A Time of Shadows (Out of Time #8) (9 page)

“Is that why you didn’t want me to come?” Tess asked. “Or was it because I’m a woman?”

That surprised him. “Definitely not the latter,” he said with a smile.
 

“No? I would expect a man from the forties to be a bit of a misogynist.”

He arched a surprised brow.

“You have a file,” she said.

He figured as much. Anyone who had contact with the Council would have one, and now he wished he’d had time to study hers. “Was it interesting? My file?”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

He laughed, but he supposed a time traveling spy from World War II wasn’t that unusual for a woman like Tess.

“I’m much more interesting in person,” he assured her.

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

The cab turned off the seaside avenue and turned into the heart of the Old City. In the distance he could make out the spires and dome of the Blue Mosque.
 

Their cab pulled up in front of the hotel. It, like everything else, had been arranged by Travers and the Council.

Jack dug out his wallet. He knew a few Turkish words and phrases, but not enough. “Do you speak English?”

The man nodded, too quickly. “English. Lady Gaga.”

Jack had no idea what that was and decided a different tack might be better. “Français?”
 

“Oui,” the man said with a disappointed shrug.

“Comment t’appelles-tu?”

“Akif.”

Jack handed him sixty lira, the fare plus a hefty tip, and gave him instructions. The driver didn’t seem concerned about the request and Jack hoped he understood.

“Comprenez vous?”

“Yes, yes,” the driver said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Merci.”

With that Jack stepped out and joined Tess, who was waiting for him on the sidewalk. The cab sped away.

“Our luggage!” Tess called after it.

Jack took her arm. “Don’t worry.” He cast a look after the disappearing cab and hoped he was right.

“What do you mean, don’t worry? That man just drove off with all of our things.”

Jack turned to her. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

Jack hadn’t expected that but found it refreshing. “All right. Well, try.”

She kept pulling against his grip but let herself be led into the lobby of the hotel.
 

“This had better be good,” she said.

They checked in at the desk and headed for the elevators. Tess glared at him initially, waiting for an explanation, but fell into her role as tired traveler quickly enough. For his part, it didn’t take much acting.

The elevator dinged its arrival, but instead of stepping inside, Jack looked back down the small hall toward the lobby, and once he was sure no one was looking, he took Tess by the arm and led her toward the back of the hotel.

“What on earth?”

“Shh.”

“Are we being followed?”

“I’m not sure.”

He led her to the back door. There on the side street, waiting as promised, was Akif and their taxi.

Jack opened the door for Tess who slid inside.

“Merci,” Jack said.

Akif nodded and restarted the meter.

Tess looked out of the window. “Would you mind telling me what that was all about?”

Jack checked behind them, but no one seemed to have followed them. He turned back around and leaned against the seat. “Precautions. It’s not that I don’t trust Travers, but when there’s a mole or in this case a whole group of them, you’ve got to assume what he knows, they know.”

“And that explains things how?” she asked.

“Travers made the arrangements for the hotel. It’s not a great stretch to figure that the Shadow Council knows, too. Whether we were followed or our tail was waiting for us in the lobby, either way I’d rather not lead them right to Skavo if I can help it. It might only buy us a few days, but the longer we can stay one step ahead, the better.”

Tess took that in and then nodded thoughtfully. “Smart.”

“I have my moments.”

Tess smiled and leaned back in her seat. “It’s a labor, by the way.”

“What is?”

“A group of moles.”

“Smart,” he said.

“I have my moments.”

The cab dropped them off at another hotel, the Adamar, not too far away. Like the Saba, it was well-situated in the heart of Sultanahmet in the Old City. He’d also made reservations for them at the Para Palace near Taksim Square if things went pear shaped here. Having a backup for your backup came in handy more often than he cared to remember. Para was familiar; he’d stayed there the last time he was in Istanbul and if push came to shove it would be nice to be on familiar ground. But it was across the bridge and, for now, being closer to the things in the Old City was more important.

