Keeping calm for the next four hours took sheer determination. At last she stood at her hotel room door. Her high had worn off – her hands shook and her heart was beating wildly. She inserted the key card and slammed open the door with a single goal. Stepping just inside the dark room, she dropped her purse and opened the safe. Even though her paraphernalia was right there, she was in no shape to prepare heroin for the syringe. At the moment she wanted to inhale another vial, saving the real thing for when she was calm. She pulled the tiny bottle out, broke the cap and stuck it in her nose. Three deep inhalations and she felt the familiar warmth soaring through her body. Her shaking stopped immediately and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Feeling better, darling?”
She screamed in surprise as she saw him sitting at the far end of her room. Suddenly she was furious. Her old sweetheart had invaded her personal space and watched her frantically use the drug. Like so many times before with him, she felt vulnerable and scared. A flood of memories flashed in seconds – the bad times, the times he’d hurt her and mocked her, the pleasure he seemed to get from her pain.
“You have no right to be in my room! How the hell did you get in here?”
He rubbed his thumb and fingers together, the universal sign of money. “It wasn’t difficult. What was that little bottle you put in your nose? Liquid O, perhaps? Do you have a problem, Apostol?”
He was right – Liquid O was exactly what it had been, the same stuff that kept her from cratering when she fled Romania. The quick fix.
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped. “How did you find me? Why aren’t you in Bucharest?”
“Why so angry, Apostol? I was worried about you. You left Bucharest without even telling me goodbye. It almost seemed like you were trying to hide from me. Partners don’t act this way to each other, do they?”
He continued with a sneer. “You’re holding out on me. You gave me the diary, but there’s something else, isn’t there? There’s another book. Where is it?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Without saying a word, she went into the bathroom, locked the door and stripped naked. She stepped into a steaming shower and ten minutes later came out wearing a hotel robe. Covers pulled back, he lay naked on the bed. His erection signaled what he wanted from her.
“Come here.” He spoke softly and patted the bed next to him.
“No, Philippe. I’m not doing that. You had no right to break into my room.”
She remembered well the suddenly different, commanding tone in his voice. She’d heard it often enough in the past.
“Come here now. Obey me or–”
“Or what?” she interrupted sharply. “You manipulated me so many times before. I won’t allow it anymore.”
He held up the black card that was her very lifeblood, the card that accessed all the money she had in the world. “What’s this, darling?”
She turned sharply, realizing with a sinking feeling she had forgotten to lock the safe.
“Give it to me,” she whimpered. “You don’t know how to use it anyway…”
“Of course. Anything you say. First, you’re going to take off your robe and join me.” He patted the bed again and smiled as she did what he commanded.
The Bad Man watched as they made love. Can I come out for a minute and hit her? Remember how much fun we had back then when you let me hit her?
As Philippe thrust inside her, he ignored his bad side’s pleas. He wanted information from her; hurting her wouldn’t accomplish anything this time – except, of course, the intense sexual gratification that domination always provided. That would have to wait for later. He kept going.
Moments later he finished with a series of groans, reached over to the nightstand and handed her the card. She went into the bathroom, returned and began getting dressed as he lay naked on the bed.
“Where are you going? You’re not leaving just yet. We have a lot to talk about. That book, for instance. But first tell me about your new name, Carey Apostol.”
Of course he knew it – he couldn’t have found her otherwise – but it surprised her anyway.
“How’d you find out?”
Philippe laughed sarcastically. “Oh, Adriana, you naive child. Will you never learn? I’ve had people watching you constantly. I know about the gold bar you tried to sell at the bank. I know the building you visited in Linz. I know everything you’ve done, everywhere you’ve been.”
She took her time dressing as he continued. It made sense someone could have seen her with the gold bar, but he couldn’t possibly know everything. He knew she was at a building in Linz, but he couldn’t know what she was there for. Philippe hadn’t seen his grandfather in years, and she was certain that Nicu never told his grandson about the people in Linz and the money he deposited there.
