The Twelfth Ring (Noah Larsson Book 1)

by Sam Clarke

  ‘Ah, yes, where’s the bar please?’ asked Viggo.

  The duty-manager did his best to sound more accusing than helpful. ‘Are you guests?’

  ‘No, but we’d like to have a drink at the bar.’

  ‘I’m afraid the bar is for guests only.’

  ‘Look,’ said Viggo, ‘this is our last night in Licata. It would mean a lot if we could have a drink in its finest establishment.’

  The manager was unmovable. ‘Licata’s finest establishment is for patrons only. Now, if I may ask you to leave—’

  ‘Viggo? Oh – my – God! It is you!’

  A slender woman in her mid-forties stared at him as if he had been catapulted from heaven. She had squeezed into an extra-tight black dress and her platinum bob framed a face slathered in heavy make-up, it was hard to tell what lay underneath. I stared at her surgically enhanced lips, covered in a bright shade of red, and wondered if she was a girl-clown on the run. ‘Helga and I were hoping you’d phone, but we were beginning to lose hope. Are you staying for a drink?’ she asked expectantly.

  Viggo’s lips curved downwards. ‘I’d love to, but the manager won’t let me.’

  The painted lady glared at the manager.

  ‘You should have mentioned you were a friend of Fräulein Ursula,’ said the manager with a constipated face. ‘Please, do come through.’

  On the way to the bar, Viggo put his face close to my ear. ‘Dude, I have no idea who she is.’

  ‘Didn’t you meet her at the beach the day after my dad got drunk? I remember you talking to two German ladies…’

  ‘You’re so smart!’

  ‘Who’s smart?’ echoed Ursula the clown.

  ‘My… brother,’ replied Viggo.

  ‘Oh, your brother,’ said Ursula. ‘And the girl must be your sister.’

  I extended my hand, but Ursula had wrapped both arms around Viggo’s uninjured bicep. Isabelle was foaming at the mouth. ‘Helga will join us shortly, but I saw you first,’ said Ursula, carefully marking her territory. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A coke please,’ replied Viggo.

  Ursula snuggled closer to him and he tensed slightly. ‘I’m sure you can handle something stronger,’ she said, squeezing his bicep. ‘You look very strong to me.’

  Viggo half-smiled, even he could tell that she was hitting on him. We had been able to escape our pursuers, but I wasn’t sure he could escape Ursula. He perched himself on a bar stool. ‘Just a coke, thank you.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Ursula pushed her stool closer to his. ‘Barman, two vodkas and two orange juices.’

  Our drinks materialised in front of us and Ursula coiled around Viggo like a snake around a tree. He ignored his vodka, or maybe she was holding him so tight that he couldn’t move his arms. Ursula tried to pour the vodka directly into his mouth. ‘Have a sip, it will help you unwind.’

  ‘He can’t drink, he’s on medication,’ said Isabelle. The steam coming out of her ears could have powered a train.

  ‘Poor Viggo, where does it hurt?’ asked Ursula, oblivious to the big plaster on his forehead. ‘Maybe Ursula can kiss it better?’

  Viggo promptly leaned backwards and successfully avoided Ursula’s pouting lips. Since he had failed to identify the origin of his pain, Ursula decided to give him a shoulder massage which, in light of his recent injury, brought tears to his eyes. She didn’t notice, downed her vodka and ordered another. And that’s when I saw Helga stomping towards us. She made a beeline for Ursula and spoke as if Viggo wasn’t there. ‘We saw him together. He must decide which one of us he prefers.’

  Ursula was unwilling to let go of her prey. ‘Why don’t you get to know his brother better? He’s young, but he will grow as strong as Viggo.’

  Helga deigned me with a pitiful look. ‘I don’t have the time to water him daily.’

  I thanked my lucky stars she wasn’t into gardening. Viggo’s phone rang. He extricated himself from Ursula’s embrace and provided my father with the name of the hotel we were imprisoned in.

  ‘Was that your girlfriend?’ asked Ursula with a sinister glint in her inebriated eyes.

  Viggo slid the phone in his pocket. ‘Just a friend.’

