The Carnival Master jf-4

by Craig Russell

CHAPTER TEN

  13-14 February

  1.

  Maria rolled onto her side and her body was racked by involuntary, empty retches. She eased herself up onto her knees and elbows, head still down, her shrunken gut still in spasm. She felt the dirt and grime beneath her skin and realised she was naked. It was then that the intense, freezing cold hit her like a glacial wave. A second wave collided with her, as chill and harsh as the cold: raw terror. Vitrenko. She couldn’t believe it: Buslenko had been a fiction. Taras Buslenko was Vasyl Vitrenko. She had been right about his eyes. It was the one thing he couldn’t change. Vitrenko had completely convinced her with his fiction of a Ukrainian government mission. He had been true to form: Vitrenko liked to get in close for the kill. He liked to mess with his victims’ minds. He had been playing with her all along. And now it was endgame.

  Maria tried to work out how long she’d been unconscious. Shuddering with cold, she checked her arms and saw a number of puncture wounds. They’d kept her out for hours; or days; even weeks. She dragged herself up into a sitting position, drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The spasms that convulsed her body went beyond any description of shivering. Great racking muscular convulsions. Her naked skin had puckered into gooseflesh and had lost all its pigmentation. It was now going past white and had started to look like frosted glass shot through with a cobalt bloom. So it was true, she thought bitterly, you really do go blue with cold. She looked around her confinement. Even the light was cold: a wire-caged neon strip flooded the space with a sterile and cheerless light. No window. No sound. Outside it could be any time of day or night. They had achieved the all-important first stage of interrogative torture: the complete disorientation of the subject.

  They had put Maria in the cold-meat store and turned the refrigeration on. The cold-meat store that Buslenko… no, that Vitrenko had told her wasn’t working any more. Had he known, even then, that this was where he was going to kill her? She scanned the meat store for anything, any scrap or rag with which to cover her nakedness; to try to delay her death by slowing the rate at which her core body heat was being dissipated. There was nothing. She hugged herself even tighter. But this wasn’t Vitrenko’s style. Death in here would be too easy. True, she was experiencing agonising cold now, but she knew how hypothermia worked: very soon she would stop shivering; then, perversely, she would actually start to feel warm again, along with a gentle, sleepy euphoria as her brain flooded her body with endorphins. It would be at that peaceful point that she would quite contentedly fall into a sleep from which there would be no waking.

  No. It didn’t fit with Vitrenko. There wouldn’t be enough pain. Enough horror. Enough fear.

  Maria got her answer some time that she couldn’t measure later. There was a loud metallic clunk and the door of the cold store slid open. Vitrenko stood there with his new face but his old, cold, hard eyes. Next to him, armed with a handgun, was Olga Sarapenko. They both wore their outdoor coats. Vitrenko looked at Maria impassively.

  ‘If I talk to you, can you understand what I’m saying?’

  Maria’s nod was almost lost in her convulsive shivering.

  Vitrenko walked over and dragged her to her feet. She struggled to cover her nakedness and he slammed the back of his hand across her face. Again. And again. Maria felt her mouth fill with blood and was alarmed at how cool it was. Vitrenko pushed her away from him and she crashed onto the gritty, cold floor. The heat from the grazes on her skin was almost welcome.

  ‘If I talk to you, can you understand what I’m saying?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ Maria heard the quiver in her voice. She wanted to tell him it was because she was cold, not because she feared him.

  ‘You are alive only because I have some use for you. If you cease to be of use to me, I will kill you. Do you understand?’

  Maria nodded again and Vitrenko’s heavy boot crashed into her ribs.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes!’ she screamed at him in defiance. Something had cracked inside her but she didn’t care. ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘You are pathetic…’ Vitrenko said. ‘You think that because I made a big impact on your life you could make a similar impact on mine. Yet you are a nobody, a nothing. You think you have some importance, some worth, but you have none. You have gone out of your way to be a nuisance to me. I make examples of nuisances, you do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said dully.

