[James Ryker 01.0] The Red Cobra

by Rob Sinclair

  The two men walked out of the police station into the bright light and heat of another sunny morning in Andalusia, which only seemed to make Ryker’s headache worse. He badly needed some aspirin.

  ‘Friends isn’t really the right word,’ Ryker said.

  Cardo frowned. ‘My English was not right?’

  ‘No, your English was fine. I’m just not sure the people you’ve been speaking to are really my friends.’

  ‘No? But they have certainly helped you.’

  ‘Yes. As have you. And I’m grateful.’

  Cardo stopped walking. ‘But I’m not.’

  ‘Not what?’ Ryker said, raising an eyebrow and looking over at Cardo.

  ‘Not grateful. For you being here. In Spain. Sending your detective, Mr Green, okay, but you? I don’t know why they would send you.’

  Cardo walked again. Ryker followed.

  ‘Yeah well, I’m here.’

  ‘I know. Like I said, you have some big friends. Bigger than me. They want you here, and there’s nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘The sooner I get some answers about what happened to Kim Walker, the sooner I’ll be gone.’

  ‘You don’t think I’ve tried?’

  ‘I’ve only just met you. I don’t know the answer to that yet.’

  ‘And Kim Walker was only just murdered. Six days ago.’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Okay, seven days ago. Still, it’s early. And we’re working hard. I’ve been doing this job for thirty years. I get results. But it can take weeks, months, to solve a case like this.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re very good.’

  ‘I am. That’s why I don’t like you being sent to tell me how to do my job.’

  ‘I’ve got no interest in doing that.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘But likewise, you don’t tell me how to do mine.’

  ‘I absolutely won’t,’ Cardo said. ‘Because to be quite honest, I have no idea what your job here actually is.’

  ‘To find answers. I thought I said that already.’

  They reached a black Seat hatchback. Cardo stopped and took out a remote clicker which he used to unlock the doors. ‘I’ll take you to your car. Then you should go and see your colleague, Mr Green. You work for him, not me.’

  ‘I don’t work for him.’

  Cardo looked at Ryker questioningly but didn’t say anything. Ryker and Cardo got into the car, and the inspector started the engine and pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘What do you know about Andrei Kozlov?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Not much,’ was Cardo’s vague response.

  ‘Does he have friends in high places?’

  Cardo glanced over at Ryker. ‘I didn’t know of Kozlov until this investigation. I’ve looked into him. He’s worked with Patrick Walker for a number of years. Kozlov is a property developer. He’s rich. That’s it. He’s not some criminal kingpin, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘You know that for sure?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. I’ve worked in the criminal investigation department for many years. Kozlov has never been of interest to us.’

  ‘I’m not sure that proves anything.’

  ‘Why? Because you think we’re all incompetent idiots out here?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘But that’s what you think?’

  ‘No. It’s not. What I think is someone, somewhere, is not playing ball. Those two goons were sent after me by someone.’

  ‘Goons?’

  ‘Two men. On the construction site.’

  ‘You were found there alone.’

  ‘The police were lying.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Cardo and Ryker went silent for a few seconds. The traffic eased as they moved out of the town centre toward the construction site and the gated complex where Eva Kozlov lived with her father.

  ‘Would you like some advice, Mr Ryker?’ Cardo said as he pulled up alongside Ryker’s car.

  Ryker laughed. ‘You’re going to tell me to be careful, right?’

  Cardo frowned and glared at Ryker but said nothing.

  ‘You know what,’ Ryker said, opening his door to get out. ‘I’m done with getting advice around here. If I wanted to be careful, I’d have gotten a different job.’

  21

  The four aspirins sloshing around in Ryker’s stomach kicked in within minutes. He was driving back up the steep incline into the Sierra when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fumbled around, trying to remove it, expecting – hoping – that the call was from Lisa.

  His lack of attention on the twisting road nearly got the better of him. A sharp bend came up unexpectedly and Ryker jerked on the steering wheel, jolting the car to the right. He put his foot to the brake then heard a honking horn as the car behind came within inches of shunting him.

