“I was afraid the heiress would be troublesome, but the race is giving us a cover,” the American said.
“Let’s review our part of the scheme one more time,” the British speaker said. “We strike out for Minnstray at sunset. We’ll only have a few hours after nautical twilight to plant the bombs. The explosion should create a big enough distraction to allow theEngelto sweep in from the Atlantic and break through the British guard ships. She’ll transfer sailors to the interned ships, who will help them escape to open water. We will take our speedboats to the rendezvous and sail with the reborn Kaiserliche Marine to the Netherlands to free the Kaiser.”
Each word seemed to dismantle something inside Thorfinn until he was left with nothing but raw horror. How could his stepfather be involved in a scheme that purposely aimed to bring death to so many?
Given the condition of the old imperial vessels at Scapa Flow and their half-starved, mutinous crews, Thorfinn doubted the overall efficacy of the plot. But no matter if it worked, there would be more loss of life in an already too-costly war. The people of Orkney would be caught in the fighting. And most damning, the bloodshed could crack the already fragile peace talks in France, causing the war to erupt again.After all, the whole conflagration had started in 1914 with a single gunman in Sarajevo.
Their planshadto be stopped, and so did Sigurd.
Thorfinn had no choice but to turn in to the authorities the man who’d saved him and his mother. His stepda would most certainly die for his treason.
How would Thorfinn explain to his sisters and brother that he had sent their father to the executioners? Hell, how would he tell them about Sigurd’s perfidy? The bairns loved their father,respectedhim ... and Thorfinn did too—at least the latter. In regard to the former, he had always cared for Sigurd, and part of him used to dream of a real father-son relationship. But now Thorfinn was destined to be Sigurd’s betrayer, but hadn’t his stepfather betrayed them first by spying forGermany?
Broken but resolved, Thorfinn quietly backed away, only to feel a small hard circle of steel.
“Going somewhere?” The new speaker possessed a heavy German accent.
Splinters of ice tore through Thorfinn’s every major organ, but he didn’t freeze like the man expected. Thorfinn pivoted and swung hard, his fist connecting with the German’s arm. The spy let out an aborted shout of pain as his gun went flying to the ground. Thorfinn dived for it, but something hard and heavy slammed into his kidneys. The blow caught him off guard and sent him sprawling toward the ground, his chin glancing painfully off one of the partially exposed rock walls of the ancient circular homes surrounding the old broch.
But Thorfinn had learned never to stay down long in a fight. He pushed with his arms and legs and sprang his body into the air. But before the soles of his feet landed flat against the ground, pain slammed into his stomach and then his chest. Gasping against the agony, Thorfinn forced his eye open just in time to see the butt of a rifle smack into his face. He reeled back, his feet catching on the stone wall. He almost steadied himself, but another strike from the weapondrove him backward. His back cracked against the old wall, and the uneven rocks tore into his spine and flesh. But worse than the pain, the air shot from his lungs, immobilizing him.
Two sets of hands roughly rolled him over onto his stomach. As he helplessly hung there with his head dangling over one side of the pile of rocks, his feet over the other, the two men roughly bound Thorfinn’s wrists. A cold circle of steel once again dug into his skull.
“We shall try this again,” the conspirator sneered. “It’s time I introduce you to my other compatriots.”
Thorfinn tried to struggle when the men yanked him to his feet, but their collective strength only pushed him forward. Every time he scrambled for purchase, the fourth conspirator, who was as big a giant as Thorfinn, would forcibly shove him forward until he had stumbled around the broch. When Thorfinn reached the ancient entrance, his larger captor prodded him roughly while the other viciously jammed his boot into Thorfinn’s backside. The brutal combination sent him sprawling into the open room. His already sore chin smacked down on the hard-packed ground, and a searing, bright-white light scorched his vision. His teeth clanked together, and the reverberation traveled through his jaw. He tasted blood, but he could not yet open his mouth to spit it out. When he finally was able to focus his left eye, he could see only three sets of boots and his stepda’s well-worn shoes.
“One of the locals was sniffing around.” The giant kicked Thorfinn in his already aching kidneys. Agony ricocheted through his body. Before he could fully absorb the blow, his tormentor reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, causing his entire scalp to burn. The abductor forced Thorfinn’s face straight in the direction of his stepda. Sigurd’s gaunt, weatherworn face had changed from its normal florid color to a pale ash gray.
Anguish besieged Thorfinn as he gazed into the eyes of the man who had shown him how to be a crofter. Betrayal, anger, dismay,terror—they all seethed through Thorfinn, and he did not try to hide them from Sigurd. To his surprise, his stepda flinched.
“How much did he hear, Heinrich?” the man with the British accent asked as each spy except Sigurd drew weapons.
“Enough.” Heinrich smashed Thorfinn’s face into the ground with his foot. Thorfinn’s bottom lip burned as it cracked open, and the flat taste of dirt mixed with the salty tang of blood. His already sore teeth ached in protest while spikes of agony shot from his nose and through his cheekbones. Heinrich stamped his foot into Thorfinn’s shoulder blade, and for a moment it felt as if his spine would crack. He hadn’t felt this much pain since his last beating at Muckle Skaill. Still pinning him down, Heinrich sadistically ground his rifle against Thorfinn’s scalp, seeking to cause the maximum amount of agony.
“Stop!” Sigurd’s voice rang out, surprising them all.
“Are you afraid the rifle will make too much sound?” Heinrich asked, as if amused by Sigurd’s qualms at seeing a fellow islander summarily executed. “Shall I slit his throat instead?”
“He is my stepson.”
For years, Thorfinn had waited for his mother’s husband to acknowledge him, to call him just that.Son.He’d worked hard and never complained, hoping to earn the stubborn man’s respect. But he’d never achieved more than mere tolerance.
And now that Sigurd had acknowledged him, all Thorfinn could feel was the urge to vomit.
“If he’s heard our plans, we have no choice,” the first American speaker said.
“You promised that my family would not be harmed.” Sigurd’s feet moved closer to Thorfinn’s nose.
Was ... was his stepdashieldinghim? Was that even possible?
“You’re not in the position to negotiate. We got what we want from you.” Punctuating his point, Heinrich whacked the butt of hisweapon against Thorfinn’s skull, and white-hot daggers flashed through his vision, burying themselves deep in his brain.
“Now, Heinrich, Mr.Flett has been a valuable asset,” the British speaker said. “We owe him our respect. But Mr.Flett, despite your service to our cause, we cannot allow your stepson to go free and jeopardize the entire mission. We’re too close.”
“Will”—Sigurd addressed the Englishman—“by this time morrow, it won’t matter if he tells the whole island. You and the German fleet will be gone from here. Your role in freeing the Kaiserliche Marine will be sung far and wide. There’s no need to kill my stepson. There are plenty of caves around here where you can leave him tied up. I can release him once your plan is executed.”
Faint hope flickered inside Thorfinn as he vainly fought against his bindings. Sigurd might never accept Thorfinn as one of his own, but he’d saved his life twice now ... if the spies listened to his pleas.
