by Mark McKay
‘Someone’s home,’ said Max. He brought the car to a halt. ‘Right, show time.’
They got out and walked up to the front door. But before Max could knock, the door opened. A woman stood in the doorway, looking at them with polite curiosity.
‘Guten Tag,’ she said, then froze. Her face was a study in shock.
‘Marielle, it’s Max. Sorry to drop in unannounced like this…’
Marielle Bach was now in her mid-forties. She wore no make-up. Her black hair was scraped back off her forehead and tied into a ponytail. Apart from a few crow’s feet around the brilliant blue eyes, her well-formed face was virtually unlined. Nick thought she was an absolute beauty.
‘Max, is it you?’ They stared at each other. Nick was invisible. Then Marielle’s expression changed, suddenly furious. ‘You bastard. How dare you come here!’ Suddenly she was crying. Nick could see that Max was almost as upset as she was.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Nick.’
Marielle looked slightly confused, but recovered herself.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sorry, just the shock… What do you want, Max?’
‘Just to talk. It’s important.’
She deliberated for a second or two. ‘You’d better come in.’
They went inside. The living room was clean and minimal; a big room with a dining table in one corner and a big picture window looking towards the sea. There were colourful woven rugs on the floor, and two large and comfortable-looking sofas dominated the rest of the space. The room had lots of oil paintings on the walls, mostly unframed. They were landscapes; sea views and fields. Portraits of two young women hung each side of the fireplace.
‘They’re mine,’ said Marielle when she noticed Nick’s wandering gaze. ‘I have a studio out the back. On any other day you’d have found me with paint in my hair.’
Max was also absorbed in the paintings, especially one of the young women.
‘This is Liesa,’ he said.
‘Yes, Max. From memory and a few photos. I don’t forget her.’
‘Who’s the other girl?’ asked Nick.
‘That’s Louisa. My daughter. She’s not here at the moment.’
‘You look wonderful,’ said Max.
Marielle gave him a long look, then a sad smile. ‘Thank you. You look fine, too. Something to drink?’
‘Something strong, if you have it.’
‘Not for me,’ said Nick. ‘In fact, I’ll leave you two to reminisce. Can I get to the beach from here?’
‘At the end of the road there’s a path. It’s a ten-minute walk. Who are you, by the way?’
‘I’m his associate. He’ll explain.’
Nick found the beach. It was deserted, and he took his shoes and socks off. The sand was white and soft, it felt good under his feet. He walked for a while, doing a little reminiscing of his own. He thought about Lauren and wondered if the guilt he still carried about her death would ever completely leave him. She had made him face up to himself, and he’d been so close to abandoning his reservations about fatherhood and starting a family with her. His own family had been more than a little dysfunctional; a father who was only around between visits to the pub and a neurotic mother who made sure she never missed an opportunity to blame Nick for the accidental death of his younger brother. Given the fact that Martin had stormed off after a drunken argument with Nick and killed himself in a motorcycle crash, perhaps she had a case. Whether she did or not, it had driven a wedge between them which had remained firmly in place ever since.
He pondered his new found feelings for Kamiko. She was still a mystery; he knew nothing of what had brought her into the agency he worked for. Or why she’d ended up in India as his babysitter. Discovering her was a bit like creating a sculpture - chipping away at a block of stone until the form underneath finally revealed itself.
He walked for half an hour. There was a slight breeze fanning the beach, which served to temper the heat of the sun a little. The heat was glorious. Not the searing heat of India, just a softer and kinder European heat. He put everything else out of his mind and let himself become absorbed into the landscape. After a while he thought that Max must have confessed all to Marielle and that it was time to get back. He retraced his footsteps.
Marielle was busy in the kitchen when he arrived. Max was staring out the window, lost in thought. He turned when he heard Nick come in.
‘We’re staying for dinner,’ he said.
‘You told her about Liesa, then?’
‘Didn’t need to. She knew already. It was her who took the tape.’
Nick felt a mixture of relief and concern. It seemed they’d solved part of the mystery, at least.