  Four rounds of drinks later, Ursula was getting harder and harder to deflect. I tried to engage Helga in conversation, but I had met more talkative walls. The sat-phone rang again. Ursula tried to stop Viggo from answering, but the alcohol had made her too slow. He intentionally spoke Swedish to exclude her from the conversation, but I doubted she had noticed he was talking a foreign language. ‘Are you sure it’s not a girlfriend?’ she asked again. ‘She’s calling a bit too often.’

  ‘Positive, shall we sit on the sofas?’

  Ursula jumped at the invitation and Viggo positioned his back safely against the wall, excluding the possibility of further unsolicited massages. He then pointed out that one of her fake lashes was falling off. I had no idea where he was coming up with this stuff, it wasn’t even true, but she dashed to the bathroom and took a break from her conquering activities. Viggo dragged me onto the sofa besides him, much to Helga’s dismay who was about to jump into the space vacated by Ursula. ‘Magnus is at the back of the building,’ he said, ‘the front is being watched. We must find a way out.’

  ‘Isabelle and I will check the fire exits.’

  ‘And leave me alone with the praying mantis?’

  I grimaced apologetically. The mantis returned. Isabelle and I excused ourselves, not that Helga minded or Ursula noticed, and began our exploration. Every single fire exit was alarmed, our escape wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. We had to find another way. We returned to our table, Ursula was stroking Viggo’s hair as if he was a Persian cat. I sat in front of a fuming Helga and I had a Eureka moment. ‘So, is this hotel all it’s cracked up to be?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s nice,’ she said without sentiment, trying to fish an olive out of her cocktail.

  ‘The rooms facing the main street must be quite noisy,’ I said.

  The olive kept on slipping through her fingers. ‘I wouldn’t know. We’re at the back and it’s dead quiet.’

  ‘Are you high up?

  ‘First floor.’

  Viggo grasped my plan. He stretched into a fake yawn and casually put his arm around Ursula’s shoulders. Isabelle went as green as the olive that Helga was now furiously chewing. ‘I would love to take a look at your room,’ he told her, without breaking eye contact. ‘Which number is it?’

  The clown smiled suggestively. She fished a key out of her handbag and dangled it in front of Viggo’s face. ‘112. Shall we?’

  Seriously? Was it that easy? I struggled to greet Cressida without blushing and he could just invite himself into a woman’s bedroom?

  ‘Outside her room in ten minutes,’ he whispered, brushing past me. ‘Don’t make any noise.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Viggo let us into Ursula’s room, she was nowhere in sight. He ushered us onto a small balcony overlooking a grassy area. He had tied the bed sheets together to form a rope and secured one end to the balcony’s railings. My father and Ariel were waiting at the bottom. I had some reservations about the strength of the makeshift rope, but Ursula’s voice, coming from the bathroom, erased my doubts. ‘Can I come out now?’ she asked from behind the closed door.

  Viggo helped Isabelle over the railings. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You’re so funny, Viggo, I haven’t played hide and seek in years! But when I find you…’ Her words lingered in the air, either for effect or because she had passed out. I didn’t mind, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of that sentence.

  ‘I need more time, I want things to be perfect,’ said Viggo, sounding nearly sincere. He then grabbed my arm and lowered his voice. ‘Dude, you can’t tell anyone about her! Nothing happened! I swear on my mother’s grave!’

  His mother had phoned the previous week and seemed well enough, but I nodded and he relaxed. It was my turn to go. I flung my legs over the balcony and safely reached the grou
nd. The hotel deserved another plaque for the quality of its bedding. Viggo was next, he landed on Ariel with the grace of a sack of potatoes. ‘What’s up with your arm?’ asked my father, helping him up.

  ‘He’s been shot.’ Isabelle made it sound as if he had done it on purpose.

  For once even my father was taken aback, he lifted Viggo’s sleeve and exposed my neat bandaging. Viggo pulled away. ‘Superficial, I’ll be fine. I’m a medical student, remember?’

  ‘You didn’t even finish your first year,’ said my father glumly.

  Ariel ran a hand over his smooth skull. ‘He’ll need antibiotics. A bacterial infection can be deadlier than a bullet.’

