The Colossus (12 page)

Aaron looked at the blond. He didn’t sound like the joking kind. Aaron had kept an eye on the patisserie after he had seen Max leave the place looking pale, accompanied by a policewoman.

A stretcher bearing a covered body had pulled out of the store. This maniac had then appeared out of nowhere and started talking to the police. That meant Lars had died as a result of Aaron’s unfortunate encounter with him. It was possible, Aaron thought now, that Blondie had killed the old man and had taken steps to pin the death on him! He tried to swallow, but his throat swelled. His breath came out in gasps.

Blondie went on. “I told them I didn’t remember you too well. Just a vague idea. It all happened so quickly, I said. But a lineup might refresh my memory.”

“What do you want?” Aaron said weakly.

“Get into the car.”

“Not on your life,” Aaron said.

“My life isn’t the one in danger,” Blondie said. “
Get in
!” Aaron got into the passenger seat. Blondie bound his hands with duct tape.

They drove for a while. His captor finally stopped on the side of a quiet street and killed the engine. “Hand me your bag, please.”

“Not that,” Aaron begged. “Please. It’s for a job. It has nothing to do with the old man.”

Blondie made a face and held the .357 up so Aaron was looking down its muzzle. Aaron promptly handed him Max’s backpack.
Blondie asked him to open it. Inside were the research papers. He looked through them and put them in a nondescript black briefcase. Aaron glanced out the window. He watched longingly at a rattling truck laden with vegetables driving by. Other than that, there was no one, it seemed, for miles around. The sound of the wind broke the silence, slipping in through a small opening in the rear window with a low, ghostly whistle.

“What’s your name?” Blondie said in a conversational tone.

Aaron hesitated. “Geoff.”

Blondie tilted his head. “
Nein, nein
.”

He sucked at this stuff. “Aaron.”

“Aah-run, who are you working for?” The blond looked straight ahead, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“No one,” Aaron said.

“
Ach!
” The blond held the gun against Aaron’s head. “I have very little time for your nonsense. You have two choices. I can shoot you and toss you out there.” He pointed outside. “And once the police find you, they will conclude that your accomplice killed you. They assume you had one. And besides, you are a killer—the unknown American tourist. Who cares if you were murdered?”

“My other choice?” Aaron was trying hard to keep his voice from sounding like a tinny squeak. For one horrible moment Aaron thought he might soil his pants. Thankfully, the moment passed.

“A flight back to USA. Now, who are you working for?”

Truth was, Aaron didn’t know. Geoff had said he didn’t, either. But this man wouldn’t believe him. What should he say? He looked askance at the frightening, stocky man. A lie would buy him a bullet in his head. Better to stick to the truth. He tried to look sincere. “I really don’t know,” he said.

The blond struck Aaron’s head with the butt of his gun.

Aaron touched his temple. It felt sticky. His fingertips were moist and bright red. “Listen—I’m so regretting taking this job, mister; you can consider me officially frightened shitless. I don’t want to die. This was supposed to be easy money. All I want is to get away from London before you…they…pin the murder of the old fart on me.”

“I’m getting tired of you.” Blondie’s voice was ice. The gun was at Aaron’s temple once more.

It was the most terrifying object Aaron had ever felt against his skin. He closed his eyes, expecting his brains to splatter across the seat. He even started to pray.

“Last chance,” Blondie said softly, “who hired you to steal the papers?”

Aaron threw up his hands. He was thoroughly ashamed, but he could do nothing to stop the wracking gasps of fear he was producing. “A contact brought me the job—I don’t think even he knows who I’m working for. He couldn’t do it, so here I am.” He closed his eyes. Magically, his sobbing slowed. He felt calmer.

“Okay,” Blondie said. “I believe you.”

Aaron sensed the absence of cold pressure against his temple. He opened his eyes.

Blondie started the car. “Now I will escort you home.” He sounded almost kind.

Aaron nodded. Visions of his big payday had disappeared into smoke, but at least it wasn’t his life that had gone
poof
.

The blond took Aaron to his hostel, where Aaron packed in record time, then dropped him off at the airport. “Hope we never meet again,” Blondie said. “Be smart and leave now.”

Aaron wondered what he was going to tell his client. This might be a good time to call the emergency number. Between a paper cut and a knife wound, Geoff had said. Fuck it. This was now Geoff’s problem.

He made his way to the check-in desk.

As he waited in line, he realized the finality of his situation. He was going home—alive—but he was also going to have to forget the big payoff, his ticket to a new life.

The brass ring that had dangled so close had been yanked away.

Julian and Max sat outside the bank. Not speaking. They were both staring at the street. Max grunted and stomped her foot a few times, never as ashamed of herself as she was now.

