by TM Logan
But she also knew it could be him, any time, on any day. And one day it would be.
She needed to get home. Draw the curtains. Lock the door. Put her phone on silent.
She turned the ignition, put the Fiesta in gear and was reversing out of her space when out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of grey metal, heard a squeal of brakes echoing off the car park’s low concrete ceiling. Instinctively she slammed on her own brakes and her car rocked to a stop, bare inches away from a collision. A huge grey 4 x 4 had stopped behind her and now sat, unmoving, blocking her. The windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t see in. Without thinking, she hit her car’s horn with the palm of her hand, the noise echoing loudly off the car park walls.
On a normal day she would have dismissed it as just another crap piece of driving in a city full of it. But this wasn’t a normal day. It hadn’t been a normal week, a normal month.
The 4 x 4 stayed where it was. No one got out.
A trickle of fear crept down Sarah’s spine. What the hell?
She hit her horn again, the shrill tone sounding louder in the silence as it bounced and echoed away. The big grey 4 x 4 still didn’t move.
Sarah turned left and right in her seat, desperately hoping there would be someone else there, a witness, someone who could help her.
There was no one.
The fear was flowing now, turning her stomach liquid. Bile rising in her throat.
For one mad moment she thought about flooring the accelerator and trying to ram the big car out of her way. But it was twice the size of her Fiesta, and probably twice the weight too. It wouldn’t work. With shaking hands, she dug in her handbag for her phone, found it, and decided to run. She would dial 999 then get out and start running before –
A tall bearded man in sunglasses got out of the front passenger seat, wearing jeans and a dark suit jacket. He came around the Mercedes 4 x 4 and opened the rear passenger door, then walked to the driver’s side door of Sarah’s Fiesta and pulled it open. Up close he looked huge, the muscles of his neck and back stretching the jacket taut across his shoulders.
He reached down to the ignition of her car, turned off the engine and pocketed her keys, gesturing with his other hand towards the Mercedes’ open passenger door.
Sarah stayed where she was, paralysed by fear.
The bearded man bent towards her and reached down into the Fiesta, across her body. His face was only inches from hers and the car seemed to fill suddenly with the smells of cigarettes and sweat and sickly-sweet aftershave. Sarah pushed herself back into her seat, balling her hands into fists ready to hit him, or the car horn, or both. Then she saw the gun tucked into the shoulder holster beneath his jacket, and froze.
He released her seat belt and stood up, gesturing again towards the 4 x 4.
Sarah got out of her car slowly and the man pushed her door shut. He took her mobile from her hand and gestured again towards the Mercedes idling a few feet away. Sarah could see the car’s creamy white interior. It looked like one person was seated in the back.
The bearded man took her by the arm and led her to the SUV. Sarah had time for one final desperate look around the car park for someone, anyone, who might hear a cry for help, call the police or try to intervene to help her.
But there was no one.
Then the bearded man’s hand was in the small of her back, pushing her towards the open door of the Mercedes.
She got in.
67
‘Hello, Sarah.’
Volkov sat, relaxed in a white shirt and dark blue jeans, legs crossed, in the car’s spacious leather interior.
She sat down on the far side of him, her heart juddering in her chest.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Put your seat belt on.’
‘What?’
He gestured towards her shoulder.
‘Your seat belt. Nikolai likes to drive fast.’
She reached up and clicked the seat belt into place, pressing her body half against the window so she could keep her eyes on him. The bearded man got into the front passenger seat and the car moved off smoothly, leaving her Fiesta behind. The driver guided it down the ramp, through the exit and out into the evening traffic.
Volkov pressed a button in the door console and a glass partition slid into place between the driver’s compartment and the rest of the car. The car was even quieter now, the noise of the engine and the outside world muffled to a distant hum. Sarah kept her eyes on the Russian the whole time, trying to read him, to work out where the car was headed.
If they were going to kidnap you they wouldn’t have done it in a public place. There are CCTV cameras on that car park. And they wouldn’t have left your car there.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s happening?’
‘How are you, Sarah? You look tired.’
‘I’m great. Never better. How did you know where to find me?’
He shrugged as if the answer was obvious.
‘How does anyone find anything these days?’
‘I thought you said we’d never see each other again?’
‘I did say that. But unusual circumstances mean we have to adapt. The truth is, Sarah, I’m worried about you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Are you sleeping?’
She was momentarily disarmed by his question.
‘On and off.’
‘And you have spoken to the police yesterday morning, yes? Detective Inspector Kate Rayner?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I know many things. How did your conversation go?’
‘She wanted to talk to me about Alan.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I told them I didn’t know anything about it.’
‘And what did you say about me?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘What about the mobile phone I gave you?’
‘I disposed of it.’
He considered this for a moment.
‘All right. But consider this a warning and a personal guarantee. If you tell the police one word about our conversation, about my offer, I will know about it. I promise you, I will know. Do you understand what this means?’
