“Paavo,” Leander and Mattias said at the same time.
Sander said nothing for a full minute. “I don't pretend to understand what the hell Konstantine and Imatra have to do with anything, but as far as the prison goes, Paavo makes sense to me.”
“Maybe he tried to make a deal with Konstantine, then had him assassinated when he thought the king was no longer valuable,” Leander said.
“Or just in the way,” Mattias added, sounding as grim as Sander looked.
“I could be way off base,” Sander said. “I guess we'll find out when we reach the ruins.” He started checking all his weaponry, even though he'd done it before he left the bunker. It kept his hands busy while his mind churned through possibilities. They might be set upon by Russian troops for all Sander knew—or he could be right, and Paavo would show with whatever force he'd developed while in prison. He remembered the meetings when Paavo had begged him for an execution date and, barring that, demanded that he send him overseas somewhere to start a new life. A prison cell was wasting away Paavo's soul, according to his brother. Sander had refused, of course, because Paavo deserved the punishment after all the lives he'd taken. He wouldn't give Paavo the easy way out, much to Paavo's discontent and fury.
Now, Paavo might be seeking revenge, or he could have finally gotten the release he craved.
Sander only hoped his brother didn't take Chey down with him.
Chapter Nineteen
The Ruins of Amsler towered above the rocky landscape, flanked by trees on three sides. One of the four turrets had begun to collapse, with a growing pile of old stones building at the base. The castle lacked a surround, though its walls were tall and an enormous wooden door made penetration of the interior difficult. High windows provided a sweeping view of the landscape in all directions, the depressions resembling rectangular black holes in the darkness.
Sander ordered the driver to take a back road in, one not well traveled or known by most, and left the SUV in a small clearing toward the back of the property. There were no other residences within a three mile radius, only a handful of outbuildings that were in far worse shape than the castle itself. An outdoor kitchen, stables, brewery and bake house were barely recognizable for their former intended purpose. Sander had considered renovating or fortifying the ruins that dotted Latvala, a move purely driven by the desire to preserve the history. Thus far, he'd not started any of those projects. Therefore, Amsler remained cold and stark, a monolith slowly wilting to the decay of time. Once upon an age, his ancestors had thrived here. Kings had conducted the rise of Latvala, battling back enemies while their wives gave birth to future generations.
The current king skulked through the forest with his men spread out around him, weapons drawn. Although Sander had his suspicions about the culprit of the attacks, he progressed through the trees, on alert for anything. For Russians, foreign assailants, and his own brother. Mattias, Leander and the driver circled the perimeter, clearing the immediate grounds of intruders. Leander stole through a back entrance into the castle itself, disappearing from view. Sander's extra soldiers hadn't arrived, leaving Leander the only one with a position on the inside. If the soldiers didn't get there before the enemy, Sander knew he and Mattias and the driver would have to take exceptional steps to avoid capture—or murder.
In the distance, Sander picked out the sound of a helicopter. He caught up to Mattias and the driver under the cover of trees.
“Stay out of sight until we know whether it's our men or--” Sander's whispers were interrupted by the vibration of his phone. He pulled it from a front pocket to glance at the screen. He'd turned off all sound so he didn't give himself away at a critical moment. Normally he shut the whole thing down, because the vibrations emitted a quiet hum that, in the dead silence of empty rooms, could be easily detected. He read the message.
Soldiers incoming.
“They're here,” Sander whispered to Mattias and the driver, letting them know that shortly, the forest would come alive with movement and faint snaps of twigs.
“I'll let Leander know.” Mattias pulled out his own phone and thumbed in a message.
Sander surveyed the long road leading to the entrance of the castle. Trees flanked the hard packed lane, which then opened onto a clearing. If he guessed right, Paavo—or whoever was behind this—would likely arrive by this avenue. Even if a group came at the castle from different angles, Sander figured his men had the advantage being able to scout the area and set up before the intruders arrived.
