Another Springtime Ch. 01

I was very pleased with myself that I had gotten serious about this job and brought the Colt with me. The wallet had an unlimited permit for me to carry it, and when I checked it out the piece was freshly oiled and all I needed to do was slide one of the seven-shot clips into the butt. Now I could feel the adrenaline pouring into my system and my senses went into overdrive. It had seemed a bit macho and overdone to bring the automatic with me from the car, and it did feel very conspicuous tucked in my belt under my shirt behind me, but now I had no regrets. I slipped the Colt out from under my shirt and felt the nervous energy making me bristle. I was as ready as I was going to get.

Christine was terrified. I raised her one hand with my left and put my finger to her lips for silence, and turned my attention to the hall and, with Mr. Colt at ready in my right, waited to see what would develop.

I felt reasonably sure these fellows were not our friends and decided not to make their acquaintance if we could help it. If they stepped the few extra yards down to the verandah at the end of the passageway that would be unavoidable, and there was nowhere for us to go.

We waited.

How many of them were there? Five, at least, but their excitement and yelling at each other confused the issue. Seven shots in the Colt, but I for sure did not relish a confrontation. I could hear them tossing the room, evidently angry and frustrated at not finding her there. What's this all about, anyway? Only yesterday, I was living a simple, unfettered existence and enjoying it. My life was not on the line! But then, neither did I have, I recalled to mind quickly, the companionship of a beautiful young girl. Well, everything has a price, I told myself.

As quickly as they had come they vanished. Now the hallway was very quiet and I questioned myself whether there was any reason for them to leave a man behind. No, not hardly, especially if they had disposed of the security man. I ventured a look around the corner with my heart in my mouth and the Colt ready to do my talking. The security man was sprawled on the carpet, motionless and probably beyond help; other than his form the passageway was empty. It would not take long for someone to happen by and then there would be a big commotion. How do we get out of this place?

If we could just get to the Yukon, we'd be away. Since they were hunting – the jackals made it abundantly clear with the forced entry to her room that they were serious – they might well be watching the lobby below, and probably all the exits as well. Where to?

Fortunately I had found a metered curbside parking place across the street, and remembered then that there was a skyway between the hotel and the office building over there, and that offered a useful escape route. We conferred briefly and she said she had nothing in her room that she couldn't do without. I took her hand and we inched our way down the hall, took the stairwell up one level and found a placard directing us to the skyway. That was dumb luck, I told myself. Next time, do your homework!

Within a few minutes we were in the Yukon and pulling onto I-5 at University Street headed north toward Vancouver, BC. Considering that they just may have spotted us getting into the car just across the street I watched the rearview mirror for cars following. I told Christine that we were safe for the moment and she could relax, and also that I needed her to help me.

"Watch the cars behind us. I'm going to circle around. Help me see if anyone is following us." She quickly turned about in the seat.

"How will I be able to tell?" She had drawn from who knows where an alertness that seemed to have helped her to overcome her fears.

"Colors, I guess is easiest. Pick out five or six right behind us and just keep track of the colors." Heading north I took the first off-ramp at Mercer Avenue, which I knew pretty well. From the off-ramp right onto Fairview, left at the light at Valley, then left and left again back onto Mercer with the on-ramp before us. In this process she showed herself to be a very keen observer and recognized what I was doing, kept up a running commentary on the cars behind us and which ones followed us in each turn. By the time we had made the last left and were ready to head up the long on-ramp to Northbound I-5 she was openly relieved and confident that no car had made the entire sequence of turns with us. I turned to her and was pleased to see a little hint of a soft smile on her pretty lips and perhaps just a bit of twinkle in her eyes. She knew we had beaten them.

At the last second I knew going back onto I-5 was a mistake and turned left onto Fairview and headed north along Lake Union. Via Eastlake and then over the University Bridge, right onto NE Campus Parkway and then onto the University of Washington campus, I drove normally, all the time thinking about what should be next.