Sure, the thief had taken her by surprise. He had cut her backpack and made off with it, sprinting like a pro. But they ought to have caught up with him. Julian had given chase for a while, but eventually his pace had slowed. Max had valiantly followed, but she could only run so fast.

“Why have you slowed down?” She had gasped, pointing in the direction the thief was going. In seconds, he had disappeared.

Julian had pointed to his new shoes. “I can’t run any faster…I just can’t,” he cried. “These damn shoes have clasped my ankles and toes in a vise-like grip.”

“Well, neither can I!” she had screamed, pointing at her quivering legs. “Oh damn, damn! He’s gone, the thief is gone!”

She was too slow, too fat, and too foolish to even give decent chase to a stupid thief. What hope in hell did she have of finding her father’s killer?

“That’s it.” She jumped up. “I need a donut or something.”

“A donut?” Julian asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

Max started walking briskly towards a coffee shop.

Julian walked by her side, wincing with every step. “I’m trying to appreciate this urgency for the donut, but can we please slow down?”

“I cannot believe you wore new shoes for this trip.” Max snarled. She tried not to think about how much she had admired them when he had first arrived.

“I wasn’t aware I’d be expected to chase after goons on the streets of London,” Julian murmured angrily. “Goddamn it, Max! Slow down.”

“What
did
you expect when I told you about Lars?”

“I thought you were overreacting.” He threw up his hands. “You are a bit emotional. Overwrought.”

“Overreacting!” Max exclaimed. “Overwrought! Really?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” His voice rose, his face turning red. “You have said so yourself. You’re not exactly the bravest person. You didn’t even want to do any of this. Forget it. I thought—” He clenched his fists and walked away.

They were at the coffee shop now. Max walked in, leaving Julian fuming outside. She stepped out with two glazed donuts and began eating one. The sugar calmed her nerves.

Minutes later, Julian said, “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper.” He didn’t look at all sorry. “But I thought when you said Lars had died…well, I thought it was possible that maybe he just died naturally. You must admit you’re very stressed.”

Max let out a low groan. Her eyes bored into the ground. She sat down on the pavement.

Julian sat beside her. “I have no experience with people getting killed, so I put that bit out of my mind,” he said. “I mean, who imagines murder and spy games when someone asks for help? I’m only an associate professor of history, not Indiana Jones, sweetheart!”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m exposed to murder everyday? I’m a cook.
Sweetheart
! Did you forget everything I told you about my father? And that German who attacked us? Or did you think I was making it all up in my hysteria?”

Julian grabbed the other donut from her just as she was about to eat it.

“Hey!” she cried, but let him have it. She stared down the street for a while. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Julian. He was
munching on the donut with ferocious glee. His cheeks were flushed an angry pink and his eyebrows were furrowed.

Max began dusting donut crumbs off her lap. It occurred to her that just by being here, Julian was doing her an enormous, totally unnecessary favor.

She touched his arm lightly. He turned to her, surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You have taken the time to be here for me, and look at how awful I’m being to you.” What was wrong with her? She had no right to be mean to this man.

Julian’s frown melted into a smile. He let out a laugh.

“What?” Max said.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped around her mouth.

“Stop taking so many liberties, friend,” she said, not meaning it.

Making a peace sign with one hand, Julian took a big bite of his donut. Half his false mustache came unglued and hung along his cheek.

Max let out a giggle.

“What?”

She yanked the mustache off his face and threw it away.

“Ouch!” he cried. “I apologize too. Friends?”

Max nodded. “Did you get a good look at this guy?” she said. “We could give the police a description.”

Julian shook his head and sighed. “He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Very ordinary. Slim. Other than that, I have no memory.”

“Do you think it may have been the blond?”

Julian shrugged. “He didn’t look very distinctive. I’d say he was thin. You said the blond stood out—heavy-set, short, right? Maybe this was his associate.”

Max shivered. How was she ever going to sleep at night again? Maybe not until this was over, whenever that might be. Over. How comforting that sounded. Finished, wrapped up. That’s where she wanted to be. At the end of the line.

“Isn’t it strange how adventures are wonderful when they are over?” Max said wistfully.

Julian stood up and held out his hand. “Come.” Max started to protest, but he put a finger to his lips. She took his hand.

They walked for a long time, eventually crossing the Thames over the Millennium Bridge. At the end of the bridge, just below them, an accordion player was surrounded by a group of people. He was playing an upbeat tune. Some people clapped, a couple even danced.

Max and Julian continued to walk by the river towards the Tower of London.

“Do you want to tour it?” Julian pointed to the tower.

Max thought about Anne Boleyn. “Not today,” she said.

A few dancers were breakdancing to eighties music on one side of the street. On the other were throngs of tourists posing for pictures or just hanging out. Beyond, not a hundred feet away, were the locals, seemingly unaware of the spectacular—if somewhat gruesome—symbol of history, the great Tower of London, that stood not far from them.

