Black Violet

by Alex Hyland

  French glanced at a closed door behind him – a steel-riveted panel painted white. He stepped over to it and pressed an intercom button.

  ‘They’re here,’ he said. ‘It’s secure.’

  He stepped away from the door, then smiled. As he raised his gun at us again, Tully shook his head at Ella.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘No one was meant to get hurt, Jon included. They wouldn’t listen to me.’

  But she wasn’t listening. She looked empty – lost – like the world had dissolved beneath her.

  Tully glanced at the gun in his hand, then sighed heavily. ‘Thirty years I’ve been fighting for the country, Ella. I’ve got nothing to show for it. It’s time you woke up to the reality of what we do. The world don’t give a shit.’

  He paused a moment as the locks in the white steel door began to grind open. Tiny red lights in its frame turning green.

  ‘They won’t hurt you,’ he said to her. ‘I’ve made sure of that.’

  He glanced uncomfortably at me for a moment. Whatever deal he’d made, it didn’t sound like I was included. Not that it made any difference to me now either way.

  The sickness in me as the door then opened. As Lizzie and Marcus stepped into the room.

  It felt like they were moving in slow motion. Marcus studying me – his dark, wide-set eyes, alien-like against his pale skin and swept-back hair. He calmly strolled around me – detached, like I was some exhibit at a gallery. I kept my eyes on him – tried to get some measure of him. Gray, tailor-made silk suit. Crisp white shirt, open at the collar. He might have carried himself with conservative elegance, but he was wearing a Hublot Black Caviar wristwatch. A million dollars worth of white gold and black diamonds, you don’t wear something like that unless you wanted to make an impact. As calm as he liked to appear, he was a showman. Vain motherfucker.

  The same couldn’t be said of Lizzie though. Still the pretty brown-eyed girl of her youth – petite nose and porcelain skin. But her hair was cut short like a boy’s now – shaved at the back, unevenly so. White cap-sleeved blouse. Tight, knee-length skirt. An air of functionality about her. The only real indication of any thought to her appearance were the heels that matched her black nail polish. She looked a graduate from Nazi secretarial college. And she was nervous. Not that we were here – just naturally so. Gently patting at her neck and jaw with the pads of her fingertips.

  Marcus smiled.

  ‘This...this is bold of you, Michael,’ he said. He shook his head to himself. ‘Hiding from a pickpocket. Unbelievable.’

  Lizzie perched herself on the corner of the desk and brushed the creases from her skirt.

  She sighed wearily at Tully. ‘You said they’d go to the port.’

  ‘We have them now,’ Tully replied. ‘That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t know them as well as you think,’ she said. ‘Where’s the necklace?’

  ‘You’re looking for an old DC-9. It’ll be at the island airport. A guy named Dillon.’

  I laughed bitterly at Tully. ‘Fuck you!’

  Marcus nodded to French, who then picked up the phone and started passing on the orders.

  ‘This Dillon, is he armed?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘He will be, but he’s no fighter,’ said Tully. ‘You won’t have any trouble with him.’

  Lizzie closed her eyes and gently rolled her head around her shoulders.

  ‘No more surprises,’ she said.

  Tully nodded. ‘There’s a back-up team on its way. They don’t need to get hurt, I’ll deal with them.’

  She threw him a look. ‘Back-up?’ she said. ‘Here?’

  ‘It didn’t need to be this way,’ he replied. ‘I told you, just leave them to it. I had it under control.’

  Marcus laughed to himself. ‘This must be some definition of control that I was previously unaware of.’

  I glanced upward as a soft thudding sound filled the room – the helicopter leaving for the island. As the sound swelled and disappeared above us, a clamor of rapid footsteps approached from down the hallway. Four heavily armed crew members entered the study – all white uniforms and black machine guns, like an Art Deco hit squad. As they stood behind Ella and me, Tully eyed me intently.

  ‘You said you figured out what the necklace means,’ he said.

  ‘Go to hell!’ I replied.

  Marcus took a step toward me. ‘You know what it means?’ he said. ‘That’s very good. Very good, Michael. Tell us. Why are we here?’

  The venom in me as I stared back at him.