“I’m afraid you’ve been hiding things. That isn’t nice, since I’ve been so generous to you and we were business partners. You were hired to give me information, not to hide it from me. First let’s talk about exactly what was in Grandfather’s safety deposit box. Was there gold there? Are you a wealthy woman now that you’re Carey Apostol? And there was a second book in the box too. I want that book, Adriana.”
“No. No more talk. I’m leaving. You hired me to find your grandfather’s diary, and I did what you asked. Our ‘partnership,’ as you call it, is finished. You paid me for Nicu’s journal and you got it. Now I never want to see you again. I should never have gotten involved with you this time around. I know what you are – what you’ve always been. You’re a manipulating, controlling demon who enjoyed hurting me. I got away from you a long time ago. This is over…”
There was a sharp knock at the door. Philippe slipped into the bathroom and closed the door as she looked through the peephole.
Damn! What was he doing here? She couldn’t let him in. What if Philippe attacked him – but wait! Paul certainly could take care of himself. Maybe this was exactly the help she needed!
His voice muffled, Philippe called through the bathroom door. “Who’s out there?”
Calm now, she answered, “Someone I’d like you to meet.”
She opened the door and hugged Paul Silver. “I’m really glad to see you.” She gave a head nod and a glance toward the bathroom door.
Surprised at the warm reception, he stepped inside and shut the door. “That’s good to hear. I thought maybe you’d be mad.” He pointed to the door and gave her a quizzical look as it suddenly opened.
Philippe stepped out, wrapped in a towel. “Do we have company, darling?”
Paul was as stunned as if he’d been slammed into the ground. Philippe Lepescu! What the hell is he doing here? He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and gripped his pistol.
“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” Philippe said as he nonchalantly walked to the bed and dropped his towel. His back was to them as he began to put his clothes on.
He doesn’t know me, Paul realized. Sitting at the funeral far away from Philippe had been one thing, but being here a foot away was something else entirely. Paul had done a complete physical makeover after he supposedly died in the London fire. The change was good enough to deceive almost everyone, but if anyone would recognize him now, it would have been his thieving former partner.
There was one thing Paul couldn’t change, one thing that would give him away – his voice. Adriana gasped and backed away as Paul took out a Sig Sauer, its suppressor guaranteed to keep the noise level low. Philippe glanced around and saw the stranger holding a gun.
Casually buttoning his slacks, he turned. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Adriana?”
Paul answered, “I thought I’d killed you, Philippe. I fired two shots point-blank into your body. You outsmarted me that time; then you disappeared. Then you thought you’d killed me, didn’t you? You started the fire in St Mary Axe Street that night.”
It was time. Philippe opened the door in his brain wide. The Bad Man leapt out enthusiastically, ready t
o play.
“Roberto Maas. Is that still your name? I would never have recognized you. It’s amazing how you’ve changed. What in hell are you doing here?”
Paul aimed the pistol. “Speaking of hell, that’s your next destination.”
“Don’t do it!” Adriana screamed. “He has Nicu’s diary! If you kill him, you’ll never get it!”
Paul hesitated, lowering his weapon slightly. Philippe seized the opportunity. He flew across the room, hitting Paul’s arm and sending the pistol skittering into the bathroom. They fell to the floor, struggling in the tight entry area between a closet and the wall.
“Get off him or I’ll shoot!” Adriana stood in the bathroom, holding the pistol with both hands, aiming it in their general direction. “Get off him, Philippe!”
Philippe replied with a smirk, “You don’t know how to use a gun, darling. And you wouldn’t use it on me anyway!” Paul pushed him hard just as Philippe raised his fist to aim a blow. Adriana dropped the pistol, and both men scrambled for it. There was a muffled shot, and Philippe collapsed on top of Paul with a grunt. He was breathing heavily and no longer in a mood to fight. Adriana screamed and screamed.
