Grimm - The Icy Touch (26 page)

As the delivery truck was waved through, Kessler pulled over in front of a lodging house, as if parking. But they were too close to the checkpoint, and seeing them the tallest of the Gestapo men, in an officer’s cap, scowled and gave an order. Another officer and the SS soldier with the rifle strode over to Kessler’s car, gesturing for him to roll down the window.

Kessler smiled in a puzzled sort of way as he complied. He kept the touring car’s engine running.

“Yes, gentlemen, can I be of assistance?” he asked politely.

“You do not wish to pass through the checkpoint?” said the officer, with a pronounced Austrian accent. He was a tall man with a jutting chin, high cheekbones, and ice-blue eyes.

“Checkpoint?” Kessler replied easily. “No, no, we have no problem with checkpoints. I am simply planning to visit a
lady
at the lodge here. My young friend has not had much experience with women. I believe she will be of service to him.”

The young SS soldier leered at that, but the Gestapo officer didn’t seem convinced. He scowled—and then Kessler saw it.

The bestial face emerged, for just a moment. The officer was a Hundjager.

The SS soldier saw nothing of this since the officer had not woged.

The Gestapo officer bent over slightly and looked through the window at Berg.

“Your name, and identity papers, please.”

“My name is Mueller,” Berg said. “I am...
Otto Mueller.”

Kessler looked at Berg. Otto Mueller? He hadn’t mentioned using such a cover name.

The Hundjager officer stared at Berg, his eyes widening.

“Mueller? I did not expect you to be with anyone else!”

Kessler suppressed a gasp. The Hundjager had been waiting for someone going by the name Mueller. And Berg had given that name. Therefore...

He reached down to put the car in gear—but then Berg put the muzzle of a Luger against the side of Kessler’s head.

“I am sorry, Herr Professor,” Berg said. “But I must have the coins. I have made an arrangement. Herr Hess has offered me a great deal of money. You knew where the coins were; I did not. I am afraid I forged the coded letter...”

Kessler let out a long sigh. The letter had come through the mail, stating the coins must be removed to a safer place. He had a tendency to trust other Grimms implicitly. But they were prone to human failings like anyone else.

The Gestapo officer smacked his hand on the roof of the car.

“If you have the package, give it to me now!” he demanded angrily.

“I shall hand it over to Herr Hess personally, as arranged,” Berg said. “That is Herr Hess’s wish.”

The officer grunted, and straightened up.

“Then take it from him, and come out of the car.” He turned to the soldier. “Take this ‘Herr Professor’ prisoner.”

“Kessler!” Berg snapped. “The envelope! Now!”

Kessler reached into his pocket, took out the envelope with the coins—and tossed it into the back seat.

As he’d hoped, Berg turned to grab at the envelope, looking away for a moment. Kessler’s Grimm reflexes came into play and he wrenched the gun from Berg’s hand, turned it about and fired the Luger at the officer and the soldier, two shots, all in less than a second.

The bullets struck both men, hitting each one consecutively in the forehead, and they fell back, dead as they hit the snowy ground.

Kessler thrust the gun into his coat, put the car in reverse, slammed on the accelerator, and backed up down the gutter, splashing slush.

The men remaining at the checkpoint shouted. As Kessler shifted gears and spun the wheel, one of the Gestapo fired a gun—a pistol by the sound of it. A bullet pinged off one of the touring car’s fenders.

Kessler accelerated as he turned the car to head back off down the street, ignoring Berg—who was ducking down beside him, shouting for him to stop.

I should kill him right now,
he thought.

And then he heard the car door open and, turning his head, Kessler saw Berg had the envelope with the coins in it—and was leaping from the moving car, shouting, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” at the Gestapo. Berg cried out in pain as he struck the road. “No!” he cried out, “I have a package for Herr Hess!”

Another gunshot cracked, and Kessler swore and hit the brakes. The car spun on the slick road, half turning, and stopped. He saw Berg lying face down in the slush, legs twitching, his arms outstretched toward the checkpoint, one of his hands clutching the envelope containing the coins. Blood was pooling around his head. A Gestapo officer was running toward Berg’s body.

Kessler ducked down as a side window of the touring car blew inward with a tinkling sound. They were still firing at Kessler, shouting at him to surrender.

I cannot leave the coins.

