by Sam Clarke
The Duct-Taper positioned a precautionary finger on the trigger and Dragomirov beamed expectantly. ‘Yes?’
My father cleared his throat. ‘Stop. I…’
I hoped Sergei had a mop, because Dragomirov was practically drooling. ‘You…?’
My father swallowed hard. ‘I… I’ll…’
I couldn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence. Would he give up the ring to save my life? Would he break the promise that defined his very existence for my benefit? Would he really put me first, before the Templars, before himself, before his word, before his honour?
And then it was pure mayhem. The doors of the stable were kicked off their hinges and bullets were flying like snowflakes in a storm. The captors ran for cover. Viggo crouched behind my father with a knife between his teeth, pirate style, and freed him. They both dived behind a pile of firewood. ‘Hang in there, Noah,’ shouted Viggo.
Thanks! Where else could I hang? I was attached to a beam in the middle of the stables and bullets were flying right, left and centre. A well-aimed shot rang above my head and the hauling rope snapped in half. I fell on the blood stains, but managed to get up and free myself. Viggo winked in my direction, the gun still in his hand. I made a sprint for him, but Sergei caught me by the waist and dragged me back. I thrashed and writhed, but I was weak from the beating and he had the upper hand. I kicked myself (figuratively speaking, given my recent beating I deserved some compassion) for thinking about Cressida during Ariel’s lessons. I knew there was an elbow technique I could use, but my mind was blank. ‘Let him go,’ said my father, leaving the shelter provided by the firewood.
‘You must be joking, he’s my insurance,’ replied Sergei. ‘Stay where you are. One step and he’s dead.’
Everyone stopped.
‘What did you do with the helicopter pilot?’ asked Sergei.
‘He’s tied up in the pig sty,’ replied Miguel.
‘Get him.’
My father nodded to Viggo, who grumpily made his way to the pig sty and returned with the terrified pilot.
‘We are going to walk to the chopper and take Noah with us,’ said Sergei. ‘Any sudden moves and I cut his throat, clear?’
His threat elicited a few reluctant nods. Using me as a shield, he began walking backwards towards the stable doors. He had discarded his empty gun in favour of the military knife that had been hanging from his belt. I could feel the cold of its blade against my throat. Scarface and the Duct-Taper lay unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from their wounds. Dragomirov and Yuri crept out of the woodwork and joined the fleeing party. ‘Put your weapons down,’ said Yuri, Uzi pistol in his hand. ‘If you care for the boy, put your weapons down.’
Guns clattered to the floor, but my father and his unarmed team kept up with us as we walked to the helicopter. The sound of the rotor blades filled the night. ‘Leave Noah,’ shouted my father.
Dragomirov briefly emerged from behind Yuri’s shoulder. ‘The boy for the ring.’
‘I don’t have the ring here,’ yelled my father over the sound of the rotor blades.
I gulped. Had he just admitted to having the ring and implied that he was willing to bargain?
Dragomirov gave a triumphant smile. ‘Retrieve it and return to Nassau. I’ll be in touch. Until then, no harm will come to your son.’
Dragomirov climbed into the helicopter. With the corner of my eye, I saw Miguel reach behind his back and withdraw a small gun. I didn’t hear the shot, but Yuri fell forward holding his side. His fall took Sergei by surprise, he relented his grip and I was able to summon all my strength into the Krav Maga Elbow Strike Number Five. I pushed my bent arm up and forward, then drove the elbow back and upwards, smashing it into his chin. Sergei was only slightly stunned, but it was enough to make my escape. I ran for my life, Miguel discarded his now empty gun. I spun on my feet to see how much distance I had put between myself and Sergei. Yuri was scrambling into the helicopter, but Sergei was still on the ground, his arm deliberately folded backwards. I failed to grasp his intentions, but his hateful stare promised nothing good. ‘For Vladimir,’ he said.
