Unfinished Business

by W. Soliman

  As I stood rigid against the wall, panting from my exertions, I realized that I already had a problem I hadn’t anticipated. It was now dark and I couldn’t see a bloody thing above my head. I had my torch but needed both hands to climb so how was I supposed to shine it? Damn, I hadn’t thought about that. In the end I settled for flashing it briefly above so I could locate the precise position of the drainpipe, and stashed the torch in a pocket with a zip to avoid it falling out and giving me away. Then I pulled on my sailing gloves to ensure a better grip, filled my lungs with air and swung onto the pipe.

  I managed to get halfway up to the next floor without mishap. Then my booted foot loosened a piece of masonry, which clattered onto the conservatory roof, bounced twice and fell to the ground, activating an automatic light. I clung to the drainpipe like the lifeline it was, not daring to move, my heart pounding at an unnaturally fast rate. My muscles, unaccustomed to such intense activity, were screaming in protest, but I tried to ignore the discomfort, more intent upon evading discovery.

  The front door opened in response to the triggered light, and a burly individual with a strong torch examined the garden. Fuck it, it was too much to hope that all the hired muscle had scarpered for the night. Finding nothing, the man flashed the beam onto the roof of the conservatory, and I willed him not to shine it any higher. If he did, I’d be caught in the shaft and there was bugger all I could do about it.

  Muttering something about fucking cats, the man eventually went back inside, and I expelled a long breath. I waited a minute or two more, just to make sure he didn’t come back with reinforcements, before inching my way upwards.

  The wide window ledge above me seemed more inviting than a virgin’s bed, but I somehow resisted the urge to haul myself onto it when I finally drew level. There was a light coming from the room, indicating that it was probably occupied. Painstakingly I rested my feet gingerly on the very edge of the ledge, where it overlapped the window at the side, and peered into the room. Igor Kalashov was seated on a settee, a glass of what was probably vodka in his hand, in intense conversation with a woman. I reckoned she was probably the ubiquitous Monika since I could see a marked resemblance in their features.

  What to do now? I was precariously balanced, my feet taking my weight, my back leaning against the drainpipe, which, mercifully, so far at least, had proved to be sturdy. Every moment I lingered heightened the possibility of detection, and it was this thought that finally galvanised me into action. Still breathing heavily, I attached one end of a webbing line to my harness. At the other end I’d attached a small but heavy fishing weight. I took careful aim and threw it over a bracket higher above me.

  At least that was what I intended to do. Thanks to the conservatory roof, I’d got to the first floor level easily enough, but the climb to the second floor took it out of me. My arms were weakening, and I needed something to break my fall if the worse came to the worst. I consoled myself with the thought that there was only one more floor to go but, glancing up, it now seemed like an impossible distance to cover.

  Attempting to remain positive, I returned my attention to the line I was trying to attach. My aim was off and the rope fell back down with a sickening crash, coming to rest on the window ledge. I held my breath, convinced Kalashov or his daughter must have heard it. But when the window wasn’t thrown open and no one came running out the front door to find out what was going on, I figured my anxiety must be exaggerating the noise inside my head. Feeling more confident, I threw the line again, and this time found my mark. I silently offered up thanks for all the occasions when I’d had to berth a boat alone. Lassoing the bollards from on board in order to make the lines fast had improved my aim. I grabbed the loose end as it swung down towards me and attached it to my harness. It was, at best, a flimsy fail-safe but it made me feel a hell of a lot better about my chances for survival.

  With a dangerous rush of adrenalin, I headed for the next floor up, heaving with my arms, feet scrabbling against the smooth wall. Panting, I eventually pulled myself onto the window ledge where the girls were being kept. The curtains were open but the room was in total darkness. For a brief, discouraging moment I thought they were no longer inside, but when I risked flashing on my torch it illuminated two single beds, both occupied.

  Great! I was risking life and limb to rescue them and they were dead to the world.

