Minds of Men Page 19

  “As you like,” Lina said, giving him a smile and raising one hand to caress his cheek. “And thank you.”

  Josef nodded again, his expression softening slightly. He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers.

  “Now rest,” he said. “I will have one of the men bring you food in a little while. Sleep, and prepare.”

  “I love you,” Lina whispered, her eyes already starting to close.

  “And I, you.”

  * * *

  Evelyn woke with the stale, acid taste of vomit in her mouth. Her head pounded as if her skull were about to explode into a thousand tiny pieces, but she found that a welcome change. The dizzying maelstrom of pain and guilt and loss had subsided, at least for a moment. She still couldn’t see, but she could feel individual sensations again, and that was an improvement.

  So. Her wrists were tied, her hands numb behind her back. She could feel the constriction, but not the actual rope or whatever it was that kept her bound. She twisted one hand, uncomfortably aware that she was probably tearing her skin, but unable to do anything about it. Something held her eyes shut, and she couldn’t hear any sound other than her own harsh breathing. She could smell, though, she realized. She drew in an experimental breath, trying to get past the sour stench of whatever it was she’d thrown up at some point. She detected a hint of wood smoke, and the scent of thick, heavy canvas with just a touch of mildew.

  A tent? Were they still in the forest?

  Evelyn had no idea how long she’d been out. But if they hadn’t moved far, then surely too much time couldn’t have passed. That was another welcome thought. If not too much time had passed, then perhaps she could still reach Sean and the lieutenant. They hadn’t been happy with her, but perhaps...perhaps they would forgive her.

  Hands gripped her shoulders, lifted her so she was no longer lying on her right side. She felt her equilibrium tilt, and nausea rose within her again momentarily before she found her backside plunked down on something hard. Someone ripped the hood away. Sunlight stabbed into her brain. She recoiled, then forced her eyed to open to at least a squint.

  She blinked hard to try and clear the resultant tears and focus on the figure in front of her. The blond German sat on a short log, facing her, a slight smile on his face. Another figure moved next to him. As Evelyn’s vision adjusted, she saw a woman, younger than herself, but absolutely beautiful. She had fine, aristocratic features, with large, wide-set eyes that assessed Evelyn coolly. She wore some kind of uniform, but it was something Evelyn hadn’t seen before.

  This, then, would be the German psychic.

  “Miss...what is your name?” the blond soldier said. Evelyn reluctantly tore her attention away from his companion and focused on his face.

  “My...Adamsen. Evelyn Adamsen,” she said. The question itself startled her. She hadn’t expected niceties. Where were her men? She considered reaching out with a tendril of thought, but the measuring gaze of the German psychic stopped her. If she tried, this slip of a girl would surely try to block her. Evelyn might be able to overpower her; in fact, she probably could, given enough time. But that was time in which the girl’s soldier friends could hurt or kill Evelyn’s men.

  Brute force, it seemed, might not be the way to go.

  “Miss Adamsen,” the blond soldier said. “I am Stabsfeldwebel Josef Wolffs. I was sent to recover the crew of the downed American bomber. Am I right in assuming that you were, also, on board?”

  Evelyn licked her lips and stopped herself from nodding, barely. This was an enemy interrogation. That sudden, stark thought impacted her like a freight train. This was an interrogation, and she was a prisoner of war.

  “Sir,” she whispered. “May I have some water?”

  This served two purposes. One, she really was thirsty, and the taste of old vomit in her mouth made her stomach roil all over again. But two, it was a ploy for time and space in which to think, to figure out what she was going to do.

  Wolffs leaned back, gave a small smile. “Of course,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and another one of the Germans came forward with a canteen. The German psychic took this canteen while the much younger soldier knelt to untie Evelyn’s hands. Fire erupted within her wrists as the restricted blood flow opened up again. She gasped, unable to help herself, and hunched forward over her hands.

  “Shake them,” Wolffs said. “It will help the circulation to return. When you are ready, I will give you a drink.”

