by Don Easton
“No.”
“Have someone call her room and then if she answers, pretend to be a wrong number,” said Laura. “If she doesn’t answer, try again in a couple of minutes in case she’s in the shower.”
Paolo reached for his phone and said, “I’ll have someone check the restaurant, as well.”
Several minutes later Paolo was informed that Carina did not answer her phone and was not having breakfast.
Oh, man. “I should be getting a call back from Interpol shortly about whatever they can find on Yakov,” Laura said. “This may turn into a long day. I suggest we get something to eat. We may have a long drive ahead of us. Depending on what we find out, I think we should get to Sant’Agata del Bianco and find someplace to watch the road.”
“And what do you hope to see?” Yves asked.
“If the bad guys drive out of there without Jack, we’ll know he’s dead.” Laura’s tone was grave. “Otherwise, we need to sit there and wait until we hear from him.”
Yves and Maurice decided to remain in the room, while Laura, Otto, and Paolo went for breakfast at the hotel restaurant.
The coffee Laura drank only fuelled her already jittery nerves, and she could only eat one of the two pastries she’d ordered. Barely a word was spoken amongst the three of them until eight o’clock, when Laura received a call from Jane in Ottawa saying she had some information about Yakov.
“Give me a minute to get to a better location,” Laura said. Glancing at Otto and Paolo, she whispered, “Interpol. I’m going back to my room.”
“We’ll pay the bill and meet you in Maurice’s room,” Otto said.
As soon as Laura was back in her room she dug out her notebook and recorded what Jane told her, which was basically that Yakov was known to the police as a gangster and reputed to deal in stolen property and guns. He wasn’t considered high enough in the criminal empire for the police to have made him a priority.
“Maybe if they’d worked on him, they’d discover otherwise,” said Laura cynically. “Anyway, thanks, I better —”
“Hold on. The report you requested from the police in Zurich concerning Carina Safstrom and her husband, Denzler Bussmann, just came in.”
“Yes, they were going to check with Germany. Bussmann died in a car accident there.”
“Apparently it wasn’t an accident,” Jane said. “They believe it was suicide. No skid marks on the road and a good impression of the gas pedal on his shoe when he hit a bridge abutment.”
“Well, that’s too bad, but —”
“Hang on, I’m still reading. The report contains information from the Swedish police, as well.”
“Carina Safstrom said she lived with her aunt and uncle in Stockholm for several years. I put in a request that they check their records, too.”
“Let me give you the gist of this,” Jane said. “Bussmann had fallen for some type of Ponzi scheme where he invested all his money and lost it in the scam. The guy who ripped Bussmann off took at least fifty-five other people for their life savings. He was a Swede. His name was Noah Akerman.”
“Was?”
“He was murdered in Sweden a year later,” Jane went on. “They had a suspect, but he was a well-known gangster who died of cancer shortly after.” Jane’s voice rose in pitch. “Guess who the gangster was!”
“I don’t —”
“Carina’s uncle! He ran a criminal network that spanned most of Europe.”
Laura felt like her brain had been put on spin dry. Carina took over the family business.
“There’s more,” Jane said. “The Swedish police pulled a newspaper clip on Bussmann’s funeral in Stockholm to try and identify people who attended. A newspaper photograph confirmed that the aunt and uncle were there for it.”
“It was in the newspaper?”
“Yes, it looks like Bussmann was a popular person in the community. He belonged to something called Clowns Without Borders and performed at many hospitals, schools, and retirement homes.”
Seconds later Laura was on her way out the door.
* * *
While waiting in Maurice’s room for Laura to return, Otto, Maurice, and Yves speculated on whether or not Yakov was the Ringmaster.
“Black, collar-length hair, stocky, hairy hands,” Otto said. “That was all?” He looked at Maurice. “Nothing else?”
“No. I have a copy of the witness report in my briefcase and will read it to you.” He pulled out a document. “It’s in French, but I will translate.”
