Torsten Dahl book 1 - Stand Your Ground (23 page)

Vega opened his arms. “There you go. So Dahl dies, tonight. Agreed?”

Oh, of course, just let me pull his lily-white, Scandinavian arse out of my jacket pocket and we’re all done, you two-faced son-of-a-bitch.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I do believe we should get right to it.”

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Sealy protested with dull appreciation of the problem at hand. “This is the good shit, you know? The best shit on the island. I’ve come a long way from Long Bay, have I not? Ha ha. Drink up, gentlemen. To us!”

So Sealy was becoming drunker by the minute and Vega was having delusions of invincibility. The armed guards looked bored. Grant feigned another sip of bourbon, using the opportunity to check his watch.

The clock was ticking.

THIRTY NINE

Dahl turned off the reading light, allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and listened to the house, in particular the corridor outside. He’d thought about it a dozen ways and, yes, there was a way to get in that room. Not a particularly elegant way, but then his enemies would only be disappointed by refinement.

Most high-story burglaries and home invasions in New York City occurred only because people left their lofty windows open or unlocked. To exploit that weakness, thieves often came down from the roof.

It was similar here. Despite all the security, with its seemingly invulnerable top-floor setting, the library window was unlocked. Dahl took this as a good sign that the room next door would follow suit. He’d noted earlier that the Prime Minister’s residence had many windows overlooking narrow balconies. Dahl cracked the window, scanning the grounds as he worked. The pent-up anxieties of prowling through the old house manifested as stomach acid, making him pull a face but not stopping him from hanging his head out of the window, a blonde gargoyle seeking sanctuary. Sure enough, a balcony was affixed to the room next door. Good fortune. The downside was that it hung too far away to make the jump even reasonably possible. He’d be gambling with his life. To complicate matters, a pool of light flooded from the window, revealing that – like the library’s window – it lacked a covering.

Nobody said it’d be as easy as invading a small country. Get on with it. That guard could be awake by now.

Dahl stood back, refusing to give up, recognizing the chance that presented itself tonight, wondering if a more characteristic assault might actually be the way to go.

All in. Balls out. Head on. Brain off
.

That’s when another way presented itself and, as Dahl walked towards it, a plan B. He stripped the library’s small bed of sheets and the pillows of their cases, tied them all together with as much vigor as he could muster and returned to the window. Quickly, he extended one leg outside, then the other, now perching on the sill more than ten meters above the ground. This was no time to stop and admire the view, as the men stationed below would surely spot him. It was time to go ballistic. He attached one end of the knotted sheets to the radiator under the library window and pulled. Nothing moved.

He jumped out into empty space.

But not too far. Holding onto the improvised rope, he positioned himself with feet flat against the vertical wall and began to crab across to the next balcony. No shouts went up from below.

You see: luck evens out in the end.

Without exerting too much effort, Dahl reached the next balcony and pulled himself up to the railing. Quickly, he tied the sheet off so that it wouldn’t swing away, then hauled himself over, making sure he stayed out of the window’s direct line-of-sight. A fast glance showed a man standing, feet-apart, inside the window, staring into the room but blocking Dahl’s view.

That might actually work for me.

Dahl shifted down low and carefully peered between the guy’s open legs, quickly scanning the entire room. Not everything was visible, but the scene convinced him that it was now or never. Still, the spiky question remained:

How
?

It was a large room, inhabited by at least six guards, many more in the hallway through the door, and Dahl’s three targets. A cop stood among them too, a cartoon grin stretched across his face. Maybe the bastard was high.

Dahl withdrew, put his back to the wall, and thought about it. Years of training, hard drill and field experience flickered through his thoughts, helpful sparks in a conflagration of uncertainty, as time ticked away.

You have moments, not days. What would . . . what would . . .

“What would the Mad Swede do?” he asked aloud.

Yell ‘fuck it’ and charge, he knew. But that wasn’t the answer. In the end, the answer was easy and presented itself from unknown depths.