  Despite her recent engagement, I entertained the notion that he could be my mother’s ideal man. My father nervously scanned the area. ‘We can’t stay here, we’re too exposed. Let’s go to a safe place where we can talk properly.’

  We followed him to a black Range Rover Discovery partially parked on the pavement. ‘Where did you get this?’ I asked.

  ‘Hertz.’

  I was surprised he would do something as normal as hiring a car from a standard rental agency. One of the screen wipers was holding down a fine. Viggo pocketed it in a fluid movement that betrayed regular practice. We clipped our seatbelts. My father kept a watchful eye on the rear-view mirror and doubled-back twice to make sure we weren’t followed. ‘I want your injury checked over,’ he said to Viggo, without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Hospitals have an obligation to report gunshot wounds, we’ll leave them as a last resort. Get Sesame to put you in touch with a discreet doctor. And ask him to deliver the passports, laptops, I-pads and any electronic devices we left on The Pearl to our new location, he knows the address. We’ll also need two untraceable Glocks.’

  Isabelle didn’t bat an eyelid – her extensive brand knowledge didn’t include firearms. Viggo rang Sesame and asked for the Glock pistols as if they were a mushroom and pepperoni pizza. Ironically, securing a doctor was much more complicated. ‘How much? You’ve got to be kidding!’ screeched Viggo. He rested the sat-phone on his chest. ‘Magnus, Sesame’s doctor—’

  ‘Whatever he charges will be cheaper than your funeral. Book him,’ said my father, overtaking a speeding Porsche Spyder. He headed south, past Agrigento, and followed the signs to the Valley of the Temples – a UNESCO World Heritage site. We entered the archaeological park and were catapulted back in time. The Doric columns of the Temple of Concordia stood majestically against the night sky, like they had done since the fifth century BC. I was so absorbed with the view that I didn’t realise we had come to a halt in a lit parking area. My father left the Range Rover across the line separating two well-defined parking bays and led us to a two-storey villa, the only five-star hotel within the archaeological complex. The night porter rushed towards us and I prepared myself for a spectacular rejection. ‘Mr Larsson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Welcome to Villa Concordia, we’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘Are you Sesame’s friend?’

  The porter nodded. ‘I understand you need somewhere discreet for the next few days and that you want to be notified of any unusual activity.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said my father.

  ‘Very well. Your quarters are ready. This way please.’

  I wondered how we would be able check-in without passports and discovered that it’s done by following the porter straight past the reception desk.

  Inside our suite, I collapsed on what may have been an antique sofa, it was very soft. Ariel headed for the minibar. He ignored a pile of coasters and placed his bottle of water directly on the table. Mum couldn’t have loved him after all. My father was as tense as a bow string, his frown had turned into a permanent feature. Isabelle curled up on an armchair and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘We must call the police.’

  My father rubbed his frown with the palm of his hand. ‘Not until we figure this out.’

  ‘There’s nothing to figure out, Magnus!’ she yelled. ‘My father’s been taken!’

  ‘And I will do everything I can to get him back, but we need to think this through.’ He turned to Viggo. ‘You said the intruders were a mix of Russians and Eastern Europeans.’

  He nodded. ‘They spoke English between them, but they shot me before I could place the various accents.’

  ‘The house was untouched,’ I added. ‘They were looking for someone, rather than something.’

  ‘Are you saying they were specifically after my dad?’ said Isabelle. ‘Who could possibly be interested in him?’

  Old habits die hard. Despite being genuinely worried about him, she made it sound as if he was a total waste of space.

  ‘Yuri’s boss,’ said my father.

  ‘Yuri’s boss?’ I echoed. I wanted to lean forward, but the sofa was softer than quicksand and I had irreversibly sunk into its cushions. ‘What makes you say that?’

  He bit his thumbnail. Did he also bite his nails? Maybe that’s why mum couldn’t stand it when I did it. He zoomed in on me and Isabelle. ‘You do understand that Miguel’s abduction doesn’t change a thing. You’re bound by your oath and—’

  ‘Dad, for God’s sake, spit it out!’ I couldn’t take it anymore. The gravity of our situation was getting more real with each passing minute. ‘We took the damned oath and we’re going to stick to it. If any of us wanted to renege on our word, we’d be sitting in a police station right now. Viggo’s been shot, Miguel abducted, Isabelle and I risked our lives at the bottom of that well! We’re in this together, if you have something to tell us, this would be a good time!’