  Ryker ignored the angry driver who promptly overtook him on the blind corner. He grabbed his phone before slamming on the accelerator. The engine whined as the revs peaked, trying to pull the car up the steep bank. Ryker looked at his phone. The call hadn’t been from Lisa but from Green, and Ryker felt himself deflate slightly. He wanted to talk to her, feeling increasingly anxious that they’d not spoken since he’d left home. The last thing he wanted was for her to be unnecessarily worried – or even angry – with him. She was already giving him the benefit of the doubt in having allowed him to travel to Spain to reassume a role with the JIA. He wanted to keep her on side. He was about to call her when the phone buzzed again. Green.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ryker. Are you out?’ Green sounded angry. Rushed.

  ‘I’m out.’

  ‘You need to get over here right now.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Walker’s house. He’s been attacked.’

  Green ended the call.

  With the thoughts of Lisa fading, and feeling a renewed sense of purpose and clarity, Ryker put his foot down as far as it would go.

  Four minutes later, he pulled up outside the gates to Casa de las Rosas. The gates were locked shut. Ryker opened his window and pressed the call button on the intercom.

  After a few seconds, the left gate slowly swung open. Ryker closed his window and drove through.

  The front door to the villa was open when Ryker parked up. Green was standing there, waiting.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Ryker asked, walking up to the detective.

  ‘He’s not hurt. But he’s pretty shaken.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Inside.’

  Ryker went to walk into the house but Green pushed his hand out onto Ryker’s chest to stop him.

  ‘First how about you tell me what happened yesterday?’

  Green’s air of superiority riled Ryker. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the details already.’

  ‘But I want to hear them from you.’

  ‘I don’t answer to you.’

  ‘You think? Then who bailed you out?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks for that. But that doesn’t mean I work for you now.’

  ‘You can chalk that one down to professional courtesy,’ Green said. ‘But I won’t be bailing you out again. You understand me?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Already you’ve head-butted Walker, broken into Kozlov’s house, and been arrested for carrying an unlicensed weapon.’

  ‘I didn’t break into Kozlov’s house.’

  ‘What? That’s hardly–’

  Ryker barged past Green into the house, then strode through to the sitting room where he and Walker had sat the previous day. Walker was there on one of the sofas, pale, staring down at the floor in front of him.

  ‘What happened?’ Ryker asked.

  Walker said nothing.

  ‘An intruder got into the house,’ Green said coming up behind. ‘A couple of hours ago. In broad daylight. Walker was still asleep upstairs at the time.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Walker woke up wi
th a figure on top of him in the bed.’

  ‘A figure?’

  ‘A man, he thinks. Dressed in black.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’ Ryker asked Walker.

  ‘No,’ Green said. ‘He wore a mask.’

  ‘What kind of mask?’

  ‘Over there.’ Green pointed to a sideboard on top of which was a plastic evidence bag. ‘I found it outside the front door.’

  Ryker moved over to the sideboard and picked up the bag. Inside was a rubber mask in the mould of a giant snake’s head, jaws open wide to display oversized fangs and a forked tongue.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ Ryker asked Walker.

  ‘No,’ Green said.

  ‘Cut out his tongue perhaps?’ Ryker said, unable to hide a cynical smile.

  ‘You think this is funny?’ Green said.

  ‘Not at all. I’m just not sure why Walker has lost his voice.’

  ‘Because he’s traumatised.’

  Ryker didn’t bother to argue the pros and cons of that one. He certainly knew how it felt to be traumatised. But he could hardly comprehend why Walker had become a muted idiot all of a sudden.

  ‘No. He didn’t hurt me,’ Walker confirmed.

  ‘Walker was knocked unconscious,’ Green added. ‘Chloroform we think. The attacker left a note.’

  ‘He showed it to me before he knocked me out,’ Walker said. ‘That’s why he came. To show me.’

  ‘When Walker woke up, the guy was gone,’ Green said.

