I signal to Jonas to call the burner phone. He’ll direct Callum to the lake at the northeast end of the cemetery.
“Bring the money,” Jonas orders. “You’d better fucking run. You’ve only got three minutes.”
Keeping the time tight is essential. I want this finished before the Gallos find their way inside. And I want Callum too hectic and winded to think clearly.
The lake is the most open part of the cemetery. The half-moon shines brightly down on the water, illuminating the sole figure of Kolya Kristoff. He’s smoking a cigarette, exhaling the smoke upward to the sky, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He barely looks up as Callum Griffin and Jack Du Pont come jogging down the path, each carrying two very heavy duffle-bags in either hand. Even from where I’m standing under a willow tree, I can see the sweat running down their faces.
Callum nods to Jack. They drop the bags in front of Kolya’s feet with a heavy thud. Kolya’s white teeth flash again as he grins at the sound.
He nods to one of his men. The Russian kneels down, unzipping the bags and checking their contents.
“Clean bills, no trackers, I assume,” Kolya says.
“I’m not the fucking FBI,” Callum replies disdainfully.
I can hear them clearly through my earpiece, Kolya a little louder than Callum.
Kolya’s man rummages through the bags, holding up a standard-pressed gold bar for his boss’s approval.
“That’s not cash,” Kolya remarks, eyebrow raised.
“You only gave us twenty-four hours,” Callum says. “That’s what I had on hand. Besides, a million in bills weighs seventeen pounds. You expect us to carry in in two hundred and thirty-eight pounds?”
“Eh, you’re big boys, you can handle it,” Kolya sneers.
“It’s all there,” Callum barks impatiently. “Where’s my sister?”
“Right behind you,” Kolya says, in his drawling tone.
Callum turns, spotting the slim ballerina figure of the girl in the temple, bag still fixed over her head.
“There better not be one fucking scratch on her,” he threatens.
“She is in exactly the same condition as when I took her,” Kolya promises.
“When you took her?” Callum hisses, “Don’t you mean when Mikolaj did? Where is he, anyway? I didn’t take you for an errand boy, Kristoff.”
Kolya shrugs, taking one last long pull off his cigarette. He flicks the butt into the lake, sending ripples running outward from the bank across the still water.
“This is the problem with you Irish,” he says softly. “Surrounded by enemies and not afraid to make more. You should learn to be friendly.”
“You don’t make friends with termites when they burrow into your foundation,” Callum says coldly.
My earpiece crackles as Andrei mutters, “Gallos are coming.”
“Time to go,” I say to Kolya.
He’s frowning, spoiling for a fight with Callum. And he doesn’t like taking orders from me.
But he wants the money. So he nods to his men, who pick up the duffle-bags.
“We’ll see each other soon,” Kolya says to Callum.
“You’re goddamned right we will,” Callum snarls back.
The Russians take the ransom and jog off toward the main gate.
Callum nods to Jack Du Pont, silently ordering him to follow the Russians. Callum turns the opposite direction, running toward the temple.
Quietly, I tell Marcel, “Jack Du Pont is headed your way. Let the Russians pass. Then cut his throat.”
I watch Callum dash through the tall grass at the edge of the water, sprinting up to the temple.
I hear him as he calls out, “Nessa! I’m here! Are you okay?”
I hear the hoarseness in his voice and see his shoulders slump in relief as the girl turns blindly toward him, hands still bound behind her back.
Dante and Nero Gallo arrive just in time to witness the reunion. Dante’s got his rifle up on his shoulder. Nero’s close behind, covering his back. They push their way through the trees on the opposite side of the temple.
We all watch as Callum pulls the black cloth bag off the girl’s head.
Exposing the terrified face of Serena Breglio.
Her newly-dyed hair is limp around her shoulders. The Russians fucked that up—the brown is dark and muddy, but she was too far away for Callum to notice.
The Russians snatched her this afternoon, right outside her apartment on Magnolia Avenue. I gave them Nessa’s clothes, which fit her perfectly. Ballet dancers all have that same slim physique.
Mascara tracks run down her cheeks from hours of tears. Serena tries to say something to Callum, around the gag.
Callum’s face is a mask of fury and disappointment. If he were a star, he’d go supernova.
He abandons the girl in the temple, not even bothering to untie her. Dante Gallo does it instead.
Callum is sprinting off toward the main gate, trying to chase after the Russians.
I lift my rifle, watching the Gallo brothers through the sight.
I’ve got Dante right in my crosshairs. He’s crouched over Serena, pulling the gag out of her mouth. His back is to me. I could put a bullet in the base of his neck, severing the spinal cord. He’s the one who pulled the trigger on Tymon. I could end him right now.
But I’ve got other plans for Dante.
I lower my rifle. I skirt the lake and follow after Callum Griffin instead.
I hear his howl as he discovers the body of his driver. They went to school together, or so I’m told. Marcel cut his throat, leaving Jack Du Pont to bleed out, slumped up against a cross-shaped tombstone.
I guess Callum will be driving himself around from now on.
“You comin’, boss?” Andrei says in my ear.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
14
Nessa
All the men disappeared from the house today.
I don’t know where they went. But I’m getting so used to the normal creaks and moans of the old mansion, that I can tell when only that ambient sound remains, while all the footsteps and doors banging and Polish conversation and masculine chuckles are gone.
Klara is still here. I hear her vacuum cleaner running, and later I hear her singing down on the main level while she dusts. That’s how I know for certain the Beast is gone—she wouldn’t sing with him around.
They’ve stopped locking my door. I creep down to the main level to check the rest of the doors in the house. Those are locked and dead bolted, including the one through the conservatory out to the garden. I’m not getting out without a key.
It’s what I expected.
But it makes me wonder—where are the keys?
All the men must have one. Klara too, most likely.
I could sneak up on her while she’s vacuuming. Hit her over the head with a vase.
I picture myself doing it, like a character in the movie. Knowing all along I never could.
I don’t want to hurt Klara. She’s been kind to me, as kind as she’s allowed. She’s taught me quite a bit of Polish. And she protects me from Jonas. I heard her arguing with him out in the hall, one night after I went to bed. He sounded drunk, slurring his responses. She was sharp and insistent. I don’t know what he was trying to do, but she wouldn’t let him into my room. She said, “Powiem Mikolaj!” which I’m pretty sure means, “I’ll tell Mikolaj.”