My father shouted to duck, but I didn’t react fast enough. And then, as if in slow motion, I saw the knife travelling at top speed in my direction. I froze on the spot. The blade must have been a metre and a half from my face when my father flew diagonally across the trajectory and stopped it. Sergei clambered on board, the chopper lifted off and my father collapsed at my feet, clutching his shoulder. He pulled the knife out and tried to stem the bleeding with his bare hands. Viggo rushed over and bent over him. He peered at the wound with a worried look on his face. He applied more pressure, but blood kept on spurting through his fingers. My father grabbed his wrist and said something in Swedish. ‘Of course I’ll get him to safety,’ said Viggo, ‘but you’ll be fine. This is just a scratch. You’re 0 positive, right?’
Dad gave him a faint smile. ‘You really have to work on your bedside manner.’
The noise of the helicopter returned, why had they come back? My first thought was to run back to the stables and scan the floor for weapons we could use. ‘It’s a different chopper,’ said Miguel, eyes glued to the sky. ‘It’s not Dragomirov’s.’
The helicopter landed by the disused barn and Isabelle rushed out of the farmhouse brandishing something. ‘I’ve found more weapons,’ she shouted. She saw my father on the ground, shirt drenched in blood, and stopped in her tracks.
Three people emerged from the chopper and ran towards us, well two were running, the third was more of a limping buffalo. Miguel’s torch shone on his bald head, I had never been so happy to see Ariel. Minutes later we lifted off, my father was slipping in and out of consciousness. Viggo kept on pressing fresh bandages to the wound, the moment they touched the shoulder, their colour switched from pristine white to vermillion red. ‘Is there anything you can do?’ asked Miguel frantically.
Viggo reached for the last pack of bandages. ‘It’s a nicked artery, man! He needs a hospital, he’s bleeding out! Are there any HemCon patches?’
Ariel shook the content of the first-aid box to the floor and handed Viggo a small foil packet. Viggo extracted an average looking plaster, stuck it to my father’s shoulder and kept on applying pressure. ‘What’s that?’ asked Isabelle.
‘HemCon patches were developed for the military,’ droned Ariel. ‘They are fabricated from a bio-compatible polysaccharide. Its positive charge attracts the red blood cells’ negative charge and forms a very tight seal.’
Engine aside, the helicopter went momentarily silent. Viggo translated for the masses. ‘The patch should stop the bleeding. The wound will seal more quickly and blood loss will be minimised, but he has lost a hell of a lot already.’
Miguel conferred with Marco and the Italian radioed a request for an emergency landing in a Palermo hospital. ‘He’s going to be OK, isn’t he?’ I asked.
Viggo double-checked that the magic patch was in place. ‘I hope so, but…’
‘But what?’
He sniffed and looked away. Isabelle squeezed my arm for support, I turned and buried my head in her shoulder, tears streaming down my face.
‘Pull yourself together, dude,’ whispered Viggo, as softly as you can whisper in a flying helicopter. ‘He needs you.’
CHAPTER 48
The landing pad was marked with a huge “H.” The medical team transferred my father to a waiting stretcher and rushed him inside the hospital building. We sat in the relatives’ room, which was bare and depressing. The vending machine offered a selection of hot drinks that tasted as bad as they looked. A doctor in green scrubs stepped in and cleared his throat. ‘His condition is very serious,’ he said, removing his latex gloves. ‘He’ll need emergency surgery. We will do all we can, but I would advise you to contact his family. He is conscious at the moment. He’s asking for Noah and Viggo.’
We stepped forward. The doctor discreetly assessed our swollen eyes and various contusions, but kept his comments to himself.
He led us to the trauma unit and warned us that we only had a few minutes, the operating theatre was practically ready. My father, paler than an anaemic corpse, lay on a stretcher surrounded by an army of medical staff. ‘Don’t call Knut, not yet,’ he said to Viggo. Each word seemed to suck some life out of him.
‘But—’
‘This is Fredrik all over again, I’m not going to put him through it. If I make it, I’ll tell him myself. If I don’t, you have my instructions.’
One of the doctors unhooked two I.V. bags and placed them on my father’s chest, together with a portable monitor. ‘We must go.’
‘Wait,’ said my father.