“Goddamn you!” Philippe moaned softly, doubled up in pain. “You shot me!”
Paul slithered backwards, extricating himself from the dead weight on top of him. There was blood seeping from a wound low in Philippe’s side. Depending on the trajectory, it might or might not be enough to kill him. Paul stood and comforted Adriana for a moment, then took the pistol and aimed it at Philippe, who was writhing on the floor.
“Adriana, turn him over and see if there’s an exit wound.”
“I can’t…”
“You have to,” he said flatly. She knelt and rolled Philippe to one side. They saw a small hole in his back.
“You’re in luck,” Paul told him. “You’re going to live long enough to give me the diary. Just exactly long enough.”
“In your dreams,” Philippe groaned. “Go ahead and kill me now. It’ll save us all some time.”
Paul smiled broadly, surprised at how pleasant the feelings of revenge on his old partner were. He’d been an assassin in a past life, and this came back as easily as recalling how to tie your shoes.
“I have plenty of time. Much more than you, actually. And before long you’ll tell me where the diary is. You’ll beg to tell me. I have a technique that would have made your old Nazi grandfather proud.”
——
Adriana sat quietly in her room, waiting for them to return. They’d been gone for a long time. Although the fight and the gunshots had terrified her, Paul had remained totally calm. He was obviously familiar with violence and he knew exactly what he was doing. While she trembled with fear and anxiety, Paul had calmly told her how to bandage Philippe, and then handed him his clothes. He made a couple of whispered phone calls, all the time keeping his pistol trained on Philippe. A few minutes later they walked out, Paul cradling his gun under his jacket and guiding Philippe toward the elevator.
She had halfheartedly offered to come along, but Paul refused. “You don’t want to see this,” he had said grimly.
What? What do I not want to see? What’s he going to do to Philippe?
The moment they were gone, she prepared the syringe. As the cool release of heroin settled her nerves, the conflicts, fears and concerns that had threatened to overwhelm her became merely questions with no answers.
Who was Paul Silver? What was he? She was baffled; he claimed to be a wealthy investor and adventurer, so why did he carry a pistol with a silencer on it? She’d never even seen one before. Could she trust a man who in seconds had become a totally different person than she thought she knew?
The words between Paul and Philippe also mystified her. A long time ago Paul had pumped two shots into Philippe’s body but somehow missed? Philippe then tried to kill Paul? Paul had a way – a technique, he called it – to make Philippe talk that would make the old Nazi proud. What was he going to do? Was Philippe actually the good guy here, and Paul the villain? The more she thought about it, the more perplexing it became.
Maybe I should leave! I can get away and have time to sort all this out. Where can I go? I can’t hide. They both found me, even here in a hotel. But I should try.
She was packing her suitcase when she heard a knock.
——
There was a part of Amsterdam full of run-down buildings, shells of former industrial plants that once manufactured farm implements, fabricated steel and built car parts for export to Russia. One of these massive, decaying structures was owned by a Czech company called KATYA 4. As was the case in all of his investments, there was nothing about the building or its owner that could be tied back to Paul Silver. But it was his building, part of a twenty-five-million-dollar portfolio of real estate around the world owned by shell corporations or nominee trusts.
Philippe stood tied to a rusty pole, a part of the support structure for an empty ten-thousand-square-foot former machine shop. Grease and grime covered everything, and cawing crows soared in and out through broken windows fifty feet above.
Philippe had never experienced fear like what he felt now. He knew what Paul was capable of. Paul had been Roberto Maas in the days they worked together in Lucerne. That day when the Russians came in and explained exactly what Roberto had done, he understood how dangerous his sophisticated, wealthy partner really was. The man was a cold-blooded killer. Philippe tried to maintain an expression of nonchalance, but his trembling body gave him away.
