“Sorry, it’s only tinned,” Jessie apologises. “They’re just the emergency rations I have for when the shit hits the fan. We don’t have any fresh vegetables or meat.”
“It is a feast, Jessie,” Viktoria adds.
“Sure is,” Bill replies as he pulls up a chair.
Late afternoon sun streams in through the window and dust dances in the air, eddying in the warm current and he sits mesmerised, enjoying the warmth in the kitchen that has nothing to do with the sun or the logs burning in the stove.
Uri steps into the room and Bill sits up, suddenly alert. He’d almost forgotten about him.
The huge blond stands next to his wife, strokes his daughter’s hair and chatters to her in Russian. Viktoria passes her across and he takes the child in his arms, cradling her as she clings to him. They look like the perfect family – handsome husband, gorgeous wife, beautiful daughter. Bill isn’t fooled.
“Uri.”
“Yes.”
“We’re going into town after the meal. I want you to come with us.”
“Certainly. I’ll come.”
“Good.”
Bill makes no explanation as to why he wants Uri to be there and no one questions his decision. He looks at Uri without smiling and nods. They both know, however, exactly why Uri has to come along—it is the only way Bill has to be sure that Clarissa is safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It irked Uri that Bill didn’t trust him, but then why should he. It was only a day ago that he’d tried to kill Clarissa. What he’d never be able to make them understand was that it was only a job—not quite a contract, not so cut and dried as the exchange of monies, but a job all the same. He had no moral qualms as to whether it was right or not and certainly no compulsion to kill—he wasn’t that kind of monster. But now that he’d met Clarissa it wasn’t so simple, although if he had to kill her he would—there, that was God’s honest truth. However, and this was what Bill couldn’t, or wouldn’t, realise, the blackout had changed everything.
“It’s getting late,” he says turning to Viktoria. “She should be in bed.”
“Yes, Uri, but I don’t think she’ll sleep on her own.”
“We need to try—make everything normal. Take her to bed and I will come to tell her a story—after I’ve checked outside.”
“I’LL COME WITH YOU,” Andy calls to Uri’s retreating back. The Russian stops for a moment then nods and continues. Following him, the cool breeze hits Andy and he shivers. The surrounding woodland has an edge to it. He’s not as keen as the others to go exploring and he doesn’t share Clarissa’s enthusiasm for nature and ‘roughing it’ as she calls it. No, he likes his creature comforts; a nice pub with a real fire, dining out in fine restaurants with an attractive friend - preferably one with benefits - skiing in the Alps, trips to the Algarve, casinos. The usual things a man of his station and background should enjoy. It cost money though—the nice cars, suits, watches, holidays and restaurants, but why shouldn’t he spend it on himself? He had no one else to spend it on. His stomach clenches as he remembers his bank balance. He was in the red—again, and this time for tens of thousands and if he couldn’t come through for Bolstovsky he’d never clear the debt. The man had made it abundantly clear that he’d renege on their deal if the ‘problem’ as he’d referred to Clarissa, wasn’t ‘sorted’. Uri was supposed to deal with her. Bolstovsky had sent him, but now he was in the ludicrous situation of having to pretend that he didn’t know the man and share food with him at the table. The blackout was buying them time he guessed, but the electricity would be back on soon and then Bolstovsky would be expecting results.
He clenches his jaws as he looks at Uri’s broad back. He was showing no evidence of getting on with the ‘job’ though surely he was plotting it.
“So,” Andy says as he sidles up to the Russian as he makes a pretence of looking at the perimeter of the property.
“This place is large. We can’t possibly hope to protect the perimeter.”
“Why should we have to protect it?”
“Well-”
“Don’t be dumb. The lights will come back on tomorrow. This is just a blip.”
Uri rounds on him and scowls.
“No one calls me dumb.”
“Oh, really. So why the hell is that woman still walking around alive, Uri?” Andy hisses with his best ‘I think you’re a loser’ voice.
Uri’s jaw clenches as he scowls down and his fists tighten but Andy knows he’s got the upper hand. “Huh? Does Bolstovsky know that you’ve failed?”
Uri looks away.
“I thought not. Well ... you’ve still got the chance to make amends and prove you can do this job—before it’s too late.”
A massive hand grabs Andy’s shirt and he’s lifted up to the angry and scowling face of Uri. The man’s breath is hot on his cheek.
“You ...” Uri yanks Andy forward, “had better watch your tongue.”
“It’s a job you have to do. You know that. Ugh!” Uri drops Andy to the ground but he continues undeterred. “Or have you lost your touch?”
“I told you-”
“Told me what, Uri? That you’ve failed? Huh? Listen! That woman has information that will bring your boss down if the authorities get it. So far we’ve got lucky. This blackout stopped her uploading the information so me, Bolstovsky, and Clarissa are the only ones who know about it.”
“I can get her laptop.”
“That’s not enough and you know it. The knowledge is in her head and she’ll talk—hell, she sees it as a way to get a promotion, as the pinnacle of her career!”
“I’ll sort it.”
“Good. If you don’t-”
“If I don’t?”
