The Ice House

by John Connor

  ‘You said she would be there already.’

  ‘I made a mistake. But she will come. You can call her, and she will come to you.’

  ‘When?’

  He picked a mobile up from the seat beside him. ‘When we get a signal. There’s a mast nearer the house. You can do it when I get a signal. I need you to do it.’

  45

  ‘Rebecca is your daughter.’ He said it again, head still reeling with confusion. ‘She’s your daughter …’

  ‘And you’re this guy Carl Bowman?’ She looked like she couldn’t believe it. She was calling him ‘Alex’, which was what she had always called him, the Anglicised version of the name on his birth certificate, which was Aleksi, the name his mother had given him. No one had called him either Alex or Aleksi for many years.

  He had told her he was Carl Bowman, told her several other things to calm her. This was when they’d still been outside, because she had been flailing at him, trying to hit his face as he staggered backwards, too astonished and dismayed to defend himself. Because he couldn’t take it in – Liz Edwards right there in front of him, telling him her daughter was the child he had been trying to help, the child he had been paid to kill.

  Eventually, he’d had to grab her arms, hold her and almost shout it at her, telling her that he had tried to protect Rebecca, had tried to save her. He told her that over and over again until she got it. Then she collapsed onto the ground in tears. When he could catch his breath he told her more things, talking quickly, keeping his eyes on the gateposts and the road beyond, watching for headlights or movement. He told her almost everything that had happened, the rapid version, starting with how someone had hired him to kill a ten-year-old. He could see her struggling with disgust as she half knelt, half sat on the gravel outside the front entrance, head in her hands. Some of the details flew straight past her but enough connected to ensure she came inside when he asked.

  He needed to get her quiet enough so he could ask her questions. He had another piece of the jigsaw now, but he needed more. Viktor had sold him to Zaikov, tried to get him killed, then he had fled with Rebecca. So there was a connection. There had to be. Liz could explain, then they could work out what to do.

  He got her into the room nearest the entrance hall and he switched all the lights off so he could see outside, just in case. They were almost in darkness – the lights were still on in the hall but he’d closed the door so there was only a crack of light coming through. He stood at the window, facing away from her, eyes on the floodlit spaces outside. He thought it would be better to go up to the little room beneath the tower that was full of security equipment – from there he could monitor the entire perimeter using the CCTV cameras. There were alarm systems that he could reactivate. It would be better if he had the MP5 from the bike top box too. A shotgun wasn’t the right weapon for this, if people came. But he didn’t dare suggest any of that to her. And anyway, he was beginning to think that that wasn’t going to happen. No one was going to come here looking for him, or Viktor, or Rebecca. Because something else was going on.

  She was on one of the couches, in the darkness, hunched forward, asking him question after question. He answered quickly, repeating answers until she was satisfied, waiting for his turn. And all the time his head was worrying at it, trying to properly grasp the possibilities. He turned now and said, ‘She’s with Viktor. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. I don’t know why he has done this. He told me Zaikov wanted your family dead, and I believed him. He had proof – bank transfer documents, things like that – I looked at them. But they must have been forged, because Zaikov had never heard of you, or Rebecca. So there must be something else, some other reason to have sent me to Zaikov’s boat. And not just money. I don’t think that could be it. Not now. He would not have sent me there unless he was desperate, unless I was the only price he could pay. But for what? I’m thinking now I was the price he had to pay to keep Rebecca safe, to protect her from Zaikov. Which means there has to be something that would make Rebecca that important to Viktor, something he never told me about. I think there’s only one thing that can be.’ He turned to face her. ‘Is she his child, Liz? Is that what it is? Is Rebecca Viktor’s child?’

  She started to laugh bitterly, shaking her head. He went over to the couch and sat beside her. ‘She is the right age,’ he said. ‘You were in a relationship with him. Is Viktor her father?’

