Ryker awoke five minutes before his alarm went off. Before anything else, he rose from the bed and edged over to the window. Daylight wouldn’t arrive for some time, and the dark street outside was quiet and serene.
His eyes rested on the police car, right outside the entrance. From the angle, he couldn’t tell whether it was Pettersen’s car or some other colleague who’d taken over in the intervening small hours of the night. Either way, Ryker was less than impressed. He showered and dressed and packed his things and headed down. No sign of Henrik, the manager, on the ground floor. No sign of anyone at all. Ryker let himself out.
He walked over to the police car. Sure enough, it was Pettersen. She was behind the wheel, although her chair was reclined and her head was laid back, her eyes closed.
He could just walk away…
He knocked on the glass. She jumped to attention. Looked more than a little embarrassed. She wiped at her mouth then fumbled with the buttons to eventually roll the window down.
‘You could have just slept in your bed,’ Ryker said.
She glanced at the dashboard.
‘You’re up early,’ she said.
‘Seemed a shame to wake you.’
‘Why did you?’
‘I thought it was unfair to slink off when you’ve put so much effort into keeping an eye on me.’
She glanced at his shoulder. His bag.
‘You told me not to stay another night,’ he explained as if an explanation was needed.
‘I didn’t think you’d listen.’
‘Made all the more clear by you still being here.’
‘So you’re really leaving?’
He sensed a slight disappointment in her manner and tone.
‘Any tips on where I should go next?’ Ryker asked.
‘North or south?’
‘Either.’
She squirmed in her seat – her best attempt at stretching in the confined space.
‘I’m off shift at eight. You want breakfast? I’ll tell you everything I know about my country.’
An interesting proposition. And he rarely turned down an invitation for food, but…
‘Another time,’ he said, straightening up. ‘See you around, Inspector.’
He walked over to his Volvo. No doubt she’d follow him out of town, to make sure he really was leaving. Fine by him.
After all, it was early. He’d be back soon enough.
* * *
Midday had come and gone as Ryker once again approached Blodstein from the south. Hours of driving had taken its toll. More than anything he was bored. Had it all been a waste of time? Possibly. But at least, for now, he should be able to travel a little more freely given his departure from town, and his emergence in a different car. The newly rented Ford was a step up from the Volvo he’d handed back in Trondheim. Bigger, roomier, and more of a fit with the other cars he’d seen around the remote area – plus, the car had no insignia anywhere on its body showing it was a rental. Of course, the simple deception likely wouldn’t last long, but he had no tail on him now, and if he kept his trail clean, he could start to find some real answers without worrying about being thrown in a cell.
He didn’t go straight into Blodstein, even if he could have used the rest. Instead, he took the penultimate turning on the right before he hit the town, carried on down the track, and pulled into the same spot in the forest as the previous day. All was quiet, at least from what he could see and hear from inside the cabin.
He shivered as he got out of the car. With a miserable, overcast sky above, and sleety, wispy snow filling the air, the temperature was several degrees below freezing. Ryker hunched down in his coat and headed off into the forest, trudging across the soggy undergrowth toward the house. He moved over the rise and paused – as he had done the previous day – to look down at the house.
All quiet. A virtually identical scene to the day before. Except for one big difference. The Nissan pickup truck was parked in the clearing.
Ryker had a balaclava in his pocket. He thought about putting it on. But was there really any point? He hated the things, always felt suffocated by them – not least because they reminded him of the sacks and other garments that had been forcibly pulled over his head on the many occasions he’d suffered torture – but he had to admit that the prospect of the extra warmth appealed.
He didn’t bother. He was happy to stand face-to-face with whoever was down there.
He moved with caution, heading a little deeper into the forest than the last time to approach the house from the back. Other than the Nissan, he saw no sign of life at the house at all. From this angle, he could see a steel vent rising from the roof, most likely from a boiler, though no visible gases plumed out of the top.
