by Mark McKay
Marielle was upset. ‘Wouldn’t it just have been easier to release Louisa?’
‘Maybe releasing just one of the girls would have been seen in a negative light,’ said Nick. ‘I’m sorry.’
Now she was furious. ‘And he got away with it, the bastard got away with it!’ She wasn’t sure whether to scream with rage or break down in tears.
They were sitting on the lounge sofa, and he put his arm around her.
‘It cost him his job. But you’re right.’
It seemed it wasn’t so easy to ruin a bastard like Dubrovsky, after all.
Chapter 19
Nick’s time was up. It was November 3rd and he still hadn’t phoned Mariko. But until today he’d been unsure of what to do when it came to his continued association with the Crimson Dragon Society. Now, he’d made a decision. He called her. He apologised for the delay and updated her on the situation.
‘Yes, I know what happened with Dubrovsky,’ she said. ‘It’s a pity he won’t face justice. But I’m more interested in finding out what you’ve decided about working for us. Have you made up your mind?’
‘I want to continue working for you. I’m finished here. Where do you want me to go next?’
‘Good, I’m glad you’re staying. Actually, I wanted you to come to Japan and spend some time in training before your next job.’
‘At the retreat centre?’
Mariko’s father Yoshi had an Aikido retreat centre in Kiyosato, about three hours’ train ride from Tokyo. Nick had spent time there once already.
‘Yes,’ said Mariko. ‘But it isn’t available till December. Some people from the Tokyo police are coming for instruction, all this month.’
‘I’ll meet you somewhere else, then.’
‘It can wait, Nick. Stay in Germany a little while longer and look after your girlfriend.’
Nick laughed. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood our relationship.’
‘It’s none of my business. But don’t get complacent just because Mr Dubrovsky lost his job.’
‘I won’t. Anything else?’
‘Just to let you know that I’ll be keeping an eye on his movements from here. Now that he’s no longer a government minister, the conflict of interest I mentioned before doesn’t apply. Call me once a week, please, just to let me know everything is OK.’
Before he could ask her to elaborate on her change of mind, she hung up. Had Mariko just declared open season on Yulian Dubrovsky? Sure as hell sounded like it. He went looking for Marielle, to tell her he would be staying a little longer. She looked amused when he told her.
‘And if I didn’t want you to stay? What would Mistress Mariko have ordered you to do?’
‘I’m sure she’d think of something.’
‘Of course you can stay. You know I want you to. That woman has got you right under her thumb, though. Next week she’ll have you doing something else entirely.’
‘That’s because she’s my boss. Are you finished?’
Marielle smiled. ‘Just teasing you. I think I’m a little bit jealous of her. You do whatever she tells you to.’
He refrained from mentioning some of his recent failings in that regard. ‘Of course I do. Anyway, it means I can teach you even more Aikido, now. In fact, we’ll start early today. It’s time you worked a little harder. Go get ready.’
She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘So masterful.’ Then she went up the stairs to get changed. ‘See you in ten minutes.’
Nick’s portrait was almost done. He sat for her for what she promised was the last time, that afternoon. They hadn’t relaxed their security protocols; all alarms that could be on, were. Marielle’s gun was on a table next to her palette and Nick had his close to hand. This whole routine was becoming almost second nature, but now it was infused with a sense of cautious optimism. Maybe now, they’d actually be safe from Dubrovsky. Nick was mindful however, of Mariko’s warning. Don’t get complacent.
Marielle looked at him intently and then shifted her attention to the canvas. She was doing the detailed brush work, now. She stepped back to admire her handiwork.
‘Almost there,’ she said. She walked over to where he was sitting. ‘Just turn your head to the left a fraction.’
‘Like this?’
‘No, wait…’ She placed her hand under his chin and shifted his head. ‘Like this.’
He waited for her to remove her hand, but she kept it where it was. There was a sudden tension between them. The touch of her hand riveted him, and just for a moment the studio and everything in it faded into the background.
She didn’t say anything, just bent down and kissed him full on the lips. He reached up to her waist with one hand and pulled her towards him. She sat straddling him, still with her lips locked on his. He felt his heart rate quickening and then she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. She began kissing his neck.
‘I want to go upstairs, now,’ she said.
As he stood up, she wrapped her legs around him.
‘Think you can get me up those stairs like this?’ she said, laughing.
‘Watch me. Don’t forget your gun.’
She reached out for it as they passed the easel, almost knocking it over. He reached out a hand to steady it and nearly dropped her.
‘Nick!’ She unwrapped her legs and dropped her feet to the floor. ‘I think I’ll walk up, before you ruin my masterpiece.’
He took her hand. ‘I don’t want that. Come on, then.’
He led her into the house and a minute later they were in the bedroom and he was undressing her. They took each other twice that afternoon. The first time, with an urgent, almost animal need for release. The second time, Marielle took control and loved him with a calm, unhurried sensuality that he found irresistible. Afterwards, they lay together not saying anything; just watching the shadows lengthen through the curtains as the daylight began to fade outside the window.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked him.
‘Nothing much. I didn’t see that coming, I guess.’
