The Nightmare (54 page)

“What did you say, Beverly? What did you say? I can’t hear you.”

“I can’t come out yet,” the girl whispers, and hangs up.

*   *   *

Robert Riessen is silent and pale. He leaves Saga in Beverly Andersson’s room and asks her to lock up when she’s done. The room doesn’t look lived-in. There are just some white clothes in the wardrobe and a pair of rubber boots, a field jacket, and a cell-phone charger.

Saga locks Beverly’s room as she leaves and goes into Axel Riessen’s rooms. She tries to understand what Joona meant and how this girl could be important. She walks through the drawing rooms, salons, and the peaceful library. The door to Axel Riessen’s bedroom is slightly ajar. Saga steps over the thick Chinese carpet, past the bed, and into the adjoining bathroom. She returns to the bedroom. Something is making her edgy. There’s a nervous energy in the room. Saga puts one hand over her Glock in her shoulder holster. There’s a whiskey glass on the table with the drooping remains of a dandelion.

The dust floats slowly in the sunlight in a room almost vibrating with silence. Her heart jumps when a branch from a tree outside scrapes against the window.

She walks over to the unmade bed and considers the two pillows and the disarray of the bedding.

Saga thinks that she might be hearing steps in the library and turns to leave when a hand grabs her ankle. Someone is under the bed. She twists loose, falls backward, and draws her gun in one motion while, inadvertently, she knocks over the table with the dandelion.

Saga rolls to her knees and aims, but then lowers her gun again.

The girl peers out of the darkness under the bed. Her eyes are wide open and frightened. Saga replaces her gun in the holster and sighs deeply.

“You’re shining,” Beverly says.

“Are you Beverly?” Saga whispers.

“May I come out now?”

“Yes, I promise, you may come out,” Saga says.

“Has it been an hour? Axel told me to wait a whole hour.”

“It’s been more than an hour, Beverly.”

Saga helps her stand up. The girl wears only underwear and is a bit stiff after lying in the same cramped position for so long. Her hair is very short, and her arms are covered with ink drawings and letters.

“What are you doing under Axel Riessen’s bed?” Saga asks, keeping her voice calm.

“He’s my best friend,” Beverly answers as she pulls on a pair of jeans.

“I believe that he’s in danger—please tell me what you know.”

Beverly pauses, holding on to her T-shirt. Her face flushes red and tears fill her eyes.

“I haven’t done—”

Beverly’s lower lip starts to tremble.

“Take it easy,” Saga says, trying to keep the tension from her voice. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was in bed when Axel came in,” Beverly says in a weak voice. “I knew something bad was happening. He looked white. I thought he was mad because I’d gotten a lift. I’m not supposed to hitchhike.”

She pauses and turns her head away.

“Please go on, Beverly, we’re almost out of time.”

Beverly whispers, “Sorry.” She wipes her face with her T-shirt. Her eyes are damp and the end of her nose is red.

“Axel ran into the room,” Beverly says when she’s collected herself. “He told me to get under the bed and hide for an entire hour and then he ran out again to the library and I don’t know … I just saw their legs, but two guys came after him. They did something awful to him. He yelled and they threw him on the floor and wrapped him in white plastic and then they carried him outside. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t see their faces … I’m not sure they’re even human beings.”

“Just a second,” Saga says. She pulls out her phone. “You have to come with me and tell your story to a man named Jens Svanehjälm.”

Saga calls Carlos. Her hands shake.

“We have a witness! She saw Axel Riessen being kidnapped! We have a witness!” she repeats. “She saw Axel Riessen overpowered and taken away, and that should be enough.”

Saga and Beverly look at each other while Saga listens to Carlos’s reaction.

“Good,” she says. “We’ll be right in. You go get Svanehjälm. Make sure he prepares a statement for Europol.”

108

loyalty

Raphael Guidi is walking through the dining room carrying a black leather folder, which he sets down on the table and pushes toward Axel Riessen.

“Pontus Salman’s nightmare, as you perhaps already understand, was to be forced to harm his wife or his sister,” Guidi explains. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt the need to be so explicit before, but … how can I put this? Lately there have been people who thought they could escape their nightmares through suicide. Please don’t misunderstand me. Usually our plans go very well. We can all be civilized. I can be an extremely generous man to those who are loyal to me.”