  Evelyn did as he said, shaking her limp, floppy hands until the feeling crept back into them, and her fingers once again obeyed her commands. When she was able to curl both hands into fists, the German girl stepped forward and handed Evelyn the canteen. She took a good, long drink, trying to rid her mouth of the sour taste of vomit and the sickly sweet taste that underlaid it. The water helped, even eased the pounding in her head. Her foot still hurt like seven kinds of hell, and fear raced along her nerves, but small mercies were still mercies. She thanked the blond man with a nod when she handed the canteen back.

  “Now,” Wolffs said as he screwed the cap on. “I believe I asked you a question, Miss Adamsen.”

  Evelyn swallowed hard. “You did, Stab—”

  Wolffs smiled slightly. “Stabsfeldwebel,” he supplied for her.

  “Stabsfeldwebel Wolffs,” Evelyn finished. Her head may have eased in its pounding, but her heart more than made up for it in her chest. “You did. Thank you for the water, but I regret that I must decline to answer any more questions.”

  Wolffs nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “I see. I will not pretend that I am not disappointed, Miss Adamsen. Even if I knew that you would say this. I confess I had hoped we could be civilized about things.”

  “I am prepared to be as civilized as you like, sir,” Evelyn replied, with just an edge of tartness in her voice. As soon as she spoke, she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to antagonize this man. “I don’t mean to be troublesome. I just cannot answer any questions. I do apologize,” she added, in a rather more conciliatory tone.

  Wolffs stared at her for a moment and then nodded again. He raised a hand and beckoned to someone behind her. Evelyn turned to look, just in time to see two of the other German soldiers untying Sean from a tree and dragging him forward. A great pit opened up in her stomach, and fear shot through her. Sean looked to be barely conscious and completely unable to support his own weight. They’d really worked him over.

  The soldiers dragged him over to where Wolffs sat facing her and tossed him to the ground. Evelyn pressed her lips together to keep from crying out, but she couldn’t keep her hands from clenching into fists.

  “As you can see, your man is still alive,” Wolffs said. “I told you before that his well-being is directly tied to your cooperation. This remains the case. So I will ask you again, Miss Adamsen. Why were you on that bomber?”

  Evelyn tore her eyes from Sean’s battered form and met Wolffs’ icy blue gaze.

  “I am truly sorry, Stabsfeldwebel Wolffs,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “But I cannot answer your question.”

  Wolffs pursed his lips and then gestured with his right hand. One of the two soldiers knelt beside Sean and pulled out a pocket knife. Evelyn bit her lip hard as the German flipped the blade open and took hold of Sean’s right hand. With neat, economical movements, the German placed the blade of the knife against the skin of Sean’s little finger, just above the knuckle, and began to saw back and forth.

  Sean’s eyes shot open, and his scream ripped through Evelyn. Her hands came up over her mouth, and without thinking, her mind reached out. The link snapped into place between them, and agony seared through her own finger as she felt his pain. That wasn’t even the worst part, though. This was just the latest in one long series of excruciating hurts. Nothing on his body wasn’t bruised or bleeding. Pain permeated his being and flowed back through the link to her.

  Oh Sean, her mind whispered. I’m so sorry, I’ll make him stop. I will! He already knows that I was on
board, surely there’s no harm...

  No. Sean’s mind voice was weak, but adamant. Don’t tell them anything.

  But they’ll hurt you. They might kill you! I can’t let them do that...

  You aren’t letting them do anything, Evie, Sean said. They are doing this to me. This is a war, and they are the enemy. Don’t let them in your head like that. You aren’t making them do anything. Now go, I don’t want you to feel any of this, he said, and cast her out once again. Evelyn rocked backward on her log, nearly toppling off of it from the force of his shove and the sudden absence of the all-consuming pain. She tried to link again, but Sean had thrown up a barrier that she daren’t breach. Helpless frustration surged through her. If only she had some kind of focus...

  Oh. Now that was an idea.

  Slowly, so as not to draw anyone’s attention, Evelyn placed her hands on the rim of her log seat. Then, as carefully and casually as she could manage, she started to pull at a sliver that had splintered off when the log had been cut.