He reached the final tree before the clearing and stopped. Looked around for a couple of minutes. Spotted one, two, security cameras, though they were each facing near side-on to the building, to capture the immediate perimeter, and he was sure he wasn’t in view of either. If he was to get any closer, though, he would be.
But then, was there really someone inside, sitting at a little monitor watching security footage in real-time all day? Highly unlikely, and if there was, that only made Ryker all the more determined to find out why.
Time to move.
He slipped out from behind the tree, and as softly as he could he padded across the sloppy mud of the clearing to the back corner of the property where the large decking area stretched out.
The building had a window a few yards on either side of the corner, and a back door. Ryker edged left first, across the side of the house, to the window there. He sneaked a peek. Then took a longer look. The glass was so grimy – green sludge from years of weathering covered the outside – that he could barely make out a thing of what lay beyond. Whatever it was, it was a small, closed-off room, he decided, with no other natural light coming into there.
He moved around the corner, onto the decking, to the next window. Boarded up from the inside. Not helpful at all.
But as he held his breath for a moment he did hear something beyond the thin wood-clad walls. Light thudding… Someone walking. Getting louder…
The back door, only yards from Ryker, swung open. He rushed back as quickly as he could, around the corner. He pressed himself up against the wall. He’d been quick, but he couldn’t be sure if he’d been seen or not. Perhaps someone had seen him on the camera feed after all?
Footsteps on the deck. Just one person. They stopped moving. Still no indication that they’d been alerted by Ryker’s presence.
He waited, his breathing calm and slow and silent. The person – a man – mumbled, but he was only talking to himself. Ryker heard a fizzle and then the man let out a long exhale. Smoking?
More mumbling, then a few footsteps before the door banged shut once more.
Ryker waited a moment in the silence before he leaned forward to steal a glance around the corner…
‘Asshole.’
A calm and confident insult delivered by the man standing right there at the corner. The wiry man from the Nissan. A snarl on his face. A bat in his hand. The bat arced toward Ryker’s head.
He ducked, stepped left. The bat smashed into the side of the house. Ryker bunched his fist and pounded it into the man’s side. The guy groaned in pain. Ryker grabbed the end of the bat with his good hand, used the elbow of his other arm to swipe down against the man’s wrist to prize his grip from the wood.
Ryker lifted the bat and pulled it up against the man’s windpipe. He pulled tight. The man coughed and spluttered and Ryker squeezed harder still to force him to the ground, himself taking a knee in the process. The man clawed at the wood. Clawed at Ryker’s hands and arms as he rasped and gasped. Ryker let go of the bat and tossed it, immediately snaking an arm around the man’s neck. Just as much grip, one less hand needed, which was good for two reasons. One, it meant he didn’t have to strain with his still bandaged hand. Two, it freed that hand up to check the man’s pockets. Keys. Phone. E-cig. No weapons.
The back door opened again. Another man stepped out. Another man Ryker recognized. The second, bulkier man from the Nissan. Ryker removed his arm, rose, and raced forward. The man spotted him. Shock was the first expression to register on his face. Ryker lunged forward, feet first, slid across the greasy deck, right into the man’s legs. He caved. Ryker bounced up, both men righted themselves, moved together at the far end of the deck, squaring up for a further attack.
‘We don’t have to do this,’ Ryker said, looking from the men to the open doorway he was standing by.
A dark corridor. It was difficult to make out much more inside. Who else was in there?
The two men muttered in Norwegian.
Movement inside. Ryker could hear the soft padding of feet, but could still see nothing in the gloomy interior.
‘Who’s in there?’ Ryker asked. No answer. ‘The boy? Henrik?’ The two men looked at one another. One remained glaring, but the other, the bigger and nastier-looking of the two, broke out into a smile.
‘Is he in there?’ Ryker asked.
The smiling man didn’t answer Ryker but shouted out, looking at the house as he did so. Ryker didn’t understand a word of what he said. But the sound of movement inside ramped up. Ryker instinctively stepped back from the doorway, giving himself extra room to move. The two men remained on the far side of the deck, both at the ready. Ryker could quite easily fell them, though he was much more interested in what was about to come out from the inside, which was where his eyes rested.