Another bullet smacked into the car and then he shifted himself high enough to get the car moving again, turning it toward the Gestapo.

But one of them had the envelope, was running with it toward the black sedan. The other was standing in the middle of the street, aiming with two hands on his gun.

Kessler ducked as a bullet smashed through his windshield, hissing just overhead. Then the officer fired once more, and a tire exploded. His car spun out of control, and thudded into something. He glimpsed the Gestapo officer who’d fired at him flying through the air, struck by the car.

The touring car struck the sidewalk and stopped, radiator spouting steam.

Kessler jumped out, pulling the Luger from his coat. He swung it toward the Gestapo car—but the officer was already at the wheel, starting the vehicle. Kessler fired, striking the car over and over, emptying the Luger, but none of the bullets penetrated to the driver.

Still clutching the gun, Kessler ran clumsily through the snow, toward the car—but the Gestapo officer chose to make certain that the package Herr Rudolf Hess had been waiting for was taken to him, even if it meant letting Kessler escape.

The black car roared away, taking the Coins of Zakynthos with it. As it turned a corner, Kessler noticed the swastika painted neatly on its side.

He stared after it. Shame twisted in his belly like a dirty blood-soaked rag.

I failed,
Kessler thought.
I was a fool. I should have killed Berg when I shot the other two.

He turned, hurried across the street, passing the now still corpse of Berg, and the dying, groaning SS soldier. Skidding in snow, he ran to the corner and around it, then slowed. Up ahead, a heavy man wearing a taxi driver’s cap was just leaving the beer hall, walking to his cab, wiping his mouth.

Kessler called out to him.

“Taxi! I am in a hurry!” He forced himself to smile at the man as he waved.

The taxi driver shook his head.

“No, I am going home now!”

“I will give you four times your normal fee and a tip to boot if you take me where I’m going. But you must drive as fast as you can!”

“Speed will be difficult with the snow on the streets but... very well, sir!”

Five minutes later, Kessler was sitting in the back of the taxi, half listening to the driver’s inane chatter as they bumped and skidded along. So far there’d been no pursuit. At some point in the next hour the Gestapo would organize a search for him, but by then he would be undercover, and on his way out of town. There were certain well-paid, trustworthy men who did jobs for Grimms, sometimes. Those men would help him escape from the city. With luck he would be safely away. But his failure would go with him, like an unwanted travel companion.

I should have shot Berg and yet—he was a fellow Grimm. My instinct was to preserve another Grimm. He and I should have been brothers.

Brothers? Berg had betrayed all Grimms—for money! Simply for money. And what would happen now?

Hess knew about the coins, clearly. Berg would have confirmed the story, in making the deal to sell them.

Rudolf Hess would likely give the coins to his adored Führer.

Adolf Hitler would have the Coins of Zakynthos.

And where would that take the world?

Juliette marched into the cabin ahead of Hank.

“Monroe—where’s Nick?” she demanded.

Monroe winced.

“Hi Monroe, how are you feeling?
might be a little more appropriate here, Juliette,” he said, as he shifted uncomfortably in his easy chair.

“Monroe, she’s worried,” Hank said, closing the door behind them.

“I’m sorry, Juliette,” Rosalee said. “He’s a bit cranky. He’s stopped taking the painkillers.”

“I don’t need the pills anymore,” Monroe said. But it was true he was feeling on edge. “I’m sorry, Hank’s right, I’m out of line. I don’t know where Nick is, Juliette. I’m kinda mad at him because he said we’d work together to find Lily and then he vanished on me. You up to speed on Lily?”

“Nick told me some, and Hank told me the rest,” Juliette replied. She stared at the floor as she unbuttoned her coat, as though trying to hide how worried she was.

Rosalee took Juliette’s coat.

“Let me hang this up. You and Hank sit down, we’ll have some coffee and figure this out.”

Juliette went to the sofa, started to sit—then stopped as an automaton on the mantle, shaped like Pinocchio, turned its head to look at her with glassy eyes. She sank slowly onto the sofa, staring at the toddler-sized automaton.

“Did that thing just look at me?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, sorry, should’ve warned you,” Monroe said. “Beautiful machines. He’s put motion sensors on them, so that they look at you when you move. ‘He’ being the guy whose cabin this is... Just ignore Pinocchio and friends. They’re very discreet. They listen but they don’t talk.”