  “As you can see, Miss Adamsen, I am very serious,” Wolffs was saying over the sound of Sean’s screams. Evelyn forced herself to look up at him, and this time, she was unable to keep the naked hatred from her eyes. Next to Wolffs, the German psychic had gone pale, but she still said nothing.

  “So am I, Stabsfeldwebel Wolffs,” Evelyn said, her voice cold, her nerve steeled. If Sean could handle it, then so could she. She wouldn’t let his hurts be in vain. “I cannot stop you from murdering my crewman, but I will not answer your questions.”

  “Yes,” Wolffs said softly. “You will...” He stopped suddenly as the German psychic reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He looked up at her, and though Evelyn wasn’t linked in with them, it became suddenly very obvious to her that the two of them were linked with each other. They had the unmistakable look of a pair of people having an intimate, silent conversation. In fact...unless Evelyn missed her mark, there was something beyond the professional between these two. She took advantage of their momentary distraction to break off the splinter she’d been working at and quickly palmed it. Then she brought her hands back to her lap.

  “Very well,” Wolffs said suddenly, making her jump. For the first time during the whole exchange, he sounded angry. With a shrug, he flipped the German psychic’s hand off of his arm, and leaned forward.

  “Oberhelfer Sucherin has persuaded me that this method of getting what I want out of you will take too long. I had hoped not to have to use the hood again,” he said, and horror swept over Evelyn as she realized what was about to happen. “But I am reminded we do not have the luxury of unlimited time. Take him back to his tree.”

  They did as he asked, the taller of the two snapping the pocket knife shut before the pair of them lifted the groaning Sean between them. As they carried him away, Evelyn began to wring her hands, feeling the bite of the wooden sliver that she now concealed between two fingers. She needed more time.

  “No, please,” she said, hoping to stall him. “Give me, give me a moment...”

  “You have had all the moments I have to give,” Wolffs said. “There are none left for you now, Miss Adamsen.”

  And with that, he stood and put the hood over her face again. And once again, Evelyn plummeted into the madness of her own mental maelstrom.

  * * *

  Lina stumbled as the hood went down over the American psychic’s face. Instantly, the younger girl felt the intense drain as the feedback loop demanded her attention to maintain it. Josef rounded on her, his face livid.

  “Do you see?” he asked. “This is why I wanted to interrogate her using more traditional means!” he spat. “Look what this is doing to you!”

  Please, my love, not out here, she pled silently. “You need not fear for me, Stabsfeldwebel,” she said evenly. The fact that she kept any sign of strain out of her voice pleased her immensely. “I am perfectly in control of the feedback loop.”

  Josef glared at her for a moment longer, his nostrils flaring as he stood with his hands on the shoulders of the Ami girl, keeping her from falling over. Lina gave him a slow smile. He was so infinitely dear like this: all high dudgeon and passionate desire to protect her from anything that might harm her.

  I am well, my love, she sent silently. Let us go into the tent, and I shall show you how well.

  Josef blinked, astonishment erasing the anger on his face. Lina caught the edge of his thought through the bond, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing.

  That is not what I meant, sadly, Lina sent on a caress. I meant only that I would infiltrate the Ami girl’s mind. I think I know how to do it, now.

  Oh, Josef thought, and though he fought not to let his disappointment show on his face, Lina felt it anyway, through their ever-present link. He wanted her so very much, craved the closeness of being mentally and physically entwined in every way. Lina understood, she wanted it too...but just now, there was work to do.

  Soon, she promised him. After we know what we need to know from the Ami girl.

  Josef nodded and then bent to pick the American psychic up. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and Lina spared a moment to admire his muscular strength before she followed him into the tent.

  As before, Josef laid the girl down on the floor. Lina took a deep breath and laid herself down on the bed.

  “Do nothing until I say, please,” Josef said softly out loud. “I wish to be ready with the chloroform, in case I feel any distress coming from you. If our link is severed, I will knock the Ami girl out again.”

  “Yes, please,” Lina said, closing her eyes as she gripped the wool coverlet as before. “Let me know when you are ready.”

