Whatever It Takes

by Barbara Elsborg

  There was no damage to the door of his flat. No sign of forced entry. He slipped inside and leaned back against the door to shut it. Roman shrugged out of his coat, tossed it over a chair and headed for the coffee machine. He needed to look unconcerned or he’d give away that he knew Dima and Qash had been here. Until he’d scanned the entire flat, he couldn’t risk checking on Zain. He did send him another text saying I’m here. Stay put until I knock and say your name.

  Once Roman had a coffee in his hand, he went to his room and hung up his jacket. He took his time getting changed. He didn’t need the phone app to spot the camera they’d put on the ledge at the top of the wardrobe. Incompetent fucking bastards. There was a recording device under the bedside cabinet. Shit. But was Arkady behind the surveillance or just Dima? He suspected it was just Dima.

  Roman climbed up to get the camera from the top of the wardrobe and tossed it on the bed with the other device. The pile grew. Cameras and microphones in the bathroom—dickheads, study, kitchen, and in the other bedroom. Maybe the number of devices was to make a point. There was no sign of anything in his study being disturbed but he never left anything out that could give him away. The safe hadn’t been touched.

  He headed for the closet. There was a camera in there too, angled toward the front door. That joined the other items on the bed. Roman knew Zain would be able to hear him and not know it was him, but Roman said nothing and walked up the stairs into the room on the roof, biting back his irritation that they’d found the entrance more easily than he’d imagined. There was another camera and recorder up there. Talk about overkill. What were they looking for? Him fucking up? Him fucking? Zain? And why now? Had something made them suspect him?

  Roman took everything back to the bedroom. He’d been through the entire flat and his anxiety had not lessened. He couldn’t afford to miss a single thing. Even after he’d checked everywhere again, he was still nervous. Helen could bring in more sophisticated equipment but… It’s fine. I’ve found them all.

  He carried the lot to the guest bathroom, filled the bath, dropped the equipment into the water and closed the door.

  Back behind the closet wall, he tapped on the stairs. “Zain. It’s me.”

  The relief when Zain emerged was immense.

  “What have you been doing? Having a bath without me? I heard water running.” Zain sounded so indignant it made Roman laugh.

  Roman wrapped his arms around him and put his mouth to Zain’s ear. “They put recording devices and cameras all over the flat. I’m almost certain I found them all but I don’t want to take any chances. The route to the front door is definitely clear. Pack your things. Go stand by the door and don’t say a word until we’re in the car.”

  He packed a bag of his own and took his laptop, money, passport and other phones from the safe. There was nothing left that could give him away. Zain stood waiting and Roman led him down to the parking area but made him wait behind a pillar. Roman checked under the car and looked for all the places where a tracker might have been attached. He found a small black disk stuck to a wheel arch and pulled it off. The car had only been delivered an hour ago. Shit. He somehow didn’t think Dima or Qash were responsible, which left Arkady or Helen. Roman made sure he wasn’t under observation, not even by Zain, and stuck the disk to the car parked next to his.

  Roman loaded all the bags into the boot, opened the back door and motioned for Zain to get in. Roman did another check inside the vehicle before he set off, just in case another transmitter had been put inside. Fucking paranoia.

  Only when he was sure he wasn’t being followed did he heave a sigh of relief.

  “What happened this morning?” Roman asked.

  “The intercom buzzed. I looked at it and saw Qash staring straight at me. I mean I know he couldn’t see me but…” Zain’s exhalation was shaky. “Some idiot let him in downstairs. I rushed around making sure it didn’t look as though anyone but you had been in the flat and then hid. Just in case, but thank fuck I did. I could hear him and Dima. Qash heard you play the saxophone last night and because Dima couldn’t see it, they kept looking until they found the way to the stairs.”

  “Shit.”

  “Qash is sure it’s me. Dima’s not convinced but he doesn’t care. He just wants me gone.”

  “Good thing I emptied the waste bin before I left this morning. The name of the Syrian restaurant was all over the packaging. I should have thrown it out last night. You were right.”