  ‘We know it’s the passcode to the disk,’ he said. ‘We’ll figure it out soon enough, with or without you.’

  He opened a desk drawer and produced a blank DVD in a clear plastic case. The disk glinted in the light as he twisted it around in his fingers.

  ‘Do you know what’s on this, Michael?’ he said.

  ‘The launch codes to your personality? You soulless fucking dirt-bag.’

  He sighed to himself, then nodded to one of the crew behind me. Splitting pain as the butt of a gun caught the back of my head. I fell to the floor.

  ‘You really should learn to be nicer to people with guns,’ said Marcus.

  As I picked myself up to one knee, Lizzie beckoned for French to give her his pistol. He handed it to her – my heart racing as she then stepped toward Ella.

  Lizzie glanced at me. ‘Strong, are you?’

  She stopped in front of Ella, then gently brushed Ella’s hair away from her face with the tip of the pistol. Ella didn’t move – didn’t even look at her.

  ‘You care for her?’ Lizzie asked me.

  As she traced the tip of the gun across Ella’s cheek, Tully eyed her uneasily.

  ‘This wasn’t the deal,’ he said. ‘Ella don’t get hurt. I’ll get it out of him, don’t worry.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied.

  Lizzie kept her eyes on Ella for a moment, then stepped away.

  She nodded. ‘You’ve done well, Tully. I suppose we can forgive a few hiccups.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s under control.’

  She raised the pistol and shot Tully in the head – his blood spraying the study wall behind him. He collapsed to the floor, a thick crimson pool spreading across the glass. Lizzie eyed him distastefully for a moment, then glanced at one of the crew behind me.

  ‘Ask Riley to clean this up, please,’ she said. ‘Take the girl downstairs.’

  Two of the crew grabbed Ella and cuffed her hands behind her back. She stared lifelessly at me – holding my look as they dragged her out of the room.

  ‘Don’t tell them,’ she said. ‘No matter what.’

  She disappeared from view, and the dread gripped me cold.

  I gazed down at the floor. At the blood creeping across the glass. And Lizzie’s reflection in it.

  14

  It had been an hour since they’d taken Ella away. The longest hour I could remember. She wouldn’t talk, I knew that – she’d rather die than let Jon and Geary’s deaths have been for nothing. But I felt sick at the thought of what they might be doing to her. Knowing that the strength she’d need to stay quiet, I didn’t have.

  I knelt in a cabin in the lower decks, my hands tied behind my back. Plastic riot cuffs – no keys. The heat of my breath in the black sack that covered my head. I listened to the guards shuffling around behind me and tried to make out any sounds beyond them – conversations – anything.

  I went still as I heard the distant thud of the helicopter returning to the yacht. They had the necklace. It was just a matter of time now before they’d break me – before Ella and I would be disposed of. Jesus. I closed my eyes and prayed that Cooper’s team would get here. But whatever hope they offered felt hollow. The Bragers were expecting them now, and it was a sure bet that the yacht had enough weapons left to defend itself. Lizzie and Marcus certainly hadn’t sounded too worried by it.

  I held my breath as t
he door behind me clicked open. An indistinct conversation between two men. The door then closed, and I heard the sound of footsteps approaching me – two people. My heart raced as one of them stopped behind me – another one ahead. Silence for a moment, then the sack was lifted from my head.

  I blinked the sweat from my eyes. Lizzie was standing in front of me, a pistol in her hand. I stared intently at her – her silk blouse now stained with faint traces of blood.

  She eyed me curiously, then nodded to the crew member behind me. ‘You can leave,’ she said.

  As the guy headed out, I quickly glanced around the stark steel cabin. A heating duct in the ceiling. CCTV camera in the corner. A metal console desk that stretched across the wall ahead of me. Lizzie placed the pistol on the desk, then leaned herself against it.

  ‘Where’s Ella?’ I said.

  Lizzie opened her left hand – the necklace dangling from her fingertips as she held it in front of me.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ I said.

  She kept her eyes on the necklace.

  ‘It’s not pretty, is it?’ she said. ‘Sun pendant.’

  ‘If you’ve hurt her...’

  She glanced expectantly at me. ‘Yes?’