‘We can’t,’ replied the doctor, pushing the stretcher out of the room.
My father tried to sit up. ‘Noah,’ he shouted.
‘Stay down Mr Larsson,’ said the doctor, ‘you’re in no condition to—’
‘Shut up! Noah?’
I ran to my father’s side, he grabbed my hand. ‘The stuff I said earlier, I didn’t mean it.’
He grimaced, the doctors exchanged nervous looks. One of them tapped his watch, time was ticking.
‘I know,’ I replied, trying to keep a brave face. ‘You must go now, do as the doctors say.’
He looked for my eyes and dug his fingers into my hand. His stare was deep and sincere. ‘None of this is your fault. I love you, son.’
The portable monitor emitted a long, uninterrupted beep. A green line went flat. A doctor jumped on the gurney and began CPR, the others rushed the stretcher towards the operating theatre. Someone pulled me back. I broke down.
#
Viggo and I shared a cubicle in the emergency department. A young nurse was applying ointment to his swollen eye, another was stitching up the side of my face. ‘There will hardly be a scar,’ she said.
I tried to smile, but I was numb inside. The last thing on my mind was my physical appearance. My father’s parting words were playing through my head on a loop. He loved me. He loved me. And he had proved it beyond my wildest expectations. As I faced certain death, he had willingly and readily taken my place.
‘You know he’d do it all over again if he had to, right?’ said Viggo, softly.
‘If he dies—’
‘He won’t. You Larssons are a tough breed.’
I hoped we were. ‘I never thanked you.’
‘For what?’
‘Risking your life to get me out of there.’
He gave me sheepish grin. ‘Dude, I’m no hero. As it turned out, I couldn’t hot-wire the van…’
He was being modest, deep down we both knew that he wouldn’t have left me behind anyway. I clapped his shoulder and let out a soft chuckle. ‘Isabelle is going to throw it back in your face until the end of days.’
CHAPTER 49
Two and a half weeks later, on a sunny, humid afternoon, we touched down in Nassau International Airport where my adventure had begun. My father had been discharged from hospital and Knut’s hefty donation to their neonatal unit had provided enough incentive to sweep the circumstances of our impromptu admittance under the carpet. Medical notes had gone missing, computers had crashed and brand new, state of the art incubators were on the way.
I stepped onto Valhalla’s sun-baked deck and felt at home. My father had resorted to a barrage of excuses to avoid discussing the conversation with Dragomirov, but I was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it. Shortly after unpacking, we sat down in his cabin to Skype mum. She gave us an update on her Lebanese adventure, which was as exciting as a Foreign Office bulletin. It covered the weather, political unrest, field hospital survival rates and two strategically placed compliments for her husband to be. Considering that she believed compliments to be a deterrent for self-improvement, Jean-Claude must have occupied a very special place in her heart. So special that they had decided to bring the wedding forward. My stay in the Bahamas would be cut short, I would leave next month. ‘I don’t want to go back,’ I said firmly, closing the laptop down.
‘You must, staying with me was always going to be temporary,’ replied my father.
‘In Monreale you said that you would speak to her about the custody arrangement.’
He stroked his beard. ‘Did I say that before or after you told me to go to hell and stormed out of the restaurant?’
‘Before,’ I admitted.
He chuckled. ‘I’ll speak to her. I meant what I said, Noah, I’ll visit more often. Of course, before I broach the subject with Katie… maybe… if we could agree…’
I sighed and smiled, sometimes he could be so predictable. ‘What happened in Sicily will stay strictly between us. Our secret’s safe.’
‘Oh, is it our secret now?’
He sounded light hearted, but his eyes told a different story. There was one particular thing that had been bugging me since our conversation with Dragomirov, something I didn’t want to take back to London with me. ‘Did you really repudiate me?’ I asked.
He sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘It sounds worse than it is, it’s just an antiquated word—’
Excuses, excuses. ‘Did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
He shook his head. ‘There was no other way.’
‘Dragomirov said that I’m entitled to—’
‘No.’
