London Escape (13 page)

Right now I can only think of one step to take next, I need to get some help and fast.  And there is only one person I can think of who can help me now.

8. MARION

A
s I get back in the Mini and head in the direction of Jason’s apartment I can’t decide whether I’m being incredibly brave or stupid. Maybe the line between the two has been blurred already. Still, the apartment and surrounding neighborhoods are the danger zone now. I have already been spotted here once by Thing One and Thing Two, and there is no question in my mind they would still be looking for me. The thought of running into the two of them again causes me to shiver. It takes me a while to find my way back to his building, but I manage okay. I find a parking spot on a side road near the apartment and get out. I start walking, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one is following me. I don’t care if look paranoid. I am paranoid at this point.

However, I don’t go back to the apartment. I’m not feeling that stupid right now. Instead I head for the café around the corner, where I first met Peter. With any luck he’d be there, or at least maybe I’d find someone who knows how to reach him.

I’m in luck, the waitress whose section I sit in is the same one from the other night, and she knows Peter well.

“He should be in around four for his tea,” she says when I ask her about him. “You can expect him in a few. He’s like clockwork.”

Finally someone I can count on. Alexa still isn’t answering her phone and I’m equally annoyed and worried. At least I know she’s safe from Mr. V’s clutches back in the States.

Like sleep, food has been low on my list of priorities in the past few days. I force myself to eat, even though I don’t feel hungry. The sandwich tastes remarkably like cardboard.

The waitress was right, and at precisely four o’ clock Peter appears. He spots me immediately and sits down across from me without a word. We both wait while the waitress brings him tea and soup, just like before.

 Finally, when we’re alone, he speaks. “How are you?” he asks, calmly sipping his tea.

Suddenly I have the urge to strangle him. If he has any idea of what’s going on, and I have a feeling he does, how can he be so calm? It’s unnerving.

“I’m okay.” But my hand gives a tell-tale tremor as I reach inside my bag. Without any hesitation I push my notebook toward him.

“Do you read Latin?” I’m counting on it.

He nods. Holding up a finger he reaches for his glasses in his shirt pocket before taking a look at the page.

“Can you tell me what it says?” I ask hopefully.

“Sancta rex omnibus solarus,” he says in a rich baritone voice.

“No, can you translate?” I huff irritably. My patience is running a bit thin.

“Oh, right.” He looks at it again for several minutes. “Well, I can tell you one thing.”

“What’s that?” I lean over the table anxiously.

“Your friend is terrible at Latin, this hardly makes sense.”

I frown. This doesn’t fit what I already know for several reasons. First, I know Jason isn’t terrible at Latin, he’s already proven that. Second, I have already done the hard part of finding the sentence, why would it not make sense?

“What do you mean?” I ask, wondering how he knows who had written it.

“Here,” he points at the first word. “Sancta means holy. Rex means—”

“King,” I supply.

He nods. “Very good, now omnibus means everything and solarus, well, I’m not even sure about that one.”

I sit back in my seat with a sigh. This isn’t what I was expecting. “Holy king everything?” He’s right, it doesn’t make sense.

“Now, what’s this all about?” Peter questions. “What were you hoping for?”

I bite my lip nervously. “A message of some sort.”

“Ah, well let’s take another look.” He pulls the page back. But I’m already envisioning what they could be doing to Jason right now. Suddenly I’m wishing I hadn’t just eaten. Moments later Peter speaks up.

“Aha, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” I sit up again.

“I believe this could be an anagram.” He pushes the notebook back towards me.

“An anagram, what’s that?” The word seems vaguely familiar to me, but in my current state I can’t quite remember what it means.

“An anagram is a word, or sentence, that when you rearrange the letters it becomes another word or sentence.”

Realization dawns on me, this is just the sort of thing Jason would come up with. True to form, the clues are getting more and more complex the farther along I get.

I look down at the sentence again, trying to see the hidden message inside.

“So, what does it say?” I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head. “Although my Latin is excellent, I’m afraid I have no head for puzzles of this nature. Perhaps you should take another look, now that you know what you’re looking for.”