  She heard the clinking of a bottle on something hard, a few other rustling sounds, and then felt Josef’s hand cover her right one on the bed. With a soft smile, Lina turned her wrist so that their fingers could twine together.

  As an anchor, I couldn’t do better than your loving touch, she thought to him.

  That is my hope. You must come back to me, my Lina.

  Always, she promised.

  Then go. I am ready, he replied, and squeezed her fingers lightly. She returned the squeeze and then turned all of her mind toward the violent cyclone of thought that held the Ami girl in a prison of her own mind.

  As before, Lina stretched out her awareness, as if she were seeking a link. For that was exactly what she was doing: seeking a link with this powerful prisoner of hers. But in order to get there, she had to make her way through the storm. The force of Evelyn Adamsen’s power battered at her, swept her along like a piece of driftwood in a hurricane. Lina felt her mental shields taking a pounding as she tumbled out of control...

  No. The blanket was scratchy in her left hand, Josef’s hand was warm in her right. Instantly, Lina was back in her body, her bond with Josef as strong as ever. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then tried again.

  This time, though, rather than fight to withstand the punishing waves of the Ami girl’s power, Lina wondered what would happen if she just let them carry her where they willed. It was a feedback loop into the girl’s mind, after all. Eventually, it almost had to take Lina where she wanted to go.

  It was difficult, tremendously difficult not to push back, not to fight against the crashing, brutal force of the girl’s mind whipped into a frenzy. But Lina held herself still, held the feeling of Josef’s warm fingers in her own mind. And this time, after a few terrifying moments of feeling lost beneath the waves of power...Lina began to ride them.

  Their path was anything but predictable, anything but safe. Fear and anger and loss tangled and howled through her like a gale, but Lina let it blow through her and over her, and she merely floated on, letting the girl’s consciousness take her where it willed.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun set, and darkness rose from among the trees to envelop the camp. One by one, bright, icy stars stabbed their way into being, piercing the inky silk of the night sky.


  Horst felt the soft, wet crunch of leaves and twigs under his boots as he walked the camp perimeter. He passed Werner, circling in the opposite direction, and acknowledged him with a nod before continuing. Not far away, Willi bent over their campfire, stirring something in a pot. The scent of some kind of stew drifted out under the trees to the gloom where Horst walked.

  As a matter of discipline, he kept his eyes trained away from the lit campsite. It was better for his night vision. Plus, chances were that if there was a threat, it wasn’t going to come from within the camp itself. Lina’s power had reduced the American psychic to a pathetic, whimpering thing unable to move, and Hans had the two Ami airmen well in hand. Though their eyes still glared with defiance, they’d been well subdued. A few stout lengths of rope secured them to a tree just inside the circle of firelight, and Hans stood vigilant over them with his rifle at the ready.

  Horst started to move on under the trees, but by then, it was too late. A hand clamped over his mouth, pressing his lips against his teeth hard enough to bruise. Agony shot from his lower back throughout his body. He tried to open his mouth to scream, to call out a warning, but only a muffled grunt escaped.

  Blackness closed in around him, like a lover denied for too long.

  * * *

  After he’d passed Horst, Werner angled his path farther away from the lit center of the camp. The moon wasn’t up yet, and the darkness under the forest canopy was near complete, but Werner had grown up in mountainous Bavaria. He’d always had relatively good night vision. For the next half hour, he moved slowly, quietly, more for practice than anything. It was good discipline to post two guards, especially with the value of the quarry they’d captured...but he seriously doubted anything stalked through the forest this night. At least, not anything that presented a threat to him.

  He was wrong.

  A hand like iron closed over the lower half of his face and wrenched his head backward, throwing him off balance. Hans fought through the disorientation to try and bring his rifle up, but there was no time left. Reflected firelight glinted off the blade that swung in from the side to stab down between this throat and his collarbone, opening his carotid artery. Liquid fountained up into his mouth and eyes. The last sensation he ever registered was that his blood tasted warm and salty, like the Italian sea he’d visited as a child.