“Then Bolstovsky won’t be happy and you know what that means.
The look that flits across Uri’s face confirms the threat. Bolstovsky’s cruelty and relentless pursuit of those who’d crossed him was legendary. If word got back that Uri had denied an order then his life wouldn’t be worth living and Andy, for one, was going to make sure Uri didn’t forget that.
“Do you remember what happened to Van der Pole?”
“Da.”
“Do you remember what happened to his son?”
“Shut up, Andy!”
“Do you remember how they made his wife watch.”
The anger in Uri’s eyes makes Andy smirk but his hands tremble. Uri’s power is undeniable and he didn’t want to push him too far—he could see he was on the point of rage and that was a place Andy was smart enough not to push him.
“I said shut up!”
“Sure, Uri. Sure.” Andy turns to go back into the house. “Just so we’re clear. The cleaning needs doing—tonight.”
He smiles into Uri’s scowling face and walks back into the house.
“Anything wrong?” Clarissa asks as she stands in the doorway. How long had she been standing there? Andy had been distracted—afraid if he was honest at the anger flowing through Uri.
“No,” he says with a smile and pushes past her. He pats her bottom as he passes. She flinches and pulls away. He grits his teeth at her rejection but laughs. “You’re cold. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replies. He knows it’s a lie. She’d have to be sorted—tonight. He’d enjoyed their ‘dalliance’. She’d been fun to chase—had played hard to get, which he liked, and he couldn’t deny that making love to her was ... also fun, but he’d bored of her quickly. She was too ... nice, but also too resilient to his demands. He liked his women with a bit of kick—someone who’d put up a fight, but then they had to acquiesce—understand their place—it was a game, and one Clarissa didn’t play too well. Still, if he had an urge later on he’d see about giving her one for the road. He snorts as he steps along the corridor and swings round the bannister. He’d give her a good seeing to before Uri sorted her for good—a final farewell if you like. Jesus he was tired of this shit! He strides to the end of the corridor and opens the door. A narrow bed sits tig
ht against the window of the small room. A single wardrobe and a small chest of drawers are all that it contains but at least the bed is comfortable. He pushes off his shoes and lies on top of the bed. Best to get some shut-eye before this evening. Things were going to kick-off big time later on and he’d need his wits about him if he was to play the part of distressed then grieving boyfriend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Uri lies silent on the bed as footsteps grow louder. He waits for them to pass staring out at the canopy of trees, at peace for the moment, despite his ‘conversation’ with Andy, knowing that Anna is asleep in the room next door. The door handle pushes down and Viktoria steps into the room, a towel wrapped as a turban around her freshly washed hair. Another towel is pulled around her body. It covers her breasts but only just skims her bottom. She smiles in greeting as their eyes meet and closes the door.
“Turn around.”
“Huh?” she grins feigning ignorance. This was one of the games he loved.
“Turn around,” he repeats.
“Uri, no!”
“Turn around.”
She fakes submission.
“Like this?” she asks turning on her toes, hands on hips.
“Now bend.”
“Like this?” she asks bending a little, throwing her hair over her shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. She knew just how to please him.
The roundness of her buttocks is naked to the room but he can see little else. He thirsts to see into the hidden place. “No. More.”
He takes her with a fierce passion, each thrust claiming her as his own.
Afterwards the sun sinks and casts long shadows in the room.
“Uri,” she says as she lays against him, stroking at his chest, her finger following the tattoo marked there – the brand of the Boltovskys.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“We can’t anyway—our apartment has burned down.”
“No, I don’t mean to go back to our home.”
He sighs. He knows what’s coming.
“I mean I don’t want to go back ever. It’s so peaceful here.”
“It’s not our home though, darling.”
“I know, but if it was ... just think how happy we’d be here.”
Uri thinks about the surrounding woodland, the seclusion of the cottage, the log burner in the living room and the beams in the ceiling—original beams, just like the house of his dreams.”
“Sure, but-”
“Listen,” she says more animated now. “Let them think we died.”
“What?”
“Yes! Let them think we died in the fire. If we don’t go back they’ll just assume that we died—Bolstovsky will think that we all died and we’ll be free.”
“But-”
“If we’re free of them then we can live here—not in this house—but one like it. You know we’ve got enough money ...”
The idea is seductive. To live a life free of Bolstovsky and his demands. To not have to kill Clarissa. To be free of dealing out death and instead live his life in the countryside with his wife and daughter ... but Andy, the money-laundering Mr Andrew Carfax, would still know.
“Anna would love it around here. There are open fields and woodlands. There’ll be a school she can go to and make friends with, have a normal life. Her English is already good.”
“Yes, you’ve done a good job of teaching her.
“I’ll have a normal life too, Uri. I’ll be able to have friends too, not just those women.”
“I thought you liked them! I thought Katya and Magda were your friends.”
“They are—were, but they were only my friends because they were part of the Family. I couldn’t have other friends—remember!”
“Shh!” he says stroking her hand. One of the rules of the Family was that no outsiders were allowed in the inner circle and that meant no friends from the ‘outside’. It was a tight-knit group. The men could only mix with other Family members and their wives could only be friends with the other wives. The children were not encouraged to bring playmates home from school.
