Antiphon

by B. L. Roberts

  Frederik Sorensen had not built the empire he now controlled, by sitting around doing nothing. On the third morning, with still no news, he had had enough. The police had found nothing, and he decided it was time he started to make his own enquiries, but where would he start? All of his business deals were with the top end of town, and he had no experience with the other side, the criminal world, but Sorensen realised he had better start learning fast. He began making calls.

  He had contacts around the world, and his contacts had contacts. His wealth opened doors which would be locked to most, and within a few hours, he had spoken to some very capable people at the CIA, Interpol, and the British Secret Service. He telephoned three private investigators who had been recommended, and was considering their responses. His calls prompted questions in several countries, as well as in his home, Sweden. Although there had been no information to indicate his sons had left the country, there was this possibility, and he could not discard it. If the kidnappers did belong to an organised gang, they might be capable of getting them out.

  Sorensen also sought advice whether he needed to have a recovery team available, in the event the boys were located. The local police in several countries had their own specialists, highly trained for this type of work, but his CIA contact suggested a private team of the right men, might be more effective. Local bureaucracy could get in the way of quick action if it was called for, and Frederik, who had spent a lot of his business career dealing with bureaucrats, agreed. Red tape often stopped things getting done. The man recommended by his CIA contact, was a former U.S. navy seal, who had left the service to establish his own security business, a man by the name of Brent Peters, and his contact gave him a big wrap.

  “This guy is brilliant, I know no-one more capable. If anyone can find your boys, it will be Peters.”

  He rang the number given by his contact, and Peters responded immediately he heard the word ‘kidnap’. Within two hours, he was heading for the airport to catch a flight to Stockholm, the first class ticket waiting for him at the airline booking office. A contact of Frederik’s in Foreign Affairs had ensured the paperwork was fast tracked, whilst his secretary made the bookings.

  After several tense and busy hours, Frederik felt a little better. He was doing something, and at least, that was better than sitting around. When he told Helena, she also felt a little more reassured.

  That they had still not heard anything about the boys, who had them, and why they had been taken, was an increasing worry. Frederik informed the local police commander of the steps he had taken on his own initiative.

  “Mr. Sorensen, while I fully understand your desire to see some action regarding your sons, you must be careful. We just don’t know anything as yet, about who has taken Viktor and Michael, and why. We can assume they have been kidnapped, for ransom, but I have to admit, I thought we would have heard something by now. Kidnapping is not common in this country, but where it is more common, the kidnappers usually are quick to make demands. There is a risk that, whoever it is who has the boys, might get cold feet if the pressure becomes too much, and dispose of the lads, to avoid being caught, rather than risk keeping them.”

  That had already occurred to Frederik, and it frightened him. No pressure was being put on anyone at the present time, they had no idea where to apply pressure, but he decided it was a risk he had to take. He would do his best to ensure those working for him kept as low a profile as possible. They would be professionals, and understood what might alert whoever was behind the kidnappings.

  The image of his parents impaled heads was rarely out of his mind. He had blundered when dealing with his parent’s kidnappers. Totally naive, he had imagined he could handle the kidnappers, carry out negotiations, and secure their release, and he had been wrong. He realised then, too late, and was much clearer about it now, that he was out of his depth. He had needed the best help he could get, but had not appreciated it, then. He would seek advice now, and he would listen, and he would try to not let his emotions confuse his judgment. If only he knew that his boys were okay.

  He went back to the lounge room, sat next to Helena, and put an arm around her shoulders.

  20

  “So, what are we going to do all afternoon?”

  “Watch a flick, there is a good one on Netflix. We’ll grab some pizza on the way, and some beer, the girls will like that.”

  “You know what mum says about me drinking beer.”

  “Oh come on Michael, start growing up, you can’t be a pussy all your life, you’ve got to start drinking sooner or later. Don’t you think you’re old enough?”

  Michael did.

  The discussion continued to the Volvo. The boys drove to the gate control panel, pushed the code and opened the gate. They drove out of the driveway, onto the side street that served their home, and headed towards the centre of Stockholm. It was a journey they had made many times.

  They had barely entered the street when Viktor braked suddenly to a stop.

  “Hey, get those legs, not bad hey?”

  Michael also admired the pretty girl who had flagged them down, standing behind her car which had its bonnet raised. Wearing the briefest shorts possible, and dressed fetchingly in a faded denim top, with fashionably frayed shoulders that showed off her sculptured arms, she smiled widely at the boys as they clambered out of their car. Her handbag hung across her arm.

  “I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance, but Henry has decided to give up the ghost, and just refuses to go.” She had an intriguing accent.

  The boys guessed Henry was the motor car.

  Importantly, Viktor walked around to the front of the car to peer under the bonnet, and Michael followed, although neither lad was sure what he was looking at. The girl followed, and leaned slightly on Viktor’s hip as he rested on the front mudguard. He felt the slight jab, but before he could react, the drug hit home. Michael had also been jabbed. It happened in seconds.

  The two lads sagged at the knees as the paralysis set in, then slumped to the ground. They were barely aware of the van that had joined them as they left their driveway, and which now moved in behind, and stopped. Four men sprang out, and quickly lifted the inert boys through the side door.

