His peripheral vision catches a movement. The brush-tail of a fox disappears between the buildings to his left. Had he really seen that or is he imagining things? Bruno scans the snow-covered grass for footprints and of course they’re everywhere. Most appear to be human but some – too many – are distinctly canine. What did he expect?
Instinct tells him right now he’s being watched. With a growing sense of déjà vu, he picks up his pace. Any second Freyja might step out from the shadows to block his path. Bruno hates being vulnerable like this out in the open. He could try to fall in with some others – safety in numbers and all that – but there are very few students around. Everyone he passes is head down against the weather and intent on their own business. With no other choice, Bruno keeps going.
Once inside the main door to his block, he feels relief of sorts. He passes one or two people in the hallway – no one he knows by name. His backpack isn’t the only thing weighing him down as he trudges up the echoing stairway towards his room.
The light flickers on as he steps inside and his fears materialise into the solid form of the two decoys sitting on his bed, just as he’d imagined they would be.
‘Surprise!’ Freyja is grinning like this is some kind of party. It’s odd how she’s both attractive and repulsive at the same time. The two of them are dressed in ordinary clothes but it doesn’t make them any less scary.
‘You must have been expecting us – or are you losing your touch? Anyway, the two of us thought we’d drop by for a little chat.’ She gets to her feet, comes slowly towards him with the grace of a dancer. He notices the photon gun strapped to her thigh.
‘We know you’ve been to the Avraham house,’ Quentin says from behind her.
Bruno shakes his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, I’ve– ’
Freyja shakes her head in time with him. ‘Uh-uh! Please don’t try to insult our intelligence. Our intelligence – that was a pun, get it?’
He dumps his backpack down on the floor between them like a barrier. Her foot pushes it to one side and then she’s up close and in his face. ‘Listen,’ he says. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re up against – that Avraham place is a fortress.’
‘Go on,’ Quentin says.
‘Every gate, every door, both inside and out – is activated by an amazingly sophisticated recognition system. No visible locks or code pads. Believe me I looked hard but could see no sign of any monitors or sensors. It’s like the whole house is intelligent – it knows precisely who’s allowed to be there at any time of the day or night – and it certainly knows who isn’t.’
Freyja laughs in his face – he has no choice but to share her hot breath. ‘You’ll be telling us next the house is sentient.’
‘In a way, it is,’ he says. ‘I guarantee neither of you have come across anything like it. If the system doesn’t think you should be there, the place becomes your prison in seconds.’
‘If we’re wearing the suits, it won’t even know we’re there.’ She spits the words in his face.
‘Maybe,’ Bruno says. ‘Who knows what it can or can’t sense. If you’re right and Commander Avraham is one of the people involved in acquiring those suits, he may have added a line of defence against them. Stands to reason. I’m just putting it out there as a possibility. The thing is, are you willing to stake your lives on me being wrong?’
Quentin stands up. ‘Thanks for the warning but you can let us worry about that. You know why we’re here. We already have the original schematic for the buildings and grounds – all we want from you is confirmation of the current layout. You can do that for us, can’t you?’
‘I guess so.’
‘If you want to save your friend,’ he says, ‘you’ll also give us an idea of the family’s routine movements.’
Freyja extends a finger towards Bruno’s temples. It stops just short of physical contact. ‘We know the information must be all there in that weird little head of yours. If you can tell us where Avraham sleeps? Better still, when the commander is most likely to be home alone, then no one else need get hurt.’
Looking into her eyes, Bruno sees only her determination to stop at nothing. She wouldn’t care if the whole family died – this cautious approach must be to placate Quentin.
‘I can predict things,’ Bruno says, ‘but the trouble is there are always too many variables. People are forever changing their minds. They come back unexpectedly for something they’ve forgotten. They head home with a flu bug.’
He tries to summon up more examples but none will come. ‘A part of me imagined you two would be here waiting for me tonight but I wasn’t certain, and then I went and got distracted with other things. Nothing is totally foreseeable.’