  “Why did they put cameras and recording devices in your flat? How did they get in?”

  “The getting in part—I guess they had a key.” No point wondering how they’d managed that. They had and that was all that mattered. “I don’t know why they bugged the place.” Though he had a good idea.

  “Because they don’t trust you?”

  “They shouldn’t.”

  “But has something happened to make them do this now? Anything to do with me?”

  “One thing crooks are wise not to do is trust other crooks.”

  “How did you know they’d put cameras there?”

  “I spotted one. I assumed there’d be more and there were.”

  “You need a new job.”

  Roman chuckled. “You’re right.” Oh fuck, you are so right.

  “Can I sit up or do you want me to stay flat?”

  “Better if you stay hidden. No point taking any risks. There’s a garage at the house. I can drive the car straight into it so you won’t be seen arriving.”

  “What happened to your other car?”

  “Stolen. Set on fire.” Roman wondered how Zain would react to that.

  “After I’d done such a good job cleaning it?” Zain tsked. There was a short pause before he spoke again. “Do you know who was responsible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you get my peanut butter?”

  Roman laughed at the change in direction. “No. I’ll get it later. I need to buy painting materials too.”

  “I wish I could go with you. How long do I have to hide?”

  “I hope not long.”

  “Why—?”

  “Enough questions. Don’t press me. I asked for your trust. You have to be patient.”

  Zain didn’t say anything else for the rest of the journey. He wasn’t the only one who wanted this done except what was going to happen after? What life will I have?

  Zain was dozing on the backseat when Roman said, “We’re here.” He opened his eyes and the light changed as Roman pulled into a garage. Zain heard beeping.

  “Stay where you are. I have to shut off the alarm and the cameras.”

  The garage door rattled down again as Roman got out of the car and a moment later, the beeping stopped.

  “Okay.” Roman opened the back door and Zain climbed out.

  The garage was double length, painted white with a grey floor. It looked so clean he couldn’t believe it was a garage.

  Roman opened the boot. “Can I get rid of the inflatable mattress?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll leave it in the car and find somewhere to dump it.”

  “Maybe next to a homeless person?”

  Roman sighed. “I’ll try.” He took out his coat, Zain’s jacket and their bags. “We’ll use the lift and go straight to the bedrooms. Better to keep all our things in one place.”

  “There’s a lift?” Zain gasped. “I thought this was a house?”

  “It is. Owned by a multi-millionaire. Maybe a billionaire. Whatever luxury could be put in, has been put in.”

  The lift worked with a code and Roman grinned at him as he tapped it into the keypad. “Everything is 1234.”

  Zain laughed. “They had ten thousand choices of a combination, assuming you could use a number more than once, and decided on that one?”

  “Apparently because the wife kept forgetting the one her husband chose. So if you could only use 0-9 once…” Roman bit his lip. “Ten choices for the first number running from 0-9, nine choices for the
second because one number was used for the first and so on. 10 x 9 x 8 x 7.”

  “5040,” Zain shot back.

  “Wow. My own little calculator.”

  “Not so much of the little. I like maths.”

  “So do I.” Roman ran his finger under Zain’s chin. “I like you.”

  Zain swallowed. Did Roman know how much he liked hearing that?

  Roman rubbed his thumb over Zain’s Adam’s apple as Zain swallowed. “I like that I do that to you.”

  “Give me a painfully hard lump…in my throat?”

  Roman chuckled. The lift doors opened and they stepped out onto a landing dominated by a grand piano.

  “Wow. How did they get that up here?” Zain asked.

  “Probably took a window out. They’re leaving it in the house.”

  “Really? I wonder if anyone ever played it? Maybe it’s just for show.”

  “Who knows. This is the master bedroom.”

  He followed Roman into a bright, airy room decorated in shades of cream and blue. The colours were tasteful but the paintings on the wall were gaudy pictures of nothing recognisable in which he could see no value other than them covering a large blank space. Roman put his coat and bag down and Zain put his next to them.

