by Sam Clarke
She looked up from the dusty floor. ‘It’s been over an hour. Something’s wrong.’
‘Maybe they moved him to another cell.’
‘Umph.’
I hated that sound. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked as non-confrontationally as possible. I didn’t want to ignite an argument that could lead to discussing our alleged kiss.
‘That they had no reason to split us up. We’re small fishes, and that includes Viggo. In their eyes, we’re so harmless that they hardly bother to check on us.’
‘How about we prove them wrong? Viggo’s not here, but his plan is worth a shot.’
She raised a critical eyebrow. ‘His plan was sketchy and simplistic.’
‘Agreed, but it’s all we’ve got, and you’re not completely against it or you wouldn’t have kept his watch. I’m stronger than you—’
She shot me a defiant look, some people are born argumentative.
‘I’m taller than you,’ I rephrased, ‘so I’ll have to push you out. I know you don’t want to be a sitting duck in the Sicilian countryside, but surely it beats being a sitting duck here!’
She pursed her lips and weighed her options. ‘Crouch down, let’s show them what we’re made of.’
I did. She began to climb on my back. ‘Ouch, I think you just kicked me in the kidneys.’
Everyone else would instinctively apologise, but she was in a league of her own. ‘Impossible.’
‘It really hurts. You’re not wearing heels, are you?’
‘My father won’t let me. You’re just sore from falling off Viggo earlier. Stop wriggling or I’ll fall too.’
She kicked her legs over my shoulders. I pushed her calves against my chest. They felt nice, and I felt them a bit too long. ‘Aren’t you supposed to stand up or something?’ she complained from above.
‘Um… yeah, I was about to. Ready?’
‘Yes.’
I stood up and let go of her legs. She slowly positioned her feet on my shoulders.
‘Take your time’ I said. ‘Small, measured movements.’
Once she was stable, she placed her feet in my upturned palms and I closed my fingers over them.
‘I’m steady,’ she said. ‘Push me up.’
My arms were shaking, but I ignored it and concentrated on my task. Her balance was much better than mine, I pointed it out and she revealed that she did gymnastics twice a week. ‘And you didn’t think to mention this earlier when Viggo asked about circus skills?’ I grunted through clenched teeth.
‘Shut up and push me a bit higher, I’m nearly there… just a little bit more…’
We heard voices outside and she jumped to the floor with the agility of a flying squirrel. The key turned in the lock and the Duct-Taper, who preferred to be called Miroslav, handed me a first-aid kit. I failed to understand why, until he and Scarface dragged a shirtless Viggo onto the dirty mattress and made a swift exit. The image of my friend beaten to a pulp will stay with me forever. Isabelle went a whiter shade of white and, at first, all I could do was clutch the first-aid kit to my chest. I forced myself to snap out of it and knelt beside him, trying to assess his injuries. He had a swollen eye, a bloody nose, a cut upper lip and various abrasions. Countless bruises were starting to form pretty much everywhere on his body. His old forehead cut had opened up again and the blood was flowing freely. The skin around the base of his wrists was raw, a clear sign that, during his ordeal, he had been tied up. I checked his arms, wrists, fingers and legs. As far as I could tell, he had no broken bones. I was scared to touch his chest because it was covered in large bruises that were going redder before my eyes. I used the bottled water to wash the blood from his face.
‘Viggo, can you hear me?’ I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. He nodded. Good, at least he was conscious. I reached for the first-aid kit and began to fix the fixable.
‘Who did this to you?’ I continued. It didn’t really matter, but I wanted to make sure his cognitive functions were intact.
‘Sergei,’ he mumbled. ‘It was Sergei. He knows how to hit. He’s sick, he… he enjoys it.’ He spat some blood. ‘I think I bit my tongue.’