“You’re threatening to hurt Beverly.”

“You can always choose someone else … perhaps choose between her and your younger brother, if you’d rather?” Raphael says nonchalantly as he sips his vitamin drink. He wipes his mouth and then turns to Peter and asks him to fetch his violin.

“Have I told you that I acquire only instruments played by Paganini?” he asks. “They are the only ones I care about. People say that Paganini hated the appearance of his face … I personally believe he sold his soul to the Devil so that others would worship him. He called himself an ape, but when he played, the women came crawling to him. It was worth the price. He would play and play so unbelievably that people said they could smell hellfire around him.”

Axel looks out the wide windows at water that now seems to barely move. He knows that if he turned and looked toward the foredeck he would see the helicopter that had brought him here. Axel’s thoughts avoid the appalling film he’s just seen and instead search for a way out of all of this.

He feels drained. He sits still and listens to Raphael, who goes on and on about violins, Stradivarius’s fixation on the clearest sound, the hardness of the wood, the slowly growing maple and spruce trees he chooses for his workshop.

Raphael stops and smiles his lifeless smile while he says, “As long as you are loyal to me, you will enjoy everything possible on one side of the scale. You will receive a healthy organ and you’ll sleep better than you ever have before. In return, I demand that you will never betray the contract we are about to sign.”

“And you just want the export form signed.”

“I shall have that no matter what. I don’t want to use force, or even kill you. That would be such a waste.” Guidi waves that away. “What I demand is—”

“My loyalty,” Axel states.

“Is that too much to ask?” Raphael asks. “Think it over for just a minute. Count all the people that you can rely on absolutely. The ones who you know would be entirely loyal to you.”

A long pause comes between them. Axel stares straight ahead.

With a sorrowful look, Raphael says, “Exactly.”

109

the contract

Axel opens the leather folder on the table. All the export documents are there. All the paperwork necessary to clear M/S
Icelus
from Gothenburg Harbor with its huge cargo of ammunition.

All that is missing is his signature.

Raphael Guidi’s son comes back into the room. His face is pale and withdrawn. He’s carrying a beautiful violin: a reddish brown instrument with a gently curved body. Axel recognizes an Amati immediately, and one in superb shape after so many years.

“I have already told you I demand certain music to accompany the deal we are about to make,” Raphael says softly. “This violin belonged to the boy’s mother … and much earlier, Niccolò Paganini played it.”

“It was fashioned in 1657,” Peter says. Absentmindedly he empties his pockets of his keys and cell phone as if to prepare for a great event. He discards them on the table before he puts the instrument to his shoulder.

The boy lays the bow gently on the strings, and soon he begins to play as if he is falling into a dream. Axel immediately recognizes the introduction to Paganini’s most famous piece: Caprice no. 24. It is considered the most difficult violin piece ever written. The boy plays like he’s swimming underwater; it moves much too slowly.

“Our contract would be very advantageous,” Raphael says.

It’s still light outside. The wide windows allow great light into the salon.

Axel thinks about Beverly and how she came to him and crept into his bed when he was in the psychiatric ward. She’d whispered,
I saw there was light in this room. You’re giving off light.

“Are you finished thinking it over?” Raphael demands.

Axel can’t bear to look at him. He looks down instead and picks up the pen from the table in front of him. He listens to his heart race. He tries to disguise his quickened breathing.

This time he can’t draw a cartoon figure saying “Hi!” He will be forced to sign his name and then pray to God that Raphael Guidi will be content and let him return to Sweden.

Axel feels the pen shake. He steadies one hand with the other, takes a deep breath, and puts the tip of the pen to the empty line on the contract.

“Wait one moment,” Raphael Guidi says abruptly. “Before you sign, I need to know that I own you … that I own your loyalty.”

Axel looks into Guidi’s eyes.

“If you are truly prepared to possibly reap your nightmare if our contract is broken, you must show your faith. You must demonstrate it by kissing my hand.”

“What?”

“We enter into a contract, do we not?”

