She hurried back to Marion when she started to go hoarse. “They appear to be unable to hear me. But I’ve taken some paint off the door,” she reported.
Marion smiled. “Good for you.”
“You should get dressed. We might have to go at any minute.”
“We don’t need to panic yet. I only think I’ve had a contraction, and no others since then. It’s probably nothing.” Marion climbed inelegantly off the bed and, bending awkwardly, poked about in the largest suitcase Zani had ever seen.
“I saw a documentary on birth the other day,” said Zani, remembering the program with a kind of grim horror. “It’s your first baby. You could be in labour for days.” She brightened a little.
“Yeah, thanks. That helps,” said Marion dryly.
Zani was impressed with her composure. Yesterday she’d been a tearful wreck, but now she seemed calm, accepting of the situation.
Time passed. After dressing herself in a huge jumper and gigantic elastic-waisted jeans, Marion rested on the bed. Zani occupied herself wearing a track in the carpet, from Marion to the window. Through the bathroom to her room, check the window there. Hammer on the door until she got fed up with it. Then back to Marion. She prowled like a caged tiger.
“They haven’t even fed us,” she griped on one circuit.
“Oh, I’m not hungry,” said Marion. Her expression seemed to change. It went inward. Zani could see her focusing on herself. After a minute it cleared.
“That was another one, wasn’t it?”
“I think so,” she said. “We need to time them, but I don’t have a watch.”
“Neither do I, but my phone has a clock, we can use that.” Zani hurried into her room and returned with the phone. “Funny, I had a text message up on the screen, but now it’s gone. I wonder where it went,” she said handing it to Marion.
“It’s 8:45, let’s see when the next one comes. I reckon they’re about forty minutes apart.” Although outwardly composed, Marion’s calm began to slip and her voice trembled. “I don’t want to have the baby here. I want to be in the hospital, with drugs and an epidural.”
“Klebnikoff told me we’re not too far from St. Petersburg. We’ll get his attention and he’ll call an ambulance. They have very good doctors in Russia,” said Zani with a confidence she didn’t feel. She didn’t mention they were both illegal in the eyes of the Russian authorities. “You stay here. I’ll go and do some more yelling. I’m going to kick that door in if I need to.” She stormed back into her room, ready to get them out any way she could.
The door was open and the tall thin woman stood waiting. She wasn’t smiling.
“Downstairs. Now,” she barked and stalked out.
“Marion. Come on. We’re out of here,” Zani called, relief colouring her tone.
“Just a sec…”
Two minutes later Marion appeared through the bathroom, dragging the huge suitcase.
“What on earth… We don’t even know if we’re going home yet. You’ll have to leave it,” said Zani impatiently.
“No way. I’m having a baby, and if Klebnikoff thinks I’m staying here a moment longer he’s got another thing coming. This has got almost every piece of clothing I own in it. I’m not leaving it behind.”
“How long did it take you to pack?” Zani couldn’t help asking. She’d imagined Marion had been whisked away without a chance to argue.
“Those two men helped me. They were very kind. One sat on the suitcase whist the other zipped it up.”
Zani had to contain a giggle at the thought of Mischka and Grischka patiently helping Marion pack.
She sighed. “Okay, I’ll carry it. You lead the way. Be careful on the stairs.”
She dragged the suitcase noisily along the hall and bounced it down the stairs. Though she took care to avoid the Fabergé egg on its flimsy stand. After she left the suitcase sitting at the bottom of the stairs she glanced back at Marion, who’d been much slower than Zani, and now paused at the top of the stairs.
“I need the loo,” she said.
“Again? Didn’t you just go?”
“Yes, but the baby’s head is pressing on my bladder…”
“Okay, okay. I’ll come, too.” Zani summoned all her reserves of patience and escorted Marion back up to their room. Fifteen minutes later they both arrived outside Klebnikoff’s study.
“Okay?” she muttered to Marion.
“Okay.”
Zani opened the door and strode confidently in. Klebnikoff instantly rose from behind the desk, and another figure turned in one of the leather wing chairs opposite it then stood as well.