The fading chop of helicopter blades indicated Sander's soldiers had hit their drop off point and were now en route to the castle on foot.
“I'm going in through the back,” Sander whispered to Mattias. “Coordinate the men out here and buzz my phone when you see anyone else on approach.”
“Will do.”
Parting off from Mattias and the driver, Sander followed the tree line to the back of the castle, breaking cover only when he had a straight shot to the rear entrance. He entered without the aid of a flashlight, using only the natural illumination falling in through upper windows as a guide. Deeper into the castle, where there were no windows on interior rooms, he would be forced to use his flashlight to see.
Decades of dust and other small debris made it impossible to cross the old stone floor in total silence. The open area, rising two stories, had four different hallways leading away to separate sections of the castle. Having spent time in the ruins, Sander oriented himself in seconds. He went to the dark archway straight ahead, creeping into a cathedral shaped corridor that bypassed many parlors, strategy rooms and other living areas. In the back of his mind, he reminded himself that Leander was in here somewhere and to not let the man suddenly surprise him.
Gun clasped in both hands, Sander navigated the tomblike hallways without the aid of light, so far able to advance by feel and memory. He made it to the great halls of the entrance, with towering ceilings and rustic support beams. Lacking furniture of any kind, the enormous space provided few places to take cover. Once he was face to face with his adversary, there was no easy escape from a surprise attack. He would have to fight his way out. Windows carved high into the front walls allowed weak light to slant inside, casting milky rays onto the rugged slabs of stone.
“You make enough noise to wake the dead, old man,” Leander whispered behind him.
Sander twitched at the first sound, then glanced over his shoulder. He could just make out Leander's features. Despite the light-hearted words, Leander's face was a mask of concentration and alertness. “There's a balcony up there, across from the door. I'd rather have you at my back than any other solider—just in case.” Just in case his own men had somehow been compromised.
“I just came from there. It's a good vantage point. I can see this whole room and half of the staircase,” Leander said, gesturing to the side, where a broad, stone staircase rose to the higher floors.
“Another sniper or two will be coming in shortly. While I set up the best positions for the flashlights, figure out where you want the extra firepower and set it up.” Sander trusted Leander to arrange the soldiers in the most prime spots for defense.
“Will do.” Leander pivoted away, disappearing into the dark corridor that led to the back of the castle.
Making his way to the heavy front door, Sander lifted the bracing arm and opened the door a few inches. Sharp creaks echoed off the walls from the unused, rusty hinges. He scouted the best position for a flashlight that would glow from the higher windows, visible at a distance down the long road. If this was really a meeting between king and queen, people would expect him to provide Chey a source of light. A welcoming beacon to help guide her way. Being a castle built for defense, the high windows made it difficult for enemies to gain entrance by that route, and it also made it difficult to place his flashlight where it would be seen.
He chose to angle the light against the partially open door, setting the flashlight on the floor. It was either here or up on the balcony wall
.
Quiet sounds of bodies moving through the open space above indicated to Sander that his soldiers had arrived. He caught a glimpse of shadowy bodies on the balcony, then...nothing. The men found ways to blend in with the natural niches to be less visible from below.
His phone vibrated again. Sander dug it out. The message was from Mattias.
Sending a scout down the road. Everyone else in place.
Sander exhaled a slow breath. He and his men were ready.
Now all they needed was for the enemy to show its ugly head.
*
Sander watched the door, the staircase and the mouth of the main hallway from his crouched position against a wall. He would have rather been pacing to expend some of the energy humming through his system, except he might have made himself a target for anyone who managed to slip past the net of protection outside. Instead he put a wall at his back and got low, listening and observing for signs of life. He never heard the snipers upstairs, indicating they were hunkered down like he was.
Waiting.
He refused to consider what danger Chey might be in, refused to conjecture about her welfare or any abuse she might have already been subjected to. Thoughts of that nature would derail him quicker than anything. Instead, he contemplated different attack scenarios and his response to each. It paid to be prepared for anything.
