Absolution: A Legendary Adventure Thriller Page 14

  Early morning light filtered in through the glass, giving that side of the room an ethereal glow. In the alcove hung three cages, each with chirping canaries inside—two yellow on either side with a tiny pink bird in the centre.

  Ivan hobbled over to the desk and waved them in behind him. “It’s not much, but it's home,” he said in deep gnarled English.

  “You’re interested in ornithology?” Yuriko asked, her voice wavering despite her best attempts to sound confident. Ivan followed her gaze towards the birds.

  “An old man needs some companionship. Birds are less trouble than people. They don’t ask as many stupid questions.”

  Rick tried to stifle his smirk while Ivan pulled out a desk chair from behind the console and lowered himself down. “Now why exactly did you two come banging on my door this morning? Don’t you know an old man needs his rest?”

  “A friend told me you could help us,” Rick said.

  “I don’t have any friends,” he grunted. “How did you find me? The Russian government can’t do it but the pair of you can?”

  “Digital record, we tracked you down online,” Yuriko said.

  “Liar.” Ivan pointed to a stack of flashing lights housed in the rack unit. “I have enough signal jamming equipment in here to hide a fucking nuclear submarine.”

  The old man slipped an eight-inch Bowie knife from his belt, one side of the weapon was razor sharp and tapered into a brutal point, while the other side was serrated with grey teeth. Ivan idly flicked it through his fingers as he thought, like a normal human being might do with a pen. After a couple seconds he continued.

  “Now, my job isn't asking questions. I provide a service, so if you have money, we can make a deal but if I suspect even for a second you are planning to fuck me, I will slit your throats like pigs, got it?” He mimed the action of a horizontal cut at neck height with his right hand, while his left covered the imaginary mouth, silencing the screams.

  It was enough to convince Rick that the mad bastard had more than likely done the action in reality; either way, he sure as hell didn’t want to find out.

  “We understand,” Yuriko said, trying to control her shaking hands as she laid the wad of cash she’d shown him at the door on the desk and slid it across.

  “I’m listening,” Ivan said. She then unfolded a scrap of paper that Rick had torn from a notebook in the guesthouse lobby and hastily scrawled Thyos’s list of demands upon.

  There was undoubtedly a look of interest on Ivan’s face as he eyeballed the list. Eventually, the Russian slapped it down beside his computer monitor and sat back on the chair, thudding his heavy army boots up on the edge of the bed.

  “That’s quite the order.” Ivan smiled, again revealing his handful of silver and dark yellow teeth. “What kind of timeframe are we looking at?”

  “We need them today.”

  “Today?” Ivan’s laugh boomed, “Do you think I just pick these things up at the supermarket?”

  “I heard you were the type of guy who could get anything,” Rick said.

  “You heard right.”

  “Well then what’s so hard about a couple of guns and passports?”

  “I never say I couldn’t do it,” Ivan growled. “But it’ll cost you… I want thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty-five. Upfront.”

  “We don’t have that kind of-,” Yuriko said.

  “-I can get you it,” Rick cut in, “But I need your computer and a few minutes without the signal being jammed.”

  “What are you doing?” She whispered, trying not to make it too obvious he was improvising.

  “Trust me. I’ve got an idea.”

  The big man showed Rick to the workstation and rummaged around in the drawer at his side for a minute. The old man then produced a slip of paper and slapped it down on the desk. There were six seemingly random names and account numbers written on it, some men, some women, some Russian, some Chinese, probably all different aliases for the paranoid Russian.

  “Make sure you split it too, not all into a single account,” Ivan said, “I don’t want nothing being traced back here.”

  “Okay. Not a problem,” Rick replied.

  “When I flick this switch, you’ve got twelve minutes, before the signal jammer reboots.”

  Ivan raised his thumb to the glowing red power button behind the rack of electronic equipment and pressed it. The whirring fans slowed and one by one the LEDs disappeared. Finally, there was silence. The only light was the glow of morning sun, broken occasionally by the odd commuter passing over the glass.

