by Mark, David
Ash caught up and patted Daniel on the back, pointing. ‘There.’
Daniel nodded, catching his breath. Then Ash was gone, reading the terrain ahead, leaping up to firm ground, pushing up the incline of rock. He veered left, towards the direction Ulrika had taken, passing Justin. Ulrika was still in front, but was running out onto the exposed rock face, gasping, face contorted, disorientated and confused.
‘Ulrika, keep left!’ he shouted.
But Ulrika didn’t hear, running out into the open. Ash ran on, putting all his concentration into his legs, pulling in air, chest heaving. He reached the first incline, sprinting the last of the distance separating them.
He heard another bullet ziiip through the air above him. ‘Into the scrub!’ Ash screamed, drawing near, feeling the kick of adrenalin. A puff of stone ahead and to the right, then he registered the crack of gunfire. The shot forced her left, passing the last of the rock, entering the first of the shrub pockets dotted across the lower slopes, then on, upwards. The incline steepened, loose rock and debris causing his feet to slip. He paused in time to see Ulrika start to climb with her hands, head down and oblivious to the danger she was placing herself in.
He veered to the side. ‘Ulrika!’ He screamed, closing the distance, pointing as he drew alongside.
She paused to look over her shoulder, looking wild and lost.
‘Climb up the incline over there –’ he pointed to the next rise to the right, ‘escape into the woods. Get distance between us and them. Understand?’
She heard him and turned, looking at him in a mask of confusion.
‘Do you understand?’
She was breathing hard. She nodded, then ran off in the direction of the first of the trees without having uttered a word. Relieved, Ash charged forward, legs already feeling like dead weight.
‘Over there!’ He pointed. She was going in the wrong direction again.
She was wild-eyed, looking everywhere, seeing nothing, gasping, her chest pulling at the air in short convulsions. He reached her as she stopped, unsure in which direction to turn with panic in her eyes. Ash reached out and shook her by the shoulders, trying to get eye contact. ‘Keep it together. Right?’ He looked around at Justin and Daniel as they approached from behind. ‘It’s all right, relax, breathe...’ he called out, realizing she was losing it, sensing his own danger.
Panting, Ulrika nodded again, looking lost. He had seen that look before. He knew where it lead to. She shook her head, repeatedly, ‘They... they are coming!’ She said, her voice turned desperate. ‘They’re coming Ash,’ she sobbed.
‘Over there,’ he pointed.
She turned and started climbing uphill.
Dismayed, Ash turned to the unmistakable sound of someone running through the undergrowth, below and to their right. He turned back to look at Ulrika, who was frantically using her hands to pull herself upwards again. He tried to ignore the first taste of fear and turned in time to lose sight of Justin and Daniel as they scrambled out of view. The sounds grew louder but seemed to be heading in Conrad’s direction.
Ulrika stopped and started to convulse, her lips turning an odd shade. ‘Concentrate. Breathe,’ Ash murmured though she couldn’t hear him.
‘Breathe!’ He shouted, starting after her again.
‘I... I can’t...’ she started to tremble and looked up at him, eyes wider than he could have thought possible, as if they were about to burst, mouth open, pulling for air in short spasms; each time a small, pathetic gasp escaping her lips.
He bent forwards, keeping eye contact. ‘Breathe, easy... breathe!’
Ulrika nodded, her head jerking in time to snatch the air, getting it inside her.
‘You’ll be okay, just do as I say. I want you to go on, follow the others. Get out of here. Now!’
Her eyes snapped into focus and she nodded.
‘Go on – off you go!’
Ulrika turned and ran up the incline after the others leaving Ash on his own.
Conrad watched it all happen, caught in a state of disbelief. He saw Ash run towards Ulrika who had exposed herself. Sensing events slip out of his control he ran as fast as he could to close the distance, his fingers clamped reassuringly tight around the handle of the kitchen knife, the sharp blade providing something to focus on, pushing the fear away. He paused long enough to see Ash and Ulrika disappear into the trees, Ulrika veering off to one side, Ash to the other.
Behind him. He heard the sound of feet running behind him. Conrad had seen them all run ahead. Moving as silently as possible, he sprinted to take up position behind the widest of the nearest twisted pines and tried to think, to see the situation clearly. The moment of truth. He closed his eyes, calming himself and finding something unexpected: a space for calculation.
Taking the knife, holding it ready, knuckles white, he knew what had to be done. He raised the blade backwards and upwards into a striking position, sweat trickling over his brow, tickling his ears. For a moment, he was filled with the pungent smell of damp bark and leaf rot. He pressed himself deeper against the tree, the knife held tightly against his body, breathing deeply, waiting and listening to running footsteps growing louder and closer. He focused on sound, distance, concentrated on his timing, preparing himself as the movement drew closer, closer, nearing... that was when he noticed he had bitten into his lip, tasting blood.
Conrad launched himself from behind the tree. To his dismay, he saw he had misjudged the distance. Further away than intended.
He had launched himself too early.
The attacker came into view, big and lean: On his head was a camouflage cap, framing a hollow face and dark, deep-sunken eyes that didn’t bode well with ex-military stamped all over them.