‘Are you sure? I did.’ She grinned at him. ‘That was lovely. Makes me hungry, though. Want something to eat?’
Without waiting for an answer, she got out of bed and pulled on her jeans and a jersey.
‘Come and talk to me,’ she said. Then she was out of the bedroom and he could hear her feet racing down the stairs, to the kitchen.
He lay back and smiled at the ceiling. He hoped what they’d just done didn’t qualify as an example of ‘complacency’. Frankly, right now he didn’t care. He got up and got dressed, and then followed Marielle downstairs.
Through Amnesty, news had come that Louisa’s condition had improved. Apparently it had been a bacterial infection, which had responded well to antibiotics. This improved Marielle’s mood considerably, although she continued to fret about her daughter. She only hoped that over time, diplomatic pressure would prevail and Louisa would eventually come home. But a couple of days later, her expectations were tested.
It was early afternoon when they heard the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Nick immediately ran into the lounge and looked out the window. It was the white Opel. It stopped halfway down.
‘Get your gun,’ he told Marielle, who by this time was standing next to him. She ran off to fetch it. By the time she returned, Nick could see Rubashkin striding up the driveway.
‘If that man comes in here, I’ll shoot him,’ said Marielle. ‘He’s not getting anywhere near me.’
‘I’ll go out.’
He didn’t bother concealing the Sig Sauer, just held it loosely in one hand, pointed at the ground. He opened the door and stepped out. Rubashkin saw him coming, and stopped. He raised both hands, and Nick could see a large brown envelope clasped in one of them.
Nick got a little closer. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘Just to talk. And to give you this,’ said Rubashkin, waving the envelope.
‘Put it on the ground. What is it?’
‘Actually,
I don’t know. I agreed to deliver it, that’s all.’
‘Anything else I should know?’
Rubashkin lowered his arms, slowly. ‘We won’t be troubling you any further. It has come to the attention of certain officials that Mr Dubrovsky abused his position. He employed members of the security services for his own private business.’
‘And you weren’t aware of this?’
Rubashkin shrugged. ‘He’s no longer authorised to give me orders. That’s all I need to know. Apologise to Ms Bach for me. I was a little rough with her.’
‘And who ordered you to deliver this envelope?’
‘It came to the embassy through the usual channels. Officially, I don’t know who sent it.’
‘I see. Get out of here, now. Before Ms Bach decides to shoot you.’
Rubashkin looked at the house in slight alarm and then turned around and started back towards the car. Nick walked across and put his foot on the envelope, while he watched the big man depart. He sincerely hoped Rubashkin had been telling him the truth and they really would be left alone. He picked up the envelope and went back inside.
‘What did he want?’ asked Marielle. She was still at the lounge window, looking at an empty driveway.
‘He brought this,’ said Nick, showing her the envelope. It was very light, and he wondered what the hell was in it. Or if it was booby-trapped. ‘I’m going to open it in the kitchen, you stay here for a minute.’
The envelope had a Russian stamp on it and the writing was in Cyrillic script, so he could only assume it was addressed to him. He felt gingerly around the edges, but could find nothing to suggest it was wired in any way. He used scissors to open it. He tipped it up, and a photograph about the size of an A4 sheet of paper fell out. He picked it up.
‘Shit,’ he said.
‘Nick, what is it?’ called Marielle.
It was a photo of Louisa Bach. She was sitting on a chair in what looked to Nick like a hospital ward, or a prison infirmary. She wore a hospital gown and she sat with both bare arms outstretched towards the camera. Her arms were slashed in various places, from the wrists to the shoulders, and she looked at the camera with a blank, withdrawn expression. The kind of expression people got when they were losing their grip on reality. Surely these injuries weren’t self-inflicted? They looked more to Nick like defence wounds. Next to her and just out of shot, someone stood holding a copy of an English language newspaper, the date clearly visible. Three days ago. As Marielle came in he tried to hide it, but was too late. He heard her sharp intake of breath.
‘Give it to me.’
She looked at it in horror for a moment and then burst into tears. ‘Who’s doing this? How can they?’
He drew her into his embrace. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed. He stroked her hair.
‘We know who’s doing it,’ he said.
Their total inability to do anything about it filled him with rage and dismay. As no doubt, the sender fully intended it to.
‘I’ll call Veronika Orlova,’ he said. ‘She might be able to do something.’ He could feel Marielle nodding against him.
‘What can she do?’
‘She still represents Beaver Rampage. If she doesn’t know about this, she needs to.’
He still had the photo in one hand. He turned it over. There was nothing on the back and nothing else in the envelope that might indicate who’d sent it. Not that he needed confirmation.
‘Come on, sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’
Marielle allowed him to lead her to the sofa where she sat with her hands in her lap, looking at the floor. He poured her a shot of whisky and while she drank it he went upstairs and hid the photo away in a drawer. Rubashkin may have gone off duty, he thought, but Dubrovsky still had ways to get at them, no FSB assistance required. He had to think of some way of returning the favour.