Easy.

You draw them out
.

FORTY

Johanna huddled with her children, Dario at their side. With time to catch up, to reflect, it was surprising to her that she fought against the new change in her, at least at first. After a moment she realized that this
new
Johanna now occupied the driving seat and she wanted to keep that Johanna for as long as her kids were in danger.

Sensible move. If today had taught her anything, it was that people could change. She’d do well to remember that when Torsten returned and, later, they got chance to discuss their marriage. This nightmare wasn’t over yet, though.

Dario nudged her, saying nothing. She raised her head from where she’d been nuzzling Isabella’s hair and listening to the quiet murmurs of her steady breathing. She followed Dario’s gaze along the beach and back towards the road, where buildings lined the boundary.

Shadows were abroad in the night, impossible to discern at this distance, but suspicious in the way they moved and crept in silence. This wasn’t a night to be rash. She untangled herself from her daughters and inched over to Dario.

“It’s them.”

“How do you know?”

Johanna shrugged, smiling quickly as Isabella raised a questioning head. “I don’t. But do you want to risk it?”

“I’m not sure what we can do. If we move we risk alerting them, and—” Dario paused as Johanna put a hand on his arm.

“I’ve been thinking about taking some initiative. Finding a cell or landline and calling up the cavalry. My husband’s colleagues,” she clarified. “If they don’t know where we are . . . what my husband’s doing . . .  We don’t want any ‘friendly-fire’ incidents.”

Dario nodded, but his face looked pale and drawn. “I’m not doing so well,” he murmured, pointing to his shoulder while also trying to keep the movement hidden. “This feels worse.”

Johanna squinted hard. “The bleeding hasn’t stopped,” she said. “Do you feel bad?”

“A little . . . woozy.”

“Shit,” Johanna murmured under her breath. The searchers had changed tack and were now skirting the rear of the buildings, heading toward them in a big loop. A decision had to be made, and she wished for a moment that Torsten were here to do it.
No
.
Don’t think that way.
She had to stay strong. This was a good hiding place, but it was also a discoverable one. Skimming through her earlier thoughts, it made sense to get away from what seemed to be a search that was closing in on them. Move away from here to make that communication to Dahl’s colleagues. For all their sakes.

That left Dario. She wouldn’t leave him or send him on his way. Instead, she leaned in until the cloying reek of fresh blood filled her nostrils and examined the bandage.

Soaked through. She was no nurse, but she thought a larger bandage, tied the same way, might help. The initial bandage would serve as packing. Turning, she shushed Julia’s protests and tore the sleeve away from her daughter’s thin cardigan. Then she silenced Dario with a look and wrapped the material tightly around the other bandage, pushing it hard against the wound.

“Pressure,” she explained in a whisper.

Dario bit his lip, piercing the skin and drawing blood.

“Don’t make a sound,” she said in his ear.

She wound it more tightly, twisting the ends, tourniquet-style, each small revolution compressing the wound until the old bandage could no longer be seen. Then she tied it off.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not great but it should help. And we’re about out of time.”

Dario nodded again, clearly suffering but already using the fence at his back to rise. Johanna did the same and helped her kids to their feet. As one, they melded with the darkness, wishing it would encompass them, bury them deep in its black maw. The searchers hadn’t roamed far, but were still advancing, as relentless as the approaching dawn. If they didn’t move now they would end up trapped with only the sea at their backs.

Johanna urged Dario ahead at a steady pace. They hugged the fence, aiming for an alley that speared through the buildings ahead. Essentially, Johanna thought, if they could escape detection as the searchers passed by and then return to the same spot they were home and dry. Safe. Not even these men had the resources to search everywhere twice.

And, using the time they had, she hoped to find a cell phone.

Their pace had to increase though, if they were to escape detection. Avoiding tufts of grass, heaps of garbage and treading the uneven sand didn’t help. Isabella fell once, but Johanna caught her and, with Julia’s help, managed to keep her from crying out.

