All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

  Startled, eleven-year-old Mattias Falk’s head shot up from the pages of the book on his lap. He grinned at his cousin who’d wandered into the family library co-occupied by Ivar and Otto.

  “Hej, Holton! Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. It’s fast become my favorite novels by him!” Matty pushed his large tortoise-shell frames up his nose and carefully closed their grandfather’s prized, first-edition novel. Gushing in a voice that carried far beyond the library’s four walls, he added, “The chronological history of the French invasion of Russia and the impact of Napoleon’s era on Tsarist society through the stories of five Russian aristocratic families is positively riveting!”

  “Uh-huh, sure. Glad you’re enjoyin’ it.” Holt felt his eyes glazing over as he scanned the books on the shelf, his hand hovering undecidedly. Eventually, he selected a newer book entitled Simon and the Oaks by Swedish author Marianne Fredriksson.

  “That’s a wise choice, cousin,” Matty nodded sagely before returning to his book.

  “Can you even read without moving your lips?” Otto mocked from an armchair by the window where he played chess with Ivar.

  “That’s uncalled for, Otto,” Matty reprimanded him when Ivar remained silent, allowing the conflict to dramatically play out.

  Holt wandered over to them and observed the chess board. “How long have you been playin’?”

  “Three years. Grandfather has been teaching me.” Otto looked to Ivar, who smiled his approval. “He says I have a knack for the game. What’s it to you?” he demanded.

  Matty soon joined them, stiffening as he studied the board. Holt’s smile had Ivar straightening at attention.

  “That will be all, boys. Return to your reading,” he instructed them sharply.

  “Why? What’s the matter?” Otto drilled Holt belligerently. His gaze swung from the board to their grandfather suspiciously.

  He was gearing up for another world-class tantrum. All he’d need was the tiniest bit of goading, and Holt could envision Otto sending the chessboard crashing to the floor in a raging fit. Holt knew it and smirked at Ivar who glowered furiously, wondering if he’d be ratted out. Instead, his astute grandson chose to remain mum on the matter.

  “Nothin’. Keep up the good work.”

  Holt left the library with Matty hot on his heels and Ivar’s stare singeing his back.

  “I don’t understand why he does that!”

  Nothing surprised Holt anymore when it came to Ivar. The less interaction they had, the better. “Does what?”

  “Come on! You know what I’m talking about! Grandfather is an excellent strategist! He thinks nothing of trouncing his opponents, regardless of age!” Matty snatched his glasses off and wiped them vigorously with his sweater sleeve. “He’s deliberately letting Otto win! There were three ways that he could have captured his queen already!”

  “Glad I wasn’t the only one who noticed.” Holt looked up and down the hallway before opening the book he’d selected and extracted a folded Spider Man comic book that he shoved under the front of his shirt. “Next time, try not to lay it on so thick! You’re gonna get us caught. How close are you to bein’ done with Iron Man and Captain America?”

  Matty wrinkled his nose. “I was improvising. I thought it added the perfect element for our cover-up. I’m almost done. Can I have the Incredible Hulk next?”

  “Sure thin’. I’ll put it in that other Tolstoy chick book.”

  “Anna Karenina is not a chick book, Holton! It’s a masterpiece! Did you know that Tolstoy declared it one of his—”

  “No, and I don’t care either,” Holt replied with a pained look.

  Matty smiled, aware that he tended to ramble. “Thank you for bringing the comics.”

  “Not a problem. I didn’t think that you had it in you to defy the old man.”

  They’d created this smuggling system to get around Ivar’s rule of “no garbage allowed that would rot their brains”. Holt brought the treasures with him every year that he returned, and it was their secret. He wouldn’t have minded including Otto if he didn’t think their cousin would be a dick, just to rat Holt out.

  “Shame on you, Holton!” Matty shook his finger at his younger cousin playfully. “Or rather, shame on me, yes?”

  His delighted grin revealed a mouthful of shiny metal that practically blinded Holt. “Then again, it’s Marvel! How could I not?”

