Khitarov, relieved to hear Burgess finally breathing more regularly, tried to figure out where they were. From the bumps in the road, the cleaner air and lack of traffic, he surmised they were somewhere in the countryside. Was that hay he could smell? After a few minutes, he gave up. His head throbbed and, now that the initial shock had begun to wear off, he was beginning to feel the pain from his injuries. Archie appeared to be still dazed. He could hear his breathing but he had remained silent.
“Hey, Archie, you okay?”
“No talking!” Their captor’s voice brooked no dissent. Archie, taking his cue from the tone, kept silent.
Khitarov allowed his mind to wander and, before long, he too lapsed into a daydream where he fantasized different ways to overcome their kidnappers, all the while knowing that any attempts would be more than futile. The smell of the hessian hood made him feel vaguely nauseous and he fought the rising threat of bile in his throat. The last thing he needed to do was vomit. He concentrated on keeping his breathing light and shallow in an effort to battle his fear and claustrophobia. He must have drifted off because it seemed like only an instant had passed when, suddenly, he was jolted awake as the van crunched over what sounded like a gravel driveway and finally came to a stop. His pulse rate increased as he heard the front doors slam and footsteps approach the back of the van.
CHAPTER 62
The superintendent did not know whether to be pleased or furious. The island was in an uproar over the sudden arrival of four Uyghur Chinese, former detainees from the notorious Guantanamo Bay Prison Camp. On the one hand, it played out on the front pages of the newspapers - not to mention all the international news broadcasts - serving nicely to deflect attention away from the murder investigation. On the other hand, as a police official responsible for the security of the island, it was a massive slap in the face from the Bermuda government. Bermuda, as a British dependent territory, was for the most part self-governing. Foreign affairs and domestic security, however, came under the purview of the British government, with the governor as its local representative. The United Kingdom was furious that the Bermuda government had entered into negotiations with the United States. The Bermuda government would argue that it had merely entered into ‘discussions’ with the United States and so the war of words would go on. It was effectively a fait accompli and speculation was rife as to the motives of the Premier and his cabinet for accepting the four men. There were calls for his resignation and demonstrations in front of the Cabinet Office. The Premier was unmoved, knowing that to stand firm was the best form of dealing with the issue. In his experience, Bermudians had short memories and he was gambling they would soon lose interest.
On a selfish level, the superintendent was relieved that the pressure to solve the local murders had eased somewhat - especially now that those best suited to deal with the cases were out of the country - and he allowed himself to relax a little, sensing that he now had some breathing space. One phone call from De Souza, however, soon put paid to that notion and sent him into a complete tailspin: Detective Inspector Burgess and Detective Sergeant Carmichael had both disappeared, their vehicle having been found in a ditch by the side of a Russian highway, the driver with nothing much left of his head. Detective Khitarov had also not reported for duty that morning. The superintendent felt the muscles tense in the back of his neck as his blood pressure soared in direct proportion to his mood taking a turn southwards. He crossed to his credenza and filled a large glass tumbler with ice from a silver-plated bucket and then water from one of the bottles. Sitting back at his desk, he drank the water like a dying man and then rolled the chilled glass across his forehead. Slumped in his chair, he looked the very picture of a beaten man.
Back at the station, Pamela, De Souza, Mrs. Ming and Skinner were in a state of shock. For once, none of them had much to say. What could they do? Pamela had been in touch with Jacintha and Burgess’s grandmother. Burgess had failed to call either of them at the assigned time nor had anyone heard from Archie. The description of the limousine and dead driver had shaken them all, yet they were determined to cling to the hope their friends and colleagues had escaped. Since there had been no further gruesome discoveries, there was always a chance they were still alive.
