Still mostly asleep, I tried to move my arm, but it seemed to be stuck. I pulled harder, and then I opened my eyes. Charlie was cuddled against me, pinning my arm under her head. I startled completely awake as I remembered everything. Across from us, his head down on the desk, sat one of our captors. He was asleep too. Maybe we could sneak out. Then I saw the gun on the desk beside him, not more than a foot away from his hand. There was no point in trying to run if all he had to do was wake up and shoot us as we left. I was fast, but not nearly as fast as a bullet.
“Charlie,” I whispered. She didn’t respond.
Slowly, carefully, I slid my arm out from under her head. She mumbled something, and then her eyes opened. I gestured for her to be quiet. I looked over. The man hadn’t roused. I got to my feet, and the couch groaned ever so slightly. I froze. His head was still down, his eyes still closed.
I started forward, step by step. He was no more than a dozen steps away. Should I move slowly or rush it, counting on him having to wake up before he could react? I knew that both or neither might work—it was time to do what came naturally.
I charged into him, extending my arms like I was knocking a lineman out of the way, and shoved him and his chair. He flew through the air and toward the wall, slamming into it. He crashed down to the floor, and I grabbed the pistol. He yelled and tried to scramble to his feet.
I pointed the gun right at him. “Don’t move a muscle or I’ll shoot,” I said. I suddenly realized I didn’t know anything at all about guns—if there was a safety, if it was off, how to make it go off… I just had to hope he didn’t realize I had no idea what I was doing.
He looked shocked and confused. Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position. Then I noticed the dent in the wall, and the blood dripping from the side of his head. His eyes were glazed and glassy. He looked like he’d been concussed.
Charlie was right by my side. “We have to get out.”
“The door is that way. You leave.”
“What about you?”
“I have to stand guard so you can get away. Besides, I can’t just leave Sir March here as their prisoner.”
“We can go and get help.”
“They could be gone before we get back. And what would I say to the police? That I’d helped some Russian spies kidnap the former head of British Security?”
“Not you. We,” she said. “So what should we do?”
“Again, we shouldn’t do anything. You leave and I’ll think of something.”
“What if we tied him up?”
“That could work if we had some rope or—” I looked at him. He had slid lower to the floor, his body at an awkward angle and his eyes closed.
“Is he dead?” Charlie asked.
“I didn’t hit him that hard. Here, hold the gun.” Gingerly, I handed her the pistol and went to his side. I gave him a little shove with my foot. Nothing. It was like pushing dead weight—hopefully, not dead dead weight. I reached down and placed my hand against his neck. I found a pulse—his heart was beating and he was breathing. He was unconscious though.
“He’s alive, just unconscious. I hit him and then he hit his head. It’s like a boxer knocking out his opponent.”
I’d seen this happen on a football field but had never actually caused it.
“Maybe he’s just pretending,” Charlie said.
“Then he’s a really good actor. But either way, I’ll take care of it.”
I undid his belt and pulled it free of the loops. Then I ripped open his shirt, the buttons flying off, and flipped him onto his stomach with his hands behind his back. There was no resistance or reaction. I pulled his shirt almost off and used the material to tie his hands together. I then took his belt and looped it around his hands, snugging it into place and tying it off.
“That should slow him down for a while.”
“What now?” Charlie asked.
“Gladly.” She handed it to me.
“I’m going to go after Sir March,” I said.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“I have a gun,” I said.
“Do you know anything about firearms?”
“I’ve never even held a gun before,” I said, “but I have played a lot of Assassin’s Creed.”
“Lovely. If we need a high score, you’re the man to call,” she said.
That was neither a kind nor an untruthful thing to say. What was I doing, suggesting that I was going to go after armed Russian spies, even if I was holding a gun? I would have the advantage only if we were having a showdown with PlayStation controllers. It didn’t matter. I was doing it anyway.
“You don’t have to come…you shouldn’t come… I want you to be safe, but I can’t just walk away,” I said.
“I’m talking about running away,” she said.
“I can’t do that either. I’m going to try and get Sir March.”
“Then I’m going too.”
“I really don’t think you should.”
“And I don’t think you should either, so we’re doing this together,” she said.
I took one more look at our prisoner. He was still unconscious and tied up like a calf at a rodeo.
Slowly, I pushed open the door leading into the other part of the building. Of course, Sir March might not still be here. Jack could have taken him away. But wouldn’t I have noticed that on the monitors? Assuming, of course, that I had been awake when they left.
The warehouse was still dark, despite the rising sun. There were only a few windows in the building, and the ones that weren’t smashed were covered by plywood. Charlie was tucked in so close behind me that when I stopped, she bumped into me.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
I moved again, leading with the pistol. I didn’t know if I could use it as a weapon, but it felt like a shield.
The building was huge and seemingly deserted. Jack must have taken Sir March away. If that was the case, there was nothing we could do but run. And then I heard voices. I tried to figure out where they were coming from. Charlie had heard them too and pointed off to the left. I nodded. Slowly, we started in that direction. The darkness and abandoned equipment helped hide us—and anything else out there.
As we crept closer, the voices got louder. It sounded like two voices, with different accents. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting—maybe raised voices and cries of pain—but this sounded like a regular conversation.
I stopped and whispered to Charlie, “Stay here. If there’s a problem, just stay put and hide. If they capture me, I’ll tell them you already took off to get the police.”
She nodded.
I circled around to the side instead of heading directly for the voices. I didn’t want to lead them back to Charlie. Up ahead there was a patch of light, and I could see them, sitting in two chairs, facing each other. It did look like they were chatting, two friends having a friendly discussion. And, sure enough, one was Sir March. That made no sense…unless he was part of this, if his kidnapping had just been a ploy to get him away because he was really a Russian sleeper agent himself. Was he the Cambridge sixth? And then I noticed that he wasn’t simply sitting in the chair—his hands were tied to the arms. There were marks on his face as if he’d been struck repeatedly. He was talking, but he wasn’t a willing part of the discussion.