  Rick reached his hand down for the relic. He had no idea if his plan would work but couldn’t think of any good reason why not. He muttered a few words under his breath, hoping it looked as though he was simply talking to himself.

  As Thyos’s familiar voice returned to his head, Rick almost shouted with joy, she always came through when he needed her most.

  Ten seconds later, he was furiously typing a long series of numbers and commands into the keyboard, exactly as instructed. In total it took eight minutes until all of the transactions were accepted. Rick tilted back on the chair and smiled to himself, momentarily basking in the genius of his own plan.

  Ivan leaned in, almost gassing Rick with the overwhelming stench of sweat and stale vodka. A few seconds passed as he scanned through the windows. Then a grin broke through the deep wrinkles on his face.

  Without a word, Ivan stood up and hobbled over to the right-hand corner of the room, opposite the alcove. From the top of a dusty wooden shelf, he pulled out one of several huge glass jars and three dirty plastic cups. He dropped the cups down onto the surface of the desk and filled each nearly to the brim with clear liquid.

  “In Russia, no deal is complete until you drink vodka together.”

  Ivan slid one of the cups into Rick’s hand and turned, passing another over to Yuriko. “To wealth,” he clacked their cups together and drained his in a single gulp. Rick poured the liquid down his throat, it burned like fire and tasted like pure gasoline but certainly took the edge off his nerves.

  Yuriko sipped her drink and leaned in close towards Rick, trying to hide her virtually full cup behind his body.

  Ivan heaved himself up onto his feet. “You two can stay here. There’s food on the shelf.” He waved over towards where he’d found the vodka. “I’ll be back later tonight with the goods. Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, if this place is found I’ll be facing the fucking Gulag.”

  The moment Ivan was out of earshot, Yuriko spun towards Rick, an incredulous look on her face. “How did you just do that?”

  “I didn’t,” he whispered. “Well not really anyway. Thyos just had me hack the bank system and transfer him what he asked for. It’ll take them a few days before they figure it out and reclaim the money, if he hasn’t blown it all on vodka and hookers by then that is.”

  “I can’t tell if I should be impressed or angry. What do you think he’s going to do when he realises we tricked him?”

  It was hard not to smile, somehow the bleakness ahead made it even more funny. He put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m pretty sure, some psycho Spetsnaz guy is going to be the least of our troubles by then.”

  26

  A red glow was filtering in through the glass walkway and filling the room when Rick awoke. He rubbed his groggy eyes with his fingers, trying to figure out what time of day it was.

  He leaned over to get a look at the computer monitor and the floating clock that bounced around the screen. Wow, nearly eight hours had passed. Yuriko was curled up on the far side of the bed in a neat little ball like a hibernating squirrel. She was an odd one, definitely not the sort of person he would have chosen to spend this time with but equally, he could have got stuck with someone a lot worse. Rick imagined hiding out in the love hotel with Ivan. That would have been the stuff of nightmares.

  Within five minutes, the setting twilight sun had vanished and the room was
lit only by a desk lamp that cast an eerie orange bubble around the console.

  A growl in his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth kickstarted Rick into a search for food and water. On the shelf to the right of the door, next to where Ivan kept his flagon of moonshine, was a stack of cans and foil packets. Judging by the dark green vacuum packed wrapping they were mostly military rations.

  Reaching for a random yellow can with Квас written on the front, Rick spun it around to see an English translation on the front, Kvass. None the wiser, he cracked it open and took a swig. The can contained some kind of malt drink, the flavour was like a mixture of Coke and soy sauce but he was grateful for the fluids all the same.

  Hoping to take the taste from his mouth once the can was finished, Rick picked up one of the foil packets named ‘beef-rice’ and ripped the top off. He squeezed the goop out bit by bit, like he was eating it from a tube of toothpaste.

  After paying Ivan twenty-five grand earlier today, Rick figured he was probably owed a good meal. Unfortunately, this was shaping up to be both one of the most expensive and most disgusting of his life.