The superintendent asked his secretary to arrange a call to the lieutenant colonel in Moscow. When the Moscow police officer came on the phone, the conversation was stilted and conducted with a vocabulary better suited to a pair of four year olds, with the superintendent making the age-old mistake of shouting into the phone, forgetting that the lieutenant colonel was not deaf, merely foreign. The Russian did, however, manage to provide the superintendent with a few more details about the accident. There had been several witnesses who had heard gunfire and seen a grey van run the limousine off the road. The lieutenant colonel was unsure whether the limousine had been assailed by thieves wanting to steal the occupants’ casino winnings or whether there was something more sinister behind the attack. The superintendent asked if there could be a connection to the investigation and, of course, the lieutenant colonel could only say they could not rule that out. His Bermuda counterpart hung up the phone, more worried than ever. Thank God for all the problems with the Uyghurs! At least that gave him a little extra time to consult with the Police Communications Department and receive some advice as to how to handle this latest information with the local press. He wondered just how long it would be before that upstart, Johnny McCabe from ZBF, would be pounding on his door. Should he hold a press conference? What was it Burgess always said? “Wait until you have something concrete to report.” Well, all he had at the moment was speculation. Perhaps they would have something more positive in a couple of days. He would try and keep the hounds at bay with some sort of holding statement.
He pressed the intercom on his phone. “Elise, get me that man in the Police Communications Department, please.” Opening his top drawer, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin. His head was thumping and he did not like the pressure building in his body. All he needed now was to have a heart attack… or stroke. For God’s sake, Burgess, how could you do this to me? You and that bloody sergeant have botched everything up! Next he would have to call the commissioner and the governor. The thought made him angrier and meaner by the minute.
Nana sat next to the phone. Jacintha had given her a mild sedative with her herbal tea and her heart had stopped its erratic racing and finally settled down. She had never felt so frightened or helpless. Jacintha had gone downstairs to work on her computer from home. She needed to keep busy. She had also called the Moscow police department and received some disturbing information from one of the officers there, Pyotr, who spoke a little English. Using her credentials, he had given her a detailed report of the shooting and the murder of the driver. It appeared the limousine had been deliberately pushed off the road. Should she get on a plane and fly out? She did not want to leave Nana but she hated being so removed from everything. What should she do? Maybe Buddy would call. Her mind kept darting from one thought to another and she found it impossible to concentrate on anything. She had kept the worst from Nana, who knew there had been some sort of accident, perhaps a kidnapping. Oh God, I hope those horrible Mafia Vory are not involved. Why would they want to hurt Buddy and Archie? Perhaps they only wanted information from them. Yes, that’s it. They only need to know more about the investigation here. She found herself holding on to this thought as if her life depended on it.
CHAPTER 63
The smell was what hit Burgess first. He was in complete blackness, yet the room was cool, musty smelling, with something else in the air he could not identify. He heard a whirring sound, as if from some sort of air-conditioning system. He automatically patted his pocket for his inhaler, relieved to find it still there. His eyes constantly tried to adjust to the lack of light, tricking him into believing that he was seeing things. He wondered where he was and, more importantly, where were the others?
He called out tentatively, “Archie? Khitarov?”
Silence. He tried to fight a sense of rising panic. You’re a professional. You need to keep calm and figure things out. The trouble was that, since going off the road, he had been floating in and out of consciousness. Had he hit his head during the accident? His head throbbed and his neck ached. He sat with his back against the cool stone wall, not feeling well enough to stand and gauge the size of his prison. Was that a noise outside? A blinding light seared his eyes. Someone had turned on the lights from a switch outside.
He shielded his eyes until they could adjust, surprised at how painful it was. A key turned in a lock opposite him. Blinking like a mole, he dared to look towards the sound as the door swung inwards and both Khitarov and Archie were shoved roughly inside.