Committed, Conrad ran and regretted his action immediately, seeing how it would have been wiser to have waited and catch him from behind. No eye contact. He still had the element of surprise, desperate to close the distance. Greater than he had perceived. The attacker slowed as Conrad charged. He looked up at the sound of running, eyes wide in surprise. Conrad saw a handgun clasped in his right hand, the muzzle seeking direction.
The world slowing, Conrad ran and brought the knife up, knuckles white back against his body, ready to strike. He placed his right shoulder instinctively forwards and hit him with the full weight of his body, shoulder first, bringing the advantage of speed, momentum and body weight to bear, the collision hard. HIFO Hard In, Fast Out, Conrad brought his hand around, feeling the knife bite as his adversary was spun around and backwards, the knife slicing through cloth, skin and muscle. And then he was past, continuing to run uphill, back into the protective cover of the trees. Ahead, the rounded forms of boulders lying on top of the bare crown of the monolith in between curled, knotted pines. He neared the trees at the top of the hill and he threw himself over a hump in the ground, landing on the other side badly. He lost his footing, going down. Conrad bit his lip until he could taste blood, trying not to utter a sound, nowhere else to run.
Lungs screaming in agony, her body barely refusing to respond Ulrika stopped and listened. It was quiet. She stepped forwards again, forcing herself into a jog when she looked around as something appeared in front of her dressed in khaki and green. She trembled uncontrollably, too scared to react at the sight of the gun pointing at her. Too scared to scream.
A face like iron, full of malevolence and pain held her in the vice of an unspoken threat, approaching her in a measured, almost calm fashion. Without warning, the attacker hit her across the side of the head still holding his weapon, the combined weight of fist and metal stunning her, paralyzing her.
‘Ash,’ she croaked.
He hit her again, the blow paralyzing her. She looked up as he held a finger to his lips, stepping forwards, gun pointing at her womb, dark, almost black blood spreading through the fabric of the upper arm of his tunic. He stank of the unwashed, rank body odor filling the air between them, placing the pistol in his belt. Before she could understand was happening, he had
gathered her up in one rapid, experienced movement and was already carrying her away over his shoulders.
A sniper could have picked them all, one by one.
If something bad was going to happen then it had already happened. Conrad was lying on his side, looking down the hill towards where he knew Justin and the others were either scattering or hiding. Or dead. The pain had eased. He had expected to hear the sound of footsteps. The crack of a gun, the searing heat of pain in the muscle of his back.
He was still alive.
He listened; the sound of receding movement, uphill and into the depths of the trees. Then the quiet, that profound sense of relief, like a thick blanket in a cold room. A two-man team. Were they only two? They could have killed them all one by one.
From somewhere, he heard a scream. It sounded like Ulrika.
He sat upright, bolt upright, listening. Sounds diminishing... then, nothing. Wincing, Conrad tried moving his foot, getting up with difficulty. He tested his weight, looking around, waiting for the sound of movement. He groaned with the pain and sat back down. He was going nowhere just yet.
They had Ulrika. Who?
Ever since the fingers incident he’d had the growing sense something was seriously wrong with this assignment. Almquist was seriously out of his depth, struggling with events he had no hope of resolving. Who then?
Outside forces were in play.
Whose interests? Crime it wasn’t. This wasn’t a break-in. He felt a cold sweat run down his back, the realization dawning they wanted the painting. They had taken the girl to get the painting. Or because she knew something. They were in the middle of the game, but he couldn’t see who was playing the field. Think! Who... his mind ran through possibilities. There was always a vested interest. The Embassy had vested interests. He was here because of those interests.
What the hell had they involved him in?
He picked himself up and brushed himself down. He tried walking. It hurt, but he could walk. He skirted the side of the rocky outcrop he’d hidden behind and peered down at the homestead, listening for any sound of movement. There was none. What was left was an eery silence, broken only by the soft hush of the wind through pine needles. Normally, this sort of place would have invigorated him.
The operation hadn’t gone entirely according to plan, he admitted that bitterly. He suspected someone had to have covered up Denisen’s death, or fall, to divert attention away from why he had been out there in the first place. No wounds, only a fall and a mutilation. If anything had happened at Trolls Church, only Ulrika was left around to tell.
The Embassy had made a deal with the Swedish Security Police, SÄPO. Where were they when they needed help? It was too early to go back. He could be taken out if someone was waiting, concealed. He knew better than that, so he sat down and used the time to think. They were dealing with a team sent in from the outside. Who would do that? Denisen’s forgery was a loose cannon on deck. If he’d been taken for interrogation, then all the careful planning, all the work of those who had planned this would come undone. Denisen could tell about Swift. Swift would finger me – and the people I work for. Then the Swedish security forces would see this for what it is – a fucking mess.
It hurt, but each time he tried a step, the pain diminished. He made a couple of steps. He could walk, but was going nowhere in a hurry. Only Ulrika would be left around to tell, he thought again.
What the hell had she been working on?
‘So, you think this is the place?’ Thomas looked around.