Isabelle gave him some water to rinse the blood from his mouth. He leaned forward to spit the red-tinged liquid on the floor and hit her jogging bottoms instead. With his good eye, he threw her an apologetic glance and readied himself for a barrage of remonstrations. And right then I discovered that girls really do have a weakness for beaten up guys – as long as they were good-looking before the beating started – because she didn’t make a sound and offered him more water instead. ‘It hurts every time I breathe in,’ he said, trying to sit up.
I helped him up as gently as I could. ‘Sounds like a cracked rib.’
He ran his hand over his face. ‘Does it look as bad as it feels?’
‘I’ve seen worse.’
I really had, in a heavyweight boxing match.
He produced the stupidest horsy grin. ‘Do I have all my teeth?’
‘Open up… I count thirty-one.’
‘I’m waiting on a wisdom tooth.’
‘Then you’re fine.’
‘Do you think Hope will still like me?’
Even in his mashed-up state, he could have walked into a bar and scored more than the average guy. ‘Sure.’
‘Dude, ever been punched?’ he murmured, trying to find a comfortable position.
‘Once. Outside the language lab, but it wasn’t my fault. I walked straight into a punch that was meant for Tom Wright.’
‘That was lucky…’
His sarcastic comment was accompanied by a pained expression.
‘Tom thought so too.’
‘Did Ariel cover how to take a punch?’
‘You mean the Inside Defence technique?’
‘No, not how to block. How to absorb if you cannot block.’
I had an inkling his topic of conversation wasn’t accidental. ‘He said to pull my abdominal muscles over my core to protect my internal organs and to exhale to disperse the energy.’
‘That’s good advice, keep it in mind.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Nothing.’
Isabelle had exhausted her tiny reserve of patience. ‘Spit it out, Viggo! Or I swear to God I’ll punch you in your good eye and tell Hope that you were in Ursula’s bedroom!’
And so amongst exhales and grimaces – and prompted by Isabelle’s occasional threats – he told us how Sergei and Scarface had taken him to the stables, tied his hands above his head and suspended him from the ceiling’s central beam. Then, without asking him a single question, Sergei had proceeded to beat the hell out of him. I didn’t want to believe that Sergei would beat someone to a pulp just for the sake of it. ‘Why would he do something like that?’
Viggo’s answer floored me. ‘To show Magnus and Miguel what you can look forward to if they keep on denying any knowledge of the ring.’
My face fell, and the grim future that lay ahead wasn’t the only reason. ‘My father was there? And he let this happen?’
Loyal as ever, he immediately jumped to his defence. ‘There was nothing he could do. His hands were tied, and I’m not talking metaphors.’
‘He could have told them where the bloody ring was!’
‘He couldn’t, he’s taken an oath! We all did! Dude, you cannot go back on your word!’
‘I don’t want to, but it may be our only option.’
‘Look at my face! What do you think they’ll do to us if we give them what they want on a silver plate?’
I pictured a variety of scenarios. None of them looked good, in fact they got progressively worse. The ring was our only bargaining chip. I just wasn’t too sure that my father would be willing to bargain.
‘Are they going to torture us too?’ asked Isabelle, her voice barely audible.
There was an uncomfortable silence. We all knew the answer. ‘We’ve got to get out of here fast,’ I said. ‘All of us.’
Viggo’s cerebral cells kicked into action. ‘If we time it right, there may be a way, but it’s going to be more dangerous than my original plan. If they catch us, things will turn ugly.’
In my book, they already were. ‘Shoot.’
‘I push you out, same as before, but instead of running to the nearest village, you stay put until the guard checks on Miguel. Then you let him out.’
‘Are you sure the door is secured by a simple latch?’
‘Positive, I was there for a whole night, remember? The key is getting the night patrol out of action before he notices that Miguel is gone. If he raises the alarm, we’re done.’
‘There’s no way I can take out the night guard, you’ve seen my Krav Maga…’
‘Leave it to Miguel. He’s been locked-up for days, he’ll have a lot of pent-up energy.’
I hoped he was right. ‘And then?’