There had been no adjoining rooms available, and they settled for two on the same floor. It was just as well, Jack thought, as he put his bag in the corner of his room. He’d promised Travers he’d work with Tess, but that didn’t mean they had to be joined at the hip. Although she did have lovely hips.

His room was simple and dark. He pulled back the heavy curtains and the bright sunlight streamed in. It hit the far wall, which had been painted a distinctly Mediterranean shade of orange that burst instantly to life in the sun. Jack stifled a yawn. If only the sunlight worked on him as well.

The midday call to prayer drifted over the city. Jack opened the windows and looked out. The rooftops were the perfect mix of old and new, Byzantine domes and satellite dishes. The streets were a confusing warren of mosques and McDonalds’. And somewhere in the middle of it all was Drasko Skavo, a man with the world’s fate resting in the palm of his hand.

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, but she was fairly certain Wonder Woman had a five o’clock shadow. And Batman definitely smelled like Ripple. In front of them a man in a pink spandex body suit and matching tutu spun around on old-fashioned roller skates. Next to Elizabeth, Simon gripped Charlotte’s hand a little more tightly.

“Good lord,” Simon said. “It’s like every asylum in the city handed out day passes at the same time.”

Elizabeth laughed. It was crazy, but she kind of liked it. She didn’t need to glance at Simon to know she was alone in that. He wasn’t one for crowds and crowds like this were his worst nightmare.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said to Charlotte, and added as a Freddy Krueger walked by, “or anyone.”

The traffic along Hollywood Boulevard was brutal. It was Saturday in Hollywood, and seemingly every tourist in LA was congregating at the Chinese Theatre.
 

Celebrity impersonators, some good and some tragic, posed for photos for a price, and tourists from all over the world compared their foot and handprints to celebrities’ preserved in concrete in the theater’s forecourt.

“This way, I think,” Simon said as he began to shoulder his way through the crowd.

The façade of the theater hadn’t changed much in the last eighty years. It was still as fun and as kitschy as ever. Two giant Foo Dogs guarded either side of the entrance as elaborate Chinese dragons were emblazoned above.
 

While the theater hadn’t changed, at least on the outside, the street itself had. It was 1932 the last time they’d visited Hollywood Boulevard, and it had been broad and beautiful then. And classy. Now? Not so much. Gone were the women in print dresses and men in snappy fedoras. In their place were tourists in shorts and black socks. What once felt like a place where magic could happen, now felt a little like the creepy clown at a kid’s party. It clung to its former glory, an aging star ready for her close-up.
 

“Elizabeth?” Simon called out.
 

She could hear the strain in his voice before she saw it in his face. The sooner they found this clue the better.

They’d searched the Internet for any connection between the theater and the Dick and Jane books, but there didn’t seem to be any. They’d briefly considered that it might be a reference to a not-too-good Jim Carrey movie, since he did have a set of foot and handprints there, but they agreed that not even Teddy would do that. But that, at least, had given them the idea of the footprints and after a little digging, they found a map of the forecourt. In the upper right corner, not far from John Wayne, were Dick Powell and Jane Withers, both stars of Old Hollywood. That sounded more like it, and it was where Simon was headed.

“Right,” Simon said when they’d reached the right set of footprints. “Let’s hope it’s still here.”

The three of them started to scour the cement and the neighboring area. Even though the search area was small, Elizabeth nearly missed it. A small bit of metal reflected in the sunlight. At first she thought it was a coin lying on the concrete, but when she looked closer, she realized it was their moon. The metal was well-tarnished and worn down from people tromping over it for years, but it was unmistakably their moon. She tried to pull it out, but it didn’t budge.

“Simon,” she said, calling him and Charlotte over, and pretending to stand in Jane Withers’ tiny footprints. She pointed toward the spot and he knelt down next to it. He tried to pry it out, but he couldn’t get ahold of it.

Frowning, he stood, making sure to cover it with the toe of his shoe.
 