Sarah nodded, remembering the pictures he had shown her of her children’s schools. Grace, oblivious, photographed in the middle of the playground.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. It is good to understand each other.’
‘What about your man? The police have him. They found Lovelock in the boot of his car.’
‘What about him?’
‘What if he talks to the police?’
Volkov grunted as if this was funny.
‘Let me tell you about Yuri – about how he got his scar. One of my rivals in Moscow sent four men to take him, some years ago. He killed one and put another in the hospital for a month. The others beat him unconscious with iron bars and took him to a basement where they beat him for another three days straight. They pulled out all his fingernails, one by one, and put out cigarettes on the wounds. Cut off three of his toes with bolt cutters. They tortured him with electricity. They sliced his scalp from his ear,’ he motioned with a finger over the top of his head, ‘and peeled it back over his forehead so they could put more cigarettes out on his bare skull. And all this time, all this time, he said not one word to them. Not one word.’
‘What did they want from him?’
‘Information about me and my family – so they could get to me. But even though they beat him for three days, he still gave them nothing. So in answer to your question: no. He will not be talking to your soft British police, even if they try to force him. He has already seen the worst that men can do and he still kept his silence. Hell will freeze and the Devil will beg on his knees for repentance before this happens. You would do well to follow his example.’
‘I have nothing to gain by talking to the police. And everything to lose.’
‘Good. Then we understand each other.�
�
She looked at the leather upholstery of the expensive car, the seatback screens and minibar. Listened to the soft powerful thrum of the engine as they were driven through the busy north London streets.
She spoke without looking at him.
‘So what the hell happened?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your man Yuri, the scarred man. How on earth did he manage to get himself arrested with Alan tied up in the boot?’
Volkov shrugged.
‘Our usual process is we wait a few days after taking the subject, wait for any initial attention to calm down a little. We wait until the subject is weakened, more docile. Only this time, when Yuri was on his way out of the city to complete the task he had a piece of simple bad luck – it happens. Sometimes fate intervenes. For this, I apologise.’
‘Well, I’m glad, anyway.’
Volkov frowned.
‘Glad the professor is still alive?’
‘Yes. No. Not exactly. I still hate his guts but I’m glad he’s not dead, I suppose. I’m glad I’m not responsible.’
‘Two weeks ago you wanted him gone.’
‘I know. I was angry.’
‘You are a fickle woman.’ He smiled slightly but there was sadness in it. ‘My wife was the same.’
The car stopped, and Sarah looked out of her window. They were back in the car park, her little blue Fiesta just where she had left it. The driver got out and came around to her door, scanning their surroundings and then opening it for her.
Volkov held out his hand.
‘Goodbye, Dr Haywood. I wish you luck.’
68
She stared at him.
‘So that’s it? That’s all? You just wanted to warn me about talking to the police?’
She felt like a swimmer who had let the tide take her so far out that she couldn’t touch the bottom. Just treading cold water, fighting the panic and trying to keep her head up. But how long could a person do that?
Volkov nodded, once.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is all.’
You can’t tread water forever. Sooner or later, you go under.
Unless you grab on to something, anything, to keep you afloat.
There was the tiniest glimmer of a plan in her mind, so far away it was virtually disappearing over the horizon. But desperation lent anger to her voice.
‘I thought you were a man of your word.’
‘I am.’
‘No. You made me a promise, and you broke that promise.’ She saw anger darken his face, but she ploughed on regardless. ‘You said you were a man of honour, a man who knew what it meant to pay his debts.’
He gestured to his driver and the man closed her door again.
‘Things have changed,’ he said. ‘Circumstances have changed.’
‘My circumstances have not changed,’ Sarah spat back. ‘Actually, they have – they’ve got ten times worse. And your debt is still not paid.’
He frowned. The anger left his face then he nodded slowly.
‘This is true. The debt is not paid.’
‘When you made me this offer you said there would be no going back. That was one of your conditions.’
‘True.’
‘But you’ve gone back on your word. You have.’
Volkov pointed at her.
‘It is good to see the tiger is back. But you just said you were glad the tall professor is still breathing.’
‘Something still needs to be done. Things can’t carry on the way they are.’
‘The volshebnik cannot perform his vanishing trick for a little while.’
‘I know that. But there are other ways of making someone disappear.’
‘Not in my world. In my world, there is only one way. The oldest way.’
‘I’m talking about my world.’
He studied her for a moment.
‘And how does it happen in your world?’
‘Let me worry about that.’
He considered this for a moment.
‘Now I am intrigued. Tell me more.’
‘There is more than one way to make a person vanish. I need you to do what you promised me. I need you to settle our debt – but not your way. My way.’ She summoned the one Russian phrase she had learned, trying her best with the accent. ‘Ugovor dorozhe deneg.’
He laughed and clapped his hands.
‘Ha! Very good, I like this. Do you know what it means?’
She shrugged.