‘The night patrol has the keys to our outbuilding. Come and get us. The van is so old that it probably has a cassette player. We can hot-wire it and get the hell out of here.’
‘And my father?’
‘Dude, aside from the night guard’s gun, we’ll be unarmed. We don’t know how many they are. Taking the farmhouse is suicidal.’
‘I’m not leaving without him.’
‘If we’re not here, they’ll have no leverage. You’ll be doing him a favour.’
Not for the first time, I marvelled at how brilliant he could be under that apparent layer of asininity. The thought of leaving my father behind gutted me, but Viggo’s plan made sense. ‘Can you really hot-wire a car?’ I asked him.
‘As long as it’s pre-1990 or thereabout. Modern vehicles are too sophisticated for hot-wiring. Without a laptop to interrogate the on-board computer, you don’t stand much of chance…’
‘Will you teach me?’
‘Sure, but not tonight.’
CHAPTER 44
I cursed the long summer day and wished the sun would make an exit. Judging by the colour of the sky, we were missing out on a glorious sunset. In a few hours, we would finally be able to put our plan into action. Suddenly, the Duct-Taper barged in with a nylon rope coiled under his arm. It couldn’t be good news. ‘You, with me.’
Couldn’t he be more specific? There were three of us for God’s sake! Viggo made to stand up, but the Duct-Taper shook his head. ‘Haven’t you had enough for one day? I’m talking to the boy.’
Isabelle stared at me with terrified Bambi eyes. I was relieved she wasn’t going to get hurt, but I certainly wasn’t looking forward to my own destiny. I felt incredibly heroic for saving the girl and totally unlucky for drawing the short straw. A cross between Superman and Wily Coyote.
Viggo had been subjected to his savage beating in the stables, so I was surprised to be taken to the farmhouse. I was even more astounded to find a table set for dinner. My father, hands tied behind his back, was sitting on a chair and studying a large roast-beef with a certain interest. He saw me and made to speak.
‘Quiet, Larsson,’ said the Duct-Taper, pushing me down onto one of the empty seats. Theoretically, I was a Larsson too, but this wasn’t the time for clever remarks.
The other Larsson didn’t disappoint and immediately disobeyed. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. You?’
‘Another peep and I hit the boy.’
The Duct-Taper switched to butler mode and, oblivious to minimum age restrictions, filled our chalices with red wine. A silver-haired man, whom I had never seen before, walked into the room and sat at the head of the table. He exuded authority and arrogance. My father smirked.
‘Good, you know who I am,’ said the man. ‘We can dispense with the official introductions.’
My father sneered. ‘Andrei Dragomirov. I should have known it was you all along.’
‘You should have,’ replied Dragomirov, unfolding his napkin. I had heard his name before. He was the man Knut was paranoid about. Dragomirov had green, lifeless, reptilian eyes, devoid of any emotion. He noticed my father’s restraints. ‘Where are my manners? Miroslav, untie Mr Larsson.’
The Duct-Taper removed my father’s bindings. Dragomirov continued. ‘May I call you Magnus?’
‘It is my name.’
A statement, rather than a permission. Dragomirov remained unperturbed. ‘I sense hostility.’
‘You sense correctly.’
My father massaged his wrists, his usual collection of bracelets had been replaced by angry tie marks. Miroslav, the Duct-Taper, took up position behind him. ‘Before we proceed,’ said Dragomirov, ‘you should know that Miroslav has a gun trained on you and won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.’
My father didn’t flinch. ‘Shooting an unarmed man in the back isn’t particularly honourable.’
Dragomirov adjusted his cufflinks. ‘Not everyone can afford honour, Magnus.’
‘I beg to differ, it is free, after all.’
‘It’s easy for you to say, honour, together with everything else, was handed to you on a silver plate.’
‘Honour cannot be handed,’ said my father, holding Dragomirov’s gaze. ‘Being honourable, or dishonourable, is a personal choice.’
‘Please, have a drink.’