  ***

  Holt’s eyes shot open, and he jackknifed into a sitting position, gasping at the breakthrough. He pressed his face to his knees, trying to control his involuntary quaking. Kat was still sleeping soundlessly. Holt resisted the urge to wake her up and share his good news.

  He knew precisely what Matty had done with the evidence.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Holt’s hand was sweaty as he reached for Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina in the family library. It had always been one of Matty’s favorites, and he should have recognized that. He pulled the book down and took a deep breath. God, please let him be right. Holt felt like he was failing the family with every passing day that Matty’s death went unavenged. He opened it, and an envelope fell out. Holt’s normally slick reflexes were stuck, and it fell to the floor as his eyes followed the one word written on the outside.

  Holton

  He picked it up and opened it. There was a letter on top of the photos. Holt ripped it open and dove in.

  “Greetings, Clever Holton!

  If you’re reading this then a very terrible thing has occurred, and I am not around. I’m scared and don’t know who I can trust except you. Otto should be the one to deal with this as our Guardian, but regrettably, we both know he can’t be trusted with an issue of this magnitude. I say that because I love him with eyes wide open. I know you will do the right thing, Holton. I’ve already contacted the authorities. If they do not act accordingly and with swift justice, I need you to handle things “The Woodsman” way: deadly and intently. Get Samuelsson and help these girls. I’ve also included a raw file on a USB of the photos. There’s another USB with Arianna’s detailed confession of everything Samuelsson put her through, including his “purchasing” her from the man she thought she loved. It is taped under my favorite chair in the library.

  Arianna is a nice person. The things she has shared with me break my heart. Tonight, for the first time in almost two years, she had a good night’s sleep. She was not afraid of being ambushed. It made me want to kill that despicable bastard. Arianna has thanked me countless times for not taking advantage of her. I want to cry each time she does. All she can talk about is being reunited with her older cousin “Zoraida the Great”, and she tells me funny stories about her and their childhood. I would very much like to meet her. Arianna worries that her family will not love her. I try to reassure her, but she cannot hear me over her shame.

  I know my dear Cleo watches me and senses a change. I even suspect she is jealous. Can you imagine? I’m the luckiest man in the world because of her! But she is right. I am changed. I cannot stand by idly while the hurts of the world go unacknowledged. I have much to consider while I wait for Interpol to reach out to me.

  I pray nothing happens to me on this quest. If that is not God’s plan, take care of the family. Look after my Cleo and baby boy. I have always held you in the highest esteem, Holton. Do not prove me a fool by not making it official with the lovely Ms. Romankov. Most of all, ensure Samuelsson meets “The Woodsman”.

  Love Always,

  “Matty the Marvel Lover”

  Unable to stand any longer, Holt sank into Matty’s armchair and reviewed the photos. With every pic, his rage soared higher. He reached under the chair and felt around until he felt the two USBs. Carefully, he peeled them away and slipped them into his pocket. He almost called Kat, except she was out with the girls. He dialed another number instead.

  “Why am I even helping ya?” Magnus grumbled. “Ya didna even invite me to the wedding! Ach! I thought we were better than this.”

  “For the hundredth time, it was a s
pontaneous adventure. Are you all set up?”

  “I am. Nice digs. How’s your cousin? Has she been asking about me?”

  “I’m not your personal Tinder. I’ve got USBs for you to look at. First, I’m goin’ to swing by Samuelsson’s place. Stay ready. I’m headed your way as soon as I’m done.”

  Holt’s next call was to Blaise. “You’re at the foundation today?”

  “Yes. I’m actually going to be meeting with him regarding the budget for the center.

  “Be calm, Blaise. I’m goin’ to his place. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “I’ll try. I hope you find anything to shut this bitch down. I can hardly stomach being in the same building, let alone room, as him.”

  “Stay the course. We screw this up, and we’ll have to look in the mirror and hold ourselves accountable. Later.”