  I balanced on the wide ledge, still attached by webbing line to the drainpipe. Only when I felt as secure as I was ever going to did I tap quietly on the window. Immediately I heard movement inside the room and the next second Kara’s astonished face appeared on the other side of the glass.

  “Open up,” I mouthed, accompanying the words with hand gestures to make sure she got the message.

  “I can’t,” she mouthed back. “It’s locked.”

  “Shit!”

  What was I supposed to do now? I examined the window. Thank heavens it wasn’t double glazed. I had a knife in my pocket and could if necessary loosen the putty and remove the pane of glass. But what were the chances of managing that without dropping the bloody lot? The alternative was to break it, getting the girls to muffle the sound on the other side with bedclothes. But it would still make some noise, probably quite a lot, almost certain to attract unwanted attention.

  Unable to think of any alternative, I was about to indicate what Kara needed to do when my attention was caught by the window on the other side of the drainpipe. It was wide open. Now that looked like a much easier solution, except that it was presumably open because someone was sleeping in the room. Still, since I was here I might as well take a look. Using hand signals I told an anxious-looking Kara what I intended to do. She’d been joined by Jasmine, wide-eyed with shock at the sight of me there, as well she might be. Again using hand signals, I asked her if she knew who was sleeping next door but she shook her head.

  Sighing at the prospect of inflicting further punishment on my protesting muscles, I swung back onto the drainpipe and, very gently, transferred myself to the opposite window ledge. I couldn’t believe my luck when I peered ’round the frame. The curtains were open, as was the door to the hall, and the light from there illuminated the room. It was empty, both single beds neatly made. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I lost no time in unhooking the line that was keeping me attached to the drainpipe and swung my legs over the sill. I bent my knees, which were also aching like hell, to absorb the shock and dropped to the inside. Thanks to the thick carpet I made no noise as I landed.

  Only then did I pause to consider my next move, concerned that the light was on in the hallway. Did that mean the girls’ room was being guarded or had someone simply forgotten to turn it off? I was about to go and investigate when a familiar handbag caught my eye. It was Kara’s. I opened the wardrobe and saw the dress she’d worn the night before hanging there, along with some other clothes of hers. This was obviously the room she’d occupied before being transferred to join her sister next door. I searched her bag and found her mobile phone in it, switched off. There was a purse with money in it but no credit cards or driving licence to reveal her true identity. Presumably she hadn’t been stupid enough to bring any with her. There was, however, something obvious missing from the bag, which came as no big surprise.

  There was no sign of the external hard drive.

  I put the purse under my arm. Knowing how women can be about their bags, I figured she’d be glad to have it back. Only then did I peer ’round the door into the corridor. There wasn’t a soul about. Unsure when that situation might change, I headed straight for the girls’ room. The door was locked, of course, but someone had obligingly left the key in it. I unlocked it, put the key in my pocket and went in to join the ladies.

  “Charlie!” Kara hurled herself into my arms. “I didn’t know you could climb drainpipes.”

  “Life with me is one big surprise.” I winced as I closed my arms about her and my muscles protested. I’d be stiff as a board tomorrow. “Are you both all right?” I ha
nded Kara her bag but glanced at Jasmine, who had yet to speak a word. I didn’t like the look of her cut lip and I was pretty sure she had the beginnings of a black eye.

  “Yes, we’re fine.” It was Kara who spoke. “But we’re very glad to see you. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Hang on a sec. I doubt it will be that easy. Do you know where the alarm sensors are, Jasmine?”

  She was busy belting a dressing gown ’round her waist and didn’t seem to realize I was talking to her, even though I’d addressed her by name. It seemed as though she was deep in thought and not particularly overjoyed at the prospect of being rescued. Thinking about her children, I supposed.

  “You might do better to take some of Kara’s clothes from next door,” I suggested. “If we do manage to make it outside, you’ll be less conspicuous in street clothes.”