An hour went by, and still nothing. Sander estimated the flight time between the prison and Amsler to be approximately forty minutes, yet he'd heard no sounds of a helicopter on approach. It was possible his adversary had been dropped a mile or so out and made the rest of the journey on foot. The scouts and soldiers in the woods would see any advance, he was sure.
Fifteen minutes after that, Sander stretched one leg, then the other, so he didn't develop debilitating cramps at the wrong time.
When the enemy made himself known, it wasn't by car or by foot, but from four flash-bangs thrown simultaneously at the entrances and exits of the castle. In the initial seconds, Sander pressed himself against the wall, bringing the weapon up to level toward the door. The castle itself protected him from the worst of the noise and chaos, but the men outside might now be temporarily blind and deaf.
Five, six—seven more explosions occurred. Something bounced through the crack in the front door, arching over the flashlight beam, and Sander knew instantly he had no time to make the safety of the hallway. There wasn't anywhere to hide in the great room, no furniture to duck behind. All he could do was turn away from the weapon and cover his head, hoping against hope that it wasn't a grenade. At least the flash-bang wouldn't kill him unless he was right on top of it.
Bright white light erupted across the walls, followed by a bang so loud that Sander's ears immediately started ringing. The detonation stunned him, as it was designed to do, blocking out all sounds and temporarily disabling his ability to react. Smoke slithered through the room, adding to the confusion.
A stark sense of self-preservation made Sander pivot toward the door instead of away from it, the gun leveled straight out in front of him. He coughed, eyes watering, ears ringing. The blinding sparks had fizzled out, leaving only the beam from the flashlight visible through the haze. He thought he heard someone shout, but he didn't know if it was his men, or the enemy.
The figure of a body passing by the beam of the flashlight alerted him to company; he hesitated, finger moving over the trigger. It might be the adversary—and it might be Mattias or the driver or another of his own soldiers, entering to check on his status. The haze probably blocked him from their view, too, giving him only seconds to decide what to do. This might be his only shot at a surprise of his own.
His gun fired in steady succession. Booms rang through the great hall, bouncing off the walls. He tracked the motion of legs, aiming low, struggling to maintain coherency. A body fell, and another. Something ricocheted off the stone wall close to his head, the resulting crack making him go flat to the floor.
Someone was shooting back. It wouldn't be his men. They knew he was in here, waiting. Scrabbling forward, choking on the smoke, Sander belly crawled across the floor toward the place he thought the bodies went down. He didn't know if he'd shot one, two or three people. All he knew was that he was six rounds down.
Through the haze, he saw a leg, and another. The uniform pinged familiar in his memory, though it took him a second to place the navy pants with a red strip down the outside.
Russians. This was a Russian uniform.
Maybe he'd made a grave—fatal—mistake. There could be an entire army marching on Amsler, with these initial men used as scouts. He might have set an inescapable trap for himself and his men. The face that belonged to the legs wore an expression of pain and fear, mouth open as if shouting or screaming. Sander didn't hear a thing except the ringing. He knocked the handgun out of the soldier's hand and kicked it away across the floor.
Sander saw another soldier down, and another beyond that, visible only as vague shapes until he got closer. The second guard had dropped his weapon in favor of hugging hands to his legs, two bullet wounds visible as splotches of red on the navy pants. Sander kicked that weapon away, too, and did the same to the third man. He saw the dark pant leg of a fourth victim, this one not in uniform, and had just reached the wounded man's chest when Paavo's face came into view. His brother looked startled, as if he hadn't expected to see Sander this soon. Paavo brought his arm off the floor but a boot stomped Paavo's wrist to the ground, forcing the gun out of his fingers.
Leander's voice faded in and out of Sander's hearing, shouting something he didn't understand.
Hands gripped Sander's shoulders, forcing him up and away. Sander stared at Paavo until the haze obliterated his brother from view.
