Hold Still – Tim Adler #3: A Psychological Thriller

by Tim Adler

  "I delivered a message from Zogaj, that's all. It was up to her what she did with it."

  "Either she killed herself or her family would be harmed, you mean."

  Paul turned over a browned escalope in the pan. It was nearly done. "Listen to me. Give me three years and we'll be out of this. Marijuana, girls… it's old school. The police know who we are. The politicians are on our side for now, but that could change. We're riddled with traitors who want to save their own skin. We're being attacked from outside and eaten away from within." He waved the knife dismissively. "I want to legitimise us. Government contracts, waste disposal, even data centres. That's the future. "

  "So you can skim the government and build more shoddy houses that collapse."

  "Zogaj was right, you really are naive. It's what all politicians do. Listen, there's a story about an Albanian politician who visits another politician in Italy. He goes to this guy's country villa and this ugly Italian's got a model girlfriend plus an apartment in Rome. 'Wow. How do you afford all this on a politician's salary?' the Albanian asks, goggle-eyed. 'Look out this window. What do you see?' says the Italian. All the Albanian can see is a track. 'That's the motorway the government gave me money to build,' says the Italian. Anyway, a year goes by and the Italian goes to visit his Albanian friend. Except this time, it's the Albanian who's got a castle and a supermodel girlfriend. 'My God,' says the Italian, 'being a politician in Albania must really pay.' The Albanian shows him the view. 'See that motorway?' he says. All the Italian sees is an empty field. 'Exactly,' says the Albanian. That tells you all you need to know about politics here."

  Despite herself, Kate managed a smile. All the time she was thinking furiously. She would let him seduce her, anything to buy them more time. "So you're going to be the reforming Tony Blair of the Albanian Mafia," she said. It was too funny, almost priceless.

  "You may laugh, but Blair and his wife are well known here. They're best mates with the prime minister. They can see this country's potential."

  Kate hadn't realised how hungry she was. This was the first proper meal she'd had since Priest had cooked her supper, what, two days ago? She ploughed into what was on her plate, devouring the sautéed potatoes and crisp green salad. They ate quickly and mostly in silence.

  "I don't understand why you couldn't have told me the truth."

  "I guessed the authorities would be keeping a close eye on you. What I hadn't realised was how close."

  "What are you going to do with him?" Kate let the implication hang that somehow they were in this together.

  "It's out of my hands. I told the family there's been enough killing. What I said to you, I mean it," he said, changing the subject. "You wouldn't have to know anything. You could live in one of the big Venice hotels, the Cipriani or the Gritti … you'd have unlimited spending money, everything would be taken care of… I would come and visit you at weekends. Think of it, living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Anything you want, you can have."

  For a moment she glimpsed herself as Audrey Hepburn in a scarf and sunglasses, riding out to that beautiful lagoon in a speedboat or sipping a delicious Bellini in the chic warmth of Harry's Bar. No, instead this was like that scene in the Bible where the Devil tempts Jesus, showing him all the wealth and power he could have.

  Kate pushed her empty plate away, tipped her chair back and put her feet on the table, spreading her legs in a most unladylike way. It was an unmistakable message. From the way Paul reacted, Kate might as well have rung a bell, and what her girlfriend had said about men and their cocks came back to her.

  Paul said thickly, "You know I love you, Kate. I need you. I want us to be together."

  Sitting forward, she lifted her face to be kissed. Paul took her hand and, without saying a word, led her out of the kitchen. So this was how it was going to be. She blocked her mind to the man her husband had become, the private crucifixion he had put her through. Kate numbed herself, preparing to be raped, because that's what it was, just like all the other women these people abused.

  Paul always undressed in the same way. First his socks and then his shirt, and finally his jeans. It was a male way of undressing he'd seen on television, she thought.

  And when he came, it was with an agonised, puppyish whimper.

