Chapter 26: Unbridled

The driver's dark hair blew loosely in the wind, held back by a silk scarf dotted with printed poppies. The road twisted into the hollow, lined with massive, moss-covered trees that blurred as the woman turned another corner in the burgundy Cadillac.

"Wheeee!" squealed the driver as the car dropped down a hill deeper into the valley. She glanced into the back seat. "Isn't this fun, Ellie?"

The little girl nodded silently.

"Don't be a spoil sport, doll," the man in the front passenger seat said, turning to Ellie with a wink.

He was dressed in pilot chic with a long, white scarf thrown dashingly over one shoulder. He looked every bit like Charles Lindbergh with longer hair, so much so that the woman had taken to calling him "Charlie".

"Where's Papa?" Ellie asked.

The driver laughed. "What do you mean? He's where he always is – working. What's wrong, Ellie? You usually like this road."

"Why couldn't we wait for Papa?"

"I wanted you to meet Charlie, darling dear. Isn't he a gem?"

Still holding the wheel, she leaned over to kiss him.

"Mama!" Ellie cried as the car moved toward the other side of the road. Another car appeared from around the bend.

The woman pulled her car back into its lane as the other driver passed, honking and shaking his fist.

"Oh, Ellie! I know how to drive. I swear you lecture me like James's mother. Wheee! Oh, golly, Ellie! Scream with me! It's all in good fun."

"That reminds me, Alice," Charlie said. "I brought some refreshment for the picnic."

He pulled a long bottle out of the picnic basket beside Ellie.

"Is that - ?" Alice gasped.

"My family's own. Could have sold it for fifty dollars, but I saved it for you, hon."

"Don't josh me, Charlie! No one pays fifty dollars for a bottle of wine."

"Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but my uncle gave his left arm a couple of years ago for a pint of whiskey that turned out to be half axle grease."

Alice threw her head back into an unbridled laugh. Her dark curls spilled over the cream seat.

"Isn't he the most, Ellie? Could you give me a taste right now, Chollie? Pretty pretty please…"

"Didn't you have enough to drink before we left?"

"Just a taste?"

"Wait, Alice."

"Oh, fine," the woman said, sinking into a pout. "Well, if I can't have a taste of wine then perhaps a taste of you will do."

She took Charlie's face in both hands and pressed her lips against his.

The Cadillac's front tires hit the grassy embankment on the right side.

"Mama!" Ellie screamed.

Alice took the wheel again with one hand and yanked it to the left.

"I'm fine, Ellie. I - ."

The tires spun, and the car skidded across the left lane. Alice's face turned white.

"What the hell's going on?" Charlie cried.

Alice swung the wheel again, and the car reeled, tires screeching on the paved road. Then all three sat in eerie silence as the Cadillac tipped to the right and slid into the trees. Ellie was tossed against the glass door and screamed as her head crashed against the roof. As her consciousness faded, she caught her mother's scarf, glistening with fresh blood.

"No doubt," Astrus said grimly, "some of you will want to stay with me and continue our work, but as of today, the Cobra Unit is disbanded."

"Fuck," Fury whispered.

"You are all welcome to work for us. The Philosophers, as always, will treat you well."

The End stood slowly, using the arm of the couch for support. He turned to face Joy's unit.

"I'm as devastated as the rest of you, to be sure," he said.

"To be sure," his parrot echoed, laying its feathery head against the End's hairy cheek.

"But I've had a life full of bad news to prepare me for this. Major Astrus, as much as it may hurt, please answer their silent question and tell us how the Joy was killed. After that, we will not mention her name again."

Sorrow wanted to shut Astrus's answer out as if it were one of the voices, but he could not leave without knowing the fate of the woman he had loved and the child she had carried.

Astrus looked back at five pairs of eyes: Pain's black eyes flashing like beetle's wings, Fury's brown eyes now dark as the space between the stars, the End's veiny no-color eyes as large as golf balls, Fear's amber eyes full of red rays, and Sorrow's filmy blue orbs floating behind his spectacles.

"I thought, of course," Astrus began, "that she was going for revenge on those who had murdered her father. I could never have predicted that her true target was a Jewish mathematician named John von Neumann. Apparently the Nazis were afraid of being outdone by a Jewish scientist and sent her to kill him. Perhaps this is all my fault in the end…" He sighed. "I recommended the Cobra Unit for the mission in Italy. I thought she was the only one who could withstand being swayed after so much time with the Germans… but…"

This is wrong, Sorrow thought. Entirely wrong. But perhaps it wasn't. She had disappeared the night of Skorzeny's promotion, and hadn't she left with Old Boy? And it was not just that night but several times each week after that.