  Still without opening her mouth, Jasmine disappeared, returning a short time later in a pair of jeans and a top I recognised as Kara’s. Kara was already dressed in a similar fashion.

  “The alarm sensors, Jasmine,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, just give me a moment to think. I’ve never take much notice of things like that.” She tilted her head and didn’t speak again for what seemed like an eternity. “I don’t think there are any up here,” she eventually said. “There’s definitely one on the landing below, but it will only be on if everyone’s in bed. What time is it?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  “Then I doubt if Igor has gone to bed yet. He never goes before midnight.”

  “What about the ground floor? Will the alarm be on there?”

  “If everyone is in, then it will be.”

  “Blast!” I was thinking fast. We’d come this far. There had to be a way out of this.

  “Where are the computers? The ones your husband’s using for his scam.”

  “On the floor below us, the second door on the left.”

  “Laptops or desktops?”

  “Oh, laptops, I think.”

  Good. That made life a fraction easier. “Will they be manned at this time of night?”

  “Probably not, but there’s a separate alarm that’s always on in that room if no one’s in there. You won’t be able to get to them.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I flashed one of my infrequent grins at Kara, buoyed up by my success in gaining access to the house and probably getting ideas above my abilities. “A little diversion might give us a chance to nick one and to get out of the house.”

  “What are you thinking, Charlie?” Kara asked.

  “Later.” I touched a finger to her lips. “I saw Viktor and Nikolay leaving earlier,” I said to Jasmine. “Will they be back tonight?”

  “No, they don’t sleep here.”

  “Good, any other security on the premises?”

  “Just one man. He has a small office at the back of the ground floor from which he monitors the alarms.”

  “Okay, we’ll worry about him when the time comes. Lead the way, Jasmine.”

  I locked the door again from the outside and pocketed the key. If push came to shove it might gain us a valuable moment or two. Jasmine went ahead of us and had reached the top of the stairs before Kara’s voice stopped her.

  “Jas, what about Anton? We can’t leave him here.”

  “Oh yes.” She seemed so annoyed to be reminded about him that the unspecified doubts lurking at the back of my mind gained momentum.

  “Where do you think he is?” I asked her. “Presumably you’ve been worried about him.”

  “Well, of course she has!” Kara looked indignant on her sister’s behalf. “Would he be up here, out of the way like us, Jas?”

  “Probably in that room over there.” Jasmine pointed to a door with what seemed like patent reluctance.

  The door was locked. I retrieved the key to the room the girls had been in from my pocket and tried it in the lock. In most houses one key opens all the internal doors and this one proved to be no exception. It turned soundlessly and released the lock with a soft click. We discovered Anton fast asleep, fully clothed, across one of the beds. His face was a mess of bloody bruises. He sat up with obvious difficulty and I guessed there must be a hell of a lot more bruising on his body, as well. His expression was wary, as though he was expecting more punishment. He blinked when his eyes fell upon Jasmine and winced at the pain it caused him simply to do that. Jasmine went to him and softly caressed his battered face.

  “I’m so sorry, Anton,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Stupid question. “There’s no time to waste,” I said. “We’re going to try and get out of here. Do you think you can make it, Anton?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t express any surprise at seeing me or ask any questions about how I came to be there. Too physically and emotionally drained to get his brain into gear, I guessed. Instead he concentrated all his efforts on easing himself off the bed. Cautiously he swung his legs to the floor, managing to stand at the second attempt. “I think so.”

  I gave him a minute to focus and then told Jasmine to lead the way. She did so, with me at her shoulder, leaving Anton to keep up as best he could with Kara’s help. We reached the lower landing without anyone challenging us, which in itself was a major miracle. I heard voices coming from the room I’d passed on my way up that bloody drainpipe. Igor and Monika still putting the world to rights, presumably. I indicated to the others by putting a finger to my lips that we ought to be especially quiet and received nods of understanding from all three of them. Jasmine pointed to a door and I guessed she was showing me the computer room.

