East of the Sun

by Janet Rogers

  The street they were walking along gave way to a narrow pedestrian path and after a few hundred metres they found themselves in front of a gate in the steel fence that surrounded the compound. It appeared to be locked, but Patrick waved a plastic card in front of an electronic reader and a buzz released the gate. As it clicked shut behind them again, Amelia knew she had to do something. Proximity to the many foreigners inside the complex was her only chance. Desperately she twisted in Patrick’s grip and for a moment she was able to look into his eyes.

  ‘Patrick, stop this!’ she pleaded. ‘Think about what you’re doing,’ she urged him. ‘I’m sure you think there’s no other way out, but I’m certain there is. We can work something out, just tell me what’s driving you to do this!’

  In reply, he merely gripped her shoulder more tightly and forced her to continue along the pedestrian path that wound through a patch of trees, their branches stark and bare. The last of the compound’s houses disappeared behind them.

  ‘I’m not crazy, Amelia,’ he finally said, his voice utterly calm and normal, the voice that was so familiar to her. ‘Reason with the crazy person, get him to confide in you . . . Please, it’s laughable. This is not a movie, I’m not crazy and it’s not going to work on me. I know exactly what I’m doing.’ There was a slight hesitation before he spoke again. ‘I may not like what this has come to and I certainly don’t relish what I have to do today, but I still have to do it. There is no other choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice!’ she protested.

  He gave a derisive snort. ‘A cheap and cheesy line, Amelia. I didn’t expect it from you. You know as well as I do that it’s rarely true.’

  As they continued walking along the path, Amelia felt a momentary, if surreal, sense of calm. Numbly she kept moving, pressed against him. They came to a street and he held her back until he was sure there were no cars approaching. Quickly they crossed before he led her across another patch of bare land and turned right onto what appeared to be a service road that ran alongside an embankment of some kind.

  Fifty metres on, he forced her to take a sharp left and pushed her up a short flight of narrow concrete steps. As she reached the top of the stairs, his hands still digging into her arms, she could see that they were on what appeared to be the bank of a river. Maybe it was a side branch of the Moscow River, she thought, but when he pushed her a few steps further onto the narrow foot-bridge that crossed it, she looked down and saw that it was actually a man-made canal, most likely made for boats coming in to deliver goods to a loading dock further up the river. The canal was divided into chambers divided by massive shipping locks which would drain and flood each chamber when a boat needed to pass through. Frantically she scanned the control tower she spotted on the side of the canal, but like the surrounding area, it was deserted.

  With sudden dread she knew that he was planning to throw her into the water. She knew that the water in these canals were not that deep, around four to five metres, but the old concrete walls, which looked like they stretched at least fifteen to twenty metres high, appeared to offer no way out once you were in. She would probably freeze before she’d be able to find a way out. Was he going to kill her? Was she going to die without the final answers? If that was Patrick’s plan, he couldn’t have chosen a better spot. She would have to act fast.

  Without thinking about it, Amelia twisted in Patrick’s grip. Frantically, repeatedly, painfully she twisted and tugged until she could feel some freedom from his grip. She spun around, wanting to keep him in her sight, and took a few rapid steps backwards along the bridge. His face showed fleeting surprise before he recovered and started coming towards her again. She could now see that he was holding a short, iron bar in his hand.

  ‘Did you kill Robert, Patrick?’ she shouted her question. It seemed to stop him in his tracks momentarily.

  He hesitated. ‘No.’

  Amelia gasped for air, glaring at him. ‘Then why do you feel you have to kill me?’

  ‘At least not technically,’ he continued as if he hadn’t heard her second question. His gaze dropped to the water below them and it looked like his thoughts drifted to a different place for a fraction of a moment.

  Amelia struggled to control the conflicting urges of wanting to press him for more details, but also of wanting to run away from this man she no longer knew. Everything that had led to this moment prevented her from running and so, ignoring her instinct to flee, she didn’t move, but waited for the details she needed to know.

  ‘I didn’t want to, but I had to do something,’ Patrick continued, his gaze on the water below them. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to follow this path. Work my way up through the diplomatic service, become ambassador, maybe one day go into politics back home.’ He sighed deeply and looked back at her. ‘Robert was going to prevent that from happening.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Robert was your friend. You know as well as I do that he would have done everything in his power to help you achieve those things!’

  Patrick shook his head heavily. ‘You’re wrong, Amelia. He was going to sell me out, he was going to take it all away.’

  ‘But why, Patrick? Why would he do something like that?’

  She watched as he seemed to withdraw into himself again. ‘He was going to make it known, put it on my record that I’d made one or two small mistakes. It would’ve ruined me.’

  Amelia remembered the flurry of entries in Robert’s diary and Ratna’s warning not to speak to Patrick about it. There had to be more to it than just a few small mistakes, of that she was certain. She’d known Robert. He may have held staff members to high standards, but he always believed in second chances and letting people learn from their mistakes.

  ‘Did you try to talk to him about it?’ she asked, straining to keep her voice calm, conciliatory.