That smile is not a nice look on her. ‘Then, sweetie, we’ll just have to take your best guess and leave the rest up to – well, to fate.’
He glances past her to Quentin. ‘I know you don’t want to murder innocent people – kids who’ve only just started out on life. Besides, like I said, once you’re inside that place...’ He turns his attention back to Freyja, ‘you’ll be walking straight into a sprung trap.’
She looks at him with indifference.
‘Let’s lighten the mood here,’ he says. ‘Did you ever hear the story of Odysseus?’
‘This isn’t some stupid game, weirdo – this is real life,’ she says. ‘We came here for information not to listen to silly nonsense of yours.’
‘Then you’re making a mistake,’ he tells her. ‘Myths have stood the test of time for a reason. Before you say anything else, just hear me out.’ He can see how much this pisses her off – with this woman there’s no such thing as a poker face.
‘You probably know the story,’ he says. ‘There’s a bit where Odysseus is trying to return to his home and he’s faced with Scylla – this giant sea monster with loads of hands and six dog heads who likes to eat men alive.’
Quentin laughs out loud. ‘I think he’s talking about you, Freyja.’
It’s tempting to laugh along but Bruno knows better. ‘Trouble is, the only alternative route takes him right past Charybdis – this ginormous whirlpool that swallows passing ships up whole.’
She scoffs in his face. ‘So that’s just a long-winded way of saying the guy is caught between a rock and a hard place.’
‘And your point is?’ So Quentin, at least, had been listening.
‘Odysseus can’t win whichever route he takes,’ Nero says from the threshold. ‘Like all of us here, he’s facing an impossible dilemma.’
He steps inside and closes the door. ‘In the end, he decided the Scylla is his best chance.’ Freyja’s hand is already on the weapon at her thigh. Nero holds up both hands to show he’s unarmed. ‘Odysseus survives but only at a heavy price. He loses six of his most valued men. I’m not alone here in knowing how bad that feels.’
‘Why exactly are you here?’ Freyja demands.
‘Because, despite our differences, the four of us want the same thing; I came here to suggest an alternative path to that end.’
Quentin comes forward. ‘I’m not sure that’s true anymore.’
‘Listen, we all want to unmask corruption amongst the powerful. Am I wrong? No. And though we like to think of ourselves as realists, we share a dream of seeing this city return to something a lot closer to where it started out – a properly functioning democracy.’
‘Is that all?’ Freyja scoffs. ‘I’ve heard enough fancy rhetoric for one lifetime. Besides, you missed out the most important aim – the satisfaction gained from wreaking revenge on those who most deserve it. I want – no, I need – those responsible for the death of my friends to pay a high price. I want those bastards to really suffer. Is that what you’re offering? No – I guess not.’
‘Revenge can take many forms,’ Nero says. ‘Before you continue on a course that’s certain to get more innocent people killed, it makes sense to explore the alternatives. I’m suggesting another way. A wise man once said, “While seeking revenge, d
ig two graves – one for yourself”.’
‘By the way, that was Douglas Horton,’ Bruno tells them. They all look at him. ‘I’m just saying…’
Quentin holds up a hand. ‘Cut to the chase – how exactly are you proposing we can achieve those laudable aims of yours?’ He sits down in the only chair. ‘We’re all ears, aren’t we, Freyja?’
Making no sudden movements, Bruno lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. He looks up at Nero. This better be fokking good, man.
Freyja folds her arms. ‘Okay, Cavallo, we haven’t got all night – let’s hear it.’ Her fingers are restless – they keep straying towards the photon gun at her side.
Forty-One
Nero does his best to saunter along; he even stops to chat with one or two people along the way. Once he’s on the next level, he checks the corridor on both sides and presses the com button outside Le Ruste’s office.
The door opens soundlessly. It’s a relief to step inside and shut out potential curiosity. Inside, the mood music has changed again. This time Rustler doesn’t get up or come forward to shake his hand.