  A metallic clunk from the cage echoed down the hallway, followed by footsteps a second later. Quickly, Rick funnelled the last of the dubious food into his mouth and shoved the packet under the bed. He was about to slide under himself as a precaution, when he twigged the one-two shuffle of the semi-disabled old man and realised they were safe.

  Ivan creaked back the wooden door of the basement. “I’ve got your stuff,” he grunted, looking strangely happy about it. “I also found a pilot crazy enough to fly you down through Chinese airspace.”

  Ivan swung a dark green, military-style backpack down off his shoulders, hobbled to the desk and slumped down on the swivel chair, grunting as he went.

  After a short rest, the Russian lifted the bag up onto his lap, unzipping it to reveal a few cans of food, bottles of water and a plastic wallet containing a pair of red passports. He fished out the documents and flicked open the photo pages; both of them bore a passing resemblance to Rick and Yuriko. Neither of the images were exactly perfect but they might be enough to get by, as long as no one asked him any questions in his supposed native tongue at least.

  Ivan slid them back into the bag, then pulled out a matte-black pistol with a textured grip and handed it to Rick, who nearly dropped the weapon under its weight. He’d never even held a gun that wasn’t an antique before and was surprised to find he strangely enjoyed the feeling of power that came with it.

  “GSH-18 9mm,” Ivan said, “Soviet piece of shit. Prone to jamming and backfires but holds eighteen rounds and packs a punch. This stuff was not easy to get at such short notice. What do you need it for anyway? You terrorists?”

  “No. We’re wrongly accused.”

  “Right,” Ivan winked. “Just like all of them. Well, if you run into any trouble on your trip, just make sure you never mention my name.” He pulled Rick in with a heavy hand round the back of his neck until their heads were nearly touching and hissed, “I do not forget when people try to fuck me.”

  “Of course.” Rick twisted free of the grip on his neck and offered a nervous smile.

  Ivan held out a palm. “The gun?”

  “Oh right.”

  The Russian took the weapon back, flicked the safety catch on and dropped it in the bag along with the passports, then slid the lot under the edge of the bed with his good leg.

  “Now, don’t eat that old shit,” he said, eyeing the foil packet on the floor. “I’ve got some real food through here.”

  Ivan stood and gestured for Rick to lead the way back down the corridor. There was another door, about halfway between the bedroom and the gate, that they hadn’t seen inside. Assuming it must be the kitchen, he walked on with the limping Russian a step or two behind him.

  “So, the Jap’, she your girlfriend?”

  “No. We’re not like that,” Rick said quickly, surprising himself a little with his own knee-jerk reaction. “Besides, I think the less you know about us the better.”

  Ivan grunted in response. “How’d you end up here with her then anyway?” his voice dropped, “Between you and me, I always wanted to try one.” He slapped Rick on the back and laughed, his booming voice filled the hallway.

  “How’d you know she was Japanese?” It was possible the old man could have guessed from her appearance, her subtle accent or the way she held herself, but something in the back of Rick’s head was screaming otherwise. He could now sense Ivan’s presence close to his rear, too close.

  “Lucky guess. It’s a Jap’ name isn’t it?”

  “Hmmm,” the old man reached past Rick for the handle and opened the door. Did Yuriko even say her name? He honestly couldn’t remember.

  The air inside was cold on his face and had the acidic aroma of fungus. “The lights are on the left.”

  Rick’s hand ran over a portion of the cold damp stone for half a second before it clicked that this was definitely not a kitchen.

  The moment of panic didn’t last long. A thick, hairy arm snaked around his neck. It tightened like a python squeezing the life out of him. Rick struggled, trying to force his fingertips between the Russian’s limb and his throat but there wasn't so much as a hair’s width of space.

  “Relax,” Ivan hissed in his ear. “I don’t want you to wake the girl till I’m ready for her.”

