by Jonas Saul
Was he going to his room?
Movement drew Aaron’s eye to the other side of the lobby windows about twenty feet away. Alex had made it around the building and was seeing what he was seeing.
When he looked back inside, Ansgar slipped onto an elevator.
Aaron pushed away from the wall and ran for the front door. Alex got there first, prompting the front door to slide open. They stomped inside and headed for the elevator. Aaron needed to see the floor it stopped on.
The clerk saw him and jumped back.
“He’s here,” the clerk shouted into the phone. Then he ducked below the counter. “The man I was telling you about is here, in my lobby. He returned. Tell them to hurry.”
Aaron exchanged a glance with Alex, then they were past the main desk and standing at the elevators as the one Ansgar took stopped on the tenth floor.
“Got a plan?” Aaron asked.
“Enlist the clerk’s help. Empty room above or below Ansgar’s. I’ll get in from the balcony while you knock on the door.”
“Why do I have to knock?” Aaron asked, pretending to be offended. “He could open the door and shoot me while you’re playing with the lock on the balcony’s sliding door.”
“You’re more afraid of heights than I am.”
Alex walked away, headed back to the clerk. Aaron followed. He was off the phone now, but had broken out in a sweat, his face glistening. A nervous smile seemed pasted on his face as he stepped back to the wall behind the main desk, bumping it.
“Is room 1134 or 934 available?” Alex asked.
The clerk nodded, but didn’t move.
“Did you hear the gunfire outside ten minutes ago?” Aaron asked, taking on a serious tone. They couldn’t afford to waste time and have Ansgar walk off the elevators behind them while they were dicking around with the clerk.
The man nodded. “Yes,” he said, firm and steady even though he appeared quite nervous.
“Then answer his question,” Aaron added. “Is room 1134 or 934 empty?”
The clerk leaned forward and touched the keyboard of the closest computer, then looked up.
“1134 is empty.”
Aaron set his hand on the counter, palm up, then gestured with his fingers.
“Give me a key to 1134. I’ll return it within fifteen minutes.”
The clerk looked from Alex to Aaron, then back to Alex.
“C’mon, man,” he said, adding irritation and anger to his voice. “Key.”
The clerk jolted and pushed away from the wall, grabbed a keycard, typed something in on a small keyboard, and ran the card through a reader.
“This gonna work when we get up there?” Aaron asked, holding the card up in the air.
The clerk nodded profusely. “Yes, yes sir.”
He tapped Alex’s shoulder and they ran for the elevator. Once inside and ascending to the eleventh floor, he handed the keycard to Alex.
“What was his problem? He seemed extra nervous. We were the ones being shot at, not him. He should’ve been nervous when the shooter was standing in the lobby with him, for fuck sakes.”
Alex nodded once in reply.
The doors opened on the eleventh floor where Alex disembarked without a word.
The doors closed and Aaron rode it down one floor. Hands up, standing in a defensive posture, he stood to the side as the door opened on the tenth floor.
The hall in front of the door was empty. He held the door open and peeked out toward Ansgar’s door.
Empty.
Both ways.
Aaron got off the elevator and let the door close.
This was stupid. At any point Ansgar could open his room door, raise his weapon and empty it into Aaron. There was no defense to a bullet. He wasn’t wearing Kevlar and had no weapon except his hands.
He did have Alex, though.
Whether it was rage that brought him to this volatile place or not, he had to move forward because Alex would be in Ansgar’s room in minutes and Aaron was still standing by the elevators.
Hoping they both would make it out alive, he started toward Ansgar’s room, fists clenched.
Chapter 29
Sarah enjoyed the uneventful flight to Copenhagen. Regardless of what was happening to her and Aaron and everyone else involved, she had been able to catch up on much-needed sleep during the flight. In Copenhagen for a long layover, she had a few drinks in the bar, then boarded her flight to Billund.
Just under an hour later, she landed in Billund and deplaned, walking right by the luggage carousel as she traveled so light she didn’t even have a bag. Passport, small wallet with ID, bank cards, a little cash, and her cell phone was all she needed for the few days she’d be in Denmark. Sarah was used to buying a new piece of underwear or socks, discarding the old, and boarding the next flight home. Carrying luggage, even small carry-on bags, weighed her down. Unless she was going on a vacation, this was her preferred way to travel.
She bought a small flask of whiskey from inside the terminal to drink on the way to Skanderborg. Once there she would sleep like a baby in whatever hotel was the closest. The booze helped her deal with the loss of Vivian and the ache that missing Aaron had created in her core.