“Do you think I’m looking for more Latin or English this time?” I ask Peter.

“English, I think. If the message was in Latin it would be nearly impossible to decipher.”

He’s right again; my knowledge of Latin is fairly limited. There is simply no way I could manage to rearrange four Latin words into four more Latin words. So instead I begin look for English words. I can feel Peter’s eyes on me as I try out different letter combinations. Strangely I feel like I’m taking a test and he’s my teacher, anxiously watching to see how well I will do.

My eyes flicker across the page quickly, taking in the several S’s, the U and the X first.

“Sussex,” I say, writing down the word and handing the notebook over to him.

“Very good,” he mumbles approvingly, crossing out the used letters. He slides it back to me again with a smile. “What else?”

I spend a few more minutes poring over the remaining letters, but come up with nothing. When I look to Peter for help he pulls the notebook back towards him and frowns at it for a moment.

“Let me give you a hint from a linguistics standpoint. Your friend might have overestimated your knowledge of the language,” he says finally. “In English the Latin C can also mean K, and a U can often take the place of a Y.”

I nod, ignoring the jab, and write a K over the C in Sancta, and a Y over my remaining U.

Minutes later I announce, “Royal Bank, Sussex. How far is Sussex?”

“Too far,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “What do you have left?”

I search the page, double checking that I’ve crossed out all the used letters. “T, A, O, M, N, I, R and S.”

“Ah.” He reaches over and crosses out the S and T.

“

Sussex Street,” he reads aloud. “Not too far from here.”

I’m still staring at the remaining six letters, waiting for them to reform into a word that makes sense. It takes me another minute, but finally I pick up my pen and write.

“Marion,” I say.

“Someone you know?” He asks.

I shake my head. The rest fits, somewhat, but this part is beyond my comprehension.

I start to gather up my things. “I have to go,” I say. Time is of the essence. Now that I have the next clue, or in this case the next address, I have to get moving again. Before I can pick it up, he takes my pen and writes something in my notebook.

“Directions to the bank on Sussex,” he says before I can ask.

I nod my thanks. I’m fully expecting him to say something else, to tell me not to do anything stupid, or worse, to call my dad. But he’s just staring at me, a little like he’s seeing me for the first time with a look of surprise in his eyes.

“Thanks,” I say, and I’m gone before he can reply.

Following his directions I start walking towards

Sussex Street, and as I do I attempt to sort out the rest of the puzzle. Why would Jason have me going to the bank? Different ideas rush through my mind, each less plausible than the last. Again the possibility of him waiting for me, no matter how unrealistic, crosses my mind. But when I come back down to reality, I know the only way I will ever see him again is if I can find a way to rescue him from Mr. V. But before I can form my plan to free him I have to get to the bank and figure out what is there that is so important.

It takes me a few more blocks before my next revelation hits. At that moment I already know, without a doubt, what I will find at the bank: the jewels. They have to be what he’s leading me to now, probably in a safety deposit box. Where else do people store valuable items? The funny part is; I still have no idea what these stolen jewels even look like, or why they are so valuable. All I know is that they are the key to getting Jason back.

With that I suddenly remember the keys in my pocket. I take them out and examine them one by one. Besides the pocketknife and the keychain there are four keys on the ring. The key to the car, one to the apartment, the other one for locker, and one last key I have yet to use. A smaller key, marked with a crown emblem. That has to be it, the key to the box. My feet quicken their pace on the sidewalk. I am now surer than ever of what I will find in that safety deposit box.

I don’t even consider the possibility of not going to the bank. As far as I know I’m still one step ahead of Mr. V’s men. And as long as I hurry, I should be okay. Following Peter’s directions I walk straight to the bank. It’s not your average local bank. It lives up to its name, with an imposing gilt façade and ornate leaded windows. The gold lettering on the door says they close at six, which means I only have a few minutes. As I enter the rotating doors I see guards flanking the exits and multiple security cameras. It’s a good thing I have a key, I’m not about to add bank robbery to my current list of transgression. Still, it gives me hope to see the bank’s tight security. It means even if the Things know about the box, there’s no way they can access it without the key I hold in my hand.