Adriana had put gauze and bandages over Philippe’s gunshot wounds to stop the bleeding. They weren’t potentially fatal; if he died today, it would be simply because Paul took this all the way. He told his prisoner all that as he fiddled with an apparatus on the floor and hooked a pair of cables to it.
“This is a twelve-volt battery with a hand crank,” he told Philippe. “I’ve conducted many interrogations with this setup and it’s amazingly effective. The faster you tell me what I want, the less pain you’ll experience. Unfortunately, that means less pleasure for me, because my goal here is to make you wish you’d never met me. I promise you this. If you give me what I want without a turn of the crank, I’ll let you go. I may break your legs, but I won’t kill you. If you don’t talk, I will increase the voltage until you scream for me to let you die. But I won’t.”
He attached the end of one cable to Philippe’s right index finger. The other went to a ground pole on the battery. “This is a sample, just to let you know what it feels like.” He turned the crank a few times, and Philippe cried out in pain, his finger jerking spasmodically.
“Are you ready to begin?” Paul asked as he undid Philippe’s trousers, pulling them and his underwear to the floor.
“Planning on giving me a blow job?” Philippe asked weakly.
“Always the sarcastic one,” Paul replied as he picked up the red cable that had been hooked to Philippe’s finger. “I know this will pinch a little, but trust me, this is nothing compared to what you’re going to feel if you don’t cooperate.” He snapped the connector onto Philippe’s scrotum.
Philippe winced as Paul put his hand on the crank and said, “Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
With a battery cable attached to his genital area, Philippe was motivated to answer every question Paul asked. He wasn’t anxious to find out what kind of pain there would be if Paul turned the crank, so he sang like the proverbial bird.
He explained how Adriana had been his lover at university and that he had hired her to find out where his grandfather’s diary was. The family had always said the diary was important because it held dark secrets. Everyone in the town where they lived knew Nicu had been a Nazi storm trooper and an officer at Auschwitz. They knew he was stationmaster at Bucharest when the death trains came through and that he served twenty years in prison. Philippe’s grandfather had been a profound embarrassment to the entire family. Once he was released from prison in 1971, everyone refused to
have further contact with him.
Even though the family ostracized him, there was always that tantalizing rumor about Grandfather Nicu’s diary. His son Ciprian had said it held secrets about the Nazis and hidden treasure. No one knew for sure if the book even existed, Philippe added.
Once Adriana weaseled her way into Nicu’s life, the old man gave her a safety deposit box key and told her the contents were hers. At least that was Adriana’s story. Philippe wasn’t sure what was going on there, he said. Regardless, she’d found the diary in the box along with an old copy of Mein Kampf.
“What else was in the box?”
“I don’t know. When we finally saw it, it was empty. For God’s sake, take this damned thing off my balls! It hurts like hell!”
Paul unhooked the clamp. “Keep talking and maybe I’ll leave it off.”
He told Paul that there had been a second safety deposit box key in Nicu’s belongings. He bribed a lawyer, forged Christina’s signature, and forced Milosh to sign the power of attorney that allowed him access to a hundred and sixty-nine one-kilo gold bars.
The magnanimity of that statement brought Paul to attention. He did a quick calculation. “Six million dollars, two-thirds stolen from your own brother and sister. Nice haul. When you add that heist to the four hundred thousand you embezzled from me, you’re a wealthy man. A lying, cheating, stealing, walking dead man, but at least you’ll go out knowing you’re rich.”
“I’m telling you everything!” he pleaded. “Why are you going to kill me if I’m doing what you ask?”
“Maybe just for the satisfaction. You repulse me. You have no conscience, no moral fiber whatsoever. You don’t care about a single person except for what they can do for you. But then again, maybe I’ll let you live. Maybe I’ll just hurt you really badly and let you live.”
You just do that. The Bad Man sat in his room in Philippe’s head, seething. You let me live, you stupid bastard, and I’ll hurt YOU! I won’t just hook a cable to your scrotum. I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you while you scream for me to let you die!
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