  One of the man walked to Viktor’s car and checked the keys were still in it, then opened the parcel carried under his arm, removed two number plates, and pushed them over the ones on the car. The magnets gripped. He climbed into the car, and started the engine.

  The others returned to the van, while the girl slammed the bonnet of her car. All three vehicles moved off. It had taken less than a minute. The girl turned off a mile down the road, and Viktor’s car headed for the city. The van drove, within the speed limit, in the direction of the airport.

  While one man drove, the others were busy, carefully lifting the boys into two wardrobes that lay, doors open, in the bottom of the van. After carefully packing pillows under and around the boys heads, leaving their faces free, the men closed the wardrobe doors, and then secured them with several screws. Unusual for wardrobes, these had vents at each end of the door.

  The cargo jet stood near the warehouse terminal, its rear door already open to receive its load. It was stacked with boxes, but room had been left for the wardrobes, which were carefully laid, on their backs, in the remaining space on the floor of the plane, then lashed to floor rings. Two of the men climbed into the cargo hold, to join the one waiting for them at the runway. The aircraft began its taxi, and within minutes, was airborne. It was only then, the men spoke.

  “Well, that was a damned sight bloody easier than I thought it would be. Were we lucky or what? Not a single bloody car went past, nobody saw us.”

  They had been prepared for witnesses. Their instructions were explicit, no one was to see them take the boys, and if anyone drove past, they were to be killed, but the Uzi submachine guns remained unused, in the van.

  “Did you s
ee that Coletta? Is she good or what? Those stupid pricks never knew what hit them, they were so busy checking out her legs, they were sitting ducks.”

  “Can’t say as I blame them for that. Wouldn’t mind a feel of those legs myself. She is some doll. Matteo will be happy when we tell him how it went. Maybe he will show his happiness with some more dollars?”

  “Just be happy it went so good. You know what Matteo said, before we left. He would personally cut off our balls if we stuffed up, and I think he meant it. He is a right proper bastard, that Bramboni. You get on the wrong side of him, and you’re meat.”

  “Yeah, still, he has to be happy with what we did. We did a good job, it went like clockwork, nothing went wrong. Click click,click.”

  One of the men pulled out a pack of cards, and started shuffling. “Fifty bucks says we get a bonus.”

  The others hunched around the small service table. “He ain’t in the habit of being too generous. You’re on. Make it a hundred.”

  The card game continued until the plane cut back its engines, and begin the glide down to an airstrip below. It was no conventional runway, at a conventional airport. The small, privately owned strip, showed signs of having been recently extended, as indeed it had. A number of trees at one end had been severely lopped, and the runway itself lengthened with two hundred metres of rolled gravel. A windsock fluttered from a pole at one end. It was shorter than the pilot had trained for.

  Landing the freighter was challenging. The felled trees at one end made his approach easier, but the runway itself was tight, barely enough for the big plane. This stopover, not scheduled on any flight plan, was nevertheless located along the plane’s normal route. On its first approach, the pilot misjudged, coming in too far down the strip, and with throttles wide open and engines screaming, the plane was forced to go around again, barely missing the tree tops. The pilot sweated profusely.

  “Bloody hell, do they think this is a Cessna? That runway is ridiculous.”

  He got it right the second time, touching down at the very end of the strip, then reversing engines immediately, and braking hard to pull the plane to a standstill, with barely fifty metres to spare. No sooner had it stopped and its cargo door opened, the wardrobes were lifted out, and the men in the back climbed down. The cargo door re-closed, and the plane, now lighter, taxied to the other end of the runway to commence take off. It brushed the tip of one of the trees as it cleared the runway, the pilot straining at the controls, willing the plane into the air, and still sweating profusely. For a moment, the pilot thought the money he was paid for this stopover was not enough, but it was too late to think about that now.

  Three hours later, the plane reached its scheduled destination, and again cut engines to descend to discharge its listed cargo. The blip on air traffic control radar when it disappeared, only to reappear minutes later, was noted, but no attention was given. It was recorded as atmospheric interference.

  It had been Nicola Abello’s task to ensure this runway could accommodate the plane, and Nicola was no aviator. The brochure he studied gave the landing distances required, which Nicola interpreted literally, directing his work crew to lengthen the bush strip to the minimum length stipulated. Nicola watched tersely as the plane attempted to land, went around, then came back for a second attempt. He held his breath as it touched down, then heaved a huge sigh of relief when it finally stopped.

  “Okay, get those two boxes into the shed, and don’t damage them. Put them down carefully.”

  His men followed his directions, and laid the wardrobes side by side on the floor of the tin shed, hidden under the trees. Nicola unscrewed the lids, then heaved another sigh of relief. Both the young men were warm to touch, and were breathing.

  Abello had his instructions, and intended to follow them to the letter. He had been told what would happen to him, if anything went wrong at his end. He drew a battered cane chair closer to the wardrobes so he could look inside, sat, and began to watch. According to what he had been told, the youths would start to wake up in about an hour or two, and for a while would be groggy, and confused. Once the drug had worn off, they should be normal. His task was to see that no harm befell them until the chopper arrived. That should be easy, they were only kids, they would be no trouble.

