After sweeping over a bridge that spanned a canal, she turned into the parking area of an all-night supermarket, then locked the car doors and lifted the attaché case on to her lap. She studied the few documents and photographs in the slender file, then slid the gun from a pocket in the lid. New and unused, its unsullied blackness had an oily gleam. She ejected the magazine, took shells from a box, pressed nine, one by one, into the clip, then slammed it back into the butt with the flat of her hand. When she screwed the silencer on to the muzzle, the weapon became unbalanced: unbalanced but very intimidating. Using a nail file, she poked a hole in the pocket of her raincoat and slid the long barrel into the lining; she found its cold hardness against her thigh reassuring.
Samantha checked the dashboard clock: it was almost nine. She’d wait another two hours. By that time the inmates should have been dispatched to their rooms and, as Loretta had said, being privately run, there’d probably be no more than two wardens on the night shift, a man and a woman, to cope with the teenage boys and girls. She slid the attaché case beneath the seat, settled herself into soft grey leather, and waited.
When she eventually stirred, the car park was deserted save for a few late-night shoppers, its darkness relieved by illuminated trolley bays, the light spilling from the entrance, the blood-red sign blazing like a beacon above it. Samantha stepped out of the car and began the short walk to the secure unit.
As she crossed the canal bridge she opened her raincoat, unbuttoned her blouse, eased straps over her shoulders and drew down the zip of her skirt. When she reached the iron railings that fronted the secure unit, she began to run. Holding her skirt up with one hand, waving frantically with the other, she turned through the gates and began to scream, ‘Help me! Help me! I’ve been attacked!’ She pounded on the door with her fists, then saw a bell push and pressed it long and hard. Still screaming, ‘Help me, help me!’, she stepped in front of one of the narrow windows and hammered on wired glass. She peered inside. A stocky bald-headed man had rounded a reception desk and was coming towards the door. He stared at her through the narrow window, took in the tousled blonde hair and tiny tinted glasses, then his gaze dropped to her open blouse and lingered on her breasts. The tip of a pink tongue appeared, circled fleshy lips, made them glisten. He looked up into her face.
‘There’s a man!’ Samantha screamed, gesturing towards the gate. ‘He grabbed me and tried to drag me under the bridge. He’s following me. Don’t let him find me.’ She pounded on the glass. ‘Let me in! Please let me in! I want to call the police.’
He snatched another glance at her breasts, then disappeared from view. A key turned in a lock, bolts slid, the door swung open. As she crossed the threshold she drew the gun from her raincoat pocket and levelled it at him. Grey shirt transformed into a uniform by epaulettes, grey flannel trousers neatly pressed, the plastic identity tag clipped to his shirt pocket told her he was called James Harvey.
‘Peep show’s over, James.’ She tugged up the zip of her skirt and buttoned her blouse. ‘Don’t be a hero. They don’t pay you enough to be a hero. Hold out your hands.’
He did as she asked, his eyes wide with shock, his fleshy mouth hanging open.
‘Where are the other staff?’ She flicked a handcuff over one wrist, clicked it shut, then captured the other.
‘Other staff?’ His eyes were darting nervously between the gun and her face.
‘The people you work with. It’s a mixed sex unit. Surely there’s a woman on duty?’
He ran his tongue around his lips again and swallowed hard. ‘I’m here on my own. Janet’s gone home because her kid’s ill. I told her to slip away after we’d cleared the recreation room, come back before the morning shift starts.’
‘You’re not telling me porkies, are you, James? If you start telling me porkies, I’ll get very annoyed.’
‘It’s the truth. I’m the only member of staff here.’
‘What’s in there?’ Samantha nodded towards an open door behind the reception desk.
‘It’s the office. Just a few filing cabinets, a photocopier, stuff like that.’
She reached for the two-way radio clipped to his belt, tugged it free, dropped it on the floor then crushed it under her heel. ‘Where are the video recorders?’
‘Video recorders?’