  I held her look. I’ve never so much as raised a hand to a woman in my life, but I’d have pushed her face first through a fucking cheese grater.

  She toyed with the pendant for a moment, then put it to one side.

  ‘Do you know anything about me?’ she said.

  I stayed quiet. Not that my silence meant anything – Lizzie’s veiled life was no secret, and she knew it. She folded her arms and gazed emptily into the distance for a moment.

  ‘Do you know what the girls in Oslo used to sing?’ she said.

  She laughed softly to herself. She then began to sing – a few lines of Norwegian. A childish tune like a nursery rhyme.

  She finished the rhyme, then glanced at me. ‘It means...call for your mothers and your fathers, Lizzie’s in the shadows.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t rhyme in English.’

  ‘Am I meant to feel sorry for you?’ I said. ‘I hope you fry on a tropical beach, you creepy fucking bitch. Shit, that nearly did rhyme, didn’t it?’

  She smiled – but she had to dig deep for it. An icy glint in her eyes.

  ‘I’m not telling you a thing,’ I said. ‘We’re dead anyhow. I couldn’t give a fuck.’

  ‘Not about you, maybe,’ she replied. ‘But Ella?’

  ‘Going to let her go, are you?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But there’s no pain in death. Only in life. It’s life that you should be scared of.’ She brushed her fingertips back and forth across her neck. ‘It’ll be much easier for her if you tell us.’

  ‘You killed my brother,’ I said. ‘You really think she’s that important to me? Go fuck yourself.’

  I eyed her intently and tried to keep the fire in me alive. But I was weakening – my words stronger than the heart behind them.

  She shook her head to herself.

  ‘You’re making a mistake,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well I’m all about that.’

  The door behind me swung open. Marcus strode across the cabin and stood in front of me. No jacket now – his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Beads of sweat on his brow. He stared bitterly at me for a moment, then leaned down and punched me in the stomach. I cramped over with the pain.

  ‘You shouldn’t talk to her like that,’ he said.

  I caught my breath, then stared back at him.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ I said. ‘Or is it sisterfucker, I get confused.’

  He stood bolt upright and kicked me in the face. I toppled to my side, the blood dripping from my mouth. I eyed him again and laughed.

  ‘How did your meeting with the Vice President go?’ I said.

  He glanced at me. There it was – the vaguest hint of concern in his eyes.

  I nodded. ‘A lot of people know what’s going on,’ I said. ‘Whatever happens, they’re going to come after you. Don’t think this is over.’

  He took a deep breath, then straightened out is hair. ‘I doubt that,’ he replied.

  ‘You met with the Vice President in San Francisco three days ago,’ I said. I recalled what Walt Travers had said and took a guess. ‘You discussed Fisher’s security company. The Vice President turned it into one of the largest in the country.’

  ‘He did,’ replied Marcus. ‘But that’s no secret. The question is why? Are you going to tell me that?’

  He eyed me a moment, then smiled at Lizzie.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘But you know what the necklace means. And you’re going to tell us now.’ He gestured to one of the guards by the door. ‘Bring him.’

  A guard stepped forward – a bald guy in his forties with the thick-armed charisma of a butcher. He hauled me to my feet and dragged me out of the cabin. Lizzie and Marcus followed as the guy led me down a dark, steel corridor in the depths of the yacht. I heard voices coming from a room at the far end of the corridor. A man, yelling. The fear rising in me as I gazed at the room’s faceless black door.

  ‘You know, your brother called out for you?’ Marcus said to me. ‘At the very end, he called out your name. I wonder who you’ll call out for.’

  Motherfucker. I turned and spat at him.

  He smiled, then plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

  I gazed back at the door. The man yelling on the other side – I recognized the voice. It was Dillon.

  The butcher opened the door and pulled me inside a large steel room lit by stained glass lanterns. Two metal gurneys sat in the middle of the floor. Each had arm rests that rose from the sides like laid down crucifixes. Dillon was lying on one of them, his wrists and ankles secured with leather straps. French was standing beside the gurney – an oxyacetylene torch and gas cylinder on a wheeled frame beside him.