Chapter Twenty
The pungent, unpleasant scent of ammonia jerked Sander into a higher state of awareness. He shot a hand out to steady his balance, and other hands gripped him in return, pushing at him until his back was firmly against the wall. Chased back by the bob of flashlight beams, the darkness parted around familiar faces: Leander, Mattias, the driver of the SUV.
“Hey, Sander. You all right, man?” Leander asked, waving the smelling salts quickly under Sander's nose.
Sander twitched away from the scent, his mental clarity clearing further. “Yeah, yeah.” His ears were still ringing, just not as loud as before. “What the hell happened?”
“They lobbed flash-bangs into the courtyard, near the trees, and into the castle itself. It was a hell of a way to arrive. Me and the guys upstairs were able to get below the balcony wall in time, so we didn't get it as bad as you did,” Leander said, louder than usual. Not quite shouting, but speaking above his normal tone.
“That was one approach we didn't expect,” Mattias added. “We couldn't see anything and didn't dare come out of the trees in case they'd moved snipers in under the cover of smoke. That's why it took us a little while to get to you.”
Sander shoved away from the wall. He noticed his gun was back in its holster, though he didn't remember putting it there. “Where is he? Did you see? Paavo's joined forces with the Russians.”
“Whoa, hold on old man. Just give yourself a second to come all the way around. We've got our medic assessing the wounds of the men you shot. No one's dead, which means we'll be able to question Paavo shortly.” Leander stopped Sander's progress with a firm hand on his chest.
Sander wanted to shake him off and charge into the great hall, or wherever the medic was working, to let Paavo have it. He wanted answers.
“Did you find Chey?”
“No. She's not here.”
Sander pushed away from the wall again, and this time, no one stopped him. He breathed deep, getting his bearings as he started for the sound of groans coming from a room off the long hallway. Larger, brighter flashlights spilled out the doorway, guiding him directly to the room the medic used to tend the injured. Several men were on the floor, along with Sander's own soldiers standing guard in a loose circle around them. There was n
o smoke here, nothing to impede Sander's view of his brother lying beside a Russian soldier. Stepping over two people, he straddled Paavo and bent down to snatch Paavo up by the collar. He lifted his brother's head three inches off the ground.
“Where is she? Are there Russian troops invading the city? Our borders? Just how far out did you sell us, Paavo?” Sander demanded. No one dared try to stop him from getting his answers.
Paavo, paler than usual due to blood loss, hair mussed out of its neat style, didn't fight Sander's hold. Two bandages wound his leg, one just above the knee, the other around his calf. His pant leg had been ripped open by the medic to get to the gunshots. Paavo said, “You should have aimed a little higher, brother.”
“Answer the questions, Paavo. There are far worse things I can do to you besides let you rot in a jail cell. If you thought that was bad, then just keep testing me. See what else I have in store.” Sander leveled his threats without hesitation. He wanted to know where his wife was, and whether his country was about to go to war.
Paavo shook with a silent laugh, but a new wariness had entered his eyes. “I have nothing to say.”
One of the Russian soldiers spoke up, and it wasn't a Russian accent that fell from his lips. It was the Latvala tongue. “There are no Russian troops. He had the uniforms duplicated and--”
“Shut up, filth!” Paavo snarled.
“And what?” Leander said, hovering over the 'Russian' soldier who had decided to turn against Paavo.
“He had the uniforms duplicated and convinced us that he was in connection with the Russians—but he really wasn't. Paavo acted on his own, planned the whole thing. I'm a guard at the prison. He recruited me more than two years ago.”
“Shut your mouth, or I'll have your entire family obliterated off the face of this--”
Leander cut Paavo's threat off. “No, you won't. This man might not see the outside of a jail cell for the rest of his life, but he might not get death either, and he knows if he cooperates, he's got a better shot. We'll move his family into hiding, so you can forget about sending any mercenaries.”
A Royal Legacy Page 15