by Lee McGeorge
“I don’t know.”
The camera flashed.
The suit stepped back and pointed his blade at the baby. “I swear,” he panted, “I’m going to kill your kid unless you tell me where he is right now.”
“I don’t know,” she screeched. “Nobody knows where he is.” The camera flashed again.
The knife was lowered. The Suit seemingly getting the message, seeming to understand that she would have given Paul up in a heartbeat for the sake of Alina. His stance softened, his muscles relaxed and he put his hands on his hips and looked about the room. It was trashed, there were bloody handprints on the walls.
The sound of running water could still be heard from the bathroom. Alina began to cry with a different sound. It was the cry for attention, the sound when she wanted to be picked up.
“It’s alright Alina. Mummy is alright,” she said in Romanian. She was half naked, her nose broken, dripping with blood and in the clutches of a masked man. “Don’t cry, baby. Mummy is fine.”
The Suit rubbed at his brow, lamented a few words then folded the knife and took his gun from his belt and pointed it into Ildico’s face.
This is it, Ildico thought. This is where I die.
The camera flashed. Then the gun was pushed into her mouth
It tasted like dirty coins.
I’m going to die… I’m going to die.
The camera flashed… it flashed again... once more… then the gun was withdrawn. The men spoke in their foreign language, a moment’s discussion before the gunman waved a hand and Ildico was released. She grabbed Alina and scurried to the corner to curl in a ball, shielding the child with her back.
----- X -----
Miklos emptied the magazine and bullets from the policewoman’s pistol and left her gun on the kitchen table along with her belt and its law enforcement accoutrements. He threw the bullets into the snow. He would not be guilty of stealing a police officer’s gun.
Loro handed Miklos the camera before unzipping his coat and allowing Ludovik to clasp his hands to the bullet wound through his shoulder. Miklos flicked through the images of a bloody, half naked Ildico screaming and crying. The picture with the gun in her mouth was the money shot. Her eyes were wide circles in a face painted red.
“How bad?” Miklos asked Loro of his shoulder.
“I’ve had worse… I left a lot of DNA back there.”
“I know.” Miklos replied. “We’ll get you patched in the van and get you out of this shithole country.”
Miklos opened the van and both he and Ludovik helped Loro into one of the jump seats. Ludovik went straight for the first aid kit. Agron looked behind him to see his friend bleeding all over the seats. Miklos closed the door and reached into Loro’s coat to put pressure on the wound whilst Ludovik prepared a dressing. “Get us back to Brasov, Agron… Nice and easy.”
The van rumbled its engine and drove calmly away.
“Are you alright, brother?” Agron said over his shoulder.
Loro winced, unable to mask his pain. “I’ll survive.”
Agron reached one hand back and felt through the air until Loro grabbed his hand and the two men locked fingers. Headlights threw up ahead of them, dazzling, almost blinding as a car powered past at a stupid speed in the opposite direction. Agron yanked his hand back to the wheel and managed to avoid collision by a fraction of a second. “Handikapat!” he lamented.
----- X -----
“That’s them!” Ciprian yelled.
Cornel had already ducked in the seat to hide. They passed. Cornel peered over the lip of the door frame to watch the van in the wing mirror as it receded to invisibility.
“What do we do?” Ciprian asked. “Do we follow them? Do you think they have her?”
“Where’s the house? We can track the van, but let’s check the house first.”
Ciprian braked hard making the wheels lock and slide across the snow. The car halted. “It’s that one,” he said pointing.
Cornel was out of the car, his gun in his hand running to the house without waiting to form a strategy or discuss with Ciprian. He’d seen the Albanians leave; that was all he needed to know.
The door was at the side of the building. It was open. He went in swinging the gun ahead of him. The lights were on. An empty bedroom, a kitchen… there was a gun on the table. Running water into an overflowing bathtub.
He heard sobbing from behind a door and moved to the living room, still leading with the gun despite seeing the bad men driving away.
What the hell?
It was carnage. Ildico Popescu was stripped to the waist and drenched in blood, the baby in her arms equally covered. There was upturned furniture, books strewn from a bookcase, blood splashed up the walls. Another woman was laid on her front unmoving, her hands cuffed, an armchair tipped on its side.
What the hell had they done?
Ciprain entered the room. “Ildico! My God, Ildico.” He knelt beside her and put a hand to her shoulder and examined her face. Bleeding from a wound to her head. Ciprian pressed his hand against it. “Check her,” he said to Cornel as he motioned the unconscious woman.
It was a sight Cornel had fantasised, something he had dreamed of seeing. McGovern’s woman on her knees, bloody and in pain, crying and tormented. It had been a cornerstone of his imaginary proxy war. He’d wanted to see her like this so badly there were times when he could almost taste it.
It was horrible.
Be careful what you wish for.
Cornel leaned down to try and roll the unconscious police woman. Behind him he heard Ildico speak to Ciprian. “You said I would be safe,” she sobbed. “You know nothing.”
----- X -----
Cornel’s eyes were drooping. His head fell forward in sleep and the jarring action woke him up. He stood, stretched his arms above his head and rubbed his eyes. Ciprian had passed out on the chair with his legs splayed open and his head to one side.
