Tell Me A Lie

by CJ Carver

  ‘Good.’ He stepped forward until he was barely a yard from her. Studied her at length. She did the same. His shoulders were bent, his skin wrinkled and spotted with age, but his eyes were as bright and avaricious as a seagull’s. He wore a beautifully cut suit and his tie looked as though it was made of fine silk. European brogues and an expensive-looking watch completed the ensemble. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Burlington Arcade. She didn’t see a wedding ring.

  ‘Ekaterina has told you who I am.’

  A man at the highest level of government. A man who has the ear of the President and everyone in Parliament. A man who wants to take my son and give him to his own son, Edik Yesikov, to bring up as his own.

  ‘Edik!’ he called. ‘Show yourself.’

  A man appeared in the doorway. Shorter than the old man, with dirty blond hair, he had the same piercing blue eyes and cruel mouth.

  ‘Edik can’t have children,’ Lazar Yesikov said.

  ‘No,’ agreed Edik. His eyes fastened on Jenny’s belly. ‘But this child will be like mine. He shares my genes. I have already named him Kazimir, after his great-great-grandfather. He will lead Russia with me, in General Kazimir’s name.’ His accent was guttural, his eyes gleaming with a combination of ambition and greed.

  ‘Enough.’ The old man flicked a hand at Edik who, after a long look at Jenny, disappeared.

  ‘So,’ said Yesikov. ‘You know who you are.’

  A surge of fight rose. She’d be damned if she’d let him get away with kidnapping her so easily.

  ‘Hardly,’ she snorted. ‘Since it’s all based on unfounded rumour.’

  He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew two sheets of paper. ‘Your DNA was tested. It is beyond doubt that you are my granddaughter, and General Kazimir’s great-granddaughter.’

  Her ears roared. She desperately fought a wave of dizziness. She had to keep it together. She must not show him how scared she was.

  She said, ‘I don’t believe you.’

  He pushed the papers at her. She didn’t look at them. ‘Forgeries.’ She put a derisive snap into her voice.

  He looked at her for a long time. She tried not to fidget. Hold on to her dignity. Finally, he turned and left the room. Jenny’s eyes skidded to the window and then to the doorway. She forced herself to move around the room. She felt if she didn’t move she would implode, crumple into a shrieking ball of fear and panic. She had to keep her blood circulating to help her think. She paced between the window and the armchair at the far end of the room, concentrating on the sensation of her feet hitting the floor, her breathing. It didn’t matter what Yesikov said, she realised. Her birth father could be George Clooney and it wouldn’t change the fact she had to get out of here. She had to try and make a plan, a deal, some kind of strategy that would help her escape with her unborn son.

  Dan! she shouted in her mind. Where are you! Hurry!

  Gradually, she became aware that although her nerves were still trembling, her hands had steadied along with her heartbeat. The shock was being replaced by anger. Fury at being treated like a chattel to be shifted across continents without thought for her or Aimee, or Dan.

  ‘Jenny.’

  She turned to see Yesikov walk back into the room. He was holding out a heavy-looking phone with a thick rubber antenna. A satphone.

  He said, ‘Speak to them.’

  She blinked.

  ‘Your so-called parents.’ His voice sneered.

  She gripped the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jenny?’ It was her father. His voice quavered. He sounded old. But above all, he sounded scared.

  Jenny swallowed. She blinked. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ He suddenly sounded close to tears. ‘Where are you? Please . . .’

  Yesikov reached over and snatched the phone. He snapped, ‘Tell her the truth. She wants to hear it from you. If you don’t . . .’

  He passed the phone back to Jenny. She took a deep breath. said, ‘Dad, he’s told me I’m adopted. Is it true?’

  The silence was so dense that for a moment she thought they’d been cut off.

  ‘Hello? Dad? Are you there?’

  ‘Oh, my love. I’m so sorry.’ Regret and sorrow flooded his voice.

  And with that, she knew the truth. There was no point asking anything more. It could wait. She turned away and began walking briskly to the other side of the room and at the same time she said quickly, ‘Dad, I’m in Russia. In a hunting lodge. In the middle of nowhere. Snow everywhere.’