  Roman took hold of his hand. “Let’s look around.”

  Zain was stunned by how much these people had abandoned. Closets full of clothes, even toiletries in the bathroom. The other bedrooms didn’t look as though they’d ever been used. Apart from one where someone had gone berserk with a marker pen.

  “Their Malaysian housekeeper,” Roman said. “Former housekeeper.”

  There was nothing in the wardrobe in that room, nor in the bathroom.

  “I wonder what they did to upset her.” Zain frowned. “I feel the need to try and translate what she’s written. Maybe they’re going to bury me in the garden. Or I didn’t leave. Don’t believe them. Or there’s a portal to another world in the basement. I’m going to explore.”

  “More likely to be a load of swear words.”

  “Spoilsport. If I find a portal in the basement, you’ll be sorry.”

  “Depends where it goes.”

  “You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

  Roman winced. “I hope not. I must admit that of all the houses Arkady’s handled, I’ve never seen quite so much left behind.”

  “Maybe they didn’t leave it behind. Maybe they’re the ones who are dead.”

  Roman squeezed his fingers. “I wish I could laugh at that but… They’re supposed to be in Spain. I might look into that.”

  The house was amazing. From a stunning roof terrace all the way down to the lobby where a huge glass sculpture of a unicorn occupied the space next to the stairs.

  Zain glanced at Roman and gulped. “Imagine getting impaled on that if you fell.”

  “Try not to fall.”

  The dining room was dominated by a glass table set for twelve with plates, cutlery and glasses. The ultra-modern kitchen had nothing on any surface. The pantry didn’t have much food but Zain guessed these were the sort of people who ate out.

  “No peanut butter,” he said with a whine.

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Doors from the kitchen opened onto an outdoor dining area but it was overlooked so Zain guessed they wouldn’t be using that.

  “Downstairs now,” Roman said.

  There was large media room with comfy sofas. A gym with weights, bikes and a treadmill facing a mirrored wall. A glass-fronted wine cellar with maybe a dozen bottles of wine, and a wine fridge holding champagne and white wine. The large swimming pool had a star-studded ceiling, a slide and a … “Hot tub.” Zain smiled.

  “I thought you might like that. Come and look at this room.”

  When Roman opened the door, Zain sucked in a breath. “Two gyms? And a…bed to lie down in case you can’t make it back upstairs?”

  “Not quite.” Roman took Zain’s hand in his but they didn’t walk in.

  “I don’t know what any of this is,” Zain whispered. “Well, that’s a whip and a swing and a cage and a bed but…”

  “What do you know about BDSM?”

  “Nothing. Not really.”

  “You’ve never googled?”

  “My laptop is squeaky clean.”

  Roman laughed.

  “Do you know about this stuff?” Zain asked.

  “I…I can talk you through everything but not now. I need to go and buy the paint.”

  “And—”

  “Peanut butter. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Zain frowned. Roman had left more abruptly than he’d needed to which had to be because of this room. Nervous of my reaction? Zain shut the door. Better not to guess. He had to assume that Roman was in some way into what went on in here, otherwise he’d have made a joke and closed the door.

  Zain could google but he wanted Roman to explain.

  While he waited for him to return, Zain went into the housekeeper’s room and dragged the furniture away from the walls. He texted Roman to remind him to bring masking tape and some covering material to protect the carpet, then sat on the bed and tried to google some of the words on the wall.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the usual swear words came up in the search though Mak kau hijau, which meant your mother is green had him stumped. As did almari kotor, which meant dirty closet. Some of the phrases he couldn’t translate at all. He resisted the temptation to google BDSM.

  Barely.

  Zain found a whole selection of cleaning materials in a utility room next to the kitchen and took them back upstairs to try and get the marks off the wall. But before he started, he took pictures with his phone. Maybe Roman would find them useful. Most of the marks came off with a white sponge called a magic eraser, or at least were blurred to the point that one coat of paint would probably get rid of them forever.