Ildico was resting in the private hospital room beside them; the baby by her side. She needed four stitches to her scalp and her nose was broken. The cut to her scalp was superficial but it had bled like crazy. The doctors said she could go home but Cornel and Ciprian insisted she stay the night; firstly to ensure she was safe, secondly because they had no home to put her in and thirdly they didn’t dare leave until the responsibility of care was offloaded onto someone else.
Ciprian stirred in the chair. “What time is it?”
“Almost Seven.”
“In the morning?”
Cornel nodded. “We shouldn’t tell anyone about the tracker. I don’t want them arrested yet.”
Ciprian blinked away cobwebs. “Are you kidding? After what they did?” He climbed out of the chair to look through the window of Ildico’s room. “Is she asleep?”
“She’s resting... I can’t stop thinking about what she said of them taking photographs.”
Ciprian shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense to me either. It goes against what you say of them being cautious, of leaving minimal evidence. Why do it? It’s an outrageous crime, it’s visible. They must know that we’re going to arrest them now.”
“I think it’s theatre,” Cornel said. “They’ve got a line onto McGovern and they’re about to test him with photographs of his true love covered in blood.”
“Do you think that will make him mad?”
“I think he’ll go off like a fucking atom bomb. They’re going to try and push him somehow. They’re probably going to make threats. It might work, he might take the bait… I want to see what happens. I don’t want them arrested until after they try and contact him. I want to see if they can succeed.”
“If they think she’s so important, why not kidnap her, offer her as an exchange?”
“I don’t think we can know what they’re thinking. But again, it’s that caution I told you about. On the surface they seem to be doing really bad things, but what did they do? Trespass in a home, violence against a police officer, violence against the person; it�
�s very aggressive but how long would they serve in prison?
“A couple of years. It has to be for this.”
“Maybe… but they seem to know where the red lines are. They must think or assume we’re watching and yet they still did this. They’ve walked right into a police safe house to do this… They just seem to know things… I mean, how the hell did they end up at the safe house to begin with? How could they know about it?”
Ciprian leaned against the wall. “Oh fuck, I didn’t even think of that… it’s got to be an informant. Someone inside feeding them information. Jesus, we can’t even trust the… oh fuck… oh really, fuck, fuck, fuck… how the hell do we protect her? Who do we trust?”
“That’s why I don’t want to tell anyone about the tracker. The Albanians are going to try and flush out McGovern and I want to see if they can succeed.”
Ciprian was quiet for a minute, then said, “If we don’t mention the tracker, how do we explain going to Dumbravita ourselves?”
“We were following them. We had them under surveillance. Lost them around Codlea, realised they could be heading to Dumbravita and called for backup… Are you prepared to lie to your boss?”
“Not really.”
Cornel shook his head. “Look, If anyone asks how we knew the Albanians were in Dumbravita, just change the subject and demand to know how the Albanians knew to go there.”
----- X -----
At nine in the morning Cornel’s telephone rang. “Are you still trying to be a civilian hero?” It was Lupescu.
“Strange things are happening, Ion. Troubling things. I told you to put the Popescu girl out of harm’s way yet the Albanians found her. How did that happen?”
“That was my first question too. Is Cojacaru with you?”
“He is.”
“Put him on.”
Cornel handed the phone to Ciprian. “It’s Lupescu, for you.”
The young policeman sat erect as he listened to what Lupescu was saying. “I’m not sure,” Ciprian said whilst looking straight at Cornel. I’ll talk to the doctors and see if she can be moved… uh huh… uh… mmm, yes Sir. I understand… I will Sir. Yes Sir. Goodbye.”
He handed the phone back.
“What does he want?” Cornel asked.
“He’s sending transport. He wants the family Popescu and the two of us over to the station.” He sighed and raised a hand to his furrowed brow. “I get the feeling I’m in trouble.”
----- X -----
“Corneliu, oh my goodness, Corneliu it’s good to see you.” Two hands reached for a clasped handshake. Manicured nails, a beautiful shirt, tie and suit. Impeccable hair. Lucian Noica was perfection. He was waiting in Lupescu’s office.
“Hello, Lucian.” Cornel shook hands tiredly and took a seat. Weariness flushed through him the moment he sat.
“The British are all over the McGovern leads you turned up. Have you spoken with them?”
“With who?” Cornel rubbed at his eyes.
“Scotland Yard. Have you spoken with Scotland Yard?”
He shook his head to say no. Behind them Lupescu and Ciprian entered the office. Ciprian walked with confidence. His back straight, his stride long.
“We need to take a statement from you,” Lupescu said to Cornel without any formal greeting. “But before that, just give me the quick version of what happened.”
“From where?”
“From how you ended up in Dumbravita.”
Cornel and Ciprian looked to one another. “Maybe I should answer that,” Ciprian said. “I had the Albanian’s under surveillance on my own time. Then last night they suddenly took off and headed West. I picked up Cornel and we followed. We lost them around Codlea and I realised they could be heading for Dumbravita, so we went to check it out just to be safe.”