  She turned suddenly, straightening up. ‘So who sent you to kill her? Who did that? Who killed my husband? Who tried to kill me? Who?’ She was shouting it at him. ‘You’re being stupid, Alex, fucking stupid. Her own father wanted her dead? That’s what you want to believe?’

  ‘So he’s not her father?’

  ‘No. He is not her fucking father. And Zaikov has never heard of us – you just said that yourself. So where’s the reason to send you to Zaikov?’

  She was right – it didn’t work. He knew it didn’t work. He shook his head. Even if he accepted that his own brother had sold him to seal a deal, there were still things he couldn’t under­stand. Why wasn’t Viktor here, why had he fled? And why had he taken Rebecca if the contract on her was a complete coincidence, nothing to do with the deal with Zaikov at all?

  He sat forward and put his face in his hands. ‘He gave me to Zaikov,’ he said heavily. ‘He sent me there knowing they would kill me; he told them I had killed his son to make that happen.’ He took a breath. ‘I don’t understand why.’ The fact of it was a physical pain in his skull. ‘But if that’s what happened then why does he have Rebecca with him now? Why is he still protecting her?’

  She stood up suddenly and walked over to the window. He saw her lean against the pane and start to shake. He went after her, put a hand out and carefully touched her shoulder. She started to cry out loud, really sobbing. He didn’t know what he was permitted to do. If he put an arm round her he thought she might start hitting him again. The lights on the driveway lit her up now. He could see her head, the beautiful, thick, red hair, see her face, twisted into a baby grimace of anguish. He opened his mouth to tell her they would find Rebecca, that she had his word on that, but she spoke first, stuttering the words through strangled sobs: ‘He is not protecting her,’ she said. ‘He is going to kill her, Alex. He wants to kill her and kill me. He hired you to kill her. Don’t you see it? He paid you, he sent you to Spain.’

  He shook his head, frowning hard, keeping his hand there, uselessly, on her shoulder. ‘Why would he do that?’

  She took a massive breath. ‘Because you’re her father, Alex. Because you’re her father and he has found out.’

  46

  Even without this, Rebecca was so tired the world seemed unreal. She dozed, woke up, was unsure where she was, what was happening … but then this; a palace, suddenly there in the thick black night, the trees falling away from the road to reveal it, the lights behind hundreds of windows painting the sky above, like something out of a Disney fairy tale. She squinted at it, too cold to want to look for long, more confused than impressed. She was just outside the car, with Viktor beside her. They were both shivering. ‘The Ice House,’ he said. ‘That’s what it’s called. Your mother knows it well. She’s been here before.’ She looked up at him with heavy eyes and, weirdly, thought he might be crying, but she couldn’t be sure and hardly cared any more. ‘I’m really cold,’ she said. ‘I need to get back into the car. I need to sleep.’

  ‘You can sleep all you want soon. First, we call her.’

  ‘Can I call her from the car?’

  ‘No. Call her from here. Tell her how cold it is. She’ll hear you shivering and come quicker.’ He winked at her.

  ‘I don’t want to do that …’

  ‘I was joking.’ He handed her a phone. ‘The signal is weak. That’s why we’re out here. Quick!’ He pointed to the phone. ‘It’s ring
ing already. Tell her where we are.’

  When it started to ring, Julia was watching Carl for a re­action. He was standing there staring at her, his face stricken with shock. She searched in her pockets and found the phone – Molina’s phone. The number was ‘unknown’. ‘This is him,’ she said tensely. ‘He’s calling.’ But Carl didn’t move. ‘This is your brother,’ she said again, louder. This was the phone Viktor was using, the phone on which she had recognised his voice. She pressed answer and put the phone to her ear, looked away from Carl to concentrate, then heard a child’s voice speaking to her. Her legs almost gave way.

  ‘Mum? Is that you, Mum?’

  ‘Rebecca …’ The word came out in a hoarse rasp, her breath pushed past an unbearable tightness in her chest. She was alive. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Carl move closer to her. ‘Rebecca. It’s you. Thank God it’s you.’ She started to cry immediately, put her hand up to her mouth. She felt a relief so strong she had to sit down in case she fell.