‘So fill in the blanks for me. Why has it surfaced now? Why not 20 years ago?’
Marielle came in. ‘I’ll let her tell you,’ said Max.
They all sat down. Marielle had seemingly told Max most of this already, but she seemed willing enough to repeat it for Nick’s benefit.
‘I was scared,’ she said. ‘A while after we began to work for Max, I wondered why he was asking us to seduce these particular men. I asked Paula about it several times and eventually she told me he was doing it for reasons that didn’t concern me. But she did say we were being filmed. And if I didn’t like that I should stop. But I didn’t.’
She took a large slug of what looked like a freshly mixed gin and tonic.
‘I discovered Liesa’s body. I didn’t know what to do at first. I was upset and I couldn’t think straight. If I had rung the police, there would have been problems for me and for Paula. I thought she must have been filmed and I already knew the best place in the room for a camera. I was right. I forced open the panel and took the tape.’
‘But you didn’t give it to the police?’
‘I panicked at first. I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been there. I did nothing for a few days. I expected to hear something about the murder, but it wasn’t on the news. Paula didn’t call to tell me anything. Then Liesa just disappeared. That’s when I stopped trusting Max.’
‘So you just sat on it, all this time?’
‘Liesa was in that apartment, dead. But Max seemed unaware of that fact. Then he said he didn’t need to use either of us anymore. I knew he must have helped get her body out. I thought about taking the tape to the authorities and then I thought I might disappear, too. That’s when I broke it off with him.’
‘Has he explained to you why he did what he did?’
‘Yes. Paula told me much later on that he worked for British Intelligence. It only made me more afraid, back then. I’ve had this evidence for so long and I’m ashamed of myself. That I never had the courage to do anything with it.’
‘Well, as I’m sure Max has told you, someone else seems to know about it, now.’
Marielle finished her drink. ‘Yes, because I told him about it.’
‘What! Who?’
‘The man on the tape - Yulian Dubrovsky. Not literally told him,’ she hurriedly added. ‘I sent him an anonymous letter.’
‘Dubrovsky,’ muttered Nick. ‘Our Russian politician. My god.’
Max had alternated between grim and shame-faced while Marielle talked. ‘And of course he thought it was me who’d sent the letter. So he sent those two goons to Kos, to find out more.’
‘I’ll have a drink now, if you don’t mind,’ said Nick. ‘Max, can you organise it? Whatever Marielle just had.’
‘Make me another one, please,’ said Marielle.
Max went to do as requested. Nick got up and began pacing the room.
‘Why send Dubrovsky a letter? And what did you say?’
‘Because he is a man who has influence in Russia. I told him I knew he’d murdered Liesa and I had a tape to prove it. I offered to trade it for my daughter.’
‘I don’t understand, your daughter?’
‘Yes. Louisa is in jail in Siberia. She was very stupid and she was sentenced to fifteen years hard labour. She will die in that place. I want him
to get her out.’
When Max returned with the drinks, Marielle elaborated. She had actually asked for the release of a group of young women. Two were Russian, one was English, and the other was Louisa, from Germany.
‘Louisa was studying politics at university. She met the other girls there. They went to Moscow three months ago, to join a feminist activist group. To protest in public places and post the videos on the internet. When I pointed out that other women in that group had been arrested and gone to prison, it didn’t matter. She went anyway.’
The girls had been spray-painting the walls of the Kremlin with anti-dictatorship slogans and performing a song they’d written, when they were arrested. They were charged with ‘Anti-government activities’. Given the history of the group, the Russian authorities’ patience had worn thin. They decided to make an example of them. The four girls got fifteen years each in the gulag.
‘And it doesn’t matter that two of them aren’t Russian. All pleas to reduce the sentence or release them haven’t even had an official response,’ said Marielle. ‘So I decided to take matters into my own hands.’
‘Where’s the tape now?’ asked Nick.
‘With a friend. A lawyer in Rostock. If anything should happen to me, it will go to the German authorities.’