  ‘There are two functions you can now serve. The first is as a key to the information I need on the informants inside my organisation and the extent of the intelligence on me gathered by your Federal Crime Bureau.’

  ‘I don’t have that kind of access…’ said Maria.

  ‘I didn’t say you could provide that information or offer direct access to it. I said you offer a means to that end. The other purpose you can fulfil is more final… I intend, when I’m finished with you, to make an example of you. As I have done with others, including Buslenko, I will show through you what I do to anyone who sets themselves against me. What did you think you could have achieved?’ Vitrenko looked down on Maria as if he could not understand her stupidity. ‘I let you live. That night in the field when you tried to stop me. Did you think it was an accident that my knife missed your heart? Have you any idea how many hearts I have punctured? Sliced open like an apple?’

  Maria struggled to her feet. She tried not to think how her emaciated blue-cold body must have looked. ‘Why don’t you just get on with it?’ she said defiantly. ‘Why don’t you just kill me?’

  Again Vitrenko’s hand slashed across Maria’s face. She felt dizzy and staggered from the force of the blow. Something trickled down her temple and cheek.

  ‘Weren’t you paying attention to what I said? I want access to the so-called “Vitrenko Dossier” held by the BKA.’

  ‘Why? You don’t need those – I can tell you everything there is to know about you. You think you’re Genghis Khan, or Alexander the Greek or shit like that. Do you know what they say about you in those files? That you’re nothing more than a nut-job. A former junior officer with a Napoleon complex. You’re no soldier, Vitrenko. You’re a common crook.’ Maria felt good that her voice hadn’t betrayed how frightened she was.

  Vitrenko smiled. ‘Well, thanks for the insight, Frau Klee, but I am much more interested in what intelligence has been gathered by the task force about my operations. I need access to this dossier. Not the one we took from Buslenko. The full German version.’

  ‘Tell me this, Vitrenko: if you’re such a criminal mastermind, how come you let me kill your deputy?’

  ‘Molokov?’ Vitrenko grinned. ‘I didn’t let you kill him… I made you kill him. And I did so because I believe Molokov was doing a deal with the German authorities. I think he planned to deliver me up to them. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was the one passing on information. He was ambitious and treacherous. I needed to dispose of him and, well, it amused me to have you do it for me. And it fitted with our little charade. Tell me, Frau Klee, your willingness to lose your life when we were back there in the workshop with Molokov… was that your enthusiasm to save me, as Buslenko, or kill me, as Vitrenko?’

  ‘Work it out yourself.’

  ‘Did you like the location, by the way?’ Again the cruel smile that was as cold as the meat store itself. ‘I mean, the field and everything. I arranged the meeting there with Molokov because I knew you would appreciate it. I really did mess you up in that field in the North, didn’t I, Maria? I know all about your psycho boyfriend, all about your sick leave, about Dr Minks and his treatment. I don’t think you’re in any kind of position to call anyone a “nut-job”. Anyway, let’s start with all the access codes and passwords you know for accessing the Federal Crime Bureau system.’

  ‘Those won’t get you far,’ said Maria.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry – we know you are a very, very small fish indeed. That’s not how you’re going to help us get into the d
ossier. But, in the meantime, what are the access codes and passwords you hold? Do you have them memorised or written down somewhere?’

  ‘Close the door on your way out,’ said Maria, now unable to restrain her shuddering. ‘There’s a terrible draught in here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to let you freeze to death, Maria.’ Vitrenko nodded to Olga Sarapenko, who left the cold store for a moment, handing her pistol to Vitrenko as she passed him. She returned carrying a large bucket. Maria had only enough time to register that the bucket’s contents were steaming when they hit her. She screamed as the scalding hot water seared her naked skin. Her face, her arms, her chest all felt as if they were alight and she writhed on the dusty floor. The agony of her scalding seemed to last an eternity. Eventually she prised her hands from her face to inspect the damage. She looked at her arms, her legs, expecting to find the skin blistered and scarlet. It wasn’t. Where the water had hit, her flesh had bloomed pink, but no more. Yet still the pain seared through her. Vitrenko gave Maria a moment as she cowered, taking gasping breaths.