Khitarov was cradling a useless arm and sported an ugly gash above his left eye. Of all three, Archie appeared to have come through the ordeal with the least amount of trauma. The door slammed behind them and they waited for the light to go out but, mercifully, it remained on. Had they forgot to turn it off or were they now observing them? Burgess realized he was either totally paranoid or no longer the naïve police officer of old. He now understood that what he had always taken to be the stuff of Hollywood action movies actually did take place in real life. Venturing a quick look around, he observed they were in a basement serving as a wine cellar. Rack upon rack of bottles lined the walls and another rack running down the middle formed two aisles. Not bad for a prison. Jacintha would tell him he had gone to heaven. His heart sank as he thought of her back home, together with Nana, both wondering what had happened to him.
Archie slumped on the floor beside Burgess. “Hey bro’. Wassup?”
“Feelin’ a little under the weather but sure glad to see you and Kit. Hey, Khitarov, what happened to the arm?”
The burly Russian remained standing. “I think it came out of shoulder. My jacket ruined.” Khitarov seemed more upset about his dinner jacket than his injury.
“Oh, you mean you’ve dislocated it?” Burgess exchanged glances with Archie. “I bet Archie here can fix that for you.”
The delight reflected on Khitarov’s face would have warmed the coldest heart. “You can do that for me?”
Archie stood up slowly. “I’ll sure try but it’s probably going to hurt.”
“I don’t care. I just want to use it again. Right now, it’s useless. I do not dare to sit down as I can’t help myself to get back up. I want to punch that Vor.”
Burgess suppressed a smile. “Steady on there, Kit. Let’s get you better before you start provoking the Vory. What were they doing with you anyway?”
“Asking questions. They obviously viewing DVDs. Wanted to know where police will put Alexeev. I told them I did not know.”
“Yeah,” agreed Archie. “There were three of them, with one helluva collection of tattoos. I think this is the home of the big boss. He looks more like a businessman than a Mafioso don; not that I know what a true Mafioso don looks like, but the others were sure respectful towards him. The tall, heavyset one, I’m certain, is the guy who was in Bermuda and the other younger one seems to have some sort of a problem with his knees.”
“His tattoos are new.” Khitarov’s baritone was matter of fact.
Archie and Burgess both looked at him quizzically.
“What do you mean, bro’?” Archie was intrigued.
“He must have made captain and now has new stars on his knees. It means he bows to no one. He can’t bow right now anyway. His trousers rub them and they hurt. Every time he sit down, he adjust trousers over knees.”
“Oh, that explains it.” Archie did not look particularly relieved to hear this latest information. “You should have seen them, Buddy. The head honcho just sat in his armchair, calmly smoking a cigar and grilling Khitarov.” Archie deliberately did not mention to Burgess that, while observing the responses of their rumpled Russian friend with his mane of shaggy hair, the impression of a standoff between a lion and a rattlesnake had taken root in his mind. The scene had chilled him to the core. Never had he felt such evil gathered in one place or feared so much for his life and that of his colleagues. He was under no illusion that, to these people, they were totally expendable.
“Archie, why don’t you help Khitarov with his arm?”
“Sure, Buddy. Kit, come over here and stand in front of me.”
Khitarov obliged and Archie prodded the injury.
“The good news is it’s an anterior dislocation. Your shoulder joint has come out to the front of your body. That’s one I can help you with. The bad news is that it’s going to hurt like hell. I hope I can get it back in place the first time. Are you ready for this?”
Grimacing, Khitarov nodded. Archie helped Khitarov place his injured arm across his chest with the elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle.
“Make a fist, take a deep breath and exhale,” he ordered.
As the Russian complied, Archie rotated the arm and shoulder outward, whilst keeping the upper arm stationary and, as gently as he could, attempted to coax the shoulder back into its joint. Sweat beaded Khitarov’s upper lip and forehead and his face reddened as Archie worked. When it eventually slotted back into place, Khitarov immediately felt a wave of relief as sorely overstretched muscles and ligaments realigned themselves. Wiping the perspiration from his face with the back of his good hand, he took another deep breath, exhaled loudly and grinned from ear to ear.