“Corbin!” said Zani and Marion at once.
Zani laced her sweaty fingers together. She blinked, checking if he was real. He half smiled at her. Are you okay? asked his look. She nodded. The butterflies, who had all but given up, began to flutter about in unrestrained joy. And Zani, who’d been ready to do some hardnosed negotiating with Klebnikoff, found all her pumped up bravado losing a battle with the thrill of seeing Corbin. Suddenly she was ridiculously happy.
“How did you know we were here?” asked Marion.
“Later, later…” interrupted Klebnikoff. “Mr. de Villiers flew in an hour ago. We’ve been discussing the situation involving your brother, Lady Best. Mr. de Villiers has presented me with a cheque covering your brother’s expenses, so I just need to make a few calls, and then my dealings with your family are at an end.”
“Oh, oh,” said Marion, sitting down suddenly.
“Marion?” asked Zani quietly.
Marion glanced at her watch. “Thirty-five minutes,” she mouthed at Zani. Corbin took in the exchange, eyebrows raised, and an expression of alarm came and went fleetingly.
Klebnikoff continued, seemingly oblivious. “You may keep the money I transferred to you for the boat, Lady Best. Mr. de Villiers has covered it. However, I no longer have any interest in pursuing that contract. As it was never signed, I believe it is reasonable to declare it null and void.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you commission the boat? It makes no sense,” said Zani, despite her feeling of profound relief.
“You were my surety, my dear. Your little business would never have survived if I’d cancelled the contract once the boat was underway. It was just a little back-up plan I devised.”
Zani couldn’t help a shiver of apprehension. He’d been driving his hooks into her, and she hadn’t even noticed. She hesitated over her next question, but then asked anyway. “Were you watching me?”
“I always keep an eye on my investments,” he said blandly. “Shall we have some tea?” he asked with a kind smile.
“No.” Corbin stepped in. “The jet is waiting and there’s bad weather forecast. Vladimir, we must be leaving.” He managed to sound truly regretful.
“Oh, what a pity,” said Klebnikoff. Zani goggled at them both. Klebnikoff had calmly admitted to both stalking and blackmail, and Corbin’s only reaction was to politely refuse tea. She opened her mouth to explain to Klebnikoff exactly what she thought of him, but a warning glance from Corbin had her shutting up fast. She could sense his underlying tension. We’re in danger, thought Zani, her stomach twisting in fear. The butterflies had long since settled down.
“Look, I am so terribly sorry, but I’m afraid you cannot leave until I’ve checked the validity of Mr. de Villiers’s cheque. One can never be too careful you understand?”
“Quite,” said Corbin.
“Now you listen here,” squawked Marion. “I’m not having this baby…”
She stopped talking with a strangled gasp as Corbin grabbed her wrist.
“Perhaps there is somewhere we can wait?” he said smoothly.
“Of course, my housekeeper will serve tea in the parlour. Please follow me.”
Klebnikoff led them through the house to a small comfortable room, decorated in gold and white. Zani, accustomed to designing over the top, luxurious boats was very impressed.
“Blimey, the glare
is giving me a headache,” said Marion loudly, earning herself a reproachful glance from Klebnikoff. Another Fabergé egg sat above the blazing fireplace, solid gold.
“Please help yourselves,” said Klebnikoff, gesturing to a sumptuous spread of cakes and pastries. “If you will excuse me, I shall return shortly.”
“Corbin, Corbin.” Marion threw herself at him in a tearful embrace. Staggering slightly, he returned the hug.
Zani sidled over to the food. Perfect tiny cream cakes the size of a fifty pence piece sat on a tiered tray and she popped one, whole, into her mouth.
“We need to get out of here now,” said Corbin and hurried over to look out of the window.
“What? But, but…” said Zani, spitting crumbs and looking at him in horror.
“Zani, you don’t actually think I just wrote him a cheque for fifteen million pounds?”
“Well, yes.” She shoved another cake in.