  Yesikov shouted something furious in Russian, but she didn’t stop. Her words came thick and fast. ‘A helicopter’s outside, registration RA-seven-oh-nine . . .’

  She dodged as he came at her.

  ‘. . . six-five. Two Land Cruisers, one number plate with white letters on a black background . . .’

  Yesikov raised his cane and brought it down on her arm but at the last second she twisted aside and it slammed against her shoulder, making her gasp. She forced her words out over the pain. ‘Zero-two-four . . .’

  A brutish-looking man with a shaven head came charging into the room. Yesikov yelled at him and the man launched himself at Jenny.

  She was shouting now: ‘. . .five-oh-K, five-one RUS –’

  The phone was snatched from her.

  ‘Love you!’ she yelled. She crouched with her back against a bookshelf, her heart pounding, her lungs heaving.

  The shaven-headed man loomed over her. He said something to Yesikov who snapped something back. The man left the room, along with the phone.

  ‘So,’ said Yesikov. His eyes were glittering. ‘You’re not just a beautiful woman. You are smart too. Quick thinking.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re an ugly old man with a bad case of halitosis.’

  ‘There is no need to be uncivil.’ His eyes turned cold.

  ‘Oh, really?’ She affected sarcasm. ‘You shoot my dog and kidnap me, snatch me away from my family, and you expect me to be civil?’

  ‘I thought we could get to know each other.’ He stood stiffly erect, as though he was on a parade ground. ‘I am your grandfather, after all.’

  Fury rose as hard and sharp as steel. ‘I would rather fuck a donkey –’ she hissed, wanting to shock him and show that she wasn’t going to cower ‘– than spend another second with you.’

  A flash of narrow, disgusted blue eyes. ‘I didn’t think you would be crude.’

  She stalked out of the door. The shaven-headed thug was outside and she was surprised when he didn’t stop her. She walked along the corridor to the boot room where she put on a pair of snow boots and jacket. She walked outside to the Land Cruisers. No keys in the ignition. Not that she’d get far if she drove away – the snow was too deep – but it would feel good. There was no road, no path, but the line of trees facing the lodge along with the slight indentation in the snow indicated that a track of some sort lay beneath.

  She began to walk.

  The snow had a hard crust but below it was soft and powdery, making it hard going. She stopped from time to time to rest, but other than that, she kept moving. She needed to get away from the madness behind her.

  Soon, the lodge was a speck on the horizon and she was sweating. But she didn’t stop. She kept walking. The cold air was quiet. She could hear a faint breeze rustling through the trees to her right but that was all. Nothing moved.

  Jenny walked until the afternoon began to darken. She saw nothing but snow and trees and a frozen river. No villages or farms. No people. No power lines. Somewhere a buzzing sounded and she snatched her head around. For a moment she saw nothing, then two vehicles appeared on the horizon, bounding and skidding across the snow like balls on ice.

  Snow machines.

  They must have been stored in the barn.

  She stopped and stared ahead into an endless icy vista. The handful of trees stretching black-fingered branches into a bruised sky.

  One snow machine stopped twenty yards away, engin
e running. The other pulled up next to Jenny. The rider took off his helmet. Dirty blond hair, vivid blue eyes. He was her uncle but all she felt for him was hate.

  ‘It will be dark soon,’ he remarked.

  Jenny turned her attention to the horizon. ‘How far is it to the nearest habitation?’

  ‘Put this on.’ Edik was holding out another helmet.

  Jenny pointed ahead. ‘How far?’

  ‘Three hundred and twenty kilometres.’ He then pointed left. ‘Two hundred and seventy. But it is just a farm.’

  ‘What is ahead?’

  ‘Another farm.’

  ‘How far?’ Jenny persisted.

  ‘You might get there after five days’ walking.’ He laughed.

  Jenny felt something inside her collapse.

  Edik looked over his shoulder in the direction of the lodge. ‘We must go back. My father is waiting.’

  Jenny felt quite calm when she returned to the lodge. Her body was exhausted and this in turn helped quieten her mind. She was given a bowl of hot soup by Milena, and some warm bread, and when she’d finished eating Yesikov came into the kitchen.