“Archie, my friend, you are genius. Thank you. I would hug you but is still too painful!” He gingerly moved his arm and winced, suddenly realizing this was not something that was going to be a quick fix.
Archie was all business. “Now we need to make a sling out of something. You should keep the arm in an L-shape against your chest. No chance of taking out any Vory until it’s healed… Pity we don’t have any painkillers.”
“What do you mean, we don’t have any painkillers?” Burgess smiled conspiratorially. “Just look around you, we’re surrounded by wine, the best opiate in the world.”
“You’re right, bro’.” Archie grinned back at him and took a look around the basement. Towards the back, partially hidden by the racks of wine, he found an old chest of drawers. In it were tea towels, an assortment of corkscrews and other bric-a-brac.
“Yeehaw,” he shouted back to them. “We’ve got everything: bandages, painkillers and weapons!” He then came back with a tea towel, bottle of wine and three vicious-looking corkscrews.
With elaborate ceremony, he bowed and presented them each with a corkscrew. “It may not be much but it’s all we have.”
“Thanks. Who do you think I am, Archie? MacGyver? This is going to be as much use as an ashtray on a bicycle.” In spite of their situation, Burgess managed a chuckle.
“Hell, no, Buddy. We’re just like the A-Team. We’ll now fashion some fancy surface-to-air missile out of a tea towel, corkscrew and bottle of wine.”
Khitarov was totally bemused. “What are you two talking about?”
“Just discussing old TV shows.” Archie noticed Khitarov’s colour had returned to his face. Clearly, the release from pain was acting like a tonic on the man. He took the tea towel and made it into a sling, ensuring the arm was secured in the correct position. “That’ll keep you out of mischief for a while.”
“What about the bottles?” Burgess had finally managed to stand without feeling dizzy and was surveying wine racks, albeit a little unsteadily. “This guy sure likes French wines. There’re dozens from Bordeaux. He’s got loads from a place called Chateau du Seuil. There’re some fancy-looking Heritage ones from 1995 that should be pretty good.”
Khitarov wielded his corkscrew in his good hand. “Let’s get going then. I don’t like pain.”
With that, the Russian passed a bottle over to Archie, who began to gently uncork it. He made a great pretence of smelling the cork and then the bouquet from the neck of the bottle. “Shouldn’t we let it breathe first?”
Burgess was becoming just a touch impatient. “C’mon, Arch. Only you could
be imprisoned by a bunch of Russian mafiosi and decide we need to wait for the wine to breathe.”
Archie passed the bottle around and they all took generous sips.
“Go on, Khitarov, you need to get some of this into you,” Burgess urged him on.
“In that case, I need whole bottle. This very, very good.”
Archie went over to another rack and pulled out a second bottle. “Buddy, you and I can share this one.” He uncorked it and passed it to his friend.
“Kit’s right, Archie, this wine is unbelievably good. I only wish I had a nice steak and baked potato to go with it. Here, try some.”
“Wow! You know me, Buddy, I’m a Mount Gay rum kinda guy but this has to be the silkiest wine I’ve ever tried. Pity about the circumstances. We’d better enjoy it, it may be our last!”
The approach of footsteps quickly silenced their banter.
CHAPTER 64
Archie positioned himself beside the door, both arms raised like a Major League batter, ready to attack with an unopened bottle of Chateau du Seuil. As the door opened, a figure stood on the threshold and Khitarov suddenly shouted, “Stop!”
Archie slowly lowered his weapon in complete bewilderment. The younger of the two Vory thugs then stepped furtively into the basement and closed the door carefully behind him. Speaking in rapid-fire Russian to Khitarov, the two Bermuda detectives could only sense the urgency from the tone of the conversation. Khitarov and the young Vor appeared at ease with each other and the two detectives were astounded even further when their captor handed over to the police officer a set of car keys, several DVDs, together with the now bloodstained wad of dollars Khitarov had liberated from the casino.
Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series) Page 20