‘How’s it going?’ Le Ruste asks not wanting or waiting for an answer. ‘Excuse me while I turn the corridor feed live again.’ The man’s looking more stressed out even than the last time. There are dark circles on his shirt below his armpits and he keeps rubbing at his mouth as if to erase the words he’s just spoken – a definite sign of colder feet.
Nero sits down without being asked and gets straight to the point: ‘Did you get anything from that recording I made in the Nordic Cross?’
‘Not a damn thing.’ Avoiding his eye, Rustler continues to rotate his chair right and left. ‘When I stripped out the music, it left virtually zero behind. I ran all kinds of fancy analysis on it but still ended up with nothing but fokking tinnitus.’
Nero frowns. ‘But when I was there, I could definitely hear people talking, though I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.’
‘Unfortunately, that was nothing but a clever little overlay. Listen, it’s not exactly rocket science, Cavallo. They play the music in there loud enough to disguise blocking devices, then add a layer on top that simulates the sound and rhythm of regular bar room conversations. Very like those old movies where the spooks turn up the radio in case someone’s listening in. Okay, the stuff they’re using is way more sophisticated but the principle’s exactly the same.’
‘Damnit.’ Nero balls his fists. ‘I was hoping it would give us something – some concrete evidence to corroborate what we have so far.’
‘Yeah, well, this is the cold light of day. All we’ve got is that image of an old photograph – with no provenance – and what we’ve been able to glean from that. The aging tech I used is wide open to legal challenge.’
Rustler stands up to look straight at him. Nero tries not to focus on the sheer size of the man’s protruding gut. ‘Truth is, we haven’t got enough to bring down some punk off the streets,’ he says, ‘never mind a squillionaire with hot and cold running lawyers.’
Going over to the window, Le Ruste opens the blinds. There’s a lighter greyness to the sky outside – a promise that the sun will soon rise above the peaks of the mountain to bestow a few hours of daylight on the city.
‘I’ve been thinking of what they did about the American Mafia in the 1930’s,’ Rustler says into the glass.
Nero frowns. ‘You’re suggesting someone takes a look at Viktor Persson’s tax records?’
‘Stands to reason you don’t get to be that rich without employing a little creative accounting. The man resides on his own private island. If his money really does come from Red Zone activities, it should be possible to follow the trail-mix.’
‘So, just like they did with Al Capone, we aim to pin a charge of tax evasion on him?’
Rustler opens his hands. ‘If you’ve got a better idea I’d like to hear it.’
‘Well, for a start I hardly think what worked in America a hundred and forty odd years ago is likely to produce the same results in the here and now. You and I both know the cartels are not a bunch of dumb mobsters – not that those mobsters were dumb. Modern cartels are first and foremost businesses. They make damned sure they’re not open to attack on any front and that must include accusations of financial irregularities.’
‘Okay, then I’m still waiting to hear your suggestion, Cavallo.’ He goes back to his desk and sits down; his chair is one hell of a tight fit.
Nero hesitates. He hadn’t anticipated this change in Rustler’s mood. Behind the gruffness of his manner, the man is having serious doubts. Though he’s not quite running scared, he’s spooked. Handing the investigation over to the Fraud Squad would give him a neat way out of the situation.
‘Spit it out, Cavallo,’ he says. When Le Ruste leans back, it looks like he might overbalance any minute.
‘I know exactly where our friend Viktor is going to be tomorrow night,’ Nero tells him.
Rustler grins though there’s no mirth behind it. ‘You two got a date?’
‘Not exactly but I have a solid lead that in just under thirty-six hours our man will be in the Nordic Cross bar in an upstairs room playing poker. He’ll have arrived sometime in the early evening along with his gang of minders. We can assume they will all be armed. The other players will have arrived with their own security entourages who are also likely to be armed. I’m pretty certain the poker players will include several of Viktor’s old teammates. I don’t need to name names.’
‘Okay – this all sounds promising. Go on.’
‘The bar is unusual in that it has six separate entrances – think of it like the points of a star. I will need you to closely monitor every street in the vicinity of that bar and be ready to send armed police officers in at my request.’