We were free of them, I felt sure, at least for the moment. But she was silent, anxious, disoriented in the city unknown to her, with a strange man, terrified at what had almost happened. How could she relax? I wanted to think about her, but that would have to wait. What was our next step? What was most important for us to do first?

I decided whether she relaxed or not I had to ensure our safety to the extent I could. I concluded that distance was not necessarily the pressing priority. As far as I could see, the hunters had now nothing to go on. Their quarry had simply dropped out of sight. I had been brought into the picture, I concluded, because I was an unknown, and any inside intelligence on the agency operatives in the hands of the hunters was thus negated, unless, of course, the research the agency had done to uncover me was leaked or stumbled onto by a mole. OK, consider both those possibilities in the problem.

Still it would take time for the hunters to reorient themselves, and we had dropped out of sight for the present. I had rented the Yukon under a bogus company name and paid with one of the credit cards from the wallet. They'd never be able to track us there, not without considerable effort, anyway, and that meant time. Perhaps not much, but a few days at least. OK, so five miles or fifty was all the same. Useful first was to hide away somewhere and get our feet on the ground. Coming down the hill past the dorm I determined a plan: I turned left at the light on 25^th Avenue NE and made for the Silver Cloud Inn near University Village. We'd get a room there and be able to walk over to the village for some dinner and do a little shopping for her. For us, I guess, really. I had been thinking about whether it would be safe to return to my apartment for some things and hadn't quite resolved in my mind whether I thought they could have picked up some lead on me or not. In the interim I'd get some toiletry items myself.

I registered for adjoining rooms as an executive of a business entity I sometimes used that was virtually unknown in the record books, and we parked and went in a back door. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and her composure was wearing thin. The rooms were cozy and fresh and comfortable, unlike some antiseptic and austere motels, and just like I remembered it from when I had stayed there once some years back. Yet, she was still unable to let go. She was scared. She stood stock still in the center of the room like a little lost lamb.

I went to her and gently took her in my arms like I had done my own teen-aged daughter on several occasions, and just spoke softly to her for a while. Encouraging, expressions of confidence and care for her, ideas on the future, confirmation that all would work out and I would not let her down. It seemed to help some, but she was having a hard time opening up to me. I hoped it was her fear of her situation and not a fear of me. I knew we needed to talk to establish ourselves with each other. Only then would she gain some real confidence in me and with me.

I suggested we walk over to a nice place for an early dinner and some shopping. She looked up at me and I could see she hadn't a clue what to do. She couldn't even answer me. I knew I needed to do something to soothe and reassure her. In her present condition she was very close to tears and tight as a drum, not ready to go anywhere but crazy with anxiety.

I decided we would stay right where we were for the moment and try to take the edge off the tension. We were secure; no one had any idea where we were. I looked around the room... a small reefer with sodas, the microwave, the comfortable-looking table and chairs gave me an idea.

"Wait right here, Christine," I whispered to here softly and turned to check what was to drink in the reefer... just a selection of a few sodas and beer and wine samplers – standard fare – fine. There were nice glasses in the cupboard over the sink, and I rinsed two and was about to dry them. As I turned to reach for the paper toweling I found she was standing close beside me shivering. Only then did it occur to me that she might be in shock. Since the incident at the hotel she had said hardly a word – save for the matter with the cars behind us – and her expression now was tense and drawn, her eyes hollow with terror. She hugged herself with her fists up under her chin, and just stood there close to me. Well, I reconsidered my plan to sit at the table and talk and maybe order in a Pizza. She wasn't even ready for that.

"I'm right here, Christine. You're safe now. You're safe with me and I'll take care of you. I hope you feel you can trust me. Please trust me. I want very much to take care of you." I realized that up to that moment she had really had nothing from me that would affirm to her that I would take care of her. We had not gotten that far on the verandah and everything since was escaping from calamity. She seemed to accept what I said but made no response, then dropped her eyes and waited.

