The Guardian's Legacy

by Luciana Cavallaro

  Nik went to the weapons cabinet and stared at the arsenal. He tossed his blazer onto a nearby armchair, entered the code, grabbed the SIG Sauer P938 BRG and halter, and a box of 50 124Gr. brass case jacketed hollow point bullets. The 9mm has the impact of a larger pistol, but small enough to conceal. Just as he was about to lock the cabinet, a dagger caught his attention and he took that too. He strapped the knife and sheath to his calf, covered it with his jeans and holstered the gun before slipping his blazer back on. He moved to the centre of the room and visualised the hotel room: each piece of furniture, the décor and location of the door and windows. He pulled the coin out of his pocket, flipped it into the air and caught it.

  Nik shielded his eyes against the bright glare of white light, as black spots filled his vision. His hair stood on end as he was plucked into the vortex and yanked into a void. It was as if an enormous vacuum cleaner sucked him in and propelled him through a pipe like a dust particle. He had flashes of Douglas Adams’ book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and wondered if he needed to bring a towel.

  Nik fell onto the bed and bounced up and down a few times on the mattress. He dropped the box of ammo and clutched his head and groaned. He tasted the rising bitterness of bile again and pressed his lips tight and swallowed, his head swimming. The nausea grew, while his body grew hot and then cold. Nik forced himself onto his feet and dashed into the bathroom and threw up. He flushed the toilet and staggered over to the basin. He picked up the folded white flannel, dampened it and ran it over his face and then looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pasty and tinged with yellow, making his five o’clock shadow appear much darker against the pallor of his skin. He covered his face with the flannel: the damp cloth soothing his feverish skin. Nik stepped back into the room and looked around.

  He checked the desk for his laptop and, not seeing it there, whipped open the wardrobe door. He felt the blood drain from his face. He threw the flannel back into the bathroom and dashed towards the door of the room. From the corner of his eye he spied the box of ammo, spun on his heel, picked up the box and hustled back to the door, pulled it open wide enough to peer through the gap. There wasn’t anyone in the hallway; he yanked the door open and bolted out of the room. Glancing at the number as the door closed behind him, it confirmed he had leapt into the wrong room. He shook his head, annoyed by his poor sense of direction and inability to pinpoint his landing. Checking again that no one was around, and keeping the box of ammo tucked up his sleeve, he approached his room.

  Nik reached into his pocket and swore under his breath. No swipe card. With no possibility of returning to the suite he just left, he looked around for a place to hide the ammo and spotted the exit door at the end of the corridor. He darted towards the exit, perspiration sprinkling his forehead, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the nausea threatened again. He pushed open the door and searched for a place to stash the ammunition. He looked up and down the stairwell, and only saw plain polished cement steps and black hand railings, nowhere to conceal the ammo. His heart plummeted and he returned to the corridor. Down the far end of the passageway was a stand with a pot plant on it. Nik sped towards it, careful not to disturb other patrons who may be in their rooms.

  Nik moved around the stand, examining it, and swore and banged it with his palm. The sound bounced off the walls. He froze and looked over his shoulder, half expecting someone to investigate the noise. Just as he was about to walk away, he noticed a gap behind the stand big enough to hide the box. He looked around for a security camera and when satisfied there wasn’t one, shoved the ammo inside.

  Nik took the elevator to the main lobby, not wanting to draw attention by using the stairwell. After a few minutes of convincing the receptionist who he was, woman gave him a spare key card as Janssens appeared by his side.

  ‘Monsieur Zosimos, I have been trying to reach you,’ Janssens said. The Interpol agent’s smile wasn’t amiable.

  Nik thanked the woman and stepped away from the reception desk.

  ‘I’ve been unwell,’ he said as the agent moved in step with him. He rubbed his jaw, the pistol and halter felt as if it were burning a hole through his blazer, and hoped the agent wasn’t looking too closely.

  ‘Have you seen the hotel doctor?’

  ‘It’s a headache,’ Nik replied. ‘I have medication in my room.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Look, can we do this another time? I really need to get back to my room and lie down.’