  Lying there in the dark, Kate thought this was the blackest black she had ever experienced. This hilltop village must be miles from anywhere. Paul had fallen asleep on top of her, and the weight of him was becoming claustrophobic. She had to wait until she could be sure he was asleep. Only when he started snoring did she gently roll him on to his side, slipping out of bed as quietly as possible. The door was on her right. She crept across the floorboards, gathering her clothes, preparing to dress on the landing.

  The pain when she stubbed her toe was dazzling. She did her best not to cry out, and Paul moved uneasily in his sleep. Quickly she pulled on her knickers and reclipped her bra, cursing the silly chiffon dress she slipped on top of them.

  As she crept up the stairs to where Priest was being held prisoner, a step creaked beneath her. She waited, heart palpitating, but nobody stirred. It would all be over if Teardrop or Mr Punch investigated any strange noises.

  The door bolt slid back easily and she entered the tiny attic room. Priest was asleep, and Kate was pleased to make out an empty tray on the other bed. At least they had given him something to eat. Sudden lightning left an after-image like the pop of a camera flashgun, and moments later thunder lazily rolled over the mountains. A storm was brewing. "Come on, we're getting out of here," she whispered, shaking him roughly. Priest woke instantly. She wanted to give him confidence that she didn't really feel. In fact, all she felt was nauseating, gripping fear.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was only when they were standing in the corridor that Kate realised how absurd her plan was. Teardrop or Mr Punch might be behind either of these doors. Her idea had been so simple when she had thought of it: she and Priest would come downstairs and steal Poda's car keys from his bedroom. Poda was just an employee, somebody else who had got infected after being bitten – she remembered what he had told her about la mordida, the bite. They stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. Electric candles flickered in their sconces. Apparently thinking the same thing, Priest shrugged and tested the door handle. If it was locked, then their whole plan disintegrated. Could they really just walk out of this hideous castle and disappear?

  The door opened smoothly and Kate sensed somebody sitting up in bed. Poda snored loudly. "Shhh," she motioned, putting a finger to her lips. Thank God it was Phuong who sat up in bed. Please don't scream, Kate's mind implored, as Phuong pulled the sheet up higher around her chest and Kate tiptoed across the room to where she sensed a chair. Perhaps because she already knew Kate, Phuong wouldn't raise the alarm. "I will come back for you," Kate whispered to the frightened girl. She meant it. A pair of trousers was slung over the chair and there, oh blessed Mary mother of God, were the policeman's car keys. Poda emitted a particularly sharp snore. For good measure, Kate had the presence of mind to steal his glasses off the bedside table. Remembering his magnified eyes, she knew he would be blind without them.

  Now they were creeping downstairs to the ground floor. The kitchen was at the foot of the steps on their left. Priest suddenly gripped Kate's wrist. They stood there poised, all senses stretched to breaking point. Men's voices murmured in the kitchen. It was well after midnight, but Teardrop and Mr Punch were still sitting up talking. Priest stood listening. If one of them came out unexpectedly or spotted them tiptoeing out, it was all over. Kate couldn't understand what Priest was waiting for. Finally he relaxed his grip, and they tiptoed silently past the kitchen doorway.

  They slipped across the patio. What if the door to the street was double locked? If that was the case, they'd have to go over the swimming pool wall, and it was a good thirty-foot drop to the ground. There was an especially deep crack of lighting. Suddenly the heavens opened and pulverising rain came down li
ke diagonal pencil leads. Kate was drenched. Her clothes stuck to her as the nasty, cold rain penetrated her bones. Here goes, she thought, depressing the electric lock, which gave way with a click once open.

  Rain hammered on Poda's car roof as Kate fumbled with the keys. Her teeth were chattering, and she didn't think she had ever been this cold. Water sluiced down the gutters, churning the alley into mud. "You drive. My knee's too bad," called Priest through the freezing downpour. Mud oozed between her toes as she searched for the right key, cursing her bare feet and the stupid dress. Finally she found it, and Kate slid across and opened the passenger door. Priest slammed it shut, running his fingers through his curls. The car started first time and they lurched backwards into the alley. "Lights," said Priest. They swung round, the yellow headlights dimly lighting up a graffitied wall, as they barrelled down the alley.