  He said, ‘You will stay here until you are ready to give birth. Then you will be taken to the clinic. Milena and Ekaterina will look after you while you are here. They will not help you in any way to escape or I will have them tortured and their families killed. When you have given birth to my grandson, you will be allowed to return to your country and your family.’

  Like she believed him. He wouldn’t want her launching an appeal to get her son back to the UK, highlighting to the world his insane plan. He would want her silenced. How would he kill her? she wondered. When? After the baby was weaned, or before?

  She raised her head and met his gaze.

  ‘How do you know I won’t harm the baby?’ she said.

  He looked upwards, to the ceiling. Pointed out the cameras. ‘I won’t let you.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Dan got the call when he was on the M25 and heading to Heathrow to fly to Moscow, where he was going to meet two contacts from Six who would help him launch a rescue mission. This time, his passport and credit cards would be in the name of David Rickman.

  ‘You spoke to her?’ Dan felt a moment’s disbelief.

  ‘Yes.’ Jenny’s father, Adam, sounded shell-shocked as he recounted the phone call. As Dan had asked, Adam had recorded all incoming calls in case the kidnappers rang, but Dan hadn’t really believed it would happen. It must have been his training kicking in – covering all the bases no matter how unlikely – that had prompted him.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  There was a pause that went on too long.

  ‘Adam,’ Dan snapped. ‘Talk to me!’

  ‘Sorry.’ The man’s voice had thickened, indicating he was fighting tears. ‘She sounded . . . strong.’ His voice was surprised, as though he’d only just realised this.

  That’s my girl.

  He went on to tell Dan that Jenny was in the middle of nowhere. A hunting lodge. Snow everywhere.

  Ice twisted around his heart.

  They’d moved her.

  Dan increased his speed. ‘Play me the tape.’

  The quality was abysmal but Dan managed to hear most words. He latched on to the fact that the number plate Jenny had described was military, but he didn’t recognise the five-one code. If she’d said one-seven-seven after oh-K, he’d know the vehicle was registered in Moscow. But five-one? He hadn’t a clue.

  He got Adam to replay the tape four more times before he knew he’d gleaned as much as he could. He thanked Adam. Told him he’d keep him informed.

  ‘If you see her . . .’ Adam said.

  ‘I’ll send her your love,’ Dan agreed. ‘Now. Can I speak to Aimee?’

  ‘You’re not going to tell her?’ Fear filled his voice. ‘Take her away from us?’

  ‘You’re Aimee’s grandparents and I can’t see that changing any time soon,’ Dan said. Which wasn’t exactly true because knowing his wife, she’d have a lot to say about being lied to all her life. In a snapshot Dan thought of Jenny’s lies which had driven them apart – she’d hidden the fact he used to work for MI5, telling him he used to work as a civil servant in the Immigration Department, even making up stories of his old office parties, and who his boss used to be. He could see how Jenny’s parents had lied to protect their daughter, as Jenny had lied to try and protect him and Aimee. And what about Irene? The lies she’d told to protect Aleksandr and Zama?

  Lies layered upon lies.

  When would they stop?

  ‘Daddy?’

  Aimee sounded small and tired, anxious.

  ‘Hi Possum. How’s you?’

  ‘When are you coming to get me?’

  ‘I’ve just got to pick up Mummy first. She’s overseas at the moment, but when I’ve got her we’ll come and get you. Hopefully before the weekend.’

  ‘The weekend?’ She sounded horrified. ‘But it’s only Monday today!’

  ‘Let’s try and make it before the weekend, then. You’re with Grandma and Grandpa and they’re going to take care of you until we’re back. OK?’

  He tried to be as comforting and reassuring as he could when in truth the only thing that would comfort Aimee would be to have one of her parents there. He had to force himself to hang up and when he did, he was shaken by the wave of anger that swept through him. He would take Yesikov down for this. Make the old man pay.

  He spent the remainder of the journey making calls. He needed to change his flights as well as set up new contacts. He was still on the phone when he walked into the airport but he quickly terminated the call when he saw Emily from Six approaching. Emily briefed him as they walked to the departures gate.