Otto glanced at the report and saw that it was a copy of a handwritten statement written in French and signed at the bottom. He did not read French, but there was something he did see. “The name at the bottom of the report,” he said, pointing to it. “Maria Popescu, with what looks like a date of birth and passport number underneath it.”
“Yes, that is the witness who saw the killer run away,” replied Maurice.
“Maria Popescu is Romanian,” said Otto.
“Yes, so was her passport.”
“Do you have a list of the five Romanian passports that were stolen?” asked Otto. “The ones Jack found hidden with the drugs and the painting?”
Maurice’s eyes revealed his concern, then he tore through his briefcase and pulled out a file and compared the numbers of the stolen passports in Jack’s report to the passport number of the witness. He looked dumbfounded. “Maria Popescu was using one of the stolen passports.” He stared at Yves. “I remember seeing the witness in a patrol car being interviewed. She had long black hair, thick plastic glasses.”
“A disguise that included a wig,” Otto said. “I’m going to get Laura.”
* * *
Laura was about to knock on Maurice’s door when Otto opened it in front of her.
“Carina is the Ringmaster!” she blurted.
“I know,” Otto replied.
Laura stared at Otto. At the moment she didn’t care how Otto knew. Her thoughts were on what a psychopathic killer would do after being romantically betrayed.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Jack deflected Carina’s arm with his forearm and the bullet shattered a tile on the wall behind him. At the same time he delivered his fist with a knuckle twisting finish to her face, smashing out her upper teeth and breaking her nose.
Fuelled by adrenalin, the blow was powerful enough to hurtle Carina backward like a rag doll into Giuseppe. The pistol flew from her hand, deflected off Yakov, and clattered across the floor all the way to the sleeping area, where it slid under a bunk.
Yakov rushed to pick it up, while screaming for Wolfgang, Roche, and Anton to get out of his way.
Jack took the only exit available, leaping onto the toilet, shoving the window all the way open, and diving naked onto the snow-covered ground. He scrambled to his feet, slipping in the snow, then dove behind the bunkhouse where he could not be seen. He looked at the darkened forest looming a short distance in front of him. Darkness is my friend.
While the other men raced out the front door of the bunkhouse, Giuseppe sat Carina on the edge of a bunk and tipped her head back. He saw the gaping holes where her front teeth had been as blood poured from her broken nose and ran down the sides of her mouth.
“No,” she screamed, pushing him away. “I want him,” she spluttered as she got to her feet.
Outside, the sounds of yelling told them that Jack had made it into the forest.
“Don’t worry,” Giuseppe said as he followed Carina outside. “There is no place for him to go. I’ll get a flashlight.”
Moments later Giuseppe’s flashlight picked up Jack’s trail. It was easy to follow in the snow and revealed that he’d run to the chopping block before heading into the forest.
“He’s got the hatchet,” said Wolfgang.
“Yes,” Yakov concurred with a snicker, “but maybe he doesn’t know that you shouldn’t bring an axe to a gunfight.”
“You think this is funny, Yakov?” Carina snarled.
“No, I’m sorry. I only mean that he
will die. I have a pistol, and he has only —”
“Shh, listen,” Giuseppe said. “See if we can hear him. Please, everyone be quiet.”
The group stopped moving and stood silently at the edge of the forest.
* * *
In the forest Jack discovered that the ground around the base of some of the larger trees was bare of snow. His gut reaction told him to put as much distance as he could between himself and the people trying to kill him, but it was too dark to see. And twigs and branches, brittle from the cold, snapped too loudly for his location to go undetected.
He heard the voices of his pursuers and rather than run, he wondered about going on the offensive. Yakov has the pistol. If I can get it.… He circled back from the direction he came, trying to leap from one bare spot of ground to the next to hide his tracks, but skinned his ankle on a rock, leaving spots of blood, as well as footprints in various patches of snow. The people following him had quit talking and he knew they were listening.
Guess it’s now or never. He crouched behind a tree near the edge of the forest and waited. Soon he heard them talking again, in English, their words easily heard over the crisp mountain air. He had to grit his teeth to stop them from chattering, and his body was trembling. Fear or cold? Probably both.