  ‘A little trick I learned along the way,’ he explained. ‘The water was merely hand-hot. Does no damage to the victim, but if you have chilled them sufficiently beforehand it feels like being hit with acid.’ Sarapenko had brought in a second bucket and doused Maria with its contents. Again she felt pain, but this time less intense and only where the first bucketful had missed. Now the warmth was almost welcome. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘Now you’re accustomed to it.’ Sarapenko returned with a third bucket which she handed to Vitrenko.

  ‘You see, the central nervous system is very easy to confuse: it finds it difficult to distinguish between extreme heat and extreme cold.’ He threw the third bucket over her.

  This time Maria’s world exploded into white searing pain. She screamed an animal scream as every nerve ending seemed to surge with burning electricity. She was immersed in an agony she could see no way through. Now, she thought, now she would die.

  2.

  Oliver knew he shouldn’t have done it. This was far too risky, but the risk gave his appetite an added edge. And when he thought about it, maybe it wasn’t any more risky than going through an escort agency again. After his last encounter there would always be the danger that word had got around. The next time he turned up he could find the police waiting. This was easier. And, unlike when he paid a whore, there was a real chance he might meet someone through his ad who reflected his passion: someone who would want him to do what he did.

  A different bar, a different variation on the expected retro-cool, the same anticipation and reflection as he waited for her to arrive. Her answer had been perfect. ‘Suzi22’ had, of all the replies to his advertisement, been the only one who had sounded right. It was clear that she was genuine, and the photograph she had uploaded with her reply looked genuine too. It was a poor digital beach shot and she had been wearing a bikini, but her face had been deliberately obscured. She had a full figure: not as heavy around the hips as Oliver would have liked, but it was a face-on shot and therefore he couldn’t see her backside which could, of course, be gloriously fleshy. And there was also the fact that she had expressed very eloquently where her desires lay.

  ‘Hans?’ Oliver turned. She was not too tall and not as full-figured as the photograph had promised. But she had a certain sexiness about her and her backside was a decent size. Enough to get his teeth into.

  ‘Yes… Suzi?’

  ‘That’s me. Or it’s not really, just like I suppose you’re not really Hans. But let’s see how the evening goes and we can take it from there.’

  Oliver smiled. She was smart too. And knew what she wanted. He just hoped that she understood, fully, what it was that he wanted.

  Suzi declined Oliver’s offer of dinner.

  ‘Let’s just go somewhere private,’ she said and smiled a wicked crimson smile. ‘I think we both have an appetite that pasta isn’t going to satisfy.’

  Oliver felt his heart pick up the pace and a stirring in his groin. ‘Let’s go to my hotel room.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not your hotel. My place. I feel safer there and we won’t have to worry about… well, noise.’

  Oliver thought it over. He didn’t like the idea of an unknown location. His hotel had, again, been carefully selected. And he had to be very careful. He knew that, if things didn’t go his way, he would not be able to control his temper and it could get messy. He needed to know his way out of wherever he was.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘I thought a hotel room was, well, neutral ground, I suppose.’

  ‘Listen, Hans,’ Suzi said, still smiling but with resolve in her voice. ‘We both know what we want. We are different from others. Our needs. But I need to have my things around. For after. You know, to fight infection, that kind of thing. Trust me, Hans, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship. Now, are you coming or not?’

  Oliver looked at her for a moment, then said decisively: ‘Okay. Let’s go…’

  3.

  The last bucket had been filled with iced water. The shock after the hot water had robbed Maria of her breath – and, for several seconds, of her consciousness. When she came round her heart was hammering and intense pain shot through her left arm and across her chest. She had heard of people dying from heart attacks in cold plunge pools after too long in the sauna. What she had experienced had been the same experience amplified a hundredfold. The pain eased, but she knew that her heart probably would not withstand many more of these temperature shocks. Maria was also aware that she had lost even more body heat. Her mind was becoming fuzzy.