  Janssens gave a curt nod. ‘I’ll return tomorrow. Bonsoir.’

  Nik headed towards the elevator, taking care not to hurry, feeling the weight of the inspector’s gaze on him. He waited a few minutes for it to arrive and moved aside as people stepped out. Once inside, he saw Janssens was staring at him from across the lobby. The doors closed and Nik swallowed, feeling nauseous, and began to feel hot and cold at the same time. It seemed he was not immune to the side-effects of the coin.

  When the elevator stopped at his floor, Nik wiped his brow, intent on recovering the ammunition before returning to his room. After what seemed a long trek to the hallway stand, he made it back to his room. He dumped the box on the desk next to his laptop, and went to the bathroom to wash his face. Moments later, he lay sprawled on top of the bed, a cold flannel over his forehead. Relief flooded his entire body.

  He tried to empty his mind of any thoughts, and willed the nausea to subside. The impact of the second spatial leap were worse. He hoped the side effects would ease the next time he used the coin, and as his body got used to the faster than light transference.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A persistent and annoying ringing blared in the quiet room. Nik opened a bleary eye, turned onto his side and peered at the digital clock on the bedside table. The phone kept ringing. Nik yawned, sat up and picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ His voice was a bare whisper. He cleared his throat. ‘Hello?’

  The phone clicked on the other end. Nik held the receiver away from his ear and frowned. He put the phone back on its cradle and stared at it, wondering if it would ring again. After a few minutes passed, he got up and had a quick shower, thinking it likely someone had called the wrong room. His stomach rumbled: he may just make the late breakfast sitting, but before heading down, he needed to lock the weapons into the safe.

  ‘Bugger.’

  The pistol, box of ammunition, extra cash, mobile phone, folder with intel and passport filled the safe. No room left for the knife and sheath. Nik locked the safe and looked around the room for a hiding place, his gaze falling to his luggage.

  Refreshed and feeling much better after a cup of coffee, Nik tucked into a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and sausages, when Janssens appeared and sat opposite him.

  ‘I see you’re feeling much better this morning,’ Janssens said, as Nik continued to eat.

  ‘I missed dinner last night,’ Nik said.

  Janssens nodded. ‘Have you heard from your grandfather?’

  Nik shook his head and pointed his fork at him. ‘Did you place a call to my room earlier this morning?’

  ‘Non. What time was this?’

  ‘Just after nine.’ Nik cut a piece of the sausage and put it in his mouth. ‘I thought it might be you. The person hung up after I said hello.’

  Janssens sat in silence, his face unreadable. ‘I’ll return in a few minutes.’ He left the table.

  Nik blinked and stopped chewing as he watched the Interpol agent leave the dining room. The inspector’s unexpected exit puzzled him. He set down his fork and knife, swallowed and picked up his fresh cup of coffee. His stomach growled. Nik dismissed the inspector’s behaviour for the moment and got more food. He was part way through his second serving when Janssens returned, slapping his notebook down on the table.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Nik asked.

  ‘Have you received any phone calls from anyone other than your family in the last few days?’

  ‘No. Why? Aren’t you monitoring my calls?’
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  Janssens didn’t reply. Nik pushed aside his plate.

  ‘What is this regarding?’ he asked. ‘Why are you so interested in that phone call?’

  ‘Monsieur, is it possible your grandfather is associating with neo-Nazis without you knowing?’

  Nik snorted. ‘My great-grandfather fought against the Nazis in the Second World War. There’s no way his son, my grandfather, is involved with neo-Nazis. He would take up arms to fight them if he could.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Nik’s face grew taut as he leaned towards Janssens and drilled a finger on the hard surface of the table. ‘I know my grandfather. To suggest he’d mix with fascists or extremists is dishonourable. Your focus is finding him, not accusing him of being a fascist.’