I took her one hand gently in mine and grabbed a cold Ginger Ale and a glass with the other and led her to the sofa. I set the soda and glass on the end table and then, still with her hand in mind, checked the closet by the door for an extra blanket. There were two and a pillow, and I pulled them down and returned to the sofa. The room was comfortable, but not necessarily warm. In her light blouse and tense like she was, she would chill easily. If shock was the correct diagnosis she likely already had. I tossed the things on the sofa and sat down, drawing her down next to me. She followed like a frightened child, and I turned her around to lie across my lap. In a few quick moves her clogs slipped away to the floor with a clunk, I had her head on the pillow in the crook of my left arm and was spreading one of the blankets over her bare feet and legs, and pulling it up around her shoulders, tucking it behind her.

"You can rest now a bit, young lady." I tried to make my voice fatherly and soothing. "I don't want you to be cold or afraid. You're quite safe now, and I'll be staying with you for as long as you need me." I couldn't think of anything more to say and I probably repeated myself a couple of times.

She was still and quiet for a long while. Well, it seemed like a long while. I was hoping I would get some response out of her, some sign of revival of her spirits. Clearly it was too early to launch into any kind of a serious conversation. She felt tense and stiff lying in my arms, and then I thought maybe I had added to her anxiety by being perhaps too familiar with her in my arms like this. She was just eighteen, alone and with nowhere to turn, terrified of a monster nipping at her heels, and what else? I didn't know hardly anything about her, and though she was a very pretty girl her features were drawn with tension and fear. What could I do now? There seemed nothing else to do but wait and hope she would gain some warmth and confidence.

Her situation and the many open questions filled my thoughts for long minutes, at least, and then I became aware that she was less tense. She placed one small open hand on my chest and looked up at me.

"Thank you for taking care of me. I am warmer now. Thank you very much."

Well, that was very nice. Her voice, too, was soft and gentle... and I thought I could read some easing of her fears as well. That was something anyway. "Are you comfortable?"

She nodded.

Then, after a long pause, "Are you really like they said you are?"

I noticed firstly that there was some warmth now in her voice, suggesting that she was relaxing some with me and the situation, and with that warmth a little of her Swiss accent, a pleasant and melodic lilt that was just delectable. Then, too, what she said was on my mind as well. Who were 'they' and what had they said about me? The man who hired me, if that term fits here, had said that she had selected me from several. I came back to my earlier concern that I was in very deep already and didn't know at all what this whole thing was about. Maybe we were at a point where I could find out the answer to some questions of my own.

"And what did they say I was like?" Without really thinking about it I added: "If they told you I was a mean old man that screamed and yelled, and beat my children I'll wring their necks!" I knew already that she was Swiss and German was her first language. I could hear too that she spoke with a beautiful lilt that reminded me of my own times in Switzerland years before. But now, not aware yet as to how good her English really was, I was immediately concerned that she might have missed my attempt at humor. This was certainly not the time for such a thing to backfire.

When I looked down at her again her eyes had brightened and her lips were pursed together trying to keep from giggling. She was just adorable as she looked up at me. "They said you were a good man, and a kind person, and very loyal to your beliefs."

Good propaganda, guys! Thanx! "I will try my very best not to disappoint you, young lady."

"It is very important to me that you are good and kind and loyal. The paper they showed me about you said you did some interesting things in the Navy and that you were a loyal husband and dedicated father... and they said you would know how to take care of me." She was thinking about her situation and reflecting to me her own thought processes. Of course, I still had only the vaguest idea. I wanted very much to ask her directly what gives, but thought perhaps I would get more information if I were patient and let her come to me.

"Well, now, my pretty little vixen, how to take care of you will depend a great deal on knowing what situation you're in and what you would like to have happen. And so far I don't know hardly anything about you or what you need." It seemed too forward to push her here and I paused, thinking she might pick up the conversation.