  Viktor was the first to start to move. He opened his eyes, his head still swimming, and wondered why there were rough timber poles, supporting rusting iron sheets, above his head. He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t move. He began to wiggle his toes, then slowly lifted one foot, then the other. Gradually, he felt sensation returning. His legs moved when he asked them, and after a few more minutes, he again tried to sit up.

  Suddenly, the black barrel of of a gun was thrust in his face.

  “Just lie right there, and don’t move until I tell you. You give me any trouble, I blow your head right off your shoulders.”

  Viktor tried to clear his head, as he subsided back onto the pillow. What had happened? Where was he? Where was Michael? As the mist lifted from his brain, it started to come back. That girl, the broken down car, it had been a trap, and he had walked straight into it. Again, he asked himself the question, “where am I?”

  He lay still for a few minutes, then heard a groaning sound nearby, and thought he recognised Michael’s voice. The groaning stopped. He decided to try to sit up again.

  “I told you to lie right there until I tell you otherwise.”

  The gun was in his face again, but he had caught a fuzzy glimpse of the man holding it. Next thing, his head was jerked upwards and a cloth pushed under his head, which was then wrapped around his eyes. Now blindfolded, Viktor’s fear intensified.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Why am I here? Where is my brother?”

  The man’s fuzzy face became a voice.

  “Questions, questions. Never you mind where you are, and you’ll find out soon enough why we fetched you here. If that is your brother, he is right alongside you. Now, while I think of it, if you give me any trouble, I’ll not only blow your brains out, he gets it too, Savvy?”

  Viktor heard sounds from near his head, then Michael’s voice.

  “Where am I? What happened?”

  There came more muffled sounds from near his head, and Viktor guessed his brother was also being blindfolded. His guard made a similar speech to his brother. Viktor began to think. They had been kidnapped! They had been drugged, that’s why he couldn’t move. It must have been the girl. He had a vague recollection of a sting in his thigh, as she leant against him.

  Dad had spoken about the risk of kidnap, but Viktor had never paid a lot of attention. He had been told the story of the fate of his father’s parents, the grandparents he never knew, and shuddered when told of their heads stuck on stakes. They had been kidnapped for ransom, and that was probably why he and Michael had been grabbed. This man with the gun, was holding them to get money out of his father. For a while he lay still, trying to decide what to do.

  “I need to pee.” Michael made the statement. Viktor would need to pee soon himself.

  “If you don’t let me up, I will have to pee in my trousers.”

  Abello gave a snort, then stood up, and pushed the chair clear.

  “Okay, you can get up, and piss over there”.

  He pulled Michael by the arm, and steered him towards the end of the shed.

  “I’ve got a gun pointing right at you. Any fast move, and you’re meat. So is you brother here. You do anything stupid, and I’ll kill you both.”

  “I need to pee too.” Viktor spoke up.

  “You just stay right where you are until he gets back in the box, then you can have a piss. Just remember what I said. Any funny stuff, you’re both dead, pronto.”

  Michael was returned to the wardrobe, clambered back in, then it was Viktor’s turn. Confused by the blindfold, and disoriented, any thought of running that he may have entertained, ev
aporated. From the tone in the man’s voice, he meant what he was saying. Both Viktor and Michael were terrified.

  About an hour later, the heavy throbbing of a helicopter began to vibrate in the shed, and they heard the chopper getting louder, as it landed. It’s engine was cut.

  “All right, you, both, out.”

  Nicola Abello pulled both boys out of the wardrobe, then handcuffed their hands.

  “Outside we go.”

  The two were ushered, still blindfolded, stumbling out of the shed, and pushed towards the waiting helicopter.

  “Get in.”

  Rough hands pulled the lads onto a small ladder and into the chopper, where they were shoved down into the rear seats. A steel cable, passed through the handcuffs, was secured to a bracket either side of the machine. The two men who arrived in the big chopper climbed in, and it quickly began to ascend. Abello watched until it became a speck in the distance, made a brief phone call, then retrieved a motor cycle from the rear of the shed, kicked it into action, and disappeared down a track, through the bush. His job was finished. It had gone well.

  Above the roar of the chopper, Viktor yelled “Where are you taking us?” He was ignored.

  The helicopter flew steadily southwards for what seemed a lifetime, but was, in fact, several hours. They were over water, now out of sight of land, but blindfolded, the lads did not know this, and had no idea where they were heading. Eventually, the helicopter began to descend, then landed on a strip of sand forming a small beach.

  “Out.”

  The cable removed, Viktor and Michael were pulled out of the idling chopper.

  “Now walk.”

  Still blindfolded, the two lads shuffled along the beach for about fifty yards.

  “Sit down.”

  Michael thought they were about to be killed, and began to whimper. Viktor had been thinking hard. Whoever had kidnapped them had gone to considerable trouble to bring them here. If they were going to be killed, it would have happened. They sat. With a deft movement, one of the men removed their handcuffs.