  “What now?” Kara whispered in my ear.

  “Now we think about a distraction.”

  I looked about. There was a tall table to one side with a bowl of potpourri on it. And almost immediately above it was a smoke alarm. Perfect! I dragged the table away from the wall and positioned it below the alarm.

  “Anyone got a match?” I asked.

  Kara rummaged in her bag and produced a plastic lighter. The things women carry in their bags never ceased to amaze me. I held the flame to the bowl and the potpourri took light immediately. I reckoned I had about a minute before it activated the smoke alarm. This was our one chance and it was important to time it dead right. I motioned for the others to conceal themselves behind a large chest at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor.

  Once they were out of the way, I didn’t hesitate. Diving for the computer room, I prayed the door would be unlocked. I was in luck and it swung inwards without making a sound. Surprisingly empty, it hardly seemed possible that high-scale crime could be activated from such ordinary desks containing two standard-looking laptops and very little else. But now wasn’t the time to get all introspective so I pulled the leads from the back of one of the computers, dragged it from the desk and tucked it under my arm. I’d barely done so before the high-pitched squeal of the smoke alarm cut in.

  Rushing back to the others, I dove behind the chest just as Igor and Monika came out of their room to see what the fuss was about. Their eyes were focused on the burning potpourri and, as I’d hoped would be the case, they didn’t look in our direction. I could hear the heavy footsteps of the guard pounding up the stairs. He too headed straight for the fire. Igor was shouting at him to get a fire extinguisher from the computer room.

  I could hardly believe it but, against all the odds, it looked as though this little ploy was going to work and we might actually get out of here.

  We would have done too, if Jasmine hadn’t stood up, walked calmly across to her husband and pointed in our direction.

  “Darling,” she said, sliding her arm into Igor’s, “we have visitors.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Jas, what are you doing?”

  With an expression of total incomprehension on her face, Kara took an involuntary step towards her sister. I held on to her arm, well able to understand her bewilderment. Things had just started to come together in my own brain, and everything that hadn’
t quite rung true now began to make perfect sense. I made excuses for my stupidity by placing the blame on Kara. If she hadn’t distracted me with her feminine wiles, I might have been thinking with said brain and seen the bigger picture a lot sooner.

  I shot her a sympathetic glance. Her disappointment was about to intensify and there was sod all I could do about it. The big sister she’d always admired had never had any intention of leaving her husband, and I’d forced her hand, upset the balance, by breaking in and trying to rescue her. Had I left well alone, I suspect Kara would have come through this unscathed. Jasmine and Igor would then have disappeared into the sunset with their ill-gotten gains, with no one except the banks any worse off.

  I transferred blame to Monk for playing upon my arrogant assumption that I could right half the world’s wrongs. Still, if nothing else, at least I’d finally learned something about myself. If I came out of this in one piece, I vowed that in the future I’d stop meddling in things that didn’t concern me and mind my own bloody business.

  The goon from downstairs had extinguished my little fire and was now looking towards his boss for further orders.

  “Jas?” Kara addressed her sister in a bewildered tone.

  “I’m sorry, Kara, but I love Igor and can’t let you ruin what he’s trying to do.”

  “But I don’t understand. I thought—”

  “I’ll take that.” Kalashov reached for the laptop I was cradling against my chest.

  “Catch.”

  I winked and made to throw the machine towards him. He lunged at me to prevent it hitting the ground but needn’t have bothered because I didn’t actually let it go. Right now it was the only thing keeping us alive, and I quite wanted to extend that state of affairs. I assessed the odds of getting out of here as we played our little game of machismo. It was two against two. Anton and me against Igor and the thug. Igor was older than both of us but Anton was in a bad way. From the agonised groans he couldn’t quite suppress every time he put one foot in front of the other, I suspected that, at the very least, he had several cracked ribs. That gave the bad guys the edge but I figured we had nothing to lose by making a bit of a stand.