  But reality returned quickly. There was no cause for relief. She had to think, calculate, and with desperate speed. She had to guess what might be happening, what she had to say.

  ‘Mum. Yes, it’s me. Are you OK, Mum?’ She could hear Rebecca breathing sharply, big breaths.

  ‘Rebecca, I’ve missed you so much …’

  ‘Me too, Mum.’ There was a pause. She could hear Rebecca sniffling. Was she crying? ‘But you’re coming here now, right?’ Rebecca asked. ‘I need you to come here, Mum …’

  Julia swallowed, screwed her eyes shut, pressed the fear away. Everything was urgent. He would take the phone away from Rebecca in moments. ‘You’re with Viktor?’ she asked rapidly. ‘Where are you? Tell me where you are …’

  ‘Yes. I’m with Viktor. We’re at a place called The Ice House. I don’t know where it is. He says you know though …’

  The Ice House. ‘Where is he?’ she asked quickly. ‘Where’s Viktor right now?’

  Carl moved beside her and started to whisper something, but she put a hand out, telling him to keep his distance. ‘Where is Viktor?’ she asked again. The tears were running down her face but she tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Can he hear you?’

  ‘No. He’s over by the car. I’m freezing. It’s freezing here. Are you coming, Mum? I miss you really badly. I don’t know what’s been happening …’

  ‘I’m coming. I’m coming right now. But it will take me a few hours. Now listen carefully. Listen to this – are you listening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can’t let on that I’m saying this. You have to try to understand me. We might not have long before this call is over. So listen carefully. You are not to trust him. No matter what he says or does, you are not to trust him …’ She heard a gasp of breath, then another noise, like a sob. ‘Are you still there, Rebecca? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I’m here.’

  ‘Be strong. Don’t cry. Do as I tell you. Do not let him hear. Can he hear?’

  A pause. ‘No.’

  ‘Act as normally as you can, but the first opportunity you get then get away from him and hide. You understand? Do not trust him. Do not trust anybody. Get away and hide and I will find you. I’ll be there in five hours. You have to wait—’

  ‘But, Mum—’

  ‘You have to hold out that long … Do you understand?’

  ‘He’s coming over.’ She spoke in an urgent whisper.

  ‘I love you,’ Julia said quickly. Then heard a scratching noise, like wind across the microphone, followed by voices she couldn’t make out. ‘Hello?’ she said, helplessly. ‘Rebecca? Are you there still?’ She felt the lump in her throat, the fierce, terrible longing.

  ‘Hello, Liz.’ A different voice. ‘Is that you, Liz?’

  ‘Is my daughter there?’ Her voice started to rise hysterically. ‘What are you doing to my daughter? I want to speak to my daughter …’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s cold. That’s all. She’s gone back to the car.’ He sounded far away but not like he was laughing at her. More like he was talking to an old friend, like everything was normal. It was obscene. ‘You have to come here,’ he said, quite calmly.

  ‘Don’t hurt her, Viktor,’ she pleaded, lowering her voice with difficulty, her jaw trembling. ‘Please don’t hurt her …’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Liz. I’m not that kind of man. She’s only a child. She’s innocent.’

  But he had already tried to kill her. He had tried to get her own father to shoot her. He was a fucking psychopath. ‘I’m begging you,’ she said. ‘Please don’t hurt her. She has nothing to do with anything. She is—’

  ‘Can you get here? Or I can send someone for you … We need to talk, Liz. That’s all I want – just to talk to you again. This is where it all started. Right here. I need to know why. I thought you loved me. But you were with him, with my brother …’

  ‘We can talk about all that. But don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her. I will get there. Promise me you won’t hurt her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I will drive there. I’ll come right now.’

  ‘Of course you’ll come. I’ll text you the coordinates. Ring me when you’re near. You understand?’

  ‘I understand. Please don’t hurt her, Viktor.’