‘How are you supposed to communicate with Dubrovsky? I hope you didn’t put your home address on the letter.’
‘Of course not. I didn’t identify myself in any way. I asked him to make a statement in the media saying the girls would all be released, and when. Then I would hand over the tape.’
‘Maybe he can’t swing it. At least that’s the impression I get from the letter Max got. He offered money, instead.’
‘We need to respond to that offer,’ said Max.
‘You’re right,’ said Nick. ‘But we need to use his lawyer as a channel of communication. He still thinks it’s you who has the tape. We’ll tell him we don’t want his money, we want the girls released. He’ll just have to try harder. See what response that gets.’
‘I wonder if he was just buying time with that letter,’ said Max. ‘Perhaps he thought I had some personal connection to one of girls. If I was him, I’d do a background check on all of them. Then I’d send my goons straight to their parents. Did you post your letter in Germany?’
Marielle nodded. ‘Rostock.’ The blood had drained from her face.
‘Then I think we have to assume you’re going to have more visitors. And soon.’
Over dinner, they discussed their options. Max didn’t want to leave Marielle alone in the house. His first thought was that she should come back to Heidelberg with them, but Nick was sceptical.
‘If Dubrovsky’s people find out she’s Louisa’s mother and see she’s now with us, it will only confirm their suspicions about who sent the letter. Which could put all of us in harm’s way.’
‘She can’t stay here. If Dubrovsky’s thugs are anything like the two who visited me in Kos, she’ll be in big trouble if they come to call.’
‘In which case,’ said Nick, ‘I think it’s best if we split up. You take Marielle somewhere else. Somewhere safe.’
‘Do I get a say in this?’ asked an irritated Marielle. The two men looked at her enquiringly. ‘I’m not sure I’m happy going anywhere with you, Max, after the way you acted in Berlin all those years ago. Why should I trust you now?’
Max met her eyes. ‘Because the alternative isn’t pretty. If you want to sit around here waiting for our Russian friend to agree to your deal, then fine. And if you don’t mind getting beaten up by his goons while he thinks about it, even better. And believe me, they will come looking.’
Marielle glared at him momentarily and then lowered her eyes. She sighed. ‘I see. While you work out where we’re going, then, I’ll make some coffee.’
She got up and walked briskly to the kitchen, her back stiff with displeasure.
‘Nothing like renewing old friendships, don’t you think?’ quipped Nick.
‘If that’s an attempt at levity, it’s a pretty poor one,’ snapped Max. He downed his glass of wine and then followed Marielle into the kitchen.
They stayed the night. There were three bedrooms upstairs. Nick took Louisa’s room and Max got the spare room. In the morning it was agreed that Max and Marielle would find a hotel in Berlin. They could hole up there and consider what to do next. Marielle packed two large suitcases and was ready to go. It was about 11am when her house phone rang. The call was conducted in German and although Nick couldn’t understand the words, the tone of surprise in Marielle’s voice was clear enough. After a few minutes, she hung up.
‘That was the Russian Ambassador’s office, in Berlin,’ she said. ‘A Mr Rubashkin is coming to see me this afternoon. To discuss Louisa’s case for a full pardon and release.’
The two men exchanged glances.
‘Good of him to come all this way,’ said Max. ‘What time will he be here?’
‘Around 2pm, he said.’
‘Good. We’d better get ready for him, then.’
Mr Rubashkin was punctual. He arrived in a large black Mercedes, with a driver. The driver stayed in the car as Rubashkin knocked at the door. He was a big man with wide shoulders straining at the seams of his jacket. The face had a rugged, lined quality that hinted at lots of time spent outdoors. As Marielle waved him in, the ruggedness broke into a beaming professional smile.
‘Thanks for seeing me so quickly,’ he said.
‘Not at all. This is my friend, Max.’ Max waved from the sofa.
The smile didn’t waver. He nodded in Max’s direction before taking a seat opposite him. Marielle brought in some coffee.
‘This is the first official response I’ve had about Louisa,’ she said.