"Pretty little vixen?What is that?" Her question told me something of the limits of her familiarity with American slang. It is one thing to speak English fluently, and she seemed to have a good command of it, though the lilt of her Swiss accent was just darling; quite another to find your way confidently in everyday conversation among American native speakers. It was obvious from her look that she was waiting for an explanation.

"Well, a vixen is a lady fox, a female fox.Auf deutsch heißt es Fuchsin, oder? It's also a slang term, not derogatory... not bad, for a lady a gentleman finds attractive and pleasant to be with, feminine and beautiful, and a good companion." Now, another man might argue with me over the precision of that definition. She had, nevertheless, asked me for mine, and that's what I meant, and that's what I gave her.

"Oh."

There was a shyness that left her single word just a blank, and devoid of everything. Her brief response seemed to end our conversation, and I was anxious myself that I had been too forward and perhaps embarrassed her. No way to know yet, and I had to just let the situation develop.

She was quiet and still in my arms, but much of the tension was gone and she had said she was warmer. I felt the light touch of her palm on my chest and wanted to believe that meant she was more at ease with me. Patience, I kept telling myself. Just be patient with her. She's just a frightened young girl.

"I think you must be like they said..." and I was worried again about what they had said about me, "kind and gentle and good."

All right! That's fine, and I was pleased that she was able to agree.

"Thank you for taking care of me." She made it sound as if I had become a game warden or a hospital attendant for an invalid. Lots of ambiguity there.

My own feelings were coming to the fore as well, and not only my head but also my heart was involved. She was a very beautiful girl and there were already fleeting thoughts of our time together developing into something like a romance. That thought brought on a great determination to protect her; the image of the loyal and brave knight facing the fiercest of dragons in defense of his lady fair was a gentleman's classic inclination. But there was a lifetime between us. I had two years to her one. Could she ever see me as more than a father figure? Could I ever be a love interest for her? Perhaps, I allowed, but those were long odds, brother, and long odds indeed.

Thinking of her now and with one hand on her back, unconsciously I held her closer. It was no stretch at all to treat her tenderly as I had my sweetheart years ago, and rub her back through the barely perceptible thickness of the blanket and her silk blouse, and work the muscles in her shoulder gently, seeking to soothe her and show her I cared.

"Hmmm."

Her response surprised me. Her response sounded like a little moan of pleasure, delightfully feminine. I held her closer, and then felt the pressure of her hand on my chest. Whether she was pushing me away or not, I knew quite well that slower was better, and let her lay back and relax in my embrace.

Just the faintest hint of a smile curled the corners of her mouth and the look in her eyes was magical. She was shy and hesitant and unsure of herself, but at least the lost lamb was no longer quite so alone.

"Are you hungry, young lady?"

She didn't respond immediately. "I think I am starving," she said delicately. "Is that the right thing to say?"

She was trying to be light hearted, I thought, and in the process trying her hand at American slang.

"Well, now, if you feel like you haven't eaten since last month and you're ready for something delicious and refreshing..." I wanted to reflect her attempt at playfulness back to her, "and... you'd like me to take you out to dinner to a fun place for something nice, then... yes, that is the right thing to say." There was a ringer in there that I hoped would tickle her fancy.

She seemed at a loss for words, and dropped her eyes to my chest. She was laying in my arms now without the slightest bit of tension or fear evident in her being, and seemingly in no hurry to alter that. I allowed my imagination to interpret that as her being comfortable in my embrace, even though the conclusion was dangerous. It could lead me to do something stupid, and it could even lead to heartbreak. She had already become someone special; very special.

I look back and call it inspiration now, but at the moment it was impetuous and even daring. I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then cheerily suggested we get up and walk over the village for dinner. There were also some nice shops in the village and perhaps she would like to look for some additional clothes and other things she might need.

She responded to my motions and sat up and we tossed the blanket aside. I offered a hand to help her up and she had one hand to her cheek where I had kissed her and a look of disbelief on her face.