‘The machines that record the images on the security cameras.’ She brushed a fall of blonde hair from her face. ‘You’ve got the entrance and the grounds covered. There must be cameras in the corridors and communal rooms.’
‘In the office, in a cupboard above the filing cabinets.’
Samantha gestured with the gun, then followed him into the tiny room behind the reception desk. He raised his hands, swung the cupboard doors open and exposed a pair of video recorders.
‘Eject the disks.’
He pressed buttons. Trays glided out of the machines.
‘Take them off the slides, put them on this cabinet and stand back.’
He turned and scowled at her. ‘It’s difficult with my hands—’
‘Do it.’
James reached up, restrained hands fumbling, and somehow managed to remove the disks and drop them on the filing cabinet. He stepped clear.
She pocketed the disks, then inclined her head towards the door. When they emerged from the office she saw the monitor screens, mounted on the reception desk, each one split to display four views. The forecourt and yards, the corridors and communal rooms, were all deserted.
‘There’s no money, nothing of value,’ the man bleated. ‘You’re wasting your time. There’s not even—’
‘Annushka Dvoskin. I want the Russian girl. Take me to her.’
He stared at her for a moment, a sudden understanding glimmering behind the fear in his eyes, then turned, led her across the entrance hall and down a corridor. He paused by a heavy door, punched a code into a pad, bolts clicked and he shouldered it open.
‘Don’t let it close.’ Samantha unhooked a fire extinguisher from the wall and used it to wedge the door open. They walked on. Glazed partitions gave her a view of a long room equipped with snooker tables, a pinball machine, a large television; then the man led her up a flight of terrazzo-covered stairs.
‘She’s up here?’
He glanced back. ‘Can’t you hear her?’
When they pushed through a pair of unlocked fire doors the sound of screaming and banging was suddenly very loud. Speaking in Russian, Samantha called out, ‘Annushka, Annushka Dvoskin, I have come to take you from this place.’
The banging and shouting stopped. ‘My father has sent you?’
‘People concerned for your safety have sent me.’
Cream painted walls gleamed in the hard fluorescent light as they progressed down the corridor, their footsteps deadened now by some coarse grey carpet. On one side, windows overlooked a courtyard. On the other, six blue doors were spaced evenly along its length.
‘How do the others cope with the noise?’
‘We were lucky. Only three girls were on the wing when she was brought in. The police moved them out the same night. She’s been up here on her own.’ He stopped outside the last door, tried to tug a bunch of keys from his trouser pocket, but his restrained hands couldn’t grab the chain that attached them to his belt.
Samantha pressed the gun into his back, tugged the keys free and separated them from the chain. She held them up. ‘Which one?’
‘The brass key, the long one.’
She slid it into the lock and called out, ‘Speak only in Russian, Annushka,’ as she opened the door.
Blonde hair tousled, her short black skirt crumpled, the girl was sitting on the edge of an untidy bed, wiping her feet with a towel.
‘Are you ready to go?’
‘When I’ve cleaned this mess from my foot.’
Samantha gave her a questioning look.
‘I threw my dinner tray at the wall and everything spilled over the floor. I trod in it.’ Her long legs were bare, her skirt hitched hi
gh enough to expose her knickers. James the jailer was standing just inside the room, his bright nervous eyes taking in the scene. Annushka rose, slid her feet into her shoes, then tugged down the hem of her crimson sweater. When she stepped out into the corridor and saw the gun, she froze. ‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ Scowling at Samantha, she demanded, ‘Who are you?’
‘I’ve been sent to take you out of this place. While you’re in here you could be in danger.’
‘Maybe I’ll be in more danger if I come with you.’
A smart girl, Samantha reflected, with plenty of attitude. She was beginning to feel edgy. The longer they lingered here the more likely it was they’d be challenged, but taking the girl by force would make it impossible to form a relationship and she might never uncover the truth of events at Darnel Hall. Making her voice urgent, she said, ‘I’ve travelled a long way and taken risks getting inside this place. If you’re coming, come. If you want to stay, get back in the room and I’ll lock you in. But just ask yourself, why are you being held without charge, without documents? No one knows you’re here; they can do what they want with you.’