  ‘The number plate she gave is for Murmansk Oblast.’

  Dan’s gut tightened. The Kola Peninsula was in the north-west part of Russia and north of the Arctic Circle. It was part of the larger Lapland region.

  The middle of nowhere.

  How would they find her?

  ‘We’ve got you on a flight to Murmansk, leaving in half an hour. It’s the ten-twenty flight but it’s been delayed.’ She filled him in on Simonov, the contact who would be meeting him.

  ‘I need a currency exchange.’ Cash was always best in Russia, and since he might need to grease a lot of palms, he’d need a lot of it.

  ‘There’s one on the way.’ She gestured ahead of them.

  ‘Anything on the helicopter Jenny saw?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s leased to Edik Yesikov on an ad hoc basis. No flight plan available, sorry. And we have no idea where it is at the moment.’ She passed him his e-ticket and passport, credit cards, and ran him through his new legend. ‘Good luck.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Ekaterina let Milena change her dressings. The pain on her face glowed red-hot and she felt the muscles in her chest tighten. She forced herself to breathe. Tried to focus on Milena to take her mind away from the agonising ruin of her face. Even though her friend tried not to show any emotion, each time she peeled back the bandages and saw the burned and bloody mess, witnessed the disfigurement Ekaterina would have to endure, tears rose in her eyes.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Ekaterina told her, but still her friend wept.

  Ekaterina willed herself to keep still and not to flinch. How had it come to this? Was God punishing them? For their greed? Their quest for adventure? Excitement? Their hunger to experience new things?

  All of these, she realised because she and Milena had been desperate to live. Neither of them had wanted to remain in Irkutsk earning nothing but a pittance in the factory, getting married the day they turned eighteen to some drunken slob and spending the rest of their lives looking after him and their children.

  So when a modelling scout turned up in town, they were first in line, and first on the train to Moscow. And yes, they’d lived the high life. They’d been cosseted and coveted, revelling in the luncheons and parties, rubbing shoulders with the elite.
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  But all that had ended and here they now were.

  As Milena moved to inject her with morphine, Ekaterina stopped her. She said softly, ‘I’d like some cold milk.’

  For a moment she thought Milena might ignore her.

  ‘Pozhaluysta, kotenok.’ Please, kitten.

  When Milena heard her childhood nickname she nodded, but her eyes were scared. Her bruises and scabs were already healing and soon she would be beautiful once more, but only if she obeyed. Milena didn’t want her face branded. Ekaterina could read it in every move her friend made.

  ‘When?’ Milena managed.

  ‘In half an hour.’

  Cold milk was their code for them to meet inside the walk-in pantry set at the far end of the kitchen. The pantry was the only place that didn’t have cameras or recording equipment.

  By the time Milena finished bandaging her face it was throbbing and sending waves of pain through the centre of her skull and spine, into every cell. It hurt to breathe, and she couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped. Once again Milena offered the morphine. This time Ekaterina accepted. The pain she was in was so debilitating she couldn’t function without it. Yes, the opiate blurred her thinking and made her mind feel woolly, but the pain was so acute it prevented any rational thought. She would try and use the morphine sparingly, but she couldn’t do without it altogether.

  It didn’t take long until she felt a wave of warmth pass through her body. A sensation of weightlessness followed. The pain eased. She could have wept with relief except her emotions were floating on a cloud of contentment. She had to force herself out of bed to meet Milena.

  The pantry was crammed to the ceiling with supplies; dried and salted meats, pickles, a variety of zakuski, kholodets and hard cheeses, beans, oils and cured fish. They wouldn’t be resupplied until the snow melted and the roads became clear once more. If they needed fresh fish or meat, there were plenty of salmon and partridge to be had. All three guards were competent hunters and had already provided plenty of venison. They seemed to think of their assignment as a bit of a holiday and she’d heard lots of laughter late at night, and the sound of empty vodka bottles being thrown out the following morning. She didn’t know what Yesikov had told them, but the guards didn’t seem to see her and Milena as a threat. With no phones or wireless, no Internet, no way to contact the outside world, they were all prisoners of their environment.