‘I apologise for the delay. The bureaucracy moves very slowly in Moscow. Still, I think you will be pleased with what I have to tell you.’
‘Is she being released? What about the other girls?’
‘I can only speak for your daughter, I’m afraid. The other girls must remain where they are.’
Marielle pursed her lips. ‘I was hoping for more than that.’
Rubashkin shrugged. ‘Ms Bach. The authorities are adamant about this. There may be some clemency extended to the English girl, but the Russians will certainly remain in custody. And there’s another thing to mention.’
‘Yes?’
‘In order to guarantee Louisa’s release I’ve been requested to ask for a token of goodwill from you. A videotape. Do you have it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. What videotape?’
Rubashkin’s smile receded. ‘I’m afraid you’re the only person who could have it, Ms Bach. Please reconsider.’
At that moment the front door opened. Rubashkin’s driver came in and stood just inside the room. He was only marginally smaller than Rubashkin. He held a gun casually in one hand, pointed at the floor.
‘We’ll look around, if you don’t mind,’ said Rubashkin.
‘We do mind,’ said Max, making a move to get up.
Rubashkin was a fast mover for such a big man. Before Max could get all the way to his feet, he had covered the distance between them. One large fist connected with the point of Max’s jaw. Max collapsed back on to the sofa, unconscious.
‘Stay where you are,’ he said to Marielle. She looked back at him in semi-panic, but did as she was told.
Rubashkin resumed his seat and said something to his compatriot, who went upstairs to look around.
‘It would be much easier if you just told us where it was, Ms Bach. I don’t want to hurt you, but if it becomes necessary…’
Marielle stared back at him wide-eyed and said nothing.
Rubashkin shrugged again, and waited. After five minutes he called out to the man upstairs. There was no answer. He called again, with the same result. As he got up to investigate, his driver appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Nick stood close behind him, gun pointed at the man’s back.
‘Th
ere’s no videotape here,’ he said. ‘We’re not that stupid. Tell your boss that the deal still stands. All the girls for the tape. Now get out.’
Nick pushed the driver towards the door. The man stumbled and then in the same movement he pivoted around to kick Nick in the groin. Nick shot him in the leg. The man fell to the floor, clutching the wound and swearing loudly in Russian.
The distraction had given Rubashkin a breathing space. He was on Nick in an instant. One huge hand grabbed Nick’s wrist and shook it. The gun went sailing across the room as Rubashkin aimed a fist at Nick’s face. Nick moved to one side and the fist grazed his cheek. Rubashkin was pulled off balance and released the hold he had on Nick’s wrist. His momentum took him past Nick, but not before he’d landed an elbow to the chest.
Nick grunted with the force of the blow as he slammed against the wall. The man on the floor was writhing in pain, but Rubashkin stepped deftly past him and went into a slight crouch, ready for battle. He feinted a strike, then kicked at Nick’s knee. He missed. Nick moved into more open space, waiting for the Russian to come to him. Rubashkin obliged, launching his considerable bulk in Nick’s direction. Nick stepped to one side and used Rubashkin’s momentum to take his arm and apply an arm lock. He relaxed into it, which was enough to send Rubashkin crashing to the floor, face first. Nick applied a little more pressure and the Russian was immobilised. Any serious resistance, and his shoulder would dislocate. The big man muttered something, presumably obscene.
‘Marielle, pick up the gun and bring it to me, would you?’
Marielle, who hadn’t moved a muscle throughout the exchange, ran across the room and retrieved the gun. She pointed it at the man on the floor.
‘Just go back to Berlin, or wherever the hell you came from, and deliver the message,’ said Nick to the prone Russian. ‘The girls for the tape. We’ll communicate through your boss’s lawyer. We have his details. And tell him also, that if anything happens to Ms Bach the tape goes straight to the German authorities. Got it?’
Rubashkin nodded. ‘OK. Let me up.’
Nick stood well back and relieved Marielle of the gun, which he trained on Rubashkin. His driver had stopped moaning now and still clutched his leg, which was bleeding profusely.