“We do,” Axel replies.

“Then it will be sealed by a kiss on my hand,” Raphael says in a voice so twisted he could be the idiot in an ancient play.

Raphael’s son plays more and more slowly as he tries to force his fingers to obey. He awkwardly shifts position but stumbles during the rapid runs. He mangles the passage again and then he gives up.

“Continue,” Raphael demands without a glance his way.

“It’s too difficult. It doesn’t sound good.”

“Peter, it’s wrong to give up before you’ve really tried—”

“Then play it yourself,” his son says with a pout.

Raphael’s face stiffens so that his features are as hard as a rock formation.

“Do as I say,” he says with chilling calm.

The boy doesn’t move, just looks at the ground. Raphael’s right hand goes toward the chain on his gym shorts.

“Peter, I thought it sounded fine enough to continue,” Raphael says menacingly.

“The bridge is crooked,” Axel breaks in with a voice barely above a whisper.

Peter looks at the violin and blushes.

“Can you adjust it?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s easy enough, and I can do it for you if you want me to,” Axel says.

“Will it take a long time?” asks Raphael.

“No,” Axel says.

Axel puts down the pen and takes the violin from the boy. He turns it over and feels how light it is. He’s never held an Amati before, let alone one the master Paganini had played.

Raphael’s phone rings. He looks at it and then stands straight up while he listens.

“That can’t be true!” he’s exclaiming with a savage expression.

A twisted smile plays across his lips. He barks something to his bodyguards, and together they turn to head up the stairs.

Peter watches Axel loosen the strings. The violin creaks. The dry sound of Axel’s fingers brushing against the instrument vibrates through the sensitive sound box. Axel carefully adjusts the bridge a fraction and then tightens the strings again.

“Did that work?” asks Peter.

“Of course,” Axel says as he tunes the strings. “Try it now and see.”

“Thanks,” Peter says.

Axel is sharply aware of Peter’s cell phone on the table behind him as he says, “Start again. You’ve just finished the first run, and next comes the pizzicato movement.”

“I feel embarrassed,” Peter says, and turns away.

Axel leans back on the table, reaching behind him, finding the phone and trying to pick it up. It slides around a little on the smooth surface.

Peter has his back to Axel. He’s lifting the violin to his shoulder and setting the bow to the strings.

Axel manages to get the phone in his fingers and keeps it hidden in his hand as he moves slightly to one side.

Peter draws the bow in only one note. Then he stops. He turns around and looks past Axel.

“Hey, wasn’t my phone there?”

Axel lets the phone slide out of his hand before he turns and picks it up.

“Do I have any messages?” Peter asks.

Axel glances at the telephone. There is full coverage, even though they’re out at sea. He realizes that the ship must have satellite transmission.

“No messages,” he says, and puts the phone back down.

“Thanks.”

Axel remains next to the table as Peter begins again to play Caprice no. 24. It’s much too slow, and more and more out of rhythm.

Peter has some talent and it’s easy to tell he’s practiced a great deal, but this piece is beyond him. Still, the sound of the Amati is so wonderful that Axel would have enjoyed listening even if a small child plucked the strings.

Peter plows through the music but he’s finally so lost he stops. He tries again. Axel decides he will try for the phone again and saunters to one side. He doesn’t have enough time as Peter hits a false note, stops playing, and turns back to Axel.

“This is very hard,” he exclaims. But he’s ready to try again.

He starts, but it’s still all wrong.

“It’s not working,” he says as he lowers the violin.

“Keep your third finger on the A string. It’s easier to reach—”

“Can’t you just show me?”

Axel looks at the phone on the table. A reflection from the sun sparkles outside and Axel turns toward the panoramic window. The sea has become remarkably calm and smooth. He can hear thudding sounds from the engine room, a constant noise he’s surprised to notice now.

Peter hands Axel the violin. Axel puts it to his shoulder, tightens the bow slightly, and then starts the piece from the very beginning. Its flowing, sorrowful introduction pours at high speed into the room. The Amati’s voice is not strong, but it is wonderfully soft and clear. Paganini’s music sings out, circling in higher and higher reaches as one melody chases another.