? I mean, another Timekeeper brought me here, Agatha Magwitch. She saved me from Claude."
"Claude." Haakon twisted his mouth into a sneer. "That asshole. He's here? I knew we shouldn't trust him. Same goes for that Corbett woman."
"Claude's a waste of space, I agree. But Corbett, she rescued me from the Pleistocene and healed me when a saber-tooth clawed my spine half out." Nathan frowned. "You're a Timekeeper. Agatha's a Timekeeper. So's Corbett. Aren't you all on the same team?"
Haakon frowned. "I admit, that's a puzzle. Control decided Corbett and Claude were artifacts of the Deviation and evaporated when the space-time continuum healed. Or the wave-form collapsed, depending on your metaphor." He didn't mention they said the same thing about Nathan. "But here they are, real as you and me. Something screwy is going on. It's like I've been in the middle of a Deviation ever since we met. But that's not possible since I've been back to Control and nothing's changed there." A Deviation. Eventually, he was going to have to tell Nathan about his most recent Iowa visit, about how Nathan no longer existed. Except here he was, right in front of him.
"A Deviation? You mean, like someone went back in time and changed the past?"
"Exactly. That's what Timekeepers prevent. It's what my life has been about. Change the past and you've killed everyone you know in the present. It's mass murder. We make history safe and protect the future."
"Well, actually, I think that's not quite the right model. Or at least not exactly, if my equations are right. I've been thinking about this, and I'm pretty sure my experiments back in Iowa are evidence for a different model. For what really happens."
The hatch on the door opened, and man's voice with a Russian accent shouted, "All right, you two. Lay face down on the bed. You, in the underwear, on the bottom. The other one on top. Do it now."
Nathan's eyes bulged and he appeared ready to speak, but Haakon whispered to him, "Just do what they say and follow my lead." He lay face-down on the lumpy mattress. Moments later, Nathan pressed against him. A key creaked in the lock and the door swayed open.
Kutzenov strode inside, carrying what looked like the same Webley he'd held on Russel Square earlier today. A woman followed him. She wore a tight-fitting, olive-drab uniform with red stars on the lapels, and she'd wound her platinum hair into an elegant French roll. When she passed from the shadows to the light, Haakon thought incongruously of Kim Novak in Vertigo, the similarities were so strong.
Kutzenov kicked at the bed. "Up. Both of you. Hands behind your heads and face the wall. Don't try anything or I'll shoot you in the knee and you'll walk funny the rest of your life."
Haakon whispered to Nathan, "Do as they say."
Nathan didn't speak, but followed directions. By the time they were facing the wall, two more goons carrying wooden chairs had appeared. Both in Red army uniforms like the woman. One of them twisted Haakon's arms behind his back and frog-marched him to the chair where he used rope to bind him. The other did the same to Nathan.
The tension went out of Kutzenov's posture and he turned to the woman. "All right, Professor. They're ready for your interview. As you instructed."
She nodded and turned icy blue eyes on Haakon. "So. Tell me about your Timekeepers, comrade agent Sigurdson."
For the first time, Haakon got a good look at her, and recognition made his heart thud. What was she doing here? And why in bog would she be wearing a Russian uniform? Something was seriously wrong. She should be in Wisconsin right now, inventing time travel. Not here, colluding with Russian spies.
Nathan piped up, his voice dripping venom. "I know her, Haakon. Her name is Haversham, and she's in league with the fucking Nazis. I saw her earlier today. She was going to have me killed."
The woman—Haakon couldn't think of her as Haversham—snickered. "Me? In league with Nazis? Dear boy, you are the idiot Thislewaite's report said you were. I'm sure Comrade Stalin would be amused at the idea his dinner guest from last week was a Nazi. As to earlier today, I was at the Russian embassy where I'm officially with the military attaché." She paused to put a cigarette in a holder and let Kutzenov light it for her. "Now, so-called Timekeeper Sigurdson, you're going to tell us about your organization."
Haakon's eyes narrowed. She had to be an impostor. Or something. The best bet was to play for time. "What organization?"
She approached him and flicked an ash on his bare torso. "Really? You want to play that game? When I've got him"—she jabbed at Nathan with her cigarette—"at my mercy. I think you will answer my questions."
The ripping sound of a Tommy gun firing rounds downstairs made her gaze jerk to Kutzenov. Before she could speak, a man in Vicar's robes dashed into the room. "We're under attack. They must be MI5. They've already seized the sanctuary, and they'll be up here in minutes. You've got to come with me now." He brandished his own Webley and pointed to the door.
She straightened her back and pronounced, "I'm not finished here."
The Vicar's face hardened. "I don't care if you are Comrade Stalin's current favorite, you're coming with me. The tactical situation is out of control, and we can't have you captured, not in that uniform.” More gunfire popped from downstairs. "Hurry. They'll be up here in another minute or two."
Kutzenov tensed. "Stalin will shoot us all if we let you be captured, Professor." He grabbed her elbow. "Now." Gunfire chattered again, from closer than before. "Now. We have no time. You are too valuable to risk."
Her eyes shot daggers at Haakon and Nathan. "Get a team in here to dispose of these two. There's too much complexity already."
She and her entourage rushed out of the room, leaving the door open.
Haakon twisted in his chair. The ropes dug into his muscular torso.
Nathan looked at him. "Well, we dodged that bullet."
Haakon gave him a grim smile. "We're out of the frying pan, all right. Let's hope whoever is downstairs puts out the fire."