  ‘How did he get in?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Don’t know. The security system wasn’t set. Walker doesn’t use it when he’s home. There’s no sign of forced entry.’

  ‘You’ve had forensics here?’

  ‘They’re still upstairs. Found nothing so far – no prints or anything else obvious anyway. Walker said the guy was wearing gloves. The mask will need to be looked at properly but my guess is there’ll be nothing to see there either.’

  ‘What about the note?’

  ‘Over here,’ Walker said.

  Ryker moved forward. He saw a plastic bag on the floor by Walker’s feet. Walker’s eyes hadn’t left that spot since Ryker had entered the room. Ryker moved over and picked up the bag.

  ‘Please don’t take it out,’ Green said. ‘Not unless you put gloves on first.’

  Ryker didn’t respond. He didn’t need to take the paper out. He could already read the short note just fine. Only five letters were scrawled onto the white paper. Two words: ‘I know’. Written by hand in thick red ink. At least Ryker hoped it was ink.

  Underneath the writing was a hand-drawn picture, a couple of inches in size. It was crude, but unmistakable. The head of a snake. A red cobra. The drawing was positioned where others would have signed their name.

  Green must have noticed the look on Ryker’s face.

  ‘You know who left this?’ Green asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Ryker said. ‘And it wasn’t a man. It’s a woman.’

  ‘And you know what the note means?’

  ‘Yes. I know what it means.’

  ‘Well?’ Green asked when Ryker failed to volunteer any more answers.

  Ryker looked down at the forlorn figure before him. ‘Walker, I think you’d better start praying.’

  22

  Seventeen years earlier

  Two more long and pain-filled years passed by at Winter’s Retreat. Another two girls joined the small band of workers, both teenagers. Older than Anna in years, though so much younger in maturity and world experience.

  Viktoria was still there. Maria had disappeared the previous winter. One day she’d been in the house, everything as normal, the next she’d gone. Viktoria mused that Maria had finally built up the courage to run, that she had long planned to do so and was probably already safely away in a different country.

  Anna doubted that. Maria was too weak in mind to have ever tried such a thing. Most likely she was dead, killed by an over-zealous Mkhedrioni or, for once in her life, for trying to fight back. Either way, Anna saw Viktoria’s ramblings of heroism as nothing more than a means to help keep up morale among the girls.

  But Anna didn’t need any false encouragement.

  She’d had a single letter from her father in the whole time she’d been at the house. It had arrived three days before her sixteenth birthday. It was post-marked as coming from Bosnia but Anna wasn't sure she believed he was there. The letter was brief, assuring Anna he was fine and that he would come for her soon. She took comfort in knowing he was alive but felt betrayal at the words he had hastily scrawled. More than anything bitterness was what she’d come to feel when she thought about her father.

  On the evening of her sixteenth birthday, Anna was awarded with the now commonplace token treat of a shitty little cake with a shitty little candle. Kankava and the women shared the cake in the kitchen before the Colonel dispatched the other women for their final duties of the day, building up to whatever sordid horrors lay in store that evening.

  ‘The other girls will be busy tonight,’ Kankava said to Anna when they were alone. ‘We have some special visitors coming. But it’s your birthday, you take the night off. You come and see me instead. Eleven p.m. I’ll be back in my room by then.’

  Kankava got up from his seat and walked out. Anna sat, barely moving, her breaths so slow and shallow that anyone passing might have thought her dead.

  For more than three hours, she remained seated in the kitchen, alone. Contemplating. Planning. When the hands on the clock above the kitchen doorway edged towards eleven, Anna’s heart thudded with expectation.

  Moments later, she heard the faint chimes from the grandfather clock in the main lobby, and she rose and walked casually through the dark and eerily quiet house to Kankava’s quarters.

  She knocked on the door lightly.

  Barely a second later, Kankava – dressed in a red silk robe – pulled open the door. He smiled seductively at Anna, who brushed past him.

  Kankava shut the door then moved past Anna.

  ‘Get changed here,’ he said, indicating the black ball gown that was spread over a sofa. ‘Then come through.’