Movement to his right. Ryker whipped his eyes that way. It was the smiling man, crouching to pick up the fallen bat. His friend half-stepped forward to protect him while he was prone on the ground. Ryker left them. A bat didn’t worry him too much.
When he looked back at the doorway his heart bounced in his chest when he saw the tall, silhouetted figure moving forward. Ryker tensed, another half step back, away from the door. A man’s shout from within.
‘He says to keep calm,’ Smiler said, off to Ryker’s left. ‘No one will be hurt.’
Ryker said nothing. Slowly, the figure moved closer to the door. As the dim natural light finally hit his form, Ryker inhaled sharply. It wasn’t just a third man – Erling, no less – but the boy. Walking in front of Erling, his eyes, his every movement, were nervous and jittery.
‘You again?’ Erling said when he and the boy were standing on the deck. Henrik was close to him, hands by his sides. Erling’s arms were down by his sides too, his hands out of sight behind the boy’s back. Was he holding a weapon there?
‘Henrik?’ Ryker asked, holding his eyes on the boy, and the boy only.
A short pause before the boy nodded.
‘He’s my son,’ Erling said. ‘You’re scaring him.’
Ryker flicked his gaze to Erling and back to Henrik. No reaction to the man’s words on the boy’s face.
‘You’re scaring him,’ Erling said again. ‘He doesn’t know why you’re here to hurt us.’
‘Hurt you?’ Ryker said, his focus on Henrik still. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘Then you should go,’ Erling said. ‘The police are already coming.’
Ryker looked over each of the men now, a sliver of doubt creeping in. Could the explanation really be so simple? And what of the threat of the police? Ryker had already had more than one let-off with them. So, too, had these men, that was for sure, after the stunt that Erling had pulled the previous day at the bar. The conversation with Pettersen from the night rattled in Ryker’s mind, about his ‘style’ of investigation. Was Ryker really in the wrong here?
‘You want me to go?’ Ryker asked Henrik.
Henrik didn’t answer at first. Instead, he glanced over at the two men.
‘Henrik. Look at me, not them,’ Ryker said. ‘Do you want me to go?’
His youthful face quivered like he couldn’t choose the answer. Surely if anything Erling had said was true, then the answer would have been simple.
The uncertainty on Henrik’s face turned to a nod.
‘See,’ Erling said.
Ryker wasn’t sure he did.
‘How about I call Inspector Pettersen,’ Ryker said. He reached into his pocket. The man with the bat jumped forward a step then stopped – a warning, nothing more.
‘I’m just going for my phone,’ Ryker assured him. ‘I’m not armed. But I’m sure Pettersen would be interested to know Henrik is safe and well. She was concerned when I told her about the accident yesterday.’
Erling’s face remained screwed up in anger – his resting face, perhaps. Ryker had certainly seen that look on him more than any other. Henrik looked more petrified than ever. He breathed heavily as though he could sense a fight looming.
Ryker’s fingers reached inside his pocket. He grasped the phone. Had nearly pulled it out…
‘Don’t.’ The man with the bat. ‘Put it down and take your hand out. Now.’
Ryker paused. ‘You don’t want me to call the police?’
No answer.
‘Now why would that be?’
‘Put the phone down.’
Ryker pulled his hand free. Still holding on to the phone.
‘Oops,’ he said.
The two men charged him. Henrik screamed when Erling grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. Erling’s other hand came into view. Knife. Erling dragged Henrik back toward the house as the boy squirmed and moaned. Ryker wanted to go after him…
He could do nothing but duck and bring up his arm to protect himself from the swinging bat. The wood crashed into his forearm, sending a shudder of pain through his bones. He lashed out with his fist, catching the now not-so-smiley man in his groin. A cheap shot. Ryker couldn’t care less. He leaped up, forearm pulled back, his injured hand close to his chin, the elbow pointed out and upward. A horrific crack sounded as the elbow connected under the man’s jaw. His head jerked back and he tumbled to the deck. Ryker drove forward with a knee to the groin of Bat-man. Another. Another. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, thrust him up against the wall of the house, and delivered one last ferocious blow with his knee, grinding the joint into the man’s already pounded flesh.