Julia put a finger to her sister’s lips as tears welled. “It’s okay, little one. Be brave and follow me.”

Johanna found herself fighting tears too. Fear assaulted her gut like a trapped bird, fighting for release. But no, that was the one thing she couldn’t allow. She’d be signing four death warrants.

No. Five.

They crouched low. They forged ahead, not pausing to rest. They needed to change their situation – rather than leave anything to chance. Dario reached the edge of the beach first and paused.

Johanna gauged the hunters. They were still some way off, shrouded, but even the slightest noise might alert them out here. Nothing else stirred, nothing to help mask their presence. Johanna saw heads casting from side to side, arms holding the shapes of weapons. Her heart hammered. The sand slipped beneath her as she urged Isabella and Julia forward, straight into the alley. Dario waited until Johanna passed and then joined them.

“Quickly,” he urged. “Watch the floor.”

Johanna moved ahead, treading lightly but swiftly now, trying to get out of range. Something rustled among garbage to her right as she scooted by. It was only a matter of minutes before she heard a yell at their backs.

“Hey! Thought I heard something down here.”

She froze, then herded everyone against the dank, high wall, crouching down to take advantage of the deeper darkness at ground level.

Flashlights cut a swathe towards them. Huge shadow-figures lumbered behind them.

“See anything?” a guttural voice asked.

“Nah . . . oh, wait.”

The beams joined. A hammer clicked. A stick-thin cat, disturbed by the bright light, dashed away, a dead rat dangling from its mouth. Laughter filled the alley.

Rough words were passed, and finally a man said: “You scare like a girl, mon. Come on, we got work to do.”

Johanna let out a deep breath as the men moved on, but didn’t stand on ceremony. They had ridden their luck there, just a little.

“Nasty kitty,” Isabella said.

Johanna had to agree, but it was certainly a survivor. Like them. That, she could respect.

She led them further though the narrow darkness until they approached its far end. Once there, she stopped and viewed the way ahead as best she could without revealing any part of her body.

Traveling on the winds came the beating sound of carnival, the whoops of laughter and cries of surprise. The party was still going, still flamboyantly loud. Closer, she heard the rattle of a can skimming along the road, the tap-tap of branches knocking against a window. There were no people around – tourist, locals, or cops. Everyone either seemed to be attending the parade or already wrapped up in bed.

But another idea had occurred to her. This was largely a business district, interspersed with a few pubs and civilian homes. If she couldn’t pickpocket a resident and be sure to get away with it, surely she could find a quiet, working landline.

She saw an abundance of square-shaped opportunities, some with rusted bars on the windows and others with enormous padlocks hanging from flimsy looking doors. Another problem struck her.
I can’t leave the kids, even with Dario.

The mere concept was as alien as a flying saucer. She eyed the alleyway behind them. It stood perfectly quiet now and offered a path of refuge back to the beach. They would have to hurry.

“Take this,” she stooped down and handed Dario a large piece of ragged masonry.

“Why?”

She gestured across the street, at the small building with the lightest padlock. “We need to use their phone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dario shifted uncomfortably, holding the shoulder wound tenderly.

“I won’t let my husband down.” Johanna said. “I may . . . may . . .” She didn’t add ‘never see him again’ for the sake of the kids.

“How can this help?” Dario didn’t look convinced.

“We warn the incoming team. Tell them where Torsten is. Where we are. You don’t want to get shot by our saviors do you? We find out how much longer we have to wait.”

“Well, that sounds sensible actually. All right, give me a minute.”

Dario steeled himself, checked the vicinity, and then marched quickly across the road. As he paused by the padlock, Johanna took hold of the girls’ hands and pulled them along with her. It was both a blessing and a curse that they’d passed that point of exhaustion now, and gave no voice of complaint.

Dario smashed the lock. Johanna cast glances in every direction. No alarm sounded, but she hadn’t imagined it would in this poorer part of town. The door led to an office, which housed an untidy desk. Dario pointed at the large piece of black plastic.