  ‘Did you think murder was my first option?’ Patrick spat the words out. His momentary anger seemed to make him realise that he was getting distracted and forgetting the reason why he’d brought her to the canal in the first place. Instantly he moved forward and lunged at Amelia, too swiftly for her to move away, and once again his hand clasped her arm in a vice-like grip. It took all her self-control not to react, but to put her final request to him as if he was still standing a few metres away and had not grabbed her.

  ‘Please tell me what happened that night? What happened on the night of Robert’s disappearance?’ She swallowed, fighting the urge to fight. ‘You said, you implied that murder wasn’t your first choice.’

  He didn’t loosen his grip, but he paused for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was hollow, as if he’d recited the words many times in private to make them more palatable on the occasion when he’d actually have to say them.

  ‘That night. I left before Robert did. It was all carefully planned by Jennings and his Prism cronies. They asked me to help keep an eye on Robert, but they didn’t know about Robert’s threat to my future. They didn’t know that I would have done it for nothing.’ A smile hovered on Patrick’s lips. Amelia felt the urge to claw at his face. Instead, she waited for him to continue.

  ‘They knew his route.’

  ‘Ratna,’ Amelia whispered and Patrick nodded.

  ‘They were going to intercept his car and—’

  ‘Kill him?’

  He shook his head quickly. ‘No, only as a last resort. They were going to scare him, or at worst injure him so that he would be incapacitated until they could figure out a way to conceal the truth about the diamond deposit.’

  ‘So it really is true.’ It felt strangely good to hear the confirmation of everything she and Nick had discovered. ‘But what happened? If they didn’t plan on killing him?’

  ‘It was a good plan. They might have succeeded. Jennings has some shady characters working for him.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But Robert wasn’t going to keep quiet about me.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Haven’t you
been listening?’ Patrick said, anger back in his voice. ‘He was going to report me for not handling a trade negotiation to his liking.’

  ‘Patrick, what—?’ Amelia couldn’t finish the question, because once again he was on top of her with such force that she knew instantly there would be no more talking.

  She struggled desperately against him. On his face was a mixture of rage and desperation that was rapidly spinning out of control. Frantically she twisted and turned in his grip, but instead of shaking him off, he managed to grab her other arm too so that she had her back turned to him, her body crushed against his and her arms pinned to her sides. He marched her toward the railing and pushed her against it with such force that her body bent double over it. Breath left her lungs with a heavy gasp. Fifteen metres below her she could see the icy water.

  With horrible fear she realised he was no longer going to be distracted. This was it. He was going to throw her into the canal right now. She scanned the walls. There were no ladders in sight. Even if she survived the fall, she would have no chance of getting out alive once she was in the freezing water.

  ‘It’s over, Amelia,’ he panted above her. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it has come to this. I always did like you.’

  Then Amelia could feel her feet lift off the bridge as he tried to push her over. Desperately she struggled to cling to the railing, her arms burning with the effort, but her body was already tilting forward precariously. The railing dug into her waist. She closed her eyes, unable to believe that this was to be her end. She held on, held on, held on . . .

  And then suddenly the pressure of his body was no longer against her and she had to struggle even harder against the momentum of sudden release. Vaguely she was aware of a commotion above and behind her, but she focused only on trying to find a point of balance.

  Finally, miraculously, her feet touched the solid surface of the bridge again. Exhausted, her legs gave way and she collapsed in a heap.

  Dazed she looked up to see where Patrick was. His back was to her and she could see that he was struggling with another person. Someone had come to her rescue! She could only watch as the two figures struggled, and then she there was a brief glimpse of blonde hair. Nick! Could it be?

  Depleted of energy, Amelia fought to keep the dizziness at bay and strained to focus on what was happening between the two wrestling men.

  Suddenly Patrick staggered backwards. His feet weren’t able to move quickly enough to keep up with his body. He twisted as he fell and she had just enough time to scramble out of the way before he came down next to her on the bridge. He managed to break his fall with his hands, but as his head landed next to her legs, she saw pain flash across his face. For a moment he looked up, into her eyes. The desperation and rage of earlier was gone. For a brief second she glimpsed the old Patrick and then all she could see was bottomless emptiness.

  The world slowed down and she watched numbly as Nick moved closer to bend over the fallen man. Patrick dropped his gaze from hers, laid his cheek on the rough wooden surface of the bridge and closed his eyes to hide the misery in them. Then Amelia closed hers too and allowed oblivion to take her.

  30

  Faint sunlight and an unfamiliar sense of well-being woke Amelia. Warmth and comfort enveloped her and she relished the last moments before complete wakefulness made her open her eyes. She had no idea where she was.

  With awareness of her unknown surroundings came another, less welcome conviction that all was not right with her world. Despite the feeling of contentedness that lingered, it felt wrong to be lying in bed. Wrong and self-indulgent. She should be out there doing things, hunting for answers and fighting off her detractors, shouldn’t she? But what things, what answers? She couldn’t remember.