She nodded, weighing his reaction. This was the place where Agard painted it, she just knew it. ‘He was capturing the moment of death and rebirth.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘Here?’ He looked at her. ‘Why here?’ He looked around, as if expecting someone else to be there.
Why here?‘Do you have it?’
He nodded, taking a step forwards up onto the rock.
Because crimes had been committed at this very place. She knew that.
‘Look,’ Ulrika felt her heart beat harder, losing her ability to contain it any longer. ‘I’m not really interested in buying it. I just need to know more about it.’
Old crimes; Agard wanted them punished for their sins, and who could blame him. She needed to know what Agard knew. And why a reporter had disappeared.
Except, the the little prick hadn’t even brought it with him.
He lowered her to the earth with a grunt of pain. For a fleeting moment, she considered making a break for it. She looked around, the thought vaporizing, seeing a green 4WD that could have passed for a Ranger’s vehicle in the forest. On the side was the emblem of the regional Swedish forestry authority. Swedish plates. Then he did something unexpected. He raised his gun and smiled, the smile telling her, you run I shoot. Ulrika noticing a receding dark hairline, the creases around tired, darker eyes. Mid to late-thirties, the kind of face that had seen things, done things.
‘Inside,’ he said, and nodded with his head towards the back door.
Ulrika obliged.
He opened the door to the rear, pushing her forwards with his good hand. He turned her over, forcing her arms back and wrists together. Ulrika twisted, resisting. He couldn’t manage it, thrusting the muzzle of the gun into the small of her back. She froze. He held both her arms with one hand, gritting his teeth as he placed the strip under her wrists, moving his hand, using his dirty fingers, not quite closing the gap then trying again. He moaned in pain and Ulrika turned her head to her side, seeing the effort of his exertions written in his face as he pulled the strip against the serrated edges, locking it into position. Then he repeated the operation for her ankles, feeling the constricting bite of the plastic.
Another man appeared, emerging from the bush. She noticed with dread the bandage tied around his hand; a soiled, filthy bandage covering most of his thumb and index finger. An exchange, in a language she didn’t know but thought could have been Lithuanian. Latvian even, not that she could tell the difference.
The man with the cut arm stood up to show the other man his wound. The man with the bandaged hand used his other hand to make an inspection, removing the edge of the cotton fabric. It was matted with blood and stuck to his skin. He probed the cut with two fingers, removing them, covered in thick blood.
Her captor took his time, laying his gun on the roof of the vehicle with a clatter, then stepped to the side to take off his smock, awkwardly; first one arm, then the other. Wincing, he pulled his arm free, turning to his side so he could pull the sticky fabric away from the wound, tearing it with a tug. She was dismayed to see the extent of a lacerated wound in the upper arm; a blade had gone deep, deep enough to make him bleed like hell, blood oozing.
He walked around to the passenger door, opening the door and reaching inside, bending down to open the glove compartment. He must have found what he was looking for, Ulrika unable to see past the headrest of the passenger seat as he stood up and walked back towards the second man who was looking at her. He asked something without removing his eyes; cold, yet not uninterested eyes, the wounded man answering as he walked to one side with a small sachet of something placed between his teeth. Then ripping it open, spitting a piece out of his mouth, turning to sprinkle a white powder into the mess of the wound, massaging the powder into the cut, drawing more blood, turning it into a thick, pink paste. And all the while the man with the missing bandaged fingers was looking at her, standing still. She looked away.
The man with the cut arm removed his green belt from his army-style pants one-handed, removing it with a swift pulling motion. He placed it around his upper arm, threading the end through the buckle then pulled hard and back, securing it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, more concerned about the kind of look she was receiving from the man with the bandaged hand, a man she knew instinctively was a deadly threat – to her and her alone.
Chapter 10
LOOKING FOR TRUTH
Runes shalt thou find, and fateful signs,
That the king of singer
s colored,
And the mighty gods have made;
Full strong the signs, full mighty the signs
That the ruler of gods doth write
Stanza 143, Hávamál
‘They didn’t want those back then,’ Ash said.
Almquist’s gaze swept across the table, past the candles burning in candlesticks made of cast iron, spikes that looked medieval and over to the two fingers in the jar. Whoever had left those behind would have to think twice. How much time did they have? He looked at the painting, thinking of the search for Ulrika and how long it would take them. He looked at his watch. An hour, he reasoned. He had least an hour before he would receive any news.
‘They didn’t get what they wanted.’ He looked down at the wax stains from the candles of the night before, and the night before that. He looked at his watch. Then without a word he stood up with his hand in his pocket and walked over to the table, pulling out a transparent plastic bag he turned inside out. He placed his hand in the jar, reaching down, removing the two fingers taking hold of them through the plastic. ‘This is getting out of hand.’ He looked over to Justin and smiled. Justin smiled back weakly as Almquist pulled the bag around the two severed fingers so they lay in the bottom, then sealed the bag. He held them up for a moment, looking at them. Then, without a second thought he placed the plastic bag and its contents in his jacket pocket and walked back to the rocking chair. He sat down. ‘So,’ he pouted, looking over at each of them as he moved the chair back and forth. ‘What should I to do with you all?’