A flashlight beam cut the darkness, following the tracks he’d left when he first entered the forest, but then the group stopped again and the flashlight danced around both sides of the tree he was hiding behind. He held his breath. Shit … steam from my body, wet from the shower … will they see it? The flashlight beam moved to another tree and he knew he’d been lucky this time.
“I … I think I need to sit down for a moment,” he heard Carina say in a shaky voice.
“I should get you to a doctor,” Giuseppe said. “There is one in Sant’Agata del Bianco.” Jack saw the flashlight beam skirt the trees again, then heard Giuseppe say, “It is foolish to try to find him in the dark. He could circle around or attack one of us from behind. We should wait until daybreak, which isn’t far off. There’s nowhere he can escape to, and he will be seen if he leaves the forest.”
“Are you sure?” asked Roche.
“Positive.” Giuseppe responded. “I will give you the rifles and the ammunition before I leave. If he comes out of the forest, he will be an easy target. I will also give you the keys to the quads. If he tries to run across the meadow, you can easily drive circles around him and shoot him whenever you felt like it.”
“I would enjoy that,” said Anton.
Jack heard Giuseppe address Carina again. “Let me take you to the doctor. We have time.”
“Okay, but I’m not staying there,” said Carina. “I want to be the one to put a bullet up his ass.” She paused. “Unlike Paris, a bullet to this bastard’s head would be too kind.”
You rotten bitch.
“Once you see the doctor, I will stop at my brother-in-law’s and get the dogs,” said Giuseppe. “If Jack hasn’t died of the cold, he will wish he had once the pit bull grabs him by his balls. Then you can do to him whatever you wish.”
Jack unconsciously squeezed his legs tight together. Maybe falling off a cliff into a rocky gorge would be a preferable way to die.
“Come.” Giuseppe urged. “If we leave now we will be back shortly after daybreak.”
Jack heard the group move away, but remained where he was for several minutes in case someone had stayed behind. The cold caused him to shake uncontrollably, and when he heard the truck start, he peeked around the tree. As Giuseppe and Carina drove away, he saw Wolfgang carrying the rifles into the kitchen, followed by Roche, Anton, and Yakov.
Jack stared at the bunkhouse. There wasn’t a lock on the door and the bathroom window was still open. He wondered about trying to sneak in to get his clothes. The light in the bathroom had been left on, as well as an outside light over the bunkhouse door. It could be risky.
However, he could see through the kitchen window that Wolfgang and Yakov were keeping vigil on the bunkhouse and could see the entrance, as well as the open bathroom window. Scratch that idea. He then focused his attention on the shed behind the kitchen. It was not visible to Wolfgang or Yakov.
Moments later he crept up to the back of the shed, then stayed close to the building as he made his way to the door, so that his footprints would not be so obvious. Once he reached the door, he glanced at the kitchen. A window overlooking the porch was open slightly and Roche and Anton were now making breakfast.
Jack opened the door to the shed. There were no windows and it was pitch-black inside. He hesitated, then decided that someone looking out from the bright light inside the kitchen may not see if the door to the shed was left cracked open, which he had to do if he were to see even a little.
He started to search the shed, just using his hands to feel. He felt along a workbench and found a toolbox. Inside was an assortment of screwdrivers, pliers, and some duct tape. He decided the hatchet he carried would make a better weapon than a screwdriver.
The duct tape. Do I wrap myself up like a mummy? Yeah, that ought to give them all a good laugh before they kill me. Not enough tape, regardless.
He continued his search, and any hope he had of finding an old pair of coveralls or boots vanished, but he did find a large burlap bag. He used the hatchet to tear holes in the bottom of the bag, then pulled it over his head like a sleeveless T-shirt that hung to his knees. Talk about being half in the bag.