“Cherie, even I cannot lay my hands on that amount of money in the space of twenty-four hours.”
“So you wrote the Russian Mafia a cheque that is going to bounce?” she asked, swallowing rapidly.
“Look, I’m here, aren’t I? He wasn’t going to let me within a mile of the place if I didn’t have the money. And don’t worry, a friend of mine at the bank is going to keep him occupied on the phone with red tape for at least twenty minutes. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time to do what?”
“Eat all the cakes,” said Corbin deadpan serious. “No. Escape. We’ve got plenty of time to escape.”
“Um, it’s six feet deep in snow out there, the Russian government thinks we’re illegals and Marion is in…”
“So are you suggesting we wait until Klebnikoff comes back?”
“No, but…”
“It’s okay, I have a plan.”
“Yes, but…”
“The car that drove me here is out front, with one of Klebnikoff’s thugs waiting in it. We just need to get to it. Jim is waiting with the Jet at an airstrip a couple of miles down the road.”
“Yes, but…”
Marion plumped down on the couch and got that inward look. Corbin was instantly at her side.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She shot a glance at Zani. “I’m just tired. We must go, give me a second and then I’ll be ready.” Her voice rose a note, and she seemed unable to speak. Then after a few seconds, “My suitcase is at the bottom of the stairs. I’m not going without it.”
“Marion, we can’t go back and get it.”
“But it’s got everything in it.” Her voice trembled, and Zani stared at her in exasperation.
“Fine.”
“Here’s the plan,” said Corbin. Zani and Marion leaned a little closer. “Go out the door, turn left until we get to the stairs, pick up the suitcase then walk out the front door.”
“Is that it?” asked Zani.
“Well, simplicity is best.”
Quietly, in single file, they tip-toed to the stairs, then, wincing as the front door creaked a little, they stepped out into the sub-zero Russian morning.
“Take us to the airstrip,” said Corbin to the hulky driver, as he opened the passenger door.
“No clearance. Wait please,” said the man, unclipping a walkie-talkie from the dashboard.
Corbin didn’t give him a chance. He punched him hard in the side of the face. His head snapped sideways and hit the frame of the four-wheel drive with a sickening crunch. Zani watched with a mixture of horror and relief as he slumped forward and did not move again.
“You’ve killed him,” shrieked Marion who’d climbed in the back and was wrestling with her suitcase.
“Merde, that hurt.” Corbin cradled his hand, inspecting his knuckles.
“No, he’s still breathing, see his chest is moving,” said Zani. Then she hurried around the car and opened the driver’s door. With a shove from Corbin, they rolled the driver out into the snow and, using all her strength, Zani dragged him away from the car. He’d be found the moment they tried to get away, which would be pretty much any moment now, she reasoned and left him lying in the snow.
The walkie-talkie came alive with a stream of Russian.
Zani jumped into the driver’s seat. “It’s a manual, I can’t drive a manual,” she moaned, looking at Corbin in horror. Any second now someone would come out of the door, or the man in the snow would regain consciousness.
“It’s okay, slide into my seat.” Corbin sprinted around to the driver’s side and jumped in.
“I can’t drive a manual, I never learned how,” Zani told Marion, who was huddled over, clutching her tummy. “Breathe through it,” she added. She’d seen them say that in numerous movies when babies were about to be produced. It was sure to help.
Corbin gunned the engine and they took off through the snow-covered landscape down the cleared road. He sped along, Zani peering anxiously out the back for reinforcements. Marion bounced around in the back with her suitcase.
“Oh, shit,” said Marion and Zani whipped around to see where they were going. “They’ve got guns.”
“Corbin, they’ve got guns and they’re pointing them at us,” shrieked Zani.
“Yes I can see that,” he said calmly, not slowing as they approached a gateway in a high barbed-wire fence. Guards bristling with weapons waved at them to stop. Corbin put his foot down on the accelerator.
“Hold on,” he said.
