CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was a stressful trip down two corridors but they saw no gunmen.
"Where are they?" Martina had whispered, walking behind Aramis, who led the way, following her directions, his arm outstretched to keep her behind him.
"It is called, "A false sense of security," Athos murmured, behind her. "They will know we will have discovered Kramer's body by now and we will be intent on finding weapons and a safe space. My guess is they will either attack before dark or after dark," he added.
Martina stopped walking and slowly turned to him. She was about to challenge him when she saw the twinkle in his eye. She huffed out a laugh. "Time will tell, I guess," she said, as they continued.
Athos watched Aramis up ahead, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.
/
"There! The cellar," Martina whispered loudly, as they turned a corner and came upon a small door, a key in the lock.
Athos ran a hand over the door. "Metal," he murmured.
"The old wooden door was replaced a few years ago. It was beginning to rot. It was probably as old at the building," Martina replied. "Which made it about a hundred and fifty years old," she added. "Give or take a few years. Plus, it helps keep the cellar cool."
She turned the key and took it out, handing it to Athos. "It bolts from the inside," she explained.
"Useful," he murmured, as they all stepped over the threshold.
The cellar did match the age of the building, which had once been a grand residence. "Dr Kramer's father bought it after the war," Martina explained. "It escaped unharmed because of Switzerland's neutrality, though there was talk of paintings and expensive bottles of wine exchanging hands with the Nazis," she shrugged. "War is hard."
Athos hummed as he looked around, not wishing to get into a debate about times past. Switzerland shared its border with Germany and it would be naive to think a price did not have to be paid to maintain the status quo.
It was dark, but not cold. Martina reached out to switch on the light, but of course, nothing happened. She gave an embarrassed laugh. They heard her moving around and then a flame lit the area where they stood.
"We have power cuts occasionally," she explained, turning up the flame on a large oil lamp, which sat on a table by the door. "There should be some candles in the drawer," she added. They could now see rows of mixed shelving, wooden and metal, which held bottle after bottle, stretching into the darkness ahead. On one side, there were larger shelves holding barrels. One of the bottom rows of shelving was empty of barrels, with enough space for them to lie down. Over the table, a wall-mounted rack held a range of glasses, no doubt for taste-testing the wares. There was a black board, on the wall, with a list of vintages. "These bottles will need turning soon," she said.
All in all, it was a cool, well-ventilated sanctuary.
"We can rest here?" she suggested.
"It's perfect," Athos said, with a soft smile. "You seem to know your way around," he ventured, as he removed his jacket and dropped it on the back of a chair next to the table.
"Receptionists don't just stand behind a desk all day. I have lot of interesting duties," she smiled. "We all help each other out," she added.
Athos sat down on one of the lower shelves and began to take off his boots. It was cramped and not very comfortable, but it would suffice. They had both had worse. He looked around him at the bottles but there was no way they could drink anything. They needed their wits about them.
"How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" Martina asked, as she began to empty the back pack Aramis had dropped on the table.
"These men are brutal, Martina," Athos replied, needing to focus her on the harsh reality of their situation. "They reason we are here, the injuries you see us both carrying, is all because of them. We were sent into a trap and barely escaped with our lives. We killed their leader, and we suspect the remaining members of her pack now want revenge."
" Her?" Martina replied, in a shocked voice.
"Dannika Rand," Aramis replied. "A known terrorist."
"I've heard of her," Martina nodded. "I heard she was dead. And that was you?"
"Not directly,"Athos replied after a few moments. "But her fault, not ours. They set a fire, and she died in it. Along with some of her men." Athos noticed that Aramis had not replied. He had turned away to sit at the table, and was now opening the drawer.
"It sounds like she deserved it," Martina said.
"Yes, she did," Athos responded quietly. Martina changed the subject, aware of the sudden tension between these two men.
"So, how long have you worked together?" she asked.
"Candles!" Aramis said, suddenly, pulling a box of long white candles from the drawer. "And matches," he added, with a wide smile. "And, a torch," he held up a small torch and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He tried again, tapping it against his hand and that did the trick. Turning it off, he stood it upright on the table.
"Our wine Sommelier, Franco, keeps the torch and lamp here because once, during a power-cut, he could not find his way back to the door," Martine explained. "He felt around all the shelving but panicked and missed the right way and became disorientated. It goes quite deep over there. So now, he always puts the torch in his pocket when he's in here and it was he who removed the shelving so he would know by touch that he was adjacent to the door. Even when he did find the door that night, he was feeling for the bolt on the wrong side of the door. He was in such a state by the time he got out."
"It's a bit like a dungeon down here," Aramis conceded. "I can understand him becoming disorientated, it must have been very scary."
"I'm sure it has its advantages," Athos said, looking lovingly at the rows of bottles.
Aramis shrugged in amusement and winked at Martina, who folded her arms and smiled back.
"So, candles, food and light," Athos said, softly. "We have everything we need," he added, though he would have given his right arm of a large glass of red right now.
Aramis opened the backpack and took out the food, laying it on the table. None of them had eaten all day and they all fell on the food. Later, Aramis steered the conversation neatly to Martina and they learned a little more about her as they ate the food.
She was ambitious, smart and loved her country, with no intentions of living anywhere else. She wanted to be a tree surgeon, but had put her dream aside when her mother became ill.
"Why a tree surgeon?" Aramis asked, with interest, as he ate some of the cooked meat.
"We have a lot of trees," she smiled.
"Yes, you have," Aramis conceded with a smile.
"My father was a tree surgeon," she explained. "As a child, I watched him and helped sometimes."
"Wasn't that dangerous?" Athos asked.
"Would you ask that if I was a boy?" she shot back.
"Probably not," Athos smiled. "It's a worthy profession."
"Tree surgeons have many skills, they don't just cut down trees, you know," she stated, ripping apart a piece of bread. "They prune, and plant and maintain the health of the forests. I can show you all the areas where my father tended the trees."
"You need a head for heights," Aramis remarked.
"Of course," Martina replied. "It's a highly specialised job," she said, quietly. "I also need qualifications in forestry and arboriculture. I started the course, but had to leave when my mother …" she said, her voice trailing off.
"Will you return to your studies?" Athos asked her, seeing the sadness in her, and remembering that Lena had thought her job in the clinic was beneath her. Now he understood why.
"Perhaps, hopefully," she replied.
"You will know when the time is right," Athos reassured her. "Grief does abate with time," he added, quietly.
She looked at him with such an open expression that he had to look away and they all fell silent.
"So, what's the plan?" Martina finally said, looking hopefully from Aramis to Athos.
Athos sighed. She was a demanding accomplice.
" You stay here," he said, firmly. " We fight."
"What!" she cried, indignantly. "I can help!"
"Listen to me," Athos replied. "As much as we would like this to be a game, it is not. I repeat, these men are brutal. We need to get to that gun cabinet. We cannot protect you, Martina."
"You have a gun now, though," she insisted.
"But the moment I fire it, it will bring them all down on us. A gun on its own can only be used at the right time, when we need it. If we are to eliminate these men, we need to do it quietly."
"I can help!" she said again.
"And what would Lena say?" he said, his eyebrows raised and green eyes holding hers.
"That's unfair!" she replied, hotly, her eyes flashing.
How young she was.
"But true," Athos stated, calmly.
They both glared at each other, and Aramis took the opportunity to walk between them and over to the shelves to break their mood.
"We have a few hours before nightfall," he said. "We will need to have our wits about us."
"We should rest," he added, firmly. "Let's not fall out.
/
Thanks for reading!