She quiets for a moment and lays her head again on his chest. She was right though. They would be free. Could they simply just not go back? He thinks about the practicalities. Yes, they had enough money in the bank to buy a home and live albeit frugally for a number of years. He could find another job. He had skills. He knew someone who could give them the paperwork they needed. They could never return to Russia, but here, here in England—perhaps.
“We would be poor.”
“Uri, we have each other, we have Anna—we will never be poor.”
“Let me think on it.”
“Really?” she says with a gentle excitement.
“Really,” he replies though a stone seems to sit on his chest.
ANDY CATCHES URI’S sleeve as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. The hallway is dark with only the light from the open living room door to brighten it. Andy pulls the door shut and leads Uri to the back of the house. He speaks in a whisper.
“When?” he demands, no need to further explanation.
“Later?”
“When later?”
“After the trip to town.”
“Good. Don’t cock up this time.”
He can feel the man bridle and scurries away down the hallway then takes the stairs two at a time. Andy may have the upper hand, but Uri’s strength held a danger all of its own. He was poking the tiger and he’d make sure to move his hand before it was bitten off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
With the others gone the house is overly quiet with only the low chatter of Clare and Stella in the living room as Andy pokes his head around the doorway. They turn to look.
“How’s the patient?” he enquires with feigned interest.
“Sleeping.”
“He can have the last Tramadol at eleven o’clock,” Clare continues. “I’m hoping he doesn’t wake until then.”
“You’re doing a marvellous job,” Andy simpers. “Where’s your mother, Stella?”
“She went outside to fetch more logs.”
“Oh, thanks,” Andy returns then slips into the kitchen to wait for Clarissa. He’d need to make a show of affection in front of the others—play it up a bit so they could see his attachment before Uri sorted her for good.
The back door swings open then closes with a slam. He hears Clarissa puff as she walks along the hallway.
“Hi,” she calls as she reaches the open kitchen door. Her arms are full of logs. A small spider clambers along her sleeve.
“Hi,” he calls and follows her into the living room.
As they enter he becomes attentive. “Let me take them for you, Clarissa,” he says in his best ‘helpful-loving-boyfriend’ tone.
“Oh! Well, thank you, Andy,” she replies with a small laugh.
He reaches for the logs and takes as many as he can then drops them into the wide wicker basket sat on the hearth.
“Cup of tea?” he asks smiling as he stands and looks around the room.
“Please!” Clare agrees with a smile.
In the kitchen he listens to the conversation, a rat listening for danger as it gnaws on a carcass. Their chit-chat is banal, boring if he’s feeling unkind, and he turns to fill the kettle from the barrel sat on the counter.
A new voice. Viktoria. No doubt her small talk will be as dull as theirs. He takes another biscuit from the tin and swallows it down before grabbing a couple more, holding them in his teeth as he picks out cups from the cupboard.
“Clarissa,” Viktoria says. Andy’s ears prick. There’s something about the tone of her voice that makes him take notice.
Thud! Another log on the fire. It sizzles.
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“Well, for what happened to you—for Uri ...”
“Oh, Viktoria. It all seems so far-fetched that I almost don’t believe it happened myself.”
&nb
sp; “But I was curious—what ... I don’t ask my husband about his ‘jobs’, but ... I know you now and ... well, why did he try to kill you?”
The room is silent.
“Well,” she begins. Andy’s heart thumps hard in his chest. So far only he knew exactly what she’d uncovered. Uri only knew that she needed to be gotten rid of. If she told other people then it could lead to disaster for him, and he wasn’t going to prison for anyone. “I investigate fraud-”
Crash!
The teapot drops from Andy’s hand, or rather smashes against the tiles as he throws it down. He yelps as hot water scalds his legs.
“Andy!” he hears Clarissa shout in surprise and concern. The hot tea seeps through to his skin but he’s elated as she rushes through the door. “Are you alright?”
For the next ten minutes she is kept busy as she fusses over him, placing cold, damp cloths over the red skin of his thighs, finding him a clean pair of trousers, and making him a cup of tea to soothe his furrowed brow. He smirks as she bends to pick up yet another shard of broken teapot but he’s running out of things to say to keep her in the kitchen and away from the others.
The hairs on his scalp prickle. He’d have to sort things out himself! He shudders then clenches his jaws. He can do it himself. He doesn’t need to wait for Uri.
There had been plenty of blood on the carpet as he’d climbed his way through departments and actually killing someone, with his own bare hands, was something he’d considered in the past. Well, he’d imagined it at least. Staring at Clarissa, a cold certainty waves through him. Uri wasn’t here. She was about to tell them all exactly what she’d discovered. He couldn’t let that happen. At some point it would lead back to him, and, even if it didn’t, Bolstovsky would just see him as a loose end that needed cutting off.
As she stands, shard in hand, he catches her gaze and gives her his best smile.
“You seem happy,” she says throwing the shard in the bin. She picks up a tea towel and then a glass from the draining board and gives it a wipe with the cloth.
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 33