Julian checked his watch. “It’s almost dinner time,” he said. He led her to a French bistro on a narrow street.

The
maître d’
seated them at a table with a view of the river. Max studied her menu. Julian didn’t open his. She closed the menu and smiled. “Ok what are we having?”

A waiter came by. Julian asked for a bottle of the house red and two orders of the beef bourguignon.

The wine arrived. Max picked up her glass and took a sip. She watched the sky turn from cerulean blue to a brilliant pink. Voices rose and fell around them. Julian drank the wine as if it were water. “I hope you don’t mind.” He slipped his feet out of his shoes and let out a soft cry. He took off his socks, too. His feet were covered with blisters.

Max watched him wince in obvious pain and started to laugh.

“You think this is funny! Look at my feet? They’re bleeding!”

Before Max could answer, the beef arrived. The waiter fussed about their plates and served them with great care.

“
Bon appétit
,” he said, and left.

Max took a bite. The meat melted in her mouth. The sauce was divine—velvety, peppery.
Mmm.
This almost made up for the bank fiasco.

Julian said, “One of the best-kept secrets in London—this bistro. The wine I brought over the other day? It’s from here.”

Max gave him a grateful smile.
Thank you
, she mouthed.

Julian ate slowly, savoring every mouthful. He sipped his wine and sent her a smile now and again.

But the magic couldn’t last forever. She put down her fork. “What do we do now? Maybe you should go back. I’ll just sit here and wallow in my shame.”

Julian shook his head. “You give up too easily. We’ll figure something out. Maybe Lars told someone else about all this. We just have to find out who that might be.”

Max didn’t think Lars would have told anyone. But it was adorable how optimistic Julian was being.

Max began to take another bite when Julian held her hand, not allowing her to bring the fork to her mouth. “Not so fast. Every morsel must be carefully considered. Do you Americans even taste what goes down your throat? Now we shall talk only about this beef for a while, and maybe dessert.”

Max laughed and shook her head no.

“You have to have dessert.” Julian winked at her. Max looked at him. He had a small dimple in his chin. She wanted to reach out and touch it.

“What is it?” He took out a handkerchief and began dabbing his face.

Max smiled. “You have a dimple in your chin, too. I didn’t notice that one before.”

“
Ah dinnae hae
any dimples,” he said, putting a forkful of beef into his mouth.

“You do,” she said with a giggle. “There, there, and there.” she pointed to his cheeks and chin.

“Here?” he asked, pointing to the wrong part of his chin.

No, she kept saying and laughing. But he couldn’t seem to find them. Finally she touched the three places.

“See, I got you to caress me.” Julian raised and lowered his eyebrows like a clown. Max shook her head and laughed.

The waiter arrived and whisked their plates away. Julian asked him if they had the
Clafoutis aux Cerises
.

“Cherry custard cake,” Julian said. “A trip to heaven.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Julian said, “and when the bill comes, it’s a quick trip back to earth.”

Max giggled once more.

Dessert arrived and was polished off. The bill was paid. It was time to go.

“I want this moment to last forever,” Max said wistfully. “Julian…” She pushed her chair back and stood up. So did he. She moved close to him.

Julian inhaled deeply. “You smell of strawberries,” he said. “And some perspiration.” Max giggled and punched him lightly. He was making her giggle like an idiot. It was too sweetly cruel. “And garlic and cherries,” he whispered.

Max pursed her lips. “I’m sorry about yelling at you.” She fidgeted with her hair. “I should never have even called you.”

Julian put an arm around her shoulder and gave a little squeeze.

They held hands all the way back to the hotel.

Max wanted to ask Julian if he had a girlfriend. But he surely wouldn’t hide that from her, would he? Would he be holding her hand this way if there was someone? Max felt an urge to strangle this mystery girlfriend. An image of a svelte female began to form in her mind. Part of her was afraid to find out if someone like that existed in his life.

Bet I could snap her like a twig
, she thought.

*
*     *

Julian was wondering if he should call his girlfriend. Raquel had told him she was going to Mongolia to broker a deal with small village banks. Leveraged buyouts, mergers maybe—they all sounded the same to him. She was going to be “offline”
—
her words—for a week. “We can talk when I’m in Beijing,” she had said. Still, perhaps he
should call anyway, or she’d be mad that he didn’t even try. Women. They tell you something. They expect something else.

He hadn’t even mentioned Raquel to Max yet. And here he was, getting way too attached to Max. He shouldn’t have come to London, but now that he was here, he really ought to tell her.

But first, he had to call Raquel.

“Might you know what time it is in Mongolia?” he asked Max.

“Mongolia!” she exclaimed. “You’re crazy.” Max burst out laughing.