“Corbin…” shrieked both Zani and Marion as he hit the metal gates at high speed. The impact threw them all forward, but luck was with them. The gates had not been fully closed, and with a terrible screech of metal, and a loud thunk, thunk as the rear-vision mirrors were torn off, they made it through.
Almost instantly the pop-pop-pop of gunfire followed them.
“They’re shooting at us,” gasped Zani.
“Bullet proof, I think this car will be bullet proof…”
“Think? You think?” she howled.
“Zani, I need to concentrate…” muttered Corbin.
Zani turned to Marion. “Are you okay? Corbin says we’re bullet proof.”
“We’ll be out of range in a minute, the danger is nearly over,” added Corbin.
“I’m fine,” said Marion through gritted teeth. “This is not how my doula said labour was going to be.”
The car sped down a featureless road. Snow, banked high on either side, didn’t quite obscure the leafless trees. The sky was grey, the road was grey, and Zani wondered if she’d ever see colour again.
Corbin soon slowed and turned, they’d arrived at a small private airstrip. Two Lear jets sat on the edge of a long runway. One had its door open. A man in a pilot’s uniform, peered nervously out as the car drew up. Corbin waved, and the man ducked back into the plane. Almost immediately the engines started to whine.
“Get on the plane. Quickly, now. I’ll bring the bag.”
Neither Zani, nor Marion needed to be hurried.
“What on earth have you got in here?” he asked Marion as he dragged her bag onto the plane.
“About time,” said the pilot. “We’re going to have some explaining to do when we get back into Finnish airspace. We’ve disappeared off their radar for over an hour. They’ll be looking for us.”
“Jim, mate, we’ve had a spot of trouble, let’s worry about Finnish airspace if we manage to get back in one piece.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Jim, in a bluff, this-is-all-a-big-joke kind of way.
“We need to get in the air now. Men with guns are very close behind us.”
“I see,” said Jim, sounding a little strangled, though he rallied quickly. “Belt up, ladies. Corbin shut the door and then up front with me.”
“How did you know we were here?” asked Zani as Corbin pulled the jet door shut.
Corbin looked at her quizzically for a second. “You sent me a text message.”
“But I didn’t think it’d get through…” Horrified, Zani b
egan to explain to Marion. Marion wasn’t listening. She had that inward look again and had gone very quiet.
“Um, Corbin.” Something in her tone must have alerted him. He ducked out of the cockpit and came over to her. “Marion’s having a contraction.”
“Christ Almighty,” he said.
“I’m not having this bloody baby in Russia,” snapped Marion.
“Jim, mate. How long will it take to get to London?”
“London? I thought you said Helsinki.” The background whine of the jet engines began to increase to a roar.
“I’m not having this bloody baby in Finland either,” barked Marion.
“We’re going to London.”
“Four hours, but I haven’t filed a flight plan.”
“Jim, we’ve illegally entered Russian airspace, and we’ve a woman in labour and men with guns are heading toward us through the woods. Frankly, flight plans are the least of our worries.”
“Jesus,” said Jim.
“Marion, can you hold off for four hours?” asked Corbin.
“Oh, yes,” she said airily as the contraction passed. “That was only my fourth contraction so far. We’ve hours yet. If not, I’ll just keep my legs crossed, eh?”
“Corbin. Here. Now,” called Jim as the plane began to trundle forward. “Take off in sixty seconds, ladies, and I’m going to make a steep ascent, so hold on.” The engines moved from a roar to a deafening scream.
“I hate flying,” muttered Zani as the plane hurtled into the air, climbing so steeply that her stomach was left far below on the tarmac.
She glanced out the window. Beneath them, so small they looked like Lego figures, several cars appeared on the air strip. Men waving guns poured out.
“Are we out of range?” yelled Zani, but nobody could hear her over the engines. Please God, I’ll never be bad again if we’re out of range.
The four hour flight passed in a tense blur. Zani held the seat arms in a death grip. Flying in a small plane was nothing like the commercial jets she’d previously experienced. They bounced around like a cork on the water. Every fibre of her being was dedicated to willing the plane to stay in the air.
Secret Intentions Page 21