  Rick clawed behind his head at the old man’s face, frantically searching for an eye or windpipe, anything he could gouge. But with each passing moment, the strength melted away from his arms until they were as good as useless. He felt the relic out from the back of his waistband. Why? How?

  “I warned you what happens when people try to fuck me,” Ivan growled.

  Ric’s desperation for oxygen was soon replaced by sparks of exploding light across his vision and the room started to spin. He tried to shout, but nothing came out. Finally, the world fell into darkness.

  27

  Cold, wet stone pressed against Rick’s face. The stink of mould and fetid rat piss rising up from the floor was so thick he could taste it. The only light was a weak sliver of white that crept in from beneath the door. A jolt of rage kicked in his chest. Ivan.

  Rick’s ankles were tied together and his hands bound tight behind his back, trapped like a pig on a spit.

  Trying to wrench his wrists apart, Rick noticed a slight give and sticky texture on his skin and concluded he was tied with gaffer tape rather than rope. Is that a good or bad thing? He’d only ever been tied up once before in his adult life, that was in the first few weeks he’d been going out with Sarah and it hadn’t exactly been the kind of experience he’d wanted to escape from.

  Hoping to work a hand free, Rick struggled and squirmed until a sound outside froze him solid. An agonizing scream reverberated through the prison-like basement. Yuriko’s voice was filled with fear and pain but her shouts were cut short by a sickening gurgling sound. He thrashed with rage, straining against the bonds around his ankles and wrists imagining her choking on mouthfuls of blood as Ivan beat her to a pulp.

  After what seemed like another eternity of listening to his friend’s tormented screams, it was clear that this approach was getting him nowhere. He’d never felt so utterly powerless and impotent as he did right then.

  With his eyes closed, Rick took a deep breath and tried to calm his frantic thoughts. Scanning around in the darkness, he tried to conjure up what little he could recall of the room from before he was choked out.

  From flat on his face, Rick rolled awkwardly onto his back, tucked his legs into his chest and rocked forwards and backwards. His wrists and forearms were being crushed with each movement but he ignored the pain and eventually gathered enough momentum to swing up onto his feet.

  Yuriko’s tortured wailing had fallen eerily silent.

  Rick hopped over to the left of the door and using the only tool at his disposal, he ran his forehead across the wall until he found a panel of switches. He then headbutted blindly
at the sharp plastic until a fluorescent bulb sprang to life at the far end of the room. It flickered on and off, once every couple of seconds or so, but the intermittent light was more than enough to give him a good grasp of the layout.

  The room was just filled with piles of old junk, suitcases, bin bags of clothes, all covered in a thick layer of mould, and nothing much else. It conjured up memories of Buffalo Bill’s basement in Silence of the Lambs, although in reality that would have probably been preferable to the one where he was stuck now. At least Buffalo Bill wasn’t a six-foot-five former special-ops soldier.

  In one corner Rick saw a rusty old cooker. He bounced over, turned his back to the appliance and ran his fingers across every inch of its surface hoping to find an edge sharp enough to cut his bonds.

  On the bottom of the cooker tucked against the wall, he caught the top of his hand on a razor-sharp rusted corner. It split his flesh instantly and he yelped in a combination of shock and pain. Idiot!

  Had Ivan heard? The entire basement was like an amplifier, reverberating every sound off its stone walls and throwing them around. He must have.

  Dropping all the way down to his knees, Rick twisted his trunk until his wrists were parallel to the jagged edge. He ground his hands up and down, wrenching them apart, trying to keep the tension on the tape.

  Layer by layer, it began to give. Rick felt a pop as each one severed, while Ivan’s half-crippled shuffle approached from the corridor.

  His forearms were on fire. Another layer pinged free. His captor coughed just behind the door. Just five more seconds. Please?

  The final layer sprang free. Rick scratched desperately at the tape around his ankles, his clumsy fingers longing to find an edge.

  The door swung open and Ivan squinted into the darkness where he expected to find his prisoner, as his eyes adjusted.