“They
listen?”
Hank said, sitting beside Juliette. “Great. Makes me feel comfortable.” He accepted a cup of coffee from Rosalee. “Thanks. So no one’s heard from Nick?”

They each shook their heads in turn. Hank put the coffee down.

“That’s... I don’t want to scare you, Juliette.”

“I’m already scared. I know something’s wrong.”

“Feels that way to me,” Hank admitted. “He’d be in touch with one of us. Or at least the Captain—but the Captain hasn’t heard from him either. Suspended or not, Nick’s still a police detective. There’s no way he’s going to be out of touch with us.”

“Hard to believe he wouldn’t call Juliette,” Rosalee said.

Monroe sighed. “He seemed really sincere when he said he was going to work with me on this. He’s always returned my calls when we...” He broke off, seeing the effect all this was having on Juliette.

Juliette’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Hank—do you think he’s dead?”

“No. No, I don’t. The Icy Touch would’ve left his body somewhere as a message. That’s their whole style.”

Juliette squeezed her eyes shut.

“Then they have him prisoner?”

Rosalee sat on the sofa’s arm, put a hand on Juliette’s shoulder.

“He’s a Grimm. He’s survived... so much. He’ll be alright.”

“Thing is, Juliette,” Monroe said slowly, “I really,
really
think you and Hank ought to bunk here with us for a few days. We’re off the grid enough they won’t find us easily, if we don’t do anything dumb. We have an extra bedroom here. Hank can sleep on the sofa.”

Hank looked at Monroe.

“You saying Juliette’s in danger?”

“I... don’t know. Don’t want to scare anyone. But they must be pissed off about you and Nick getting in their way. These guys are the dark side of Wesen, pure and simple. They’re going to hurt you and Nick any way they can. My advice, Hank—get out there and do your job but... might be smarter not to sleep at home for a while. And Juliette should stay here for sure.”

“I have tomorrow off,” Juliette said, wiping her eyes. “But after that I have to be back at work.”

Monroe shrugged. “Maybe... But I mean, if it’s not all... uh... worked out by then... see if someone can cover for you. I’m not saying it won’t be, you know...”

Noticing Rosalee glaring at him, Monroe shut up.

Juliette accepted a tissue from Rosalee, dabbed at her nose, and looked around the room at the other automatons perching on tables and shelves around the room. A Santa Claus nodded and stroked its beard; a red-nosed old babushka chuckled and lifted a laundry bag onto her shoulder; an American Indian sat on a horse—both the horse and the Indian turned to look at Juliette.

Juliette laughed and shook her head.

“Good luck sleeping in this room, Hank.”

Hank snorted. “For real.”

She sighed. “Nick told me about the kidnapping, the little girl, how he lost his... his temper. How he questioned that man and got suspended and... I knew he was still holding something back.”

Hank cleared his throat. “Maybe he didn’t want to talk about the Grimm thing. There are sides of being a Grimm he doesn’t necessarily have control of yet.”

“He should have told me! He should have trusted me.” Unconsciously, Juliette shredded the tissue between trembling fingers. “It took him so long to tell me about being a Grimm—about Wesen. It wasn’t right for him to keep it from me. I was scared—things were happening that I just did not understand. I thought I was going crazy.”

Monroe nodded. “I hear you. We should have told you... I should’ve said something, but Wesen are trained to keep it on the lowdown.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Monroe,” Juliette said firmly. “It was Nick’s. He just didn’t trust me.”

Hank sipped his coffee, then said, “I think he was afraid you’d leave him. His being part of the Grimm world—that could be a pretty big deal breaker, for a lot of women.”

Monroe laughed dryly. “Ohhhh yeah! As in ‘I’m a Grimm, I kill creatures out of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales,
so be my Valentine.’ Yep. Could
so
be a deal breaker.”

Juliette shook her head. “I would have stood by him. I
did
, when he finally told me. But it took him so long. Now he’s hiding things from me again. That—just might be the deal breaker...”

* * *

Nick had decided he could get more leverage on the sink than the toilet.

He had broken it partway off the wall, pushing the sink a little at a time, with all his strength. It made a squealing noise with every push. Eventually some sentry would check on him and hear the noise. He had to get this done fast.