  I froze as I stared at Ella lying on the floor by the far wall. Her hands were tied behind her back, the wound in her arm bleeding across the floor. A red-haired guy in a white boiler suit pulled her up to her knees. She gazed at me, ashen faced – weak.

  Dillon yelled out. ‘Michael, tell them! I don’t know anything, tell them!’

  As Dillon struggled against the gurney’s straps, Marcus shook his head.

  ‘I gave you a chance, Michael,’ he said. ‘You’ll talk now whether you want to or not.’

  Lizzie kept her eyes on me as she strolled over to the gurney.

  ‘Please!’ yelled Dillon.

  She gently stroked Dillon’s hair, hushing him.

  She then glanced at me. ‘Would you like to see what the sun does to me?’ she said. ‘How it feels?’

  She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. She stepped back from the gurney, and nodded for French to begin. French grabbed the frame holding the oxyacetylene torch, and wheeled it toward the gurney. He switched on the gas and ignited the torch. A roaring blue flame, he held it above Dillon’s face.

  Dillon gazed at me – tears in his eyes. ‘Please!’ he said.

  I couldn’t believe they were going to do this. I stared at Ella. She shook her head for me to stay silent.

  Dillon screamed again. ‘Please!’

  I closed my eyes. Fuck.

  ‘It’s in your power to stop this, Michael,’ said Marcus.

  As French lowered the torch toward Dillon’s eyes, Marcus stepped beside me. I tried to summon up what strength I had left, but it wasn’t enough. This was no way for anyone to die.

  Marcus studied me. Could see me fading – buckling in the glow of the flame, and the knowledge that they were going to do exactly the same thing to Ella.

  He raised his hand for French to wait.

  ‘Michael?’ he said.

  ‘No!’ Ella shouted.

  The red-haired guy clamped a hand around around Ella’s throat. As she struggled against the guy’s grip, Marcus stepped in front of me. He held up the necklace.

  ‘What does it mean?’ he said.<
br />
  I gazed at Ella, the strength in me dissolving.

  ‘I know,’ said Marcus. ‘She’s beautiful. Do you really want to experience her this way?’

  It was no use. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Jon wouldn’t have let them do this to her – not to Ella. They’d figure it out with or without us. There was no point to this suffering.

  The steel in me finally turned to sand and washed away.

  ‘It’s the weight of the diamond,’ I said. ‘The passcode to the disk, it’s the exact weight of the diamond.’

  I stared back at Ella. She closed her eyes like we’d just lost everything.

  Marcus stared at the pendant – the diamond glinting at its center. And he laughed to himself.

  ‘All the anagrams,’ he said. ‘All the languages. Historical references. The diamond. Yes. Of course.’ He flashed his eyes at Lizzie. ‘There. Simple.’

  He wrapped the necklace around his palm. ‘I’m going to find out what this is all about.’

  He headed for the door, then paused and glanced back at Lizzie. He spoke to her briefly in Norwegian. He waited for her to reply, but she stayed silent – didn’t even look at him. She just kept eyes fixed on the torch roaring above Dillon’s face. As Marcus opened the door, I gazed in horror at Lizzie. She wasn’t going to stop.

  I turned to Marcus. ‘Wait! I told you what you wanted!’

  ‘And I’m grateful,’ he replied. And he left the room.

  I gazed back at Lizzie, my blood pounding. I shook my head at her. ‘No..,’ I said.

  She eyed me for a moment, then shrugged plaintively. ‘It helps me,’ she said.

  As the red-haired guy took hold of Ella, the butcher grabbed me and held me to the spot. Lizzie stared back down at Dillon, then nodded for French to continue.

  Dillon shut his eyes. ‘Please! Don’t do this!’

  French lowered the torch toward Dillon’s eyes.

  I couldn’t watch.

  I closed my eyes, but my other senses weren’t so forgiving. Dillon’s cries tore through the air. The gurney rattling as he struggled against the straps. The smell of burning flesh drifting into my lungs. The sickness of it. The flame tearing through it all.

  I wanted it over. I wanted Dillon to die.

  His screams then faded into gasps. His fight against the gurney’s straps growing weaker until all I could hear was the thunder of the torch. The gentle sound of fluid dripping to the floor.