  ‘In my experience, it often surprises family members to learn of the exploits of their loved ones. Most times, the perpetrator is skilled at keeping secrets from those closest to them, and has done so for years, leading a double life.’ Janssens clasped his hands on the table, fingers interlocking. ‘Clues of the deception are apparent when the relatives look back at their behaviour during particular times and events. There’s the odd excuse given for not attending birthdays, weddings or even minor engagements such as gatherings at meals. When these circumstances are pieced together, they paint a picture of unusual activity, which is construed as suspicious.’

  The inspector flipped open his notepad and pulled a pen from his inner jacket pocket. ‘Tell me, Monsieur Zosimos, how many instances can you recall where your grandfather has not shown up and didn’t give valid reasons for his absences?’

  Nik straightened in his seat. He recalled the time when he graduated from university and his grandparents could not attend. His grandmother rang to say that Papou’s meeting with the Dean of History and Archaeology had run overtime and apologised for their absence.

  ‘Show me a family that doesn’t have skeletons in the closet,’ answered Nik, picking up his coffee cup. ‘It’s human nature to hold secrets even with those who are intimates. It’s built into our psyche, a way to protect ourselves from being hurt.’

  ‘Oui, but there are secrets that can be dangerous and affect the lives of innocent people,’ Janssens remarked.

  Nik lowered his voice. ‘Let me rephrase so you can understand: my grandfather is an honourable man and is not associating with neo-Nazis. Now if you would excuse me, I have an appointment with a police detective who is more interested in finding my grandfather than accusing him of something he hasn’t done.’ Nik stalked out of the dining room, hands clenched, seething at the inspector’s accusations.

  Back in his room, Nik brushed his teeth, giving himself time to calm down before phoning to update his parents on what was happening. He relayed the conversation he’d had with the inspector. His mother was taken aback and his father outraged.

  ‘Papou is many things, driven by his work, but he’d never take part or be a part of such a terrible organisation. It’s not who he is and what he stands for,’ Leon said, his words clipped. ‘I’m seeking legal advice from someone who knows international law to see what we can do to stop this insidious line of investigation.’

  They spoke for a while longer before Nik hung up and readied himself for his meeting with the police detective, downstairs in the hotel’s foyer. He put his laptop in his backpack in case he needed it, checked his wallet and cash status and made sure the room key card was secured inside. He shoved the wallet into his front pocket of his jeans, the coin secreted amongst the other currency, and was about to leave when there was a knock at the door.

  He yanked open the door, thinking it might be Janssens, ready to lash out at him with a few choice words. Nik stared at the tall blond-haired man.

  ‘Mr Zosimos?’ The man pronounced the surname in three distinct syllables.

  ‘Yes.’ Nik responded. He tried to place the man’s accent. It sounded Eastern European, perhaps from the Czech Republic, Hungary or Slovakia.

  ‘May I come in?’

  ‘No.’ Nik blocked the doorway. ‘Who are you? And why are you here?’

  ‘It would be best if I came in to discuss such matters.’

  Nik refused to move. The man stepped closer and pressed the nozzle of a gun into his stomach.

  ‘Step back into the room.’

  Nik remained still. He locked eyes with the other man’s granite-coloured ones. There was a click as the safety latch on the gun was unlocked and the intruder pressed the nozzle harder into his flesh.

  Nik did as instructed, the man moving with him. The door swung shut and the perpetrator lowered his gun but held it in readiness.

  ‘My employer wishes to make an exchange. Your grandfather for the coin.’

  Nik’s eyes glinted. The vein by his temple pulsed and his breathing slowed. ‘Where is my grandfather?’

  ‘He’s safe, for the time being. Give me the coin and in recompense your grandfather will be delivered to you.’

  ‘Coin? What coin? Why have you kidnapped my grandfather?’ His hands balled into fists and the veins in his neck stuck out as he restrained himself from lunging for the gun.

  ‘The coin, Mr Zosimos,’ the man repeated.

  ‘What are you talking about? All I have are Euro coins,’ declared Nik in an even tone. ‘Where is my grandfather? Who has him?’

  ‘If you do not give me the coin, your grandfather will die.’