"If she had succeeded in her mission," Astrus continued, "it would have stopped a secret American weapons program in its tracks. If she had not been killed in the attempt, she would have been executed. Perhaps it was all… for the best."

It was unquestionably a charming speech, especially convincing with Astrus sobbing and sniffling like a fool. Fear would have been convinced too if Astrus didn't keep flicking his buggy little eyes back at him every few seconds. This motion was, of course, imperceptible to everyone else. Astrus probably didn't even realize he was doing it, but that liar's tic had confirmed for Fear that Sabine's note was more important now than ever.

"I believe we have spoken enough about this subject. You may return for tonight to the hotel in London. If you wish to continue with the Philosophers, tell the bellman tomorrow."

Astrus watched forlornly as Pain, Fury, and the End left. Fear stood, but Astrus motioned for him to stay.

"Sorrow," Astrus said, catching Sorrow's coat. "I am very interested… that is to say that the Philosophers have watched you for a long time. We always had use for your talents, but Joy insisted on keeping you for herself. Now that she's…"

"You can say it. She is dead."

"Yes, we could use you to your fullest potential. Would you consider it?"

"Thank you, but no."

"Why not? You have nowhere else to go."

"I have… places…"

"You want to contact her."

Sorrow did not answer. His pale eyes turned to meet Astrus's. Then he walked to the door.

"I will wait as long as I need to for you, Sorrow. Stay at the hotel as long as you wish."

"Thank you," Sorrow said as he left.

Fear had listened to their exchange with little interest. The Cobras didn't matter anymore. His thoughts were with Sabine. Fear had spent the past week under Astrus's thumb, but without the other Cobras to protect, he was free to escape.

Astrus had been lying, but what was the lie – how the Joy had died or whether she was dead at all? Sorrow seemed confident that she was gone, but perhaps he was uncertain like he had been at the house in Marquise. His power was not exact.

Astrus closed the door behind Sorrow and stood in front of it with his arms crossed.

"What is your plan, Fear?"

Astrus knew he was going to run, and Fear could see that he didn't want that to happen. Now that they both knew, he may as well.

"I'm not staying here," Fear hissed, showing Astrus his long tongue as he cracked his joints luridly.

"Your tactics won't scare me," Astrus said. His voice was calm and measured, but the wrinkle in the center of his brow gave him away.

Fear smiled at him sideways. Astrus stalked toward him as he spoke. "You have heard and seen a lot here. I can't have you going back to the others, Fear. I'm sure you understand."

Astrus was just the right distance away now. Fear leapt. His feet hit Astrus in the chest, and his right hand aimed at the bridge of the old man's nose. Astrus was nimbler than Fear had expected, and he caught the hand before Fear could shatter his nose. Both men tumbled onto the carpet. Fear wrenched his arms away with a sharp crack and sprang off of the old man's chest to the door. Astrus snapped to his feet as the Fear dashed down the hallway.

"Stop him!" he cried, but Fear threw both guards outside of the room into the gas sconces. Two sconces crashed to the floor, igniting the dry tongues of peeling wallpaper immediately. Fury would have been proud.

"Just bloody shoot him!" Astrus shouted as he pulled the fire alarm.

The echoes of gunshots rang above the clanging fire bells as Fear vaulted down the hallway to the open door at the end. Blue sunlight stung his eyes, accustomed to the dark corridors of the house, but Fear did not hesitate. He ran until the lowest branches of the skeleton trees scratched his face, and then he swung himself onto a limb and disappeared.

The fact that the hotel was owned by the Philosophers was obvious from the way the bellman greeted each smartly-dressed guest like an old friend and turned away weary travelers with the excuse that there were no vacancies. The hotel bar buzzed with voices speaking Cantonese and Mandarin and many of the varied Slavic languages of the Soviet Union. Fury leaned over the bar and shouted in Russian that the bear's ass of a bar tender had better bring him some vodka – Moskovskaya and nothing from Lithuania or something – before he blew the whole place to hell. A woman who must have understood him gasped, but the bar tender held a hand up to calm her. He poured Fury a glass and set the entire bottle in front of him.

The man sitting beside him, lanky and beady-eyed, asked, "Lose your woman?"

"I've had my interrogation for the week," Fury snarled. "Shut your goddamn mouth, or I'll show you how the Nazis torture someone."

Fury had departed unceremoniously as soon as the Philosophers' car had left them in front of the hotel.