Ryker let go and the guy crumpled to the deck, face creased, tears streaming as he clutched at whatever was left of his manhood.
A scream – Henrik – and a shout – Erling – from inside the house. Ryker raced over just as Henrik bounded out of the open door. Blood dripped down his chin.
‘Henrik!’
Ryker reached out for him, but Henrik shrugged him off and the next second the huge Erling bulldozed him to the ground, the force of the hit like a juggernaut. Ryker crashed to the decking, the air pushed from his lungs. Erling landed on top. Thumped his fists into Ryker’s sides.
Ryker twisted his neck to see Henrik rushing toward the trees.
‘Henrik, no!’
Ryker winced when a fist caught him in the jaw. Blood dribbled down his chin. But when he saw the balled fist coming his way again, he realized the blood was from Erling’s hand. Henrik had bitten him?
Ryker blocked the fist but took another to the side. Erling was big, in all likelihood stronger, but Ryker wasn’t going to lie and take the blows. With Erling acting with fury and intent on punishing, Ryker reached up and sank his jaws into Erling’s upper arm – a sweet spot of nerves between the biceps and triceps. Erling squirmed and squealed like a pig. Ryker held on until the big man’s strength faded, then he let go and shoved Erling away and slid out from underneath.
Ryker jumped to his feet, fighting through the fog in his head and the aches in his body as much as he could. A heel to the back of Erling’s head kept him down on the ground. The other two men were fighting through their own pain. For now, the ruckus was over, but before long all three would be up and fighting.
‘Henrik!’ Ryker shouted out, looking to the spot in the forest where Henrik had gone – the opposite direction to where Ryker’s car was parked. No sign of the boy now.
Ryker set off for the trees.
‘Henrik!’ he shouted once more, but by the time the house had faded into the distance behind him, he decided to keep his mouth shut. No point in drawing the others in.
Ryker moved as quickly as he could, looking back every other step to check for a chasing pack. Where had the boy gone? He knew from looking at satellite images that there was nothing out in this direction for miles around.
After moving for several minutes, Ryker stopped. He spun around on the spot, eyes darting. Nothing around him but trees and ice-cold air.
SNAP.
Off to his left. Ryker crouched and spun again.
A squirrel was four yards away, perched on its hind legs, staring at Ryker as though curious at the imposter.
SNAP.
Ryker spun again. Not a squirrel this time, but… What was it? He could see nothing.
‘Henrik?’ Ryker asked, quietly, hopefully.
No response.
Ryker looked back the way he’d come. At least the way he thought he’d come. He could see nothing but dense trees in every direction, and with the overcast sky hiding the sun, it was nearly impossible to determine direction.
He shivered. How long would the teenager last out here on his own? Ryker, well-trained in the past for surviving such inhospitable climates, was positive he could make it several days, far longer if he could source – forage or scavenge – food, but a youngster on his own?
Memories swam in Ryker’s mind. Some of his worst. Of being alone, abandoned in the cold. He felt for Henrik… But if he didn’t want to be found, what was Ryker supposed to do?
The sound of a not-too-distant siren hung in the air. Coming from behind him.
Police. They were after Ryker, no doubt. Most likely Wold, if Erling and his men had made the call.
What about Pettersen? In theory, alerting the police, having a rescue party, was the best bet for anyone finding Henrik, though Ryker had no clue who he could trust.
One thing he did know was he saw little point in traipsing aimlessly through the cold, particularly when he had Erling and his gang – plus the police – on his tail and all wanting his blood.
Ryker hung his head. Then, from out of the trees in front of him…
‘Mister,’ Henrik said, slinking into view. His cheeks were red from exertion, but without a coat on he shivered violently, his arms cradled to his chest. ‘Mister, you’ll help me?’
Ryker nodded. ‘Yes. I will.’