  Nik stood taller. ‘There is a flaw in your threat. I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to. Return my grandfather or I will tell the police and Interpol about you and your intention to kill my grandfather.’

  The phone in the room rang. Nik eyeballed the man.

  ‘Best I get that, the concierge knows I’m in the room.’ He moved to answer the phone, his eyes not wavering from his unwanted visitor.

  ‘Bonjour. Oui, merci. Please tell the detective I’ll be there soon. Au revoir.’ Nik hung up.

  ‘If I’m not in the lobby in ten minutes, odds are the police detective will come up,’ he said.

  The man’s cold granite-coloured eyes bored into his. Nik squared himself and jutted his jaw at him.

  ‘My employer will contact you.’ The man stared hard at Nik, holstered his gun and without another word slipped out of the room.

  As the door clicked shut, Nik swore and punched it. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. The confrontation had been unnerving, but the training with the weapons and education, as guided by his grandfather, helped him. He took a deep breath and held out his hand. It shook but not as much as before. Nik swung his arms. He needed to shake off the adrenaline before meeting the detective, or odds are the detective would ask unwanted questions.

  A calmness and determination set in. Nik poured himself a glass of water and thought about the unexpected visit in a fresh light. His gaze settled on the suitcase where he had hidden the dagger. He would return to collect the small arsenal before taking a quick trip to Marseilles, the last place his grandfather visited before leaving for Cologne. That had been the last time they had spoken, before Nik left Perth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nik approached the concierge and enquired where the detective was waiting. She pointed to the brown plush seats behind him. He turned to see a stunning blonde woman looking his way.

  ‘Merci,’ he said.

  The woman stood as he approached. ‘Monsieur Zosimos?’

  Nik nodded and put out his hand. ‘Detective Sauveterre?’

  ‘Oui, bonjour.’

  ‘Bonjour.’

  She gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite.

  ‘Let me start by saying how sorry I am this has happened, Monsieur Zosimos,’ she began, her accent soft and musical.

  ‘Merci beaucoup,’ he said with a nod. ‘Do you have any news regarding the whereabouts of my grandfather?’

  ‘We have the local police searching in Marseilles and the other locations your grandfather went to, but as yet they have not uncovered pertinent information,’ she said. ‘Can you te
ll me the purpose of his visit to Europe?’

  ‘To see the sights and go to unknown places, as does any tourist,’ he replied with a shrug.

  She nodded. ‘Did the shops he called into have any significance?’

  Nik tilted his head to the side. ‘No, though he likes to fossick for historical treasures. He was a professor of antiquities back home.’

  ‘Ahh …’ She paused and wrote something in her notepad. ‘Where international guests encounter trouble, the police contact Interpol for further information.’ Her tawny-coloured eyes held his. Nik’s heart skipped a beat. ‘They are, as we are, curious by his choice of cities and specific stores.’

  Nik moved to the edge of his seat, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clenched tightly. The muscles on his face tightened.

  ‘I will tell you what I told the inspector from Interpol. My grandfather is the last person who would have anything to do with the neo-Nazis, or whoever you think he’s affiliated with. My grandfather is missing, and I want you to find him, so we can go back home.’

  The detective regarded him in silence. Nik sat back hard, the chair rocking.

  ‘What, no further accusations?’ He stood, glaring down at her.

  Detective Sauveterre rose from her seat, the fragrance of violet and patchouli arrested his senses. His skin tingled at the nearness and warmth of her body.

  ‘Monsieur Zosimos, during our investigation we must consider all possibilities, even the ones that are distasteful. We must rule out the improbable to determine which facts are clear.’

  ‘That should not include making false allegations about a person who doesn’t have a criminal past,’ he said, with less heat than his earlier outburst. He took a step back. Her proximity addled his thoughts.

  ‘Oui, agreed. It is our job to check every clue we find, no matter how negligible it may appear.’ She checked her notepad and snapped it shut. ‘I’ll be in touch, Monsieur Zosimos. You’re not intending to go anywhere else?’