‘They? Who are they? I have no enemies; I have many friends.’
‘People you’ve endangered, powerful people who won’t tolerate their comfortable lives being threatened. You should believe me when I say I’ve been sent to take you from this place and protect you.’
Annushka thought of the dead girl and the video she’d made of her being tossed from the landing, remembered the stolen mobile phones. Maybe she should go along with this.
‘Are you coming or staying?’ the husky voice demanded.
She shrugged. ‘OK, I’ll come. Anything’s better than this miserable hole.’
The bald-headed man had been watching them, his expression bemused, his gaze shifting from one to the other as they conversed in a language he didn’t understand.
Samantha turned to him. ‘Move over to the bed.’
He shuffled through the remains of Annushka’s meal. ‘Surely you’re not going to lock me in?’
‘Take a nap. They’ll let you out in the morning.’
‘There could be alarm calls. Some of the kids are coming off drugs, some of them are self-harmers.’
She swung the door shut and locked it. Seconds later he was banging on it and yelling, ‘You can’t do this! Let me out, you must let me out!’ When they reached the double doors they heard him calling, ‘I need the toilet! I need it bad. How do I clean up if my hands are tied? At least unfasten my—’
They clattered down the stairs, headed along the half-glazed corridor and passed through the door Samantha had propped open with the fire extinguisher. As they crossed the reception area, Annushka said, ‘My bag. They took my bag and my watch.’
‘What does this bag look like?’
‘Red leather, fairly large, with a gold catch shaped like a G. It’s a Gucci bag. And the watch is a gold Rolex with diamonds on the dial. They made me leave them on the desk.’
The reception desk was no more than a counter where a security man could sit and view the monitor screens. Behind it cables dropped to a trunking in the floor and a single shelf carried forms for recording admissions and departures; accidents and misdemeanours.
They stepped into the office and began to pull open metal drawers. Most of them held slender files on the young people incarcerated in the place. There was no file for Annushka Dvoskin in the drawer reserved for current inmates. Large manila envelopes, each one bearing a name and lumpy with small items, filled three drawers. There was no envelope for Annushka. Samantha slid open the bottom drawer, saw a red bag nestling beside a stack of Bibles and a couple of copies of the Koran. She handed it to Annushka, who clicked it open and began to check the contents.
She flicked through a tiny diary that had cards and folds of paper sandwiched between the pages, then opened a red leather purse. ‘Money’s all here, and the banking cards,’ she muttered, then rummaged amongst the clutter at the bottom of her handbag and lifted out a watch by its strap. ‘And my Rolex.’ She shook the contents of the bag while she peered inside. ‘My mobile phone’s there, too. At least they’re honest. In Russia the cash, the watch and the phone would probably have gone.’
‘Switch the phone off,’ Samantha insisted. ‘Switch it off now.’
‘It is off. It’s completely dead. The battery goes flat after two or three hours. I’d have got it fixed if I hadn’t been locked up in this place.’
Samantha held out a gloved hand. ‘May I see it?’
Annushka took the phone out of the bag and passed it over. Samantha examined it. Tiny diamonds studded the back of its pearly cover and formed an intertwined AD. She pressed the on button. The screen remained dark: no icons, no low-battery warning. ‘Whatever you do, don’t charge it. If you activate the thing, we can be located.’ She handed it back then took Annushka’s arm and led her out of the office, tossing James Harvey’s keys on the reception desk as they passed it on their way to the entrance door.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To a flat in London.’
‘We could go to my father’s flat.’
‘The police will have it under surveillance. It’s the last place you should go.’ They walked out into the coolness of the night, crossed the forecourt and headed down the dimly lit road.