  His eyes bore into mine, his scrutiny too intense to bear. I wasn’t proud of my tirade, but I felt a lot lighter. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I overstepped the mark.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ he said, after a long silence. ‘You deserve an explanation. I had a very interesting chat with Professor Harket this afternoon. Sajjad Shareef, a lecturer of Arabic Studies at Cambridge University, has vanished without a trace.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He had just finished translating an Arabic manuscript for a wealthy private client. The manuscript should have revealed the location of a precious ring, but the text didn’t contain any obvious clues. The client wasn’t happy and accused Sajjad of withholding information. Soon after that, he vanished into thin air. Yesterday, one of Harket’s colleagues, an expert on Medieval Sicily, was contacted by someone called Yuri to interpret a similar letter. He refused.’

  I shrugged. ‘Yuri will find someone else.’

  ‘I doubt it. News in the academic circles travel fast – nobody will touch a document that may have led to Sajjad’s disappearance. Whoever Yuri works for is struggling to make sense of Godefroi’s letter.’

  ‘Is that why they took Miguel?’ I asked. ‘Are they hoping he’ll figure out the ring’s location?’

  ‘I think so, but if we get to it first, he’ll no longer serve a purpose and may be released.’

  ‘Had you and Miguel figured out where they ring might be?’

  My father shook his head. ‘Not yet. We were supposed to work on the letter yesterday, but I wasted the day recovering from my hangover.’

  I sank back into the sofa’s jaws. ‘I guess Knut was right, the Russians were after the ring after all. What does he have to say about this?’

  My father let out a string of Swedish curses.

  ‘He hasn’t told him yet,’ translated Viggo.

  I had never seen my father so edgy, not even when Valhalla was broken into. He got up, went to one of the bedrooms and slammed the door behind him. Ariel leafed through a newspaper, searching for the crosswords page. ‘Let him be, he needs to clear his mind.’

  That may have been the case, but I was fed up of having to wait for someone’s permission to see my own father. How could I get to know him if I was never given the chance? I slid off the sofa with the sinuosity of a black mamba and made a dash for his room. He was on the balcony, eyes glued to the Temple of Concordi
a, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem very pleased to see me. ‘What is it?’ he said tersely.

  ‘I’m trying to process what’s going on. Are you sure that keeping this from Knut is a good idea?’

  ‘Yes, we have zero leads. He would demand that you were moved to a more secure location. It’s the logical thing to do but…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I still believe I can keep you safe. Problems arose when we were separated, when I didn’t watch over you properly. The last thing I need right now is having you out of my sight. Next door doesn’t count,’ he quickly added.

  I ignored the hint. ‘Isabelle has a point. This would be a good time to call the police. I know Knut wants the ring for his collection, but I’m sure he doesn’t want it this badly.’

  He snorted. ‘You don’t know Knut.’

  ‘Agreed, but—’

  ‘Noah, leave it.’ He shook his head, forlornly. ‘There is so much you don’t understand.’

  ‘Then make me!’ I yelled. I hated being patronised. ‘I want to understand.’

  ‘Drop the attitude,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I have enough on my plate. I need to keep my promise to you, save my best friend, stick to my mission and stay true to an oath I have taken many years ago.’

  I wasn’t expecting to be at the top of his weird list and wanted to make sure it wasn’t a coincidence. ‘Is that in order of importance?’

  My question sent him over the edge. ‘What does it matter?’ he roared.

  ‘It matters to me!’ I yelled, just as angry.

  My answer seemed to temporarily curb his rage. ‘Yes, it is in order of importance. I failed you in many ways, Noah, I’m aware of that. This is the one promise I have made to you and I have every intention of keeping it.’

  ‘Why are promises so important to you?’

  ‘Because they are the essence of who you are. Promising something and sticking to it requires willingness, sacrifice, determination and honour.’