Rustler purses his lips. ‘Okay, so first off – if I put that many officers on standby, someone’s bound to get wind of it and tip them off. Let me remind you, this place leaks like a tin roof.’
‘Then don’t call them in until I’ve made a formal request for armed assistance.’
‘Could take twenty minutes to get them there. Plenty of time for them to rid themselves of a lone police inspector backing a hunch.’
‘I’ll have to factor that in.’ Nero smiles. ‘Believe me, I’ve thought this through and there’s no other way.’
Rustler pulls a pained face. ‘Before we go any further, explain to me what charges you’re planning to arrest our man Viktor on. As far as I’m aware, playing cards with a few mates isn’t a criminal offence or half the city would be in trouble.’
‘Ah, but it is an offence to knowingly participate in an illegal gambling ring. I’ve checked and the Nordic Cross has never held a licence to host such activities. I’m pretty certain that, on the night, there’ll be evidence of other offences going on up there including consumption of illegal drugs and contraventions of the Sexual Exploitation Act.’
‘I have to say this is crazier than my tax evasion idea,’ Rustler says.
‘Listen. The landlord is a man called Robert White and he’s as shady as – a pergola.’
‘A fokking pergola – what sort of half-cocked comparison is that?’
‘Okay make it a pine forest – is that shady enough for you?’
Rustler shrugs.
‘The point is,’ Nero tells him, ‘if we offer White complete immunity we might get evidence linking our man to money laundering.’
Rustler can’t stop shaking his head. ‘Far be it from me to burst your bubble, Nero, but if this Robert White decides it’s in his best interests to stay shtum – a scenario which seems highly likely to me – then we’re left with some pretty minor charges against some of Eldísvík’s major players. Plus – and I’m surprised I have to point this out – none of this is the legitimate concern of an Inspector from the Homicide Department.’
Nero stands up. ‘Look, let me level with you. This whole thing is simply a pretext.’
‘What do you mean – a pretext?�
�� Pulling himself out of his chair’s grip, Rustler scrambles to his feet.
‘It’s an excuse,’ Nero says. ‘A ruse. A ploy.’
‘I know what the fokking word means, Cavallo; I just don’t understand what you’re trying to say to me. Just spell it out in words of one syllable.’
‘I think it might be safer all round if I don’t. All I need you to do is make sure you keep eyes on that place and wait for my call. Let me worry about the rest, okay?’
‘You got it. I’m happy to do exactly that.’ Grabbing a tissue from the desk, Rustler wipes the sweat from his face then sniffs under both armpits. Apparently satisfied, he says, ‘Let’s wrap this up. I’m late for a heads of department meeting with our esteemed governor.’
Le Ruste checks his monitor. ‘You’re clear to leave, Cavallo,’ he says. ‘I wish you good luck, my friend. Remember, this is on your head only.’
Nero turns at the door. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Forty-Two
Krista drains her drink, holds the empty glass up in Bruno’s eyeline and jiggles it back and forth. ‘Is that a subtle hint?’ He laughs. ‘I’m guessing you’d like the same again?’
‘You must be a mind reader, she says, raising one eyebrow. ‘Call it compensation for standing me up last night.’ Is she fooling with him – he gets no clue from her expression. The afternoon light is streaming in through the window; tiny dust particles are caught in the beam. Their two glasses are all lit up by the low sun.
‘Like I explained, my uncle just showed up at my halls out of the blue.’ It still sounds lame.
He goes to take her glass but she holds on to her end of it. ‘And yet I seem to remember you said before that you had no family. All that stuff about you living with various foster families – did you just make it up to get my sympathy?’
‘No – of course I didn’t. What I actually said was I have no immediate family. The thing is, I’ve got this uncle – his name’s Nero. I mean, I call him uncle but he’s a sort of second cousin or something. Anyway, he’s a nice guy but he’s going through a few things right now and last night he really needed my help. I felt I couldn’t let him down.’
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