  Vitrenko stood over her. She looked up at him and, for a second, saw his former face and gold-blond hair. Then the illusion faded. His hair darkened, his face reshaped around the unchanging eyes. He crouched down and grabbed a handful of her short dyed-black hair, snapping her head back and forcing her to look at him.

  ‘How did it feel to be someone else, Maria?’ Vitrenko’s emerald eyes glittered hard and cold in his new face. ‘It’s liberating, isn’t it? For a while you actually do become the person you pretend to be. You thought you had got to know Taras Buslenko. Oh yes, he does exist. Or at least he did. Like you, Buslenko took everything far too seriously. This is just business. But Buslenko was an eager young fool. A patriot. He was full of all kinds of romantic ideals about what Ukraine could be. And, just like you, he made it his personal mission to find me and kill me. So everything I said to you… all that really was him. He lived again through me. In a way, you really did get to know the real Buslenko. What’s it like to get to know a dead man?’ Vitrenko let go of Maria’s hair and her head fell forward. ‘You wanted to kill me too, didn’t you, Maria? You wanted it so badly that you were prepared to sacrifice your life to take mine. But the real Maria Klee wasn’t up to the task, was she? First you had to become someone else. And the reason you had to do that is that you were too broken and too afraid before. But I’ll tell you something right now: the old Maria was right. You should have stayed afraid.’

  ‘I need to sleep…’ was all Maria managed to utter.

  ‘Okay,’ said Vitrenko. He smiled and suddenly his voice became warm and friendly. Vitrenko became Buslenko again. ‘I’ll let you sleep, Maria. With blankets to keep you cosy. Out there, outside the cold store, in the warm. I’ll give you a hot drink before you sleep. The access codes… all you have to do is give me the access codes or tell me where they are and I’ll allow you out of here and let you get some sleep.’

  Maria became aware that she had stopped shivering. She was beginning to feel warmer. Even more sleepy. Her leaden eyelids slowly succumbed to gravity. She was going to cheat Vitrenko. Her eyes snapped open as he slapped her hard across the face.

  ‘Maria – stay awake. If you fall asleep in here, you’ll die. Out there… out there you can sleep and live. Tell me the access codes.’

  ‘I forget…’ Maria’s eyes started to close again. Vitrenko started to shout and Maria vaguely thought that tha
t was what swearing must sound like in Ukrainian. She felt his boot smash into her ribs, but she was too sleepy and already too distant from her own flesh to feel any pain.

  Maria closed her eyes and slept.

  4.

  ‘This is it…’ Suzi said. She had insisted that they take her car, which suited Oliver in one way because there had been no taxi driver to identify him. But it also meant that he had no quick getaway. Suzi led him up the stairs and into her apartment. There was a small hall with a number of doors off it, all but one of which were closed. The open door, he could see, led into the bedroom. He waited for her to show him into the lounge, but she guided him directly into the bedroom.

  ‘What?’ He grinned mischievously. ‘No preliminaries?’ He took in the bedroom. It was surprisingly characterless, almost functional, which was odd, given the size of Suzi’s personality.

  ‘Maybe a little chat first,’ Suzi said. She sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. ‘And then we’ll have some fun.’

  Oliver sat down. Suzi was beginning to annoy him. He had always seen himself as a predator, but it was almost as if she was leading their dance. Suddenly the situation seemed less appealing to him and Oliver was aware that he was being robbed of much of his enjoyment. He had never fully considered how much of his gratification came from his power over them. And from their horror. Their shock. Their fear.

  No, he thought, I will lead this dance. Oliver felt the rage rise inside him. If she did not succumb to exactly what he wanted, then he would smash her face. This was not about her, or her needs: it was about him and his.

  ‘Have you done this before?’ asked Suzi. Her hair had been coiled up behind her head and she undid it. A glorious red, but much deeper than Sylvia’s, the girl who had introduced him to his own hunger, so many years before.