  Holt drove over to the condo and was let in the back entrance of the building by one of his men that was undercover as the building maintenance man. He took the elevator up to Samuelsson’s one-bedroom condo and used the duplicate key that had been made. The place was white and sparsely furnished in minimal design. A true bachelor pad. Holt started in the kitchen and worked his way to the living room. It contained recessed lighting and a white leather sectional sofa, a low media console with a trio of large, abstract art paintings hanging above it. He pressed the console, and the middle of the top of the console slid open and revealed a flat-screen. Other than that, there was nothing in the room.

  Holt sat down on the sofa and tried to imagine what Samuelsson would do in this area of the condo. He stared straight ahead and narrowed his eyes. The paintings were the main focus of the small room. Rising from the sofa, he reached for one of the pictures hanging and flipped it around. He wanted to puke at his revelation. Taped to the back of the painting were rows of Polaroids of varying ages of nude females, ranging from adolescent to early twenties in assorted races. They were all different, but their faces held the same terrified expression for whoever was behind the camera. Marked in the white space at the bottom were their first and last names and their birthdays. Stamped across the information was the word SOLD.

  “Gotcha,” Holt hissed.

  He flipped the remaining two, and it was the same. After that, he didn’t notice the sparseness. It was all about the art spread throughout the condo, and there was plenty of it. As he approached each one, Holt grew more nauseous and dreaded flipping them over. He called the security guard back up and had him bring the portraits down. After that, Holt didn’t give a damn about being discreet. He flipped everything in the condo and tore it apart. A laptop was ultimately found in a hidden compartment of the sectional. It was enough for Holt.

  He was ready to pick Samuelsson up.

  First, he needed to see Magnus.

  He drove to the hotel and carried to of the larger paintings with him along with the laptop.

  “Are ya redecorating?”

  Holt flipped them over, permitting the Scot to look his fill. He slammed the USBs on the desktop and the laptop there as well. “Make it work. I’m pickin’ him up now.”

  He reached Falk Incorporated in record time and headed directly to the foundation’s department. The meeting was finishing up when Holt entered. His eyes found Samuelsson’s, and the other man knew his façade was up. His affableness vanished when Holt locked the door behind him.

  “Unlock that immediately!”

  “I don’t think I will. I know everythin’, you dirty, twisted motherfucker. I’ve been to your condo and flipped the pictures. I’ve also got all of Matty’s information and have watched Arianna’s testimony about you. You’ve got one chance to start talkin’ of your own free will. If not, shit’s about to get real interestin’ for you.”

  Samuelsson paled, his eyes darting around shiftily, searching for an escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right. Blaise.” Holt pulled his axe from its holster, and Blaise slammed him, facedown, on the conference table. He held the panicked man’s right hand out and Holt chopped Samuelsson’s pinky smooth off.

  “I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” he screamed, writhing at the pain as blood gushed all over the conference table. “Please…don’t do that again!”

  Holt cut off his ring finger, and Samuelsson went into full-blown hysterics. Blaise punched the side of his face, knocking his glasses of. “You still think you’re callin’ shots?”

  Blaise threw him into a chair. “Why did you use the alias Liridon Bojku?”

  “He was trying to infiltrate our unit, but I knew he was Interpol. I was desperate to get rid of him. Then I found out about “The Woodsman”. I knew from what I’d heard, he could destroy Bojku.”

  “Where did you hear that from?”

  Samuelsson fell silent, and Blaise punched him upside his head again. Holt’s phone rang. He whipped it out and saw it was Magnus calling.

  “Kinda in the middle of doin’ my thing here,” he impatiently reminded him. “What’s up?”

  “This isn’t Samuelsson’s computer. I don’t know why he has it, but there’s nothing incriminating to tie him to it, Holt.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, damn sure.”

  Holt’s eyes met Samuelsson’s and despite the odds not being in his favor, the asshole began to laugh, sensing his confusion.

  Before he could react, his phone rang again. Holt recognized the number from the private investigator’s office.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Brammer, is this a bad time?”

  Holt forced himself to swallow his annoyance. “Nope. What can I do for you?”