How had she let anyone get that far inside her soul? Her lifestyle didn’t allow her to be tied down, to love like this, yet she fell so hard over the last year that she wasn’t even aware of it until she broke their pact back in the Vegas hotel. Then she thought Aaron had died because of it. The realization that he was gone, only to be returned to her, made her want to grab him and hold on tight so he couldn’t go anywhere.
But she couldn’t. Vivian called. They needed to complete this job, whatever this job was. And even if she did it right, little boys would continue to be molested.
What the hell does that mean, Sis?
Still no response. Not even a whiff of her presence.
Outside the terminal in Billund, she got a few quotes from taxis and went with the best deal. A one-hour ride to Skanderborg. Halfway there, she finished the flask of whiskey. Headlights coming toward them seemed to jog left and right. She closed and opened her eyes. The shaking car upset her stomach. She closed her eyes, slipped lower in the seat and rested her hands on her stomach.
The car came to a stop.
She snapped awake and sat up. She grabbed the seat on either side to steady the dizziness.
A red light. The driver met her eyes in the rearview.
“Almost there, ma’am,” he said. “Two more city blocks.”
Sarah nodded, then regretted it. She lowered back in the seat and waited until the driver pulled into the train station in Skanderborg before she sat up again.
He reminded her of the amount they had agreed upon. She fished the new currency out—Danish Kroner—and paid him.
“Tak,” she said, learning the word for thank you in Danish while in Copenhagen.
“Selv tak,” the driver said as she exited the vehicle.
She turned back holding onto the open door.
“What’s that mean?” she asked, feeling the effects of the alcohol more as she bent down to look at the driver. This was a serious mission to Denmark, and she’d drank more than she should have. She knew that now. Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix, though.
“Basically it means you’re welcome. But it’s interpreted as thanks back to you.”
“Okay, well then, selv tak.”
Sarah shut the cab’s back door and turned too fast. She shuffled her feet to regain balance and then surveyed the city lights in the dark.
What the hell was in Skanderborg that she needed to deal with? How were they tied to what was happening so far away in Toronto? The only person she could come up with was Clara’s dad. But that didn’t make any sense. How would people be molested if they fixed everything? Nothing made sense and it wouldn’t become clear while she was this drunk. She needed a hotel. Then sleep. In that order. Then find Anton Olafson and see if he could understand what was going on.
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br /> It was late and the streets were virtually empty. She turned in a full circle and didn’t see a single building that resembled a hotel. No Best Western or Holiday Inn near the train station in Skanderborg.
She frowned and looked down at the ground.
“Why didn’t I have him drive me to a hotel?” she asked herself out loud.
A taxi came up to the street light about fifty yards away. She started toward it, waving her arms. On the green, the cab turned and disappeared toward what looked like the center of town.
At the light, Sarah waited until the walk sign came on, then crossed the street. She decided she would walk until she saw a hotel or sobered up. She would walk an hour or two and if nothing happened, she would call information and ask them for help.
Did Denmark use information like they did in the States? Was their emergency phone number 911 like the States?
As she walked, she pulled out her phone and Googled these questions. It turned out that 911 was actually 112. The website said she had to dial 112 in Denmark for emergencies.
“112?” she said to herself. “That seems like an odd number.” She shrugged as she walked. “No big deal.”
She brought up the maps feature on her phone. A blue dot revealed her location. Another dot revealed where Anton Olafson’s house was. She had typed his address in while on the flight to Copenhagen.
“Shit, he’s close.”
Maybe he would be a kind gentleman and let her sleep the night at his place before they figured out what was happening in the morning.
A car sped up behind her. She turned to see who would drive so crazy. The red and blue lights on top of the police car were blinding. After another minute, two more police cars raced by as she walked on the sidewalk.
Something big was happening in small town Skanderborg but it had nothing to do with her. She was a block from Anton’s house now and figured that was the best place to go.
The maps application instructed her to turn left and head down a small road past the rowing club.
Clara had said something about a rowing club being two houses away from hers.
A minute later she passed the rowing club and slowed her step, checking the map. Once she stood out front of Anton’s house, she put away her phone and studied the front. All the lights were off. It didn’t look like anyone was home.
“Shit. There goes my good night’s sleep.”
To be sure, she headed up the front walkway and knocked on the door. She waited, then knocked again.
Nothing. Not even the hint of movement inside the house like footfalls on the stairs.
She trudged out to the road and stood in the center of the small street under the light of a small lamp where she pulled out the piece of paper Clara had written on back in the Toronto hotel. She stared at the drawing of the house where Clara had placed a large X, two down from the rowing club. This was the house, no doubt about it. Anton Olafson’s house was right in front of her, but Clara’s dad wasn’t home.