  It was like a nightmare switchback ride. They would accelerate towards a brick wall, only to suddenly veer left or right, searching for a way out. Fear choked Kate's throat.

  Finally they came out into what she recognised as the village square with the unfinished block of flats, the ones the Octopus had built. The road out of the village was on the left. The engine protested as they careened down the hill. But Kate felt the stirrings of hope for the first time.

  "Turn up the heating, for God's sake," she said. "I'm going to freeze to death." Her chiffon dress was wet through and her hair was plastered to her skull. She was also trembling violently. Trying to operate the pedals in bare feet was not helping either.

  Priest started laughing. "What's so funny?" she asked him.

  "That place reminds me of a restaurant me mum and dad used to take me to as a kid. A Berni Inn."

  "With a medieval torture chamber in the basement."

  "Yeah, when he got out that power drill, I thought I was done for."

  "What do we do now?"

  "I told you. There's a Europol office in Rome. All we need to do is sit tight. If we can find a phone, they'll come and get us."

  "What were those men talking about?"

  "I couldn't get all of it. My Albanian's not very good. I got snatches, though. They're meeting somebody in Venice next Thursday. It's not drugs this time, it's arms."

  "Weapons? I thought they were in the dope business."

  Priest gave her a look. "You don't run an operation like this selling a bit of wacky baccy. The whole of the Balkans is a weapons stockpile. Leftovers from the Kosovo War. They sell them to Muslim terror groups. Anybody, really."

  They were out of the village now, and Kate had to contend with nasty blind corners going downhill. Rubber bit into her soles and the pedals were clunky to kick down. The rain fell interminably on. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she saw the road brightening behind them, and she knew that could mean only one thing.

  They were being followed.

  Sure enough, another car was coming down the mountain, its headlights groping like an insect's feelers for whatever lay ahead.

  Kate put her foot down, trying to get another few miles an hour out of the tiny Fiat. She urged it on. "Are you sure it's them?" Priest turned around, lit up by the other car's headlights. They were dazzling. There was no doubt in Kate's mind who it was bearing down on them. And this time there would be no more Mr Nice Guy. Paul would have to show the others how tough he was. For a moment, Kate thought about appealing for mercy, and then dismissed the idea: she had shown where her allegiance lay. She reached out and squeezed Priest's hand.

  The road was flattening out now to the long stretch where Poda had pointed out the cannabis fields. The rain was pestilent, and Kate wondered how much longer they could go on. Wind rocked the car. The yellow headlights barely lit up anything, and it was as if they were plunging head first into a spuming, swirling vortex of water.

  A thunkety-thunkety-thunk sound came from the engine, which lurched violently as if it was coming loose. Oh Christ, not now. The couple turned to each other. What could it be? Kate glanced at the dashboard and saw what the problem was.

  The petrol gauge read empty.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The car ground to a halt and they sat there for a moment, not believing what had just happened. The only thing Kate could think of was that the boys playing football had stolen the petrol. Rain drummed on the roof. "Get out of here," she said, pushing the door open. In this wind, even getting the door open was a struggle. And if anything, the storm was getting worse. There was another blue-white flash and moments later a catastrophic boom. Kate skittered and slopped round the back of the car, helping Priest out. The 4x4 was bouncing down the road towards them, lurching from one pothole to another. She couldn't see who was behind the wheel.

  "Come on," Kate urged Priest, helping him off the road and down the verge. He hobbled as best he could. They were like awkward contestants in a three-legged race.

  They slithered down the bank and staggered into the cannabis fields. Kate wanted to be anywhere apart from this godforsaken place, a desolate field in the middle of nowhere. They loped along the row of cannabis plants, barely able to see in front of their faces. Mud squelched over Kate's feet and the going got heavier and heavier. Hopelessness had her by the throat. Suddenly Priest put his hand on her back and pushed her forward. The message was clear. Get down.

  They lay face down in the churning, unforgiving mud, and only now did she understand.