I moved from one piece of machinery to another, hidden in the darkness, until I was right behind Jack.
“You can be as stubborn as you wish,” Jack was saying, “but sooner or later you will give me everything. Do not make this any harder on yourself.”
“If I tell you the rest, will you let the young couple leave?” he asked.
“If I think you have told me everything, yes.”
“I have told you a great deal about our plans to invade Europe,” he said.
“Again with the Europe. I do not want to hear anything else about D-day or the Nazis. I want to know what you know about the sleeper cells,” Jack said. He seemed frustrated, and he buried his head in his hands. This was my chance.
I came out of the shadows directly behind him.
“I am so tired,” Jack said. “You must be tired too. Just tell me what I want to know.”
Sir March was right in front of me. He saw me, and a small smile came to his face. I came closer and closer. I turned the gun around. I didn’t know how to fire it, but I certainly could use it as a club. I jumped forward and brought the handle down on the side of Jack’s head with a loud, sickening crack. He collapsed and fell to the floor.
“Bravo, David, bravo!” Sir March yelled.
I started toward Sir March, and he yelled, “Get his gun! Get his weapon!”
I turned, bent down and fumbled around the crumpled figure. He was wearing a holster under his jacket, and I removed the pistol from it. I now had two guns that I didn’t know how to use. Charlie appeared out of the darkness and ran to Sir March. She started to pull at the ropes to release him.
I put one of the guns down on the floor and went to place a hand against Jack’s neck to feel for a pulse. He reached out and grabbed for the gun, which was inches away from his fingertips. I kicked it away and then jumped back, holding my gun out in front of me. He tried to push himself up but fell back, landing on his butt.
“Don’t move,” I said.
He snarled at me. “You should put that gun down before you shoot yourself.”
“Stupid boy…are you going to shoot me?”
“If I need to…I will.”
“I do not think you wish to shoot,” he said. He got to his feet, and I took a small step backward. I had the gun, but I was the one who felt threatened and scared.
Then I had an idea. “Funny, your friend said the same thing—that I wouldn’t shoot—but he looked pretty surprised when I shot him.”
“If you shot Yuri, I would have heard it.”
I had to think fast. What did they do in murder mysteries to muffle the sound? “A pillow makes a great silencer,” I said. His expression changed to doubt. Maybe I’d convinced him. “It would be better to take you prisoner, but really, I don’t care either way.” I tried to sound confident and wished my voice hadn’t cracked on the last few words.
Jack stopped moving forward and raised his hands.
“Get into that chair, and do it quickly before I change my mind about shooting you,” I snapped.
Jack sat.
“Tie him up while I cover him,” I said to Charlie.
Charlie picked up the pieces of rope that had been used on Sir March and tied them around Jack’s wrists and ankles. Sir March checked each knot. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the cab.
“Our getaway vehicle,” he said. “You don’t mind us borrowing your cab, do you, Jack?”
Before Jack could answer, Sir March pushed the chair, and Jack tumbled over backward, crashing onto the floor.
“I didn’t think he’d object.” Sir March tossed me the keys.
Since the exit and the cab were both back toward the room where we’d been held, we went back in the direction we’d come. Charlie took Sir March by the arm, offering him assistance, hurrying him along.
“It’s not far, Mr. March,” I said.
“Mr. March? David, when did you stop calling me Bunny?”
“Sorry, Bunny, the exit is right ahead.”
“Wait, we need to get our cell phones and your wallets and my bag,” Charlie said.
“And we can check on the other guy,” I said.
“I thought you shot him,” Sir March—Bunny—said.
“Just a bluff. He’s tied up too.”
“Jolly good play, old man. First-rate!”
I pushed open the door. The man was on his feet, standing by the control panel that showed all the closed-circuit monitors, his hands still tied behind his back. I rushed over and swept his feet out from under him, and he crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
“Stay down,” I ordered. I pushed him away from the control panel, and he sort of rolled across the floor. I had to admit, I was glad to see that he was alive and even happier to see that he was still tied up. This would hold him until long after we’d gotten away.
I grabbed the phones and my wallet and handed Charlie’s bag to her.
“Look!” Charlie exclaimed. “There are people out there…people with guns!”
On one of the monitors we could see two men, dressed completely in black and carrying rifles. Another man appeared on a different monitor.
“Who are they?” Charlie exclaimed.
“They could be British security here to rescue us,” I said.
“Or Russian agents. He might have hit a panic button and called for backup,” Sir March said.
“What do we do?” Charlie asked.
I looked from one monitor to another. There was still nobody visible near the cab. They were coming in the other end of the building, and it was a big building. “We run.”
We rushed out of the room. The door to the outside was right in front of us. I eased it open, and light streamed in. I peeked out. I couldn’t see anybody. I motioned for Charlie and Sir March to follow. We climbed into the cab—me behind the wheel—and quietly closed the doors. I turned the key and the engine started with a roar. I had to back it up to get out. I started to inch along the narrow passage and then a man popped out of the door and ran toward us, weapon in hand!
“Hold on!” I screamed. I floored it, and the car careened down the alley, scraping and bouncing against the walls, sparks flying as metal hit brick. We popped out of the alley and I spun the wheel and slammed on the brakes, spinning us around. I hit the gas again and laid a patch of rubber as we squealed away. I looked into the rearview mirror and the man, now joined by a second, was running down the alley, getting smaller and smaller as we sped away.