  “Once again, please accept my condolences for your cousin’s passing. He was a very likeable fellow. Unlike the other one who came in here demanding what Mr. Falk wanted.”

  Holt paused, hairs on his nape stirring. “Excuse me?”

  “No. This man was rude and impatient. He cost me a potential client when he stormed in and interrupted us,” the investigator scoffed. “I told him to leave before I called the police and he did. Nasty fellow.”

  “Can you tell me anythin’ else?”

  “Only that he was dark-haired and well-dressed. Oh, and his hand was bandaged? I’m not sure if that helps…”

  Holt’s heartbeat escalated with every word he uttered. “It does. You have no idea. Thank you.”

  He hung up, staring at Samuelsson as he called Magnus back.

  “Have ya got good news for me?”

  “Pull up everythin’ on Rasmus Bergqvist. You should be able to connect the dots that way. Get Graham on the phone. Tell him to put a tracer on his phone ASAP.”

  The humor died from Samuelsson’s eyes, and they flickered, letting Holt know he was on the right track.

  “Ras?” this came from Blaise. “Ras is in on this?”

  “He’s the one who placed the bomb in the ambulance.” Holt’s mind was racing as he thought back to the day of the bomb. Ras wasn’t trying to ride along. He must have been placing the bomb.

  Samuelsson’s telltale eyes flickered again, and Holt knew he was on the right track.

  Holt placed another call to his security. He was ordering them to come and secure Samuelsson when Kat called. He ignored her call to finish giving directions, and she promptly called back.

  “Babe.”

  “Holt! Ivar was being poisoned!”

  “What?!”

  “It’s true—”

  She stopped talking and the line went dead. Fear struck Holt’s heart, and he called her back. No answer. Again. No answer.

  The security arrived and secured Samuelsson for him.

  “Let’s go, Blaise! We need to get home! Call Thea and find out what’s goin’ on!” Holt took off running, and Magnus called him back.

  “It’s under Bergqvist, alright. Cleo Bergqvist. Your cousin’s wife.”

  ***

  An hour earlier

  Cleo was right. Kat did love the restaurant at the marina. Thea tagged along, and the three women h
ad a great time. When they returned to the estate, Kat impulsively went to see Ivar. She was curious about what his days were like being public enemy number one. She hadn’t seen him since her arrival, and no one discussed him. Kat knew Holt went to see him; however, he never disclosed the details of his visit. It was really fucking weird in her opinion. She arrived to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, coughing. A glance around confirmed he was the only one in the suite.

  “Came back, did you? What can I do for you, Mrs. Brammer?”

  “I thought I should come check on you. No else appears to be doing so.”

  Ivar hacked his laugh. “They think I’m an evil bastard. Holton’s the only one brave enough to report that I haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”

  “Are you evil?”

  “The worst kind. Especially if you’re an idiot,” he sneered. “I don’t suffer fools lightly. It’s my job to educate the weak that are stupid enough to cross my path. You are not who I would have picked for my grandson.”

  He wanted her to ask, Kat realized. She could see it in his rheumy eyes as they tracked her. Ivar wanted to tear her to pieces for sport. Even sick as he was, sweat pouring through his pajama top, hurting Kat was his number one priority.

  “I know. We laugh about your assumption from time-to-time. Where’s your nurse?”

  “I finally fired her.” Ivar changed tactics. “I wasn’t aware my grandson was into black women. I knew your father wouldn’t be a good influence on him.”

  This son of a bitch.

  Kat’s brows touched in faux confusion. “Why should you fully be aware of anything concerning him? Holton was raised and influenced by fine people who showed him what actual love was with not just words but actions that lined up with them. His heart has no restrictions regarding a person’s status, color, or creed. It’s about character for him. But what would you know about that? It’s not like you did or ever will win the father of the year award.”

  “You little bitch!” Ivar sneered at her, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Get out!”

  Kat laughed in his face. “Don’t worry. I’m going. Just know that if I didn’t think karma was working overtime already, I’d make you choke on those words.”