Moscow was two hours ahead of them. He tried Veronika and got her voicemail, so he left her a long message. She didn’t get back to him until late that evening. After the usual courtesies, she came straight to the point.
‘I spoke to the prison governor about Louisa. Apparently the attack happened in the canteen. A woman with known psychological issues began slashing at Louisa’s arms with a very sharp knife. What he doesn’t understand is where she got it from. All the canteen cutlery is plastic.’
‘So are you saying that this woman is crazy and it was just a random attack?’
‘No, the fact she had the knife rules out anything random, in my opinion. Someone went to a lot of trouble to provide her with a weapon like that. I don’t think she was trying to kill Louisa, though. Just to damage her.’
‘And will the governor be questioning this woman about why she did this? And where she got the knife?’
‘They will question her. They may or may not find out why, but even if they do I doubt they’ll bother to tell me about it.’
His sense of frustration only increased. ‘This is hopeless. How is Louisa?’
‘The governor didn’t give me much detail. Just said she was recovering. He did tell me that they are transferring her in the next few days. To camp number 22. It has a less violent reputation.’
That had to be good news, he thought. ‘Can she lodge another appeal? There must be something you can do.’
‘Not for at least another year, Nick. I’m sorry. I will definitely let you know if anything changes.’
He thanked Veronika and hung up. Marielle had been sitting next to him throughout the call. He told her what Veronika had just told him and tried to emphasise the one positive in the conversation; Louisa was going somewhere ostensibly much safer.
‘Safer until when?’ she responded, rather acidly. ‘Until someone else is bribed to hurt her, or even kill her?’
He had no crumb of comfort to offer her. They were powerless. Then a few days later, the situation threatened to become unbearable. Veronika phoned him this time, to tell him that the train transferring Louisa to camp 22 had made a routine stop at a station between camps, to pick up more prisoners. The train had resumed its journey, but when all the prisoners were checked two hours later there was a new prisoner in Louisa’s cell and Louisa had vanished. Phone calls had been made and papers rechecked, but it made absolutely no difference. She was gone.
He didn’t want to tell Marielle, but he had to. He thought she might become hysterical with this latest revelation, but instead she seemed deathly calm. She displayed no emotion whatsoever.
‘She’s gone,’ was all she said. Then she went upstairs to the bedroom and shut the door. He followed her upstairs and was told in no uncertain terms to go away.
Now, several hours later, she still hadn’t emerged. He had to think of some way of tempting her out of there. She needed to share her pain; she was only making it worse with this self-enforced solitary confinement. He was considering what to do, when the phone rang. It was an unknown number. He picked up.
‘Yes?’ he said, more testily than he meant to.
‘Mr Severance. Herr Schmidt gave me your number.’
It was Dubrovsky. Nick almost dropped the phone. He pulled himself together.
‘What do you want?’
‘Well, first of all to congratulate you on your escape from custody. And to tell you that your tape of me and that whore in Berlin cost me, dearly. I thought there was only one copy. You lied to me.’
‘Don’t expect an apology.’
‘I don’t. Anyway, what that means is that I need to find another source of income. I’m pretty much unemployable at the moment. But I think I’ve found a way around it.’
Nick had an inkling of what was coming, this call was no coincidence. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘Louisa Bach. I will guarantee her safe return in exchange for 500,000 euros. I think that’s quite reasonable.’
‘Are you serious? Where do you think we’ll get that sort of money?’
‘There’s no hurry. Two or three weeks should be sufficient time. I don’t care where it
comes from, that’s your problem.’
‘What proof do I have that you even have Louisa?’
Dubrovsky laughed, then. ‘Proof? I suppose you should have proof. Watch for the postman Mr Severance. Your next big brown envelope will contain all the proof you need. Goodbye.’
He’d gone. Nick made his way back into the lounge and spent the next minute or two wondering what to do. Perhaps they could borrow money. He needed to discuss this with Marielle, which meant getting her out of the bedroom. He went upstairs and knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ she said, just above a whisper.
She was curled up on the bed. He sat down next to her.
‘Don’t shut me out,’ he said. ‘Not now.’
She uncurled and came into his arms. ‘I hate this,’ she said.
He hugged her tight against him. ‘We both do. I just spoke to Dubrovsky.’
He felt her tense up. ‘He took her, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, and he wants 500,000 euros if we’re to get her back. I have no idea where that will come from.’
Marielle went very still and said nothing. After a while, she sighed. ‘Perhaps I do. Let’s go downstairs. It’s time I phoned Louisa’s father.’
The ‘proof’ arrived 24 hours later, as promised. This time courtesy of Deutsche Post and not Rubashkin. The envelope contained a DVD and a single sheet of paper with a terse message telling them they could communicate through Herr Schmidt. When they watched the DVD, it was to see Louisa sitting in someone’s living room and dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt. She looked almost childish in the clothes, which were several sizes too big.
‘Hello, Mama,’ she said in a low voice. She looked more tired than frightened. ‘I was brought here yesterday. I’m being treated OK. Don’t worry.’
The camera lingered on her for a little longer and then cut out. Marielle looked at the now blank screen and fought to hold back her emotions.