  She turned her head and looked around the room she was in. Beautifully decorated in muted greens and whites, it was a soothing space that made the thought of running around to fight vague battles seem like a ridiculous notion. Compelled to at least find out where she was, she tried to throw off the soft white linen, but a sharp pain somewhere in her ribcage stopped her movement abruptly. With the pain came blurred memories of being carried into the room, of Nick’s face drifting close to hers and of darkness descending.

  Slowly, carefully, she tried to stand up, anxious to clear her head. Her body felt weak and sore and her shaky legs wouldn’t support her weight. She was forced to abandon the effort. Dismayed, she sat down on the bed again and tried to rub life back into her limbs. The surreal feeling that something awful was about to happen if she didn’t manage to stand up and get going immediately wouldn’t go away. Or had it happened already?

  ‘Oh, good, you’re awake!’ Mara appeared in the doorway of the room, a wide smile on her face. Welcome relief stopped Amelia’s anxious movements. It made sense now. This was Mara’s taste. Good linen, no clutter, attention to detail.

  ‘Mara,’ Amelia said, smiling weakly, shocked at how tearful she was to see her old friend. ‘I’m at your place?’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ She came in, sat on the bed next to Amelia and pulled her into a hug. ‘I’m glad you’re awake and even happier that, by the looks of it, you’re all right.’

  ‘Right now I don’t think you could possibly be as happy as I am that I’m at your house and in this lovely bedroom.’

  ‘You were asleep for a long time,’ Mara said in a more sombre tone. She watched Amelia closely for a moment, her face revealing traces of the worry she’d been so vocal about since Amelia had arrived back in Moscow. She smiled again, evidently satisfied with her observations about Amelia’s condition.

  ‘It’s all over, Amelia.’

  She stared at Mara, not quite knowing what to make of her words, not quite willing to believe that it really was over.

  ‘There’s a bathroom through there,’ Mara continued and pointed to a door in the corner of the room. ‘I’ll go get you some tea. We can talk properly later.’

  ‘Mara,’ Amelia called her back. ‘What day is it?’

  ‘It’s Tuesday morning. And, more importantly, you’re safe.’

  Amelia shook her head slowly, disbelievingly. What had happened to the rest of Sunday and the whole of Monday? It felt as if there was a black hole in her head into which the previous two days had vanished. She tried to remember something. All she could retrieve were snippets of what took place on Sunday – her walk to the embassy, the drive to Pokrovsky Hills, standing in Patrick’s living room with the piece of notepaper in her hand, the shocking change in him and the cold walk to the bridge where . . . Nick! What had happened to Nick? Mara had said nothing.

  The frustratingly fuzzy memories continued to make her feel as if there was a parallel world she should be in, as if this comfortable bedroom only served to distract her from what she was supposed to be doing in that other world.

  Impatient to dispel the demons, she made her way to the bathroom carefully. The sooner she was showered and properly awake, the sooner she could find out what had happened and what she was to do next. She wondered how much Mara would be able to tell her.

  The face in the mirror of the pristine bathroom looked unfamiliar. Her hair was dishevelled and dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. She didn’t like her reflection and turned away from the distress she saw there. Without looking in the mirror she brushed her teeth. When she returned to the bedroom, Mara came in with a carefully prepared breakfast tray. She placed it on the bedside table and turned her familiar motherly look on Amelia.

  ‘My brain doesn’t seem to function properly, Mara. Since when have I been here?’

  ‘The day before yesterday. Since late afternoon Sunday.’

  ‘I don’t remember much.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the blurred memories. The doctor gave you a sedative to make it possible for your body to rest and recover. You’ve been through a lot, Amelia, and you needed the sleep. You will still have some aches and pains, but the bottom line is that you’re out of danger.’

  Amelia nodded
and hesitated before she asked the question she was desperate to ask, but almost too afraid to have answered. ‘Nick? What about Nick?’

  Mara smiled. ‘He’s been here almost the whole time, watching, waiting to see if you were okay.’

  Amelia slowly exhaled. Mara paused, then sat down on the bed for a moment. ‘He’s been very protective of you. I think he feels responsible.’

  ‘I’m the one who’s responsible. I remember him fighting with Patrick and then not much else.’

  Mara shook her head and stopped Amelia. ‘You’ve been strong and brave. And so has Nick. I’ve ordered him home to get some sleep, but he’ll be back in a few hours. You can talk then. Why don’t you have a bath or a shower in the meantime? Your things are here already.’

  Amelia nodded. ‘I will, thank you, you’re very kind, Mara. It’s just, I’m sorry, but I need to know. Isn’t there something I should be doing? I’m quite certain something bad is going to happen and that I haven’t finished what I’m supposed to be doing.’

  Mara reached out and touched Amelia’s cheek gently. Her words were slow and deliberate. ‘You’ve completed the task you set for yourself. It’s over. You can really and truly relax now. Everything, and everyone, is fine now.’

  An hour or two later there was a soft knock at the door and Mara’s face appeared again.

  ‘Nick’s here, Amelia,’ she said. ‘He’s in the study. You can talk there in private.’

  Amelia was suddenly breathless. She felt both strange and excited about seeing Nick again. It felt as if a long time had passed since she’d seen him, as if something had changed, shifted.