"Guess I'll go pack," Pain said.

"Where are you going?" the End asked.

"Where ya goin'?" the parrot echoed.

"Scotland. I never enlisted like you did, and I doubt my father wants me back. What about you, old man?"

"I'm a soldier, perhaps too old to fight, but too hardened to go home. I suppose I'm going back out to the country tomorrow."

"And you, Sorrow? You staying here or going back to Russia?"

"There is nothing in Russia."

"Don't tell me that! It's a place I've always wanted to live."

Sorrow shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He had tried to contact Joy in the car while he had silence, but she did not speak.

"Well, gentlemen," the Pain said with a solemn tip of his hat, "I believe this is 'adieu'. It was… a great honor."

"I'll follow you in," the End groaned. "The cold isn't doing anything good for my old bones. Sorrow?"

Sorrow heard him only as a vague echo in a chorus of millions. The voices invaded, shouting, droning, screaming, but none of them the voice he wanted.

"Do you think we should leave him?" Pain asked.

"There is nothing we can do," the End replied, shaking his bald, liver-spotted head. "He won't let go of her."

"Shit, not you," Fury moaned ten minutes later when Sorrow wandered bleary-eyed into the bar.

Sorrow stumbled into the stool beside Fury and balanced himself precariously on it.

"I will, ah, have what he has," Sorrow sputtered.

"The barman knows Russian," Fury grumbled, pushing Sorrow, who was slowly tilting toward Fury, upright again. "You can order like a real man, like this: hey, keep! This asshole wants the strongest fucking shit you have!"

"That's not my way, Fury."

"Yeah, well it will have to be if you want to get by in this world by yourself. I won't take care of your sorry hide."

The bar tender slammed another glass and bottle in front of Sorrow. "You Russians are going to drink me out of my entire vodka supply. Astrus'll owe me one after this," he said under his breath, and then he turned to Fury. "I think your comrade's already drunk."

"He's always like this."

The stringent smell of the vodka as it touched his lips brought Sorrow back to the smoothly-sanded bar, the cool glass in his hand, the multi-lingual chatter around him, and the reality that the Cobra Unit was no more. He sighed and tipped half of the glass down his throat. Sorrow had never tasted vodka, and now that he did, he realized that it had less of a flavor than a burn.

"So Fear never showed up," Fury said, pouring another quarter glass.

"You care about him," Sorrow said quietly.

"The dirty little Gypsy? Shit, of course I do. I can't believe he's just… Have you talked to her yet?"

"I tried, in the car and then again outside. I haven't found her yet."

"Hell, do you think she might…"

"Not likely. I only tried a little. I'll try harder."

"Don't break yourself," Fury grunted. "I don't need her giving orders from beyond the grave."

They were both silent for a few minutes before Fury set his glass on the table and slid off of the stool. "I'm going to bed. No use talking anymore."

Sorrow nodded.

"Hey, keep!" Fury shouted as he left. "You can have the rest of the bottle. On me. Well, on the Philosophers."

"Um…," Sorrow said sheepishly. "Actually, I'll take both bottles back to my room."

The bedraggled creature that knocked on the door of London's SOE headquarters two days later terrified the young woman who answered into a near-faint. The coarse black hair that he usually kept tied at the back of his neck hung loose and grimy, strewn with bits of dead leaves. His skin was smeared with dirt which he had used to camouflage himself in the leafless forest. The most repulsive aspect of the Fear's sudden appearance at the SOE headquarters was the intense crimson fire in his eyes.

"I must speak to Sabine DeMille!" he roared at the poor woman who shook like a pear tree when a child is trying to get the fresh fruit to fall from its branches.

"I…," she squeaked. "I don't…"

"What an unpleasant surprise," said a familiar male voice behind her.

The door opened wider, and David, half of his face still covered by a cloth bandage, nodded for Fear to come in. The woman cowered as he brushed past her, and Fear flicked his tongue at her. She screamed and sank further down the wall.

"It's alright!" David called loudly to anyone who could hear. To Fear, he snapped, "What was the point of that?"

Fear glared back at the lieutenant. "Where's Sabine?"

"What is it you need with her?"

"The Russian Philos - ."

David slapped a hand over Fear's filthy lips. "Not here!"

He opened the door to a small, sparsely-decorated office.

"As you were saying," he said, taking a seat behind the desk.

"Over three months ago," Fear said, "Sabine gave me a note. It was written in a code like this."

Fear snatched a piece of paper and a pen from David's desk and wrote out the string of letters. "And when I finally decoded it, it looked like this."