‘You first.’
Dragomirov took a sip of his wine. ‘As you can see, it is not poisoned.’
I was happy to be left out of the conversation. I felt like a dwarf among rivalling titans.
Dragomirov set his chalice on the table. ‘Conversing about honour is most pleasant, but we have more pressing matters to discuss. Let’s cut to the chase.’
My father nodded once. ‘Let’s do that.’
‘You have something I want, don’t insult me by denying it.’
‘The prospect of insulting you is hard to resist.’
Dragomirov ignored his jibe. ‘Out of respect for your position within the brotherhood, I would prefer to solve our matter civilly. We will soon be on the same side, it would be a pity to start on the wrong foot. It is not my wish to harm you,’ he paused. ‘Or your son. Sergei gave you a taster of what we are capable of and I’m sure you’d want to spare young Noah unnecessary pain. Your cadet is alive, by the way. He is a cadet, is he not?’
My father didn’t answer. A part of me was dying to hear more of their conversation, but the other wished I could spirit myself out of the room. It wasn’t out of cowardice or fear, but out of guilt for putting him in such an impossible position. Dragomirov beckoned for someone to come over and a youngish man stepped out of the shadows. I would never forget his unremarkable face: Yuri, the guy who had broken into Valhalla. Dragomirov fixed his soulless eyes on my father. ‘You will be allowed a knife and a fork, but Yuri will stand behind Noah. Any sudden moves and the boy dies. Is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ muttered my father, slowly reaching for his cutlery.
The Duct-Taper slung his Uzi machine gun over his back and dished the roast and the trimmings. Dragomirov raised his chalice into the air and gave my father the phoniest smile. ‘First of all, congratulations on locating the ring. Such an accomplishment deserves to be celebrated. Is the vintage Chateau Margaux to your satisfaction?’
‘It’s passable,’ replied my father, unimpressed by a bottle of wine that probably cost as much as a small car.
Dragomirov didn’t appreciate his answer and let out the faintest sigh. ‘Magnus, I know the ring is in your possession, admit it and we can move on to the next phase.’ My father remained silent. A hint of impatience flashed across the reptilian eyes. ‘I have a proposal for you.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Don’t be so hasty. Listen to what I have to say—’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Indulge me.’ Dragomirov topped up his glass. ‘You tell me where the ring is, proclaim your allegiance to me and I will personally make sure you have everything you ever wished for. We can join forces at the Council of Twelve—’
‘You’re talking to the wrong man,’ snorted my father, before throwing
me an uncomfortable glance. ‘I have no place at that table.’
‘Oh, but you will,’ said Dragomirov. ‘And thanks to the ring, I will too. I want in on the most exclusive brotherhood in the world and I will not be denied such a privilege because I wasn’t born into the right blood line.’
I briefly wondered which blood line he was referring to. My father seemed completely uninterested and helped himself to some more trimmings.
‘Would you say your son is worthier than mine?’ asked Dragomirov out of the blue.
‘I can’t answer that,’ replied my father sensibly. ‘I know nothing about your son and there is no accurate way to quantify someone’s virtue.’
‘And yet your son is entitled to a place at the top table of the brotherhood and mine isn’t. Just like you are and I’m not. There may be no accurate way to quantify virtue, but success is easily measurable. I have proven myself to the world, Magnus. I came from nothing, I had to fight my way to the top using any means necessary. I didn’t let anything, or anyone, stand in my way. My accomplishments, unlike yours, speak for themselves. I should be welcomed into the order with open arms, rather than being forced to use a backdoor.’ He gulped another chalice of wine, before resuming his rant. ‘I have accumulated enough riches to support a small country, and yet my peers look down on me as if I was the scum of the earth! Do you know how humiliating that is? But things are about to change. I will become the most powerful man on earth and those who scorned me will soon regret their actions.’ Dragomirov’s glassy eyes converged on my face. ‘How old are you, Noah?’