‘A bargain is a bargain.’
‘Yes. And also that a man’s word is his reputation. This is very important.’ He smiled. ‘Your accent needs some work, however.’
‘So . . . will you help me?’
He looked at her, his dark eyes boring into her.
‘This depends, Dr Haywood. What is it you need?’
‘I need something your countrymen are famous for.’
‘We are famous for many things,’ he said, spreading his hands. ‘You will have to be a little more specific.’
And so she told him.
He listened, keeping his eyes on her. He took no notes, but Sarah knew that he would remember every word of their conversation.
Finally, he nodded.
‘I will think about it.’
‘Give me the tools and I will do what’s needed. I will do it myself.’
‘There are many risks.’
‘The biggest risk for me is doing nothing.’
He considered this for a moment.
‘Perhaps. As I said, I will think about it.’
‘How will you let me know when you’ve decided? How do I contact you again?’
‘You don’t. I will be in touch if we are to proceed.’
He lifted up the central compartment between them on the back seat. Inside were half a dozen identical mobile phones, vacuum-packed in clear plastic like prime cuts of steak. He selected one and handed it to her.
‘Single-use phone. Charge it and keep it switched on at all times. Do not use for anything else. If you do so, we will know and that will be an end to it.’ He leaned forward. ‘But if I decide to help you in the way you suggest, one of my colleagues will be in touch by six tomorrow. Then remove SIM card and destroy both card and phone.’
‘And if I don’t hear from you?’
‘Then I wish you luck, Dr Haywood.’
The meeting, it seemed, was at an end.
Sarah got out, closing the door behind her. The big 4 x 4 pulled away in a squeal of tyres and disappeared back down the exit ramp, leaving nothing behind but an echo bouncing off the low concrete walls.
69
Sarah gathered up books and papers spread across the seminar room table as the last of her final year students filed out. It was a good group, bright third-years with a genuine interest in the subject, but she couldn’t concentrate at more than a superficial level. She let them do most of the talking, holding just enough of the thread to make sure she could keep the discussion going until the allotted hour was up. Picking up the last of her papers, she heard a click as the seminar room door shut behind her. She froze, an animal fear flooding her veins, knowing who was there even without turning around.
‘Good to see you back in harness, Sarah,’ Lovelock said, his deep baritone filling every corner of the room.
It was Thursday morning, her second day back at work after he had assaulted her in the lounge of her house. She had determined to avoid him as far as possible – to limit their contact to an absolute minimum – while she tried to get everything in place.
She turned to face him, holding her bag across her chest.
‘I have to get to my next seminar group,’ she said quietly.
He turned the door lock in its latch and leaned back against the frame, blocking her exit.
‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long. I just want to be clear about our new arrangement, after our conversation the other day.’
‘All right.’
‘You see, I know women like you. I know how you
r minds work.’
‘Really.’ She did her best to keep her voice even.
‘Oh yes. You’re thinking you can just up sticks and run away from the little mess you’ve created here. Resign from your post.’
‘No,’ Sarah said.
‘Good, because if you do decide to resign, I will suddenly remember what our Russian friend said to me, and I will have to tell Detective Inspector Rayner. Imagine how that will go down.’
Sarah felt she was falling, plummeting, and put a hand out to the desk next to her, to steady herself.
‘You’re saying I can’t leave?’
‘You can do whatever you like.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m just telling you what the consequences will be.’
‘Until when?’
‘Until I get bored with our new weekly arrangement.’
‘So basically, you won’t give me a permanent role but you won’t let me quit either.’
‘I hate that word. Quit. I’ve never quit in my life – there’s a lesson for you there, Sarah. And just think about this: if you choose that road and you end up going to jail for conspiracy to kidnap, what do you think will happen to your children?’
‘What? What about them?’
He let her consider it for a moment before continuing.
‘They will be taken away from you and given to your faithless, wandering husband, who will probably divorce you. The little brats will have to learn to live without mummy. And who knows? With a criminal conviction, you might never see them again.’
Somehow, among all the events of the last few weeks – all the choices she had made – it had never occurred to her that the consequences might rebound upon her children. That they might end up being the biggest losers of all, cut adrift from their mother and left with their feckless father. What hope would there be for them then? She told herself that everything she had done, everything, had been about safeguarding their future, about doing what she needed to do as a mother to bring up Grace and Harry. Having the stability and security to bring up her little family single-handed, if she had to.
And now this.
She stared at him, feeling her anger building.
And at that moment, in that instant, the dam that had been holding back all of her pent-up emotions cracked wide open and they surged through her like a burning tide – despair, fear, the desperate rage of a cornered mother whose young are threatened. She knew with absolute certainty then that she could kill this man if she had to. It took all the control she had to stop herself throwing herself at him, climbing over the desk and stabbing him through the heart with whatever she could lay her hands on. Tearing his throat out, plunging her thumbs into his eye sockets and –