  ‘Come alone. It would be a bad error to call the police.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.’ Her voice was ­choking. She fought the tears back, struggling to sound intelligible, to get him to believe her.

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ he said. ‘Just us. Waiting for you. She told you where we are?’

  ‘The Ice House.’ She said the words in Russian, as she remembered them.

  ‘No more discussion, then,’ he said. ‘Just come.’

  ‘This isn’t her fault, Viktor. Please don’t harm her. I will—’

  But the line was dead already.

  47

  Julia was halfway up the drive on her way to the gates before he could get her to stop. He caught hold of her arm and pulled her round. A hand came up to slap his face and she screamed something at him. Something about his family. He took the blow.

  ‘Tell me what he said,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me.’

  She hit him again and started to walk away, still facing him. ‘Keep away from me,’ she yelled.

  He stepped forward and grabbed her arm again. ‘You’ve just told me she’s my daughter,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t keep away from you.’

  She sank to the ground, sobbing, then started to tell him in a rush, sometimes so incoherently he couldn’t make out the details. Rebecca was alive. Viktor was in Russia, with Rebecca, he had told her to come there, to The Ice House.

  ‘Did he say anything about me?’ he asked, crouching beside her. ‘Did he ask if I was with you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘He doesn’t know I’m with you, then.’

  ‘You’re not with me. I left to get away from you, from you and him and all of it. I don’t want you near my daughter.’

  He stood up, emotions churning. He had all the pieces now. He knew it all, or enough to fill the gaps. What she had said had to be true: Viktor had contracted him. He had got behind the cartel, or faked that it was the cartel. He had paid the money, not Zaikov. Zaikov had nothing to do with it. There might still be a deal between Zaikov and Viktor, there might be money between them, an extra incentive, but that wasn’t what was going on. What was going on was personal. Because Viktor knew. He knew what had happened ten years ago – he knew about Carl and Liz. Somehow he had found out where Liz was and that she had a child. He had tried to get Carl to kill his own daughter. Deliberately. It was devastating, like a hammer blow to his head. It felt like the sudden, violent death of someone close – he couldn’t begin to assimilate it. He was just completely and utterly stunned.

  But he coul
dn’t let it cripple him. Because Rebecca was his daughter. ‘I saw it in her eyes,’ he said, ignoring Julia’s words. ‘I saw it the first time I saw her eyes.’ Something had passed between them on the hillside, with his finger on the trigger. That was why he had done it all, why he had tried to save her. ‘That’s why she trusted me,’ he said. She had trusted him. At some level, he thought, in her heart, she had known too. He wanted to believe that. He bent down and took Liz’s hand. ‘Stand up, Liz. Stop crying.’

  He got her to her feet, holding both her hands, speaking carefully. He told her they would go together to get Rebecca. He was looking at her face, standing so close that even in this poor light he could see the freckles again, see the colour of her eyes, see that it was, somehow, the same Liz as ten years ago – older, distraught, yes, but beyond those details still her nonetheless, still recognisably everything she had been to him. ‘Do you have a Russian visa?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe.’ She wiped a hand across her eyes and started searching through the pockets of the jacket she had on. Her whole body was shaking. It was shock, brought on by the adrenalin. She pulled out a handful of papers and started looking clumsily through them, wiping her eyes again, breathing hard, trying to see, to organise the documents.

  When he took them off her she didn’t object. There was a passport, not in her name, not with her picture either, credit cards in the name on the passport, various other bits of paper. He flicked through the passport. There were six or seven valid visas in it, including a Russian business visa. ‘There’s a car in the garage,’ he said. ‘We’ll take that.’

  ‘I have a car.’

  ‘We’ll take Viktor’s,’ he said. ‘I read there was already snow up there, and it’s his winter car. It has winter tyres and four wheel drive.’

  He started to walk towards the garage block, and heard her hurrying after him. ‘How long will it take?’ she asked. ‘How long till we get there?’