Annushka gave Samantha a searching look before asking, ‘Who are you?’
‘We’ll talk when we’re in the car.’
‘I’m starving. I was too angry to eat the food they brought me.’
‘There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken place on the road out of Gloucester. How about a takeaway?’
‘Perfect,’ Annushka sighed. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Tatiana Dvoskin looked around the crowded restaurant, searching for the sign of the skirted woman. Eventually she saw it, at the rear of the room, half hidden behind an ornamental screen. She gathered up her bag and smiled across the table at her husband. ‘I have to go to the powder room.’
He nodded. ‘Grigori will accompany you to the door.’
‘Must he? I find it so embarrassing.’
‘I have to protect you. If something happened to you, your father would never forgive me.’
She patted her elaborately coiffured blonde curls; the Greek hairdresser’s efforts had pleased her. ‘So, you protect me only because you do not wish to anger my father?’
He smiled indulgently. ‘There are other reasons.’
She gave him a coquettish look.
‘Because you enchant me,’ he added.
‘Is that all?’
Questions, questions; just a simple statement and she had to pick away at it like this. He laughed softly. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ Then, lowering his voice until it could scarcely be heard above the conversations going on around them, he whispered, ‘Because I love you.’
The smile froze on her face. This was the last thing she’d expected Vladimir to say. She felt an unwanted rush of tenderness towards him. Such great wealth, so much power, yet deep down he seemed to have a need to give and receive affection that was almost childlike. Keeping her voice teasing, she asked, ‘And will you still love me when I’m old and wrinkled?’
‘I shall be dead long before you are old and wrinkled.’ He caught the eye of the security guard called Grigori. The man immediately stopped eating and leaned across the gap between the tables. ‘Mrs Dvoskin wishes to powder her nose.’
Grigori wiped his mouth on his napkin, tossed it down, then rose to his feet and drew Tatiana’s chair back from the table. He followed at a respectful distance as she trotted down the room.
Vladimir relaxed back in his chair. He felt content. Tatiana had fulfilled all his hopes. And she did enchant him; they were not merely kind words, spoken to please her. She was attractive, very attractive, but not what one would call beautiful. Ekaterina, Annushka’s mother, had been beautiful, and look at the terrible life she’d given him. Beautiful, smart-mouthed, mean and frigid: that just abou
t summed up Ekaterina. He sighed. Annushka was beautiful and smart-mouthed, like her mother, but he suspected she was far from frigid and by no means chaste.
Perspiring in the humid warmth, he closed his eyes, lulled by the murmur of voices all around him. Yes, he reflected, Tatiana most certainly did captivate him. Such a splendid body: long-limbed, warm, voluptuous and fragrant; incredibly arousing when naked, so enticingly elegant when clothed.
He stifled a yawn. He’d had enough of wandering along crowded streets. Impatient now to be back on board his ship, he was looking forward to relaxing in its air-conditioned coolness, taking a shower, lying beside Tatiana in their vast bed with its silk sheets. He summoned a waiter over and asked for the bill, then turned to the guard called Boleslav. ‘When I’ve paid, we’re leaving. Phone the drivers, tell them we’re going to stroll down through the Plaka; tell them to bring the cars to Hadrian’s Arch.’
The man rose, steered his massive bulk between crowded tables and stepped out, through open doors, on to the pavement. Vladimir watched him key numbers into a mobile phone, press it to his ear, then study the night-time crowd drifting along the street they called Kydathineon while he muttered into it.
Vladimir settled the bill, adding only a meagre tip. Tatiana appeared and headed towards him, the full and finely pleated skirt of her white dress swirling, the gaze of the ever-vigilant Grigori sweeping the room as he followed her.
When they’d all assembled in the street, Vladimir reached for Tatiana’s hand and linked her arm in his. Moments later, as they were making their way out of the crowded labyrinth of shops and bazaars called the Plaka, he glanced at her and asked, ‘Did you like it?’
Dark Powers Page 5