I wait in line for close to five minutes, trying to figure out what I will say when it’s my turn. I’m well aware of the fact that I stick out like a sore thumb in the gold and marble foyer wearing frayed jeans and dirty sneakers. A few snobby, British bank customers shoot irritated looks in my direction. I ignore them.

At last, I step up to the teller’s windows and smile what I hope is a convincing smile. “Hi, I was wondering if Marion is in today?” I’m taking a huge gamble, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

The teller, a middle-aged man with a balding head, frowns at me. “No, I’m sorry, there’s no one by that name working here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong branch.” I backpedal briefly, but recover my composure. On to plan B then. “In that case, I was also wondering if I could access my safety deposit box?”

He’s still frowning at me though I might tell him this is a stick-up any minute.

“Your name?” he asks.

“Katherine Hawthorn.”
Please Jason
, I think to myself. I hand him my driver’s license when he requests it.

“No, I’m sorry, you must be mistaken, there’s no account under that name here,” he replies after typing my name into his computer. He shoves my license back at me. “Maybe at our other branch,” he says with a barely disguised sneer.

“Right, thanks,” I mutter tightly. I duck back out of the bank and onto the street. Of course I’ve hit another hitch, apparently Jason didn’t think this one through. If the safety deposit box is in his name there is no way I’ll be able to access it without him. Like the car, having the key doesn’t prove ownership.

I’m not sure where I should go now. All I know is that it’s getting dark, and my feet are now dragging on the pavement with exhaustion. Somehow my feet lead me back to the hotel where I’d been staying for the past few nights. As I look up at the tall building my spidey sense begins to tingle. Without thinking, I pull up my hood, duck my head and begin to walk quickly away. I’m not sure what set me off, but I know I need to move quickly. Either it the Things are on my tail, or the hotel just isn’t safe anymore. Finally, when I’ve put a few blocks between the old hotel, I duck inside a different one. Again I flash my dad’s credit card and secure my room for the night. Hopefully this place is safer that the last.

 When I get to my new room and lock the door behind me, I don’t even pause before throwing myself onto the bed. I’m too tired, too frustrated and too afraid to cry. Once again I’ve hit the wall and have nothing left to go on. Despite wanting to give up, I know I can’t. I’ve practically found the jewels already, but they remain just barely out of my reach. Moving backward in time I think through all the careful steps I have taken to get to this place and time. As usual, I realize there must be more. I must have missed something. Instantly my gaze is drawn to my backpack lying on the floor where I’d dropped it. Maybe there is something else in the book that I’d missed, just like I’d missed the locker number before.

Pulling the backpack up into my lap, I unzip it and open it wide. I’d forgotten the Things tearing through it all yesterday and everything is jumbled up inside. With a wave of irritation I shove my hand inside and draw it back quickly as something sharp jabs my hand. Sticking my bleeding finger in my mouth I dump out the contents of the bag, searching for the sharp item. My heart gives a painful jolt when I see Jason’s familiar face in the photo, barely visible through the shattered glass.

Gingerly I pick up the photo frame, being careful not to cut my hand again. I get up from the bed and take it over to the trash can, trying not to let any more broken glass fall out. I remove the back so I can take out the picture and save it, but as I do something else falls to the floor. Stooping, I pick it up.

Now I know who Marion is. In my hand is a very well-made, but very fake driver’s license. I know it’s a fake because the photo on the card is of me, but the name is different. The name on the ID is Marion Ravenwood. Of course it’s Marion Ravenwood, Indiana Jones’ feisty sidekick in Jason’s favorite installment of the four movies. Trust Jason to throw that in there.

Again I’m reminded of just how far Jason has gone to keep these missing jewels out of Mr. V’s hands, and the severity of the situation I now find myself in.

The fake ID makes sense to me. As an extra safeguard against Mr. V finding the jewels Jason had opened the account under two pseudonyms. I have a hunch the other name on the bank account is one Indiana Jones. It would have been funny, if not for the enormity of the situation.