He wrote under the string of letters: The Russian Philosophers set you up. Head for London. SD

"Oh, my. Well, it was rather a simple cipher. I can't believe it took you so long, really."

"Davey - ."

"Lieutenant Oh, if you please."

"Fine. Mr. Oh, what in the hell does this mean?"

David sighed. "It's rather a long story."

"And if it ends where the boss was killed, then I have a right to hear it!"

David blanched and choked momentarily on his tea. "Yes, I – I learned of that myself yesterday. If Sabine had only been a little clearer with you, we could have prevented the – the incident which led up to… Joy's demise. Oh, my. I've spilled my tea."

David wiped the table with a handkerchief.

"You're deliberately avoiding the subject," Fear insisted.

"I'm not. It's just that what's done is done. The Soviets had her entirely convinced that they were us, and our attempts to reach the Cobra Unit were thwarted at every turn. Sabine was the only one who could reach any of you, and you were always with that Russian."

"Fury?"

"Yes. She took a big chance and almost got killed…"

"What does the note mean?"

"Originally, the American Philosophers, for whom Sabine and I work, meant to send you on a mission into France, but somehow you were redirected to Germany. Our contact was found beaten and dehydrated after days in the basement of his house in Marquise. That's when we went on the hunt for you."

The Sorrow had been right. There had been someone else in the house, trapped in the basement, unable to cry for help. If they had said something then, they could have saved the boss. Hadn't Fear seen that Astrus was a liar? At that point in the mission, he had expected some lies. Your contact never gives you the whole truth.

"You were kept from us, and when you never completed the original mission, we denied that you had ever existed. Then, only three days ago, we learned that Major Astrus had been bringing you here at night to interrogate Americans involved in a secret operation called 'The Pond'. That night, we set up a guard here, but Astrus never showed. Then the next day, that house some of the American operatives were using as a base was blown up. We have kept this place heavily guarded ever since, but if they have Astrus in their pocket, he knows better than to destroy it."

"I know where he is, if you're trying to find him," Fear said excitedly.

"Yes. We do too, but we're not playing their game. The American Philosophers aren't interested in this sort of petty revenge, and frankly, we need the Russians on our side if we hope to win the war." David looked past Fear at the closed door. "It's a bitter situation for me too. Their spy game has already cost me a close friend and the woman I loved. I'm determined that it doesn't also take my sister."

"Sabine?"

"She is young and foolish, and she runs off on her own. I can give you some missions where you may cross paths… but it will be very important that you do not speak to her. She can't know that I sent you, or she'll do something reckless."

As Sorrow dropped into the hotel bed, the warmth of the vodka engulfed him from within. The sun was well over the horizon, but he did not bother to turn on the light. Moonlight reflected on his spectacles as he closed his eyes. He did not sleep. For the first time in a year, he simply listened to the voices. How long had it been since he had let them fill his mind unguarded? Perhaps since his childhood in Velitsky. He opened his mind to them.

The voices pleaded, boasted, and cried, some newly dead and some centuries gone from the earth. Sorrow did not filter them or focus on one over another, so they formed a cacophony, like a radio with its dial set to all stations at once. A room full of radios. A world full of radios.

And then he felt his hand moving, heard a sardonic laugh in his voice. The spirits hushed to the background as a hanged serial killer's thoughts played in his head, Diana, Dinah, Dolly. Where's Dolly? Dolly-dolly dear! Now I'll always have you near. Here's your heart, and here's your ear. Here's the knife, no need to fear…

The thoughts became speech, and Sorrow felt a sharp pain in his right hand. He fought for control and regained it easily. His hand dropped a shard of his broken glass, leaving behind a dark smear of blood. The cut was deep, and his pain was no doubt dulled by the alcohol.

In his recklessness, he had opened his mind to the Devil. He would have to be more careful.

Historical Notes:

Although I don't explicitly say, the opening scene takes place in 1930, during both Prohibition and the Great Depression. Charlie means that he could sell his family's hidden wine on the black market.

I spent some time looking at real 1930 Cadillacs for this. One in particular was burgundy with a cream interior. I thought it would be very in-character for Alice to drive and for James to own.

All of the slang I've used comes from my great-grandmother. I can't say for sure that it's perfect 1920s/1930s slang, but at least it's what someone who would have been around at the time uses. I just love how she speaks!

Seat belts were not standard in vehicles until the late 1950s when Saab started making them standard.

Moskovskaya was a popular brand of Russian vodka during World War II. It is still around as a legacy brand owned by Soyuzplodimport.