Next he wrapped some of the tape around his feet. He was about to leave the shed when he stumbled into a shop vacuum cleaner. To him, the noise of the collision was like a bomb exploding, and he peeked out the door to see if he’d been heard. Roche was cracking eggs into a frying pan and had not looked up. The sound of the generators had drowned out the noise.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief, then a new plan formed in his mind. He unscrewed the hose from the vacuum cleaner. Taking it with him, as well as the hatchet and roll of duct tape, he crept onto the back porch, where he found the funnel Giuseppe had used to put gas into the generators.
The light from the kitchen window shone across the porch, but the area directly below the window was in shadow. He sat down and ripped off strips of duct tape to fasten the funnel to the hose. The cold had made his fingers feel like sticks of wood, as the blood in his limbs receded to protect his vital organs. He knew that hypothermia caused confusion in thinking and made for poor decision-making. Hope this plan isn’t a result of that.
He glanced at his feet, bound with tape. I can’t feel them. Did I wrap them too tight? How can I tell when I can’t feel them?
The door beside him burst open and Roche stepped onto the porch, barely an arm’s length away. Jack looked up at him and then at the hatchet he held between his knees. Can I grab it in time? I feel so numb… I can’t even feel it … what if it falls? The hose! He’s almost stepping on it!
“Can you smell this, Jack?” Roche yelled at the forest. “We’re having eggs and coffee!” He fanned the door a couple of times. “Sure is warm in here!” He laughed, then stepped back inside and closed the door.
Ten minutes later, mission accomplished, Jack crawled off the porch on his hands and knees, then stumbled back into the forest. Once there he got to a position where he could see Wolfgang and Yakov still sitting in the same spot, drinking coffee and eating while they watched the bunkhouse. Roche and Anton sat opposite each other at the adjacent table.
Jack glanced up at the sky and saw the sun briefly illuminate the top of a mountain peak before it clouded over.
How much time do I have? Will it be enough? Maybe I should try to do some exercises to stay warm. I feel so tired. Gotta stay on my feet or I will go to sleep … and never wake up.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Two hours had passed, during which Jack had mostly crouched behind some bushes in an effort to draw his legs inside the burlap bag for warmth. He kept an eye on the kitchen window, occasionally looking at the palm of his hand and then his knees. To stave off the cold,
he had tried jogging on the spot. He recalled falling against the rough bark of a tree and gouging himself. I’m not bleeding. I am invincible. Hypothermia causes difficulty and confusion in thinking. But I’m not bleeding — that’s gotta be good….
He looked at the kitchen again. Something’s different. It’s daylight now, but I knew that. There’s something else. One, two, three … Wolfgang isn’t there.
He automatically tried to grip the hatchet tighter, but could no longer feel his hand and had to look to ensure he was still holding the thing. He tried to flex his fingers one at a time, but they remained gripped on the handle. Bet I have to carry it around the rest of my life, which I guess won’t be all that long.
He saw Giuseppe’s truck arrive and park in front of the kitchen. Hey, Carina, how ya doin’? Did you get new teeth? Boars’ tusks might be good, instead of teeth. They’d suit you better.… Ha ha, real funny, Jack.
* * *
Giuseppe had barely come to a stop when Carina turned to him. “Give me your gun and let them loose,” she said, gesturing to the dogs in the rear. “I hope the pit bull’s hungry.”
Giuseppe handed her the pistol and said, “I’ve seen that dog in action. It can take down a wild boar without a problem. If Jack is still alive, he won’t be for long.” He then glanced at the kitchen and tapped his horn, before saying, “I’ll go to the bunkhouse and get some of Jack’s clothes to use as a scent before letting the dogs out. Today will be a day to remember.”
“A day I am looking forward to,” Carina said fiercely.
On getting out, Giuseppe swung his gaze toward the kitchen again, then gave Carina a puzzled look.
She returned it, furrowing her brow. “Go check,” she ordered, tightening her grip on the pistol.
A moment later Giuseppe opened the front door to the kitchen and looked inside.
* * *
In the forest, Jack stumbled forward. Okay, let the shit hit the fan while I get some real clothes before becoming an ice sculpture.