“How are we going to get it out?” Elizabeth asked as images of Lucy and Ethel stealing John Wayne’s footprints flashed into her mind. She somehow doubted Simon would be up for something like that.

“I can’t exactly dig it out without drawing attention,” he said, nodding toward a paunchy security guard standing not too far away.

Elizabeth nodded and looked around. There had to be some way to distract the crowd. She could faint, but people would probably just step over her. Even if they didn’t, it would just be a few people, and they needed a crowd.

She turned to Charlotte and an idea came to her. She glanced back at Simon.
 

“Don’t worry,” she said but could see him starting to already.

She dug into her purse and handed Simon her small pocket knife. Then, taking Charlotte’s hand, she led her to the far side of the forecourt and prepared for her big scene.

~~~

Simon knew that look. Elizabeth had a plan. A plan that meant a spike in his blood pressure. He watched her take Charlotte’s hand and disappear into the crowd. What on Earth was she up to?

He didn’t have to wonder long. Over the dull buzz of the crowd, he heard her cry out briefly, then Charlotte screamed. It sent a chill down his spine and he took a step toward them before controlling himself.

Charlotte called out for her mother and wailed quite dramatically. Whatever she and Elizabeth were doing, it had the desired effect. Most of the crowd, including the stalwart security guard, drifted toward the commotion.

As soon as no one was looking, he knelt down and flipped open the small blade of the pocket knife. Palming his car key in one hand, he pried away at the metal moon. In the background, he could hear Charlotte crying and calling for her mother. He clenched his jaw and focused on the task at hand.

The metal disk was just starting to come loose when Simon felt someone watching him. It was a strange feeling, this sixth sense of feeling eyes on the back of his head. He needed just a few more seconds.
 

“Hey, what are you—?”

Simon turned to see a large man with an even larger belly wearing a “World’s Greatest Farter” t-shirt walking toward him. Simon ignored him and wedged the knife blade beneath the thin edge of the canister’s top.
 

“Dammit, Teddy,” he grumbled, “You couldn’t make it easy, could you?”
 

He gave it one last flex, sure the small blade was going to break under the pressure. But it didn’t, and the little tube slid free. Simon grabbed it with one hand, then reached down with his off hand and pretended to scoop up his car key, being sure to make it as visible as possible. The world’s greatest farter lost interest then and veered away.

“Please, Mama!” Charlotte wailed.
 

Simon could see people on their cell phones, not talking on them, of course, but recording. It seemed people didn’t call for help anymore; they filmed things, hoping for the next viral sensation.
 

Pushing his way through the crowd, he saw Elizabeth sprawled across the ground and Charlotte kneeling at her side keening. It was beyond melodramatic, and he had to stifle a laugh. Schooling his features, he approached.

When Charlotte saw him, she launched herself at him. “Oh, Daddy!”

Simon hugged her and leaned down to whisper, “Well done.”

She sniffled and looked up at him, sneaking in a quick smile.
 

“Mama’s done fainted.”

First she was English, and now she was fresh from the bayou. He had no choice really but to play along.

“Sugar?” he said, sinking down to Elizabeth’s side. He took her chin in his hand and gave it a small shake. “Sugar, are you all right?”
 

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?” she asked, also suddenly Southern.

“You seem to have lost your mind,” he said softly.

She almost giggled but remembered herself. “It must be the heat. I was having palpitations.”

Simon helped her sit up. “There, there, Blanche.”

She frowned at that but then looked up at the crowd that had gathered.
 

“Here,” a woman said, handing her a bottle of water.

Elizabeth shook her head guiltily. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I feel much better now.”

Simon scanned the crowd and noticed that the man who’d been watching him was standing over the spot he’d pried the tube from.
 

“Can you stand?” Simon asked, hoping she heard the urgency in his voice.

Elizabeth looked past him and her eyes went round. She gestured for him to help her up and he did so quickly.
 

She took Charlotte’s hand, said thank you to the people who’d helped her, and wove her way toward the street.