Lupescu stared beady eyed at the young officer, shaking his head as though in disagreement. It was like he didn’t believe the story, but wanted to believe. “Fortuitous,” he said.
“Look, the question isn’t how we got to Dumbravita,” Cornel said, “it’s how the Albanians got there? That girl was supposed to be in safety but they found her. They discovered that McGovern bought a property here in Brasov and they went to her home in the early hours. I was with them. Popescu wasn’t there and they didn’t know where she was or even where to start looking, but somehow, within, what... twenty hours? In less than a day they had her precise location in a police safe house.” Cornel threw up his hands. “How is that possible? Who knew where she was?”
“Not many, it’s a short list. I was about to issue an arrest warrant and was looking forward to asking them in person how they found her, but Cojacaru thinks we should wait.”
Cornel nodded, “Yes. I agree... They’re close. They’ve turned up more information on McGovern in one day than the rest of us have in two years and I think they’ve got a plan to flush him out.”
“What plan?” Noica asked.
“The attack on Popescu had only one purpose; to take photographs. They’re shocking pictures. They stripped the girl half naked, cut her scalp to cover her in blood and put a gun in her mouth just to take a photo… Extreme behaviour... And they’ve got McGovern’s email address.”
Noica sat up straight and touched his fingertips to his temples. “Oh my goodness. They’re going to try and enrage him.”
Cornel nodded. “He has an obsession with Popescu.” To Lupescu he asked, “Do you know about his tattoo?”
“No?”
“Sublimation.” Noica took up the story. “When McGovern’s home was discovered in London we found his notes and a peculiar repetition of the word ‘sublimation’. It means to redirect bad thoughts and feelings and channel them towards something positive. Throughout his notes he had written the phrase, ‘Sublimation for Ildico.’ Whilst McGovern was still in the news, a London tattoo artist called the police saying a man fitting his description had the word ‘sublimation’ inked on his left inner forearm. The tattooist took a photograph of it. There was never any definitive link but the circumstances make it ninety nine percent it was him.”
“So he’s got a tattoo, so what?”
“He’s trying to get better,” Noica said. “In psychology we call this Metanoia, it’s where the psyche faces unbearable strain and breaks down, then tries to rebuild itself in a more adaptive way; but the rebuilding, the healing, needs to have something at its core, some kind of idea or value upon which to build. I believe McGovern has chosen this girl and he has had a reminder of his agenda tattooed on his arm.”
“He murdered Albanian gangsters,” Cornel added. “He ambushed and massacred them to steal their money and he did that so he could buy this girl a new home. She is his reason to be and I don’t think he’s going to sit still if he sees pictures of her covered in blood.”
Lupescu leaned back in his chair and took his eyes away from the conversation, visibly removing himself, going into thought. “They have attacked a police woman,” he said. “I can’t do nothing. I can’t not pick them up for this.”
“You can only pick them up if you can find them,” Cornel said. “Even if you have a statement from the victims, how are you supposed to identify who did it? I haven’t yet told you where to find them and neither has Ciprian. The only people who know who perpetrated the crime are the four of us in this room. We can sit on it, Ion. You have a choice, you can arrest them now for giving a policewoman a bash on the head, or you can give them some time and let them flush out a serial killer.”
“How much time?”
Cornel shrugged. “I think we have to play it by ear and see what develops… In the meantime, we need to decide what we do with Popescu? Where do we put her? How do we keep her safe? The obvious place is state protection but that is...”
“...Untrustworthy,” Lupescu interrupted.
“I’m thinking,” Cornel continued, “that perhaps you can take her, Lucian. Take her to your institute.”
Noica shuffled in his chair uneasily. “I can’t, I couldn’t
take her, I’m… I’m not police, or… or…”
“This girl needs a place to stay and the Albanians found her when she was cared for by this very station. I guarantee you that state protection is unreliable at best. You’re not even on any maps, Lucian… and the only people who would know where she would be are the four people in this room… You’ve got a nursing staff who live in, right? You have accommodation?”
Noica went quiet. He didn’t agree to take her, but he didn’t disagree. An uncomfortable silence descended as they waited for him to speak.
“Look, take her for a few days at least. Give us a chance to find her somewhere safe. Can you do that… I know you can, but will you? Will you help?”
Noica rubbed at his chin, then his ear, then shuffled his weight in the chair. He didn’t answer, but as each second ticked by his possible list of excuses drew thinner until he had nothing else to ponder. “Yes,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll take her.”
PART IV
TWO WEEKS LATER
North of Bran, unseen to almost all, were the ruins of a deserted town. The buildings were derelict, broken hovels of stonework with dilapidated rooftops. There were a few small apartment blocks of three and four stories, stripped of their window frames and doors to render them uninhabitable. Then the buildings became piles of rubble from professional demolition. Piles of stones, now snow covered to turn the crushed masonry into rolling snowdrifts
It would be a place of desolate wilderness had there not been a cleared road through the town. A road that went from one area of nothing, to a more remote area of nothing. If you followed the road to its end you would find a building amongst the crook of a mountain ridge. It was well maintained, secretive, with blackened windows and imposing concrete. There was a car park under security cameras, but other than a handful of cars there was nothing to suggest there was anybody there.