Sarah wavered on her feet. Even though she’d slept on her way to Copenhagen, she needed more. The whiskey and wine from earlier made it hard to stay upright.
A rush of movement close by caught her attention, but she didn’t see what it was before it smashed into her. Then she was airborne. The ground came hard and fast, knocking the wind out of her lungs.
She struggled to breathe. The name Olafson came out in a gasp, unintelligible. The man who bumped into her shot his arm out and sprayed something on her face.
Her hands shot to her face as she was blinded and couldn’t breathe properly. Panicked, Sarah struggled to catch a breath through the toxic spray. As the man dragged her along the ground, she vomited from the alcohol and fear of not being able to breathe.
The bile in her throat did nothing to open her airways.
In fact, all it did was make it even harder to breathe.
Blinded by the spray, Sarah hacked and wheezed until she passed out for lack of oxygen.
Chapter 30
Anton dragged the barely breathing girl off the road and through the front door of his house. In under two minutes, he had her bound in the spare bedroom. He debated gagging her, but since she couldn’t breathe too well, he decided against it. He couldn’t have her dying on him until he was ready to kill her. For a brief moment, it didn’t sound like she was breathing.
He moved closer to listen.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes and held his breath as he leaned down to her nose where he detected the faint rasp of air forcing its way along her nasal passages, mostly via her open mouth.
After checking the bungee cord wrapped around the girl’s wrists and ankles, Anton bolted back outside and scanned the windows of his neighbor’s homes. Lights were out in the houses on either side of his. No one walked the street at this late hour near his property, therefore no one saw a damn thing. He was in the clear. And he had a blonde girl that looked exactly like Clara subdued in his home.
It couldn’t get any better than that.
Compelled to smile, Anton slapped his hands together, blew out air and stared up at the starry sky. Tonight he would secure Clara’s future and in doing so, he would save himself from a personal damnation.
He plodded back to the front door and stepped inside. Once the front door was shut, he locked it and used the window beside the door to peer outside. The street was dark and still empty. He waited, staring at shadows, gazing back and forth, but no one came out of the dark to point their finger at him. No one came and knocked on his door. Witnesses to his spraying and abduction of the girl in the other room were nonexistent.
She was a gift from the heavens. She was perfect.
He leaned against the doorframe and stared down at her, frowning. Why was this girl standing in front of his house? Who was she and why was she dressed in Clara’s clothes?
Could the hacker have sent her? Was that what this was? The hacker needed this girl killed so he orchestrated an elaborate plot to have Anton kill her? If so, it was a risky plot. Anton could’ve killed a random girl the first day. Or he could’ve done it in Aarhus. The hacker changed the details halfway through the week, too. Locate and murder a girl that resembled Clara, he’d said. But why and did it really matter? Anton believed the hacker would hurt Clara and wasn’t that all he needed to move forward?
He pulled out his cell phone and texted the hacker.
I’ve got a subject. Want to watch live?
He waited, but no response was forthcoming. After a minute, Anton checked the girl’s breathing again and then headed for the kitchen. He would make a cup of tea and wait for either the girl to wake or the hacker to respond.
If the girl woke up, he would grill her on who she was and why she wore his daughter’s clothes.
If the hacker responded and wanted the deed completed, he would murder the stupid girl where she lay.
As long as he received assurances that Clara would be safe, he would do anything and everything needed to guarantee that safety.
What parent wouldn’t?
Once the kettle was warming and the tea bag was in his cup, he slipped into the bathroom for a piss. Midstream, mind wandering, a loud banging resonated throughout the house.
His urine was cut off as he ducked like someone attacked him with a sledgehammer.
He fumbled with his pants and ran out to the kitchen where he flicked off the kettle to kill the noise it was making.
The banging came again.
Someone was at the door. The clock on the microwave said it was just nearing one in the morning.
This had to be the police. They would want to talk about the two girls he attacked on the path by the library. It could ruin him. If the girl in the other room woke when the door was open, he would spend the rest of the night in a holding cell.
A few spots of piss clung to his legs. He rubbed the pants on his thighs to dispel that cool feeling, then started for the front door.
The last thing he needed was the police banging o
n his door at this late hour and waking the girl in the spare bedroom. Nor did he want his neighbors to see the police presence at his door.
He would talk them away, contact a lawyer. He could fight an assault charge by claiming he thought he was being attacked in the dark. He could apologize, make reparations to the families of the young girls. In essence, Anton was confident he could make it all go away.