  An unsettling thought. Was that what was going to happen between him and Roman? When Roman had had enough of him, would Zain be erased? Roman was a crook. He’d told Zain that. What was this mythical thing that Zain had to be patient about? Roman was going to resign? Did he have a job he could resign from? Once you were involved in crime, they didn’t let you go.

  He believed that Roman wanted to protect him. He had protected him. But there was a lot Zain didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand and yet knew that while he didn’t, Roman wasn’t his. Am I being a fool? Was Roman a guy who’d ever belong to anyone? Roman would never trust him. He hadn’t even told him about Helen until he’d had to. Why did he need to fabricate a girlfriend? Zain got that people were homophobic. He really did, but to go to those lengths? What did this…Helen get out of it? Was she a friend or something else?

  The way to drive himself mad was to keep posing questions to which he had no answers. Maybe this was all he and Roman would get. A few days in luxury having sex before Zain took his UCAT. Then he’d leave London for a year. If he was rejected from med school again, then more than a year. He needed a job while he waited to see if he was accepted. Maybe a different job once he was rejected. If. He didn’t have a plan B. Not unless he counted training as a paramedic.

  And where did Roman figure in all that? Does he want me enough?

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Roman pulled back into the garage and closed the door, his heart was jumping with excitement. The realisation of how good it felt to come back from work and find someone genuinely glad to see him, someone to share his life with, to talk to, have fun with, eat with, watch TV next to—was a revelation. He’d managed on his own, apart from brief encounters, for all these years and now it was no longer enough. His attraction to Zain had given him the push he’d needed to find a way out of this. He just had to persuade Helen he was done.

  He took all the food, including two jars of peanut butter into the kitchen, put the perishable stuff in the fridge, then carried the painting materials upstairs. Zain was barefoot, bare-chested,
washing the walls in the bedroom, with towels on the floor to catch the dripping water.

  “Wow, it hardly looks as though it needs painting,” Roman said.

  “It does but it won’t be so hard now the marks are gone.”

  “I bought pizza.”

  Zain came to his side. “Do we need to eat now?”

  Roman’s throat thickened. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A swim.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then the hot tub.” Zain wrapped his arms around him.

  “Okay.”

  “Then I want you to explain that room.”

  The breath caught in Roman’s throat. “Okay.”

  “Are there towels down there?”

  “I’m sure there are.”

  Roman started to unfasten his shirt as he followed Zain down the stairs.

  “I’ve decided not to use the lift,” Zain said. “What if it jammed and we were trapped inside?”

  “We’d find something to do.”

  “We might end up eating each other.”

  Roman chuckled. “In that case we’re definitely going to use the lift at some point.”

  They stripped off when they reached the basement and grabbed a couple of the thick blue towels stacked on a shelf. Roman tapped in the time and temperature for the hot tub and the water began bubbling.

  “It’ll take a little while to heat up,” he said.

  Zain dropped his towel on the edge of the pool and sighed. “Right in the middle of the war in Aleppo, I came across some kids swimming in a bomb crater. The hole had filled with water from a burst pipe and they were having fun, laughing and splashing each other with all these splayed open buildings, smashed to pieces surrounding them. It was so surreal and yet so perfect. I wished I hadn’t been too big to jump in there with them.”

  “Going to jump in now?” Roman knew he should have warned him but he didn’t.

  Zain took a few steps back, then ran and launched himself out over the water. He clutched his knees as he slammed down and the surface exploded into millions of fragments, splashing Roman. Shit, it’s fucking cold.

  Roman could have sworn he heard Zain shout out under the water. He definitely heard him when he came up to the surface, Zain gasping desperately for air. Then he went back down and didn’t come up. He did his little show quite well. A real spectacle. Roman grinned. Did Zain think he’d fall for it? He’d give him no more than thirty seconds before he needed to breathe. Zain surfaced flailing and went down again. But when he didn’t come back up, a sliver of doubt pierced Roman’s assumption that Zain was trying to trick him into joining him. Enough doubt that Roman stopped thinking and dived in. Fuck, it really is cold.