Bes doesn’t give anything away beyond a tick in his jaw. “We’re willing to die to protect our secrets. Can you say the same?”
He chuckles. “Blind faithfulness is overrated, Mr. Belzoni. That is not what drives me, nor does it drive you, I think.”
Bes makes the mistake of glancing at me—the man sees it.
A knowing smile pulls at his lips. “Blind faithfulness to some, though, it appears.”
He nods at the stooge holding me hostage, who then presses my blade into my skin, barely splitting it. Warm blood wells up and drips down onto my ruined shirt. Bes struggles against his captor.
Panic and desperation squeeze my chest in a vice, but I can’t show any signs of weakness. And while being at the mercy of three God Men doesn’t exactly help, I know I need to calm down and think this through. I’m not doing myself any favors being paralyzed by fear.
I breathe in deep through my nose, chantingcalmatiover and over inside my mind. Nonna taught it to me on the rare occasion I start to become anxious. I just have to think through my dread, to remind myself I’m never completely helpless as long as I have my mind.
Okay, what do I know and what can I do with it?
I know they’re God Men; they nearly said as much. They’re likely connected to Ingrid, given the man in charge knew about Mara and Kali. They’re also most likely the ones who killed Anders and left him here for us to find. Anders must’ve killed Mara first.
The bit which interests me the most, however, is what Mara let slip about my father. Her betrayal burns bitter, but I have to put it aside if I’m going to find a way to escape this situation with the three of us alive. Maybe if I get them to talk, they’ll give away something important.
Bes’s signet ring weighs heavy in my hand, begging me to use it. But if this man can offer up information—especially about my father—I have to take it.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand from the fascist in charge. The other two seem more the silent lackey type.
The man shifts his attention from Bes and Cec for the moment.
“Ah, there’s that American charm. I am the leader of the SS Ahnenerbe.”
Fuck.Just as I suspected, but still a blow nonetheless.
I keep my voice even. “And what do you want with me?”
“Well, the Amulet of Amun, for one.”
My captor reaches for the chain around my neck—I flinch away. At that, the leader rushes up to me, putting himself inches away from my face.
Now I have a good look at him, I wish I hadn’t. He appears completely normal: his short blonde hair sparkles with rain in the glow of the headlights, and soft wrinkles crinkle around the corners of his clear blue eyes. His teeth are a little crooked and his eyebrows are thinned out. But there’s nothing particularly menacing about him on the outside.
It’s all the inside that’s rotted.
“Don’t put up a fuss, Miss Hawkins. This will all go much smoother if you do as I say.”
I shake my head. “Not until you tell me more.”
He smiles, and the sight makes me sick to my stomach. “I like a good battle of wits. Go on: ask your questions.”
“Why is Hitler so desperate to have the Amulet of Amun?”
He sighs dramatically. “Not that one. Try again.”
“Your name then, at least.”
“August Wolff.”
Not familiar, but good to have on hand.He must be sure of himself to tell me within earshot of Bes and Cec.
“What does my father have to do with any of this?”
“Dumme Frau,” he swears. I assume he’s talking about Ingrid, or maybe Mara. “Can no one keep their mouths shut?”