  Kankava left her and Anna threw off her day clothes, underwear too, then squeezed herself into the two-sizes-too-small dress. The routine, one of many, was becoming habitual.

  Anna stood and looked at herself in the mirror for a good while then cursed under her breath. She picked up her clothes and rummaged for the two syringes. She grabbed them and stared at them for a few seconds.

  When she was ready, Anna held her left hand behind her back as she sauntered over to the bedroom door. She pushed the door open. Kankava lay on top of the bed clothes. His gown was still on but he’d let it slip open exposing his chest and giving a glimpse of his groin that sent a shudder through Anna. But she had her mask on and he would never have suspected.

  With a pouting face and provocative prowl that made Kankava murmur with excitement, Anna glided over to the bed. Her hand, still held behind her back, gripped the syringes so tightly that she worried they might shatter.

  ‘Sixteen,’ Kankava whispered in delight as Anna crouched by his side. ‘Look at you. I must be the luckiest man alive.’

  ‘No. No you’re not. Not tonight, baby.’

  Anna thrust her hand forward and plunged the nibs of both syringes into Kankava’s thigh. He let out a startled gasp. She pressed the plungers down as far as they would go, sending the huge dose of morphine into his bloodstream.

  Before he had the chance to struggle, Anna jumped up onto the bed, straddling Kankava. She pinned his arm down with her knee and clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle his shouts and cries. He fought against her for barely thirty seconds before the morphine began working its magic, taking away any remaining strength in Kankava’s tired body.

  It was a shame she’d had to give such a big dose, she thought. With it he’d be dulled to the pain he was about to experience. But he was at least pliable that way.

  Anna jumped off, moving with co
nviction. She slid the cord out of Kankava’s gown and stuffed one end into his mouth to muffle his weary shouts. He clumsily swiped at her as she wound the remaining cord around his head twice before knotting it to secure it in place.

  When she was finished, Anna looked down at Kankava and smiled.

  ‘A birthday treat,’ she said. ‘From me to you.’

  She strode over to the fireplace and stood on tiptoe to remove one of the two ceremonial swords displayed there. She pushed her finger onto the blade. It was far from razor sharp. Maybe it had never been used for the purpose it was about to see. But it would surely be good enough.

  Anna turned and slid two steps to Kankava. With a fervent smile on her face, she swept the sword forward in a huge arc and brought the weapon down onto Kankava’s wrist. The dull blade dug deep into his flesh, but it took three more hits before the arm was severed and Kankava’s hand tumbled to the ground. The colonel bucked and wailed as much as he could with the drug crashing through his bloodstream.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Anna taunted. ‘Looks like you'll be needing even more of my help now. Here let me give you a hand.’

  She picked up the severed hand by the fingers and dropped it close to Kankava’s face. He cried out pathetically.

  ‘Maybe this is what you want?’ Anna said as she sat back down next to Kankava on the bed.

  She seductively brushed her hand up the inside of his bare leg, right up to his crotch. She grabbed his scrotum then violently tugged and squeezed with all the strength she could muster. Her face creased over, turning bright red. She felt a pop. Then another. Kankava’s eyes rolled. She released his crushed testicles. Blood was gushing from his arm stump. He was fast losing consciousness, she realised, from a mixture of blood loss, pain and the morphine.

  ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed our time together,’ Anna whispered into Kankava’s ear. ‘I hope you think it was all worth it.’

  She wanted to finish this while he was still with it and knew what was happening to him. And before any remaining doubts in her mind – however small they were – took hold.

  Anna stood, picked up the sword once more, then without a second’s thought, thrust it down onto Kankava’s neck. But she got the angle of the blade all wrong. Kankava’s eyes bulged, but the sword barely broke the skin. He gasped for breath, and Anna wondered whether the blunt-force blow had crushed his windpipe. She didn’t contemplate for long. She slashed the sword down twice more and a spray of blood erupted from the now-gaping wound, some of it splashing onto Anna’s arm, causing her to reel in disgust.