  Peering through the bushy fronds, she saw the 4x4 parked beside Poda's car on the embankment. Three men got out; one of them was holding a rifle. The 4x4's headlights were facing them, piercing the dark of the cannabis field. They would be spotted any moment. Worse, one of the men was clambering down the bank, and she knew it was Mr Punch. They always sent him to do the dirty work. It was Teardrop who held the rifle.

  Mr Punch had a torch he was swinging left and right. A childhood memory: a hook-nosed man in a top hat searching for children in a storybook. Come out, come out, wherever you are. No matter how well they were hidden, the child-catcher would sniff them out. Mr Punch was walking towards them through the next row of plants, scanning this way and that. At least the rain covered their footprints. He was nearly on top of them. Kate whimpered and she closed her eyes. Ohmygodpleasejustgivemeonemorechance. Cannabis plants cracked underfoot as Mr Punch came nearer. Kate couldn't help making a strangulated noise like an animal caught in a trap. "Hold still," Priest whispered in her ear.

  Given how hard it was raining, Kate had no idea if Mr Punch was standing right over them. Priest covered Kate with his body, pressing her further down, and they sank deeper into the mud, very slowly. If she prostrated herself any more she would suffocate. Mr Punch would be waiting for something to give them away; a movement, a rustle, anything. Oh, God, she thought, I'm going to drown in this mud.

  That's when she sensed the torchlight on her face. "Mbi këtu," Mr Punch shouted. That was the moment she held her breath. Her brain stopped thinking, while her heart stopped beating.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Mr Punch stood rooted to the spot as if they were playing a game of musical statues. Now Kate understood what had happened: she remembered Poda telling her that the fields had been mined. All that Kosovan War ordnance. Mr Punch must have stood on a mine and knew he would be dead the moment he lifted his foot. Priest, too, must have realised something had changed, because he let go of Kate. She felt him getting up. Slowly she stood up as well. What was left of her dress was a muddy rag; her legs, face and arms were covered in the stuff. Illuminated by lightning, Mr Punch smiled, as if he was sorry their little game was over.

  At that moment, Kate's world turned silent. The blast rattled her teeth as the earth shook beneath her feet. She felt heat like a blast-furnace door being opened, a roar that started white and went red and on and on in a rushing wind. Then the sound came back, so loud it seemed to detonate inside her head. A sleet of blood, tissue and bone fragments flying at 22,000 feet per second knocked Kate to the ground. It was as if a sledgehammer had struck her in the
chest. One moment she was standing up, and the next she was lying on her back. She felt a tremendous shock – no pain, only a tremendous shock – and, at the same time, a sense of utter weakness, of shrivelling up to nothing, as the rain-sodden field receded into immense distance.

  Mr Punch had detonated the land mine.

  A thick cloud of particulate matter roiled up into the night. The smell was wretched, a mixture of bad eggs and human blood. Kate didn't remember exactly what happened next, although she felt her body returning to her. All she knew was that she had to get away from this place. There was ringing in her ears. She must have staggered only a couple of paces before she felt Priest's arms round her, pulling her back. He sounded as if he was underwater. "Kate, stop. There are mines everwhere."

  Kate allowed him to take hold of her, turning her back the way they had come. She felt like a somnambulist, unable to wake up. The tuning fork in her head was dreadful: a wincing monotone filled her brain as she stumbled through the cannabis bushes, not caring where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out of there. Priest pulled her back to the cars, dragging his bad leg behind him. All the fight had gone out of her. She had nothing left to give.

  The downpour eased up, replaced by a blustery, drifting rain. Paul and Teardrop were waiting, silhouetted by car headlights. "Leave me alone," she managed to say as they climbed up onto the road. Paul slapped her across the face. Kate recognised that she had been punished for something, and she sniffed hard to stop blood running down her nose. The cold was biting. She didn't really care anymore whether she lived or died – she just wanted this all to end. Just kill me now, she thought.

  Teardrop shoved Priest into the front passenger side, then pushed her in the back. Paul sat in the driving seat. "I'm glad that fucker has gone. He was trouble," he said. There was a ping ping ping as Paul started up the engine, and Kate recognised that at least her hearing was coming back.