Hell, if there was a chance I could become a Knight Templar, I wasn’t going to let go of it so easily. ‘Dad, I want to join the order, I want to begin my training. I’m old enough, I heard what Dragomirov said.’
‘You’re not old enough to drive a car. Or fly alone or—’
‘Don’t change the subject, why won’t you let me? It’s my birth right.’
He massaged his chin, as if it was suddenly sore. ‘We’re talking hypothetically, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, hypothetically speaking, I stripped you of that right when I repudiated you.’
‘Can’t you reinstate it or something?’
He bit a random nail and didn’t rule out the reversibility of his verdict. ‘It wasn’t the type of life I wanted for you.’
‘Why not?’ I protested. ‘What could be better than that?’
‘Everything. Pretty much everything. When the time comes, you will be free to make your own decisions, pick your own destiny, live your own life.’
‘But my destiny chose me! And I like it! It suits me perfectly!’
‘Don’t even go there, I will stand by my choice. I love you, I will come and visit as often as Katie lets me, but you’ll remain repudiated.’
‘That’s insulting!’
‘You’ll get over it.’
OK, he wasn’t going to budge, but he wasn’t the only stubborn one in the family, I had no intention of budging either. ‘Be honest with me, was everything Dragomirov said true?’
Silence.
‘Dad?’
More silence.
‘This is as honest as I can be,’ he replied.
‘You haven’t denied.’
‘You catch on quickly.’
‘Let me start my training,’ I begged, ‘let me be one of you.’
He produced a chuckle that was either bitter or patronising. Or maybe both. ‘You don’t even know what we do! I know how exciting it sounds at first, but somewhere down the line you’ll meet a girl, you’ll fall in love, you’ll have a family and you’ll have to lie to them day in, day out. Your oath will always come before you, before them! It will follow you wherever you go, it will be a part of you for as long as you live. And then, at some point, you’ll begin to wonder if it was such a good idea in the first place.’
I reflected on his words. ‘Did you love mum?’
‘Very much.’
‘Do you still?’
He gave me a faint nod. ‘I will never forgive myself for hurting her the way I did.’
‘Does she know that you—’
‘Of course not.’
‘If Fredrik hadn’t been hurt, would you h
ave stayed with us?’
He half-smiled. ‘I like to think so, unless Katie got too jealous of Jörmungand.’ He grabbed a chair and sat in front of me. ‘I was a second born, Noah, I wasn’t expecting to be called into active service. Fredrik’s accident changed everything. Believe me, leaving you nearly broke me, I missed you every single day, but it was the right thing to do.’
I could have disputed his choice, argued until I was blue in the face, but it wouldn’t have changed the past. What I wanted to change, was the future. ‘If being a Templar is so challenging, so demanding, so punishing, why are you letting Viggo train? He’s being trained, isn’t he?’
‘I won’t discuss Viggo with you. Let’s say he ticks the right boxes. I already told you much more than I should have.’
He hadn’t asked me to take any oaths of secrecy, my father was beginning to trust me. I would gain more of his trust, I would prove myself worthy of his expectations and I would not give up on my birth right just because he had decided it was the best thing to do. I would fulfil my destiny: I was a Larsson, I was a fighter. ‘Dad?’
‘Last question, OK?’
‘It’s not a question. I’m proud to have you as my father.’
And I truly was.
CHAPTER 50
It had been nineteen days since that conversation and we hadn’t discussed birth rights or secret orders again. We had spent our time swimming, kayaking, surfing, studying and… searching for the sea serpent. Ariel had made a full recovery and, apart from a triumphant smile when he remembered that Ramesses II’s wife was called Nefertari, returned to his usual impassive self. Mind you, he had never been anything else, not even with two bullets in his body. Viggo was enjoying a well-deserved break with Hope. Isabelle hadn’t taken too kindly to it, but the prospect of an imminent return to the Parisian high streets was cheering her up. We had never discussed our alleged kiss. Hidden by constant bickering, barrages of insults and omnipresent huffs and puffs, our weird friendship was somehow growing. People don’t go through what we had gone through without establishing some sort of bond.