Chapter Twelve

“The Urgency of a Killer”

1.

He didn’t move with the urgency of a killer. Instead, his bearing was much the same as it had been the last time Annabelle had seen him, that of a man who had not a care in the world, strolling with great ease through the Austrian corridors. The dorms, in fact, had not been his destination at all, and now he turned left, and then left again, putting him on the main corridor which ran the length of Heaven. Annabelle reduced her pace and waited a while before following him out into the open. Few men were milling about now, most of them having gone to dinner or down into the workers’ dorms to sleep. A mistake here, and he would discover her presence. Luckily for her, his being on the main corridor gave him few options once he passed into the basilica. She could wait a while before breaking from cover to follow him.

She hoped Loaves would complete his search soon. If he did, she could use him to flank their man should he decide to return to Austrian or even stroll over to British by having Loaves take a side corridor, run ahead, and head off his movement. Unfortunately, there were no real dead ends in the station at all, at least not in Heaven, and not that she had seen. The only exception had to be in British, where Professor Wren’s lab ended in a dead end at Dolan’s fountain. If they could somehow herd the man that way without him disappearing again, they would have him.

The sandy-haired fellow passed into the basilica and thankfully did not tarry. Had he decided then to take in some of the art there, Annabelle would have certainly been in trouble. Instead, he marched straight across, nodding to a fellow workman pulling a cart laden with two suits of plate armour bound for some spot in Austrian. The worker also smiled and nodded at Annabelle as he passed, and took the corner directly behind her.

She stopped at the right-hand corridor just before entering the basilica and looked around for Loaves. The man was nowhere to be seen, nor could she tell if he had crossed over into the left-hand side yet or not.

She turned back to the main corridor with the intent of crossing the basilica when suddenly she gasped. The sandy-haired man was walking toward her. His hands were still in his pockets, and he whistled a merry tune. She slowed down as he passed, keeping her eyes carefully averted, but kept walking forward, hoping her demeanour did not give her away. She strolled over to one of the broad columns in the chamber’s centre and pretended to explore the engravings there.

When she risked a glance behind, he had already disappeared, but she knew where he was heading now. Her initial instinct had been correct; he had been heading for the workers’ dorms when she had caught sight of him. Somehow, he had discovered her, too, and knew she would follow him. Now that he had reversed directions and slipped by her temporarily, he could do as he pleased, knowing she could not risk chasing him directly.

Where is that blasted Loaves? she thought. He’s picked a fine time to wander off and get lost! Loaves could shadow the man a while, and she could run flank.

“Something the matter, miss?”

One of Dolan’s guards―they were being posted near the entrances to British and Austrian now―addressed her. His accent, Bavarian, unless she missed her guess, was thick. She smiled and shook her head.

“You should be in quarters, then.”

“Of course. Thank you, sir.”

The guard nodded his head, and Annabelle hurried back into Austrian.

Mid-corridor, she found a stair to her right, leading down into the dorms. She emerged into a new hallway, which ran the full length of the dormitory, with several open areas off the hall. These open areas resembled what she had seen of a military barracks, with beds lining the walls, and footlockers at the end of each bed for the men’s personal effects. Raucous laughter issued from one of the rooms, but mostly they were dark, filled with sleeping men. With so many workers aboard, there weren’t enough beds, so the men slept in shifts. The bomber could be in any of them.

She made a quick search, being careful to stay away from the room with the laughter, lest unwanted notice should fall on her. A woman down below with the men would be unseemly, and it might suggest more than she intended. These men had been without women for months, and though they had been on their best behaviour around her so far, being caught down here could bring out the worst in them.

Her search of the dormitory yielded nothing, and she went back up the steps to resume her search. He could be anywhere by now, she decided. To go further, she would have to find Loaves and send him in to search among the men. This only had a slight chance of success, as her man was probably using the seclusion of some corner to disappear up one of the air shafts. She was almost at the stop of the steps when a hand grabbed her from behind.

“Don’t run away yet, miss,” said a rough voice in her ear. “We wouldn’t want you to miss me so soon.”

Annabelle had only a split second to realise the identity behind the voice before she was flung backwards to tumble down the steps. It happened so quickly she had no time to cry out. The world went a-whirl, and she landed with a resounding crack on the floor below. Pain shot up her left arm. Again, rather than cry out, she sucked air into her lungs. The sandy-haired man was on her before she could blink.

“So, just who are you, then?” he asked. “Some woman detective, come to sort me? Is that it?” He snatched Annabelle up by her hair. He might have been a short man, but he was very powerful indeed. When he had her in range of his attentions, he gave her a good backhand across the cheek, hissing in pain as one of his knuckles ricocheted off Annabelle’s teeth.

The blow nearly rendered her unconscious, and the pain in her arm was like she had been set ablaze from the inside. Tears ran down her cheeks, and through the inferno of pain she found the wherewithal to be ashamed that she should let this little cretin see her cry.

When the hand snatched at her again, she tried to bite it.

“Oh? So we’ve a fighter, have we? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to take us to some place really quiet, and I’m going to work on you. Oh, yes! I am going to work on you real nice, and they’re going to find pieces of you floating in the stew pot for weeks to come!”

This time she had the presence of mind to scream. Another blow cut it short, but the laughter down the hall suddenly changed to shouts. Men were coming. She looked up to see the bomber’s face twist in alarm.

“Very smart,” he said to her. “Very smart indeed. You win today, miss, but don’t bother looking for me in these corridors again. I’ll certainly find you first.”

Boots thudding on the deck sent small vibrations into the back of Annabelle’s head. The bomber tried to pull away then, but Annabelle cried out “No!” and snatched him with her good arm. She caught the front of his coverall and gripped tightly. It was a good hold, and the man grunted as he tried to pull it away.

“Let go, damn you!” he said, voice hissing like steam.

Annabelle’s eyes squeezed shut with the strain of holding on, but she could sense the bomber’s fear rising as sure as if she could see his face. He gave two sharp tugs, and part of his coverall came free. With that, he was gone, up the steps, and vanishing, no doubt, in the throng of workers. Annabelle gave in, then, and fell unconscious.