Two choices rumbled in Ryker’s mind: head straight for Trondheim, or take the short detour into the forest to find his rented car.
Curiosity won out over caution. He made the turn. Headed along the track, moving slowly, headlights off so he could watch the forest around him for any signs of light or life. With only dull moonlight coming from above, Ryker felt Henrik’s increased tension as they moved through the darkness.
Ryker pulled off the road. Stopped the car ten yards from his rental. Even in the night, it wasn’t hard to realize he was looking at a burned-out shell. Not good. It wasn’t that the possessions in the car were irreplaceable, but the fact that those possessions were now in the hands of his enemies.
‘We should go,’ Henrik said, fear in his voice.
Ryker thought about getting out and taking a closer look… No. What would be the point? He flicked his gaze from the car to the trees behind it. Had he seen movement there? A flash of light? Phone screen perhaps?
Nothing there now.
He could go and check…
Once again the answer was no. Keeping Henrik safe, and getting them both away from there, remained the first priority. His eyes never leaving that spot in the woods, Ryker put the car into reverse and backed out to the road.
* * *
The journey to Trondheim was long but hassle-free. Unexpectedly so. Ryker had been well prepared for a chase. A police car, or Erling and his gang, on his tail, chasing him and Henrik down. Or a roadblock, even. After all, Ryker and Henrik had broken into a house, stolen a car. Both the wrong side and the right side of the law were looking for them now.
Somehow none of that happened. It was gone 8 p.m. when they passed by a road sign marking the edge of the city. Residential streets came soon after.
‘I could take you to the police here,’ Ryker said.
‘No.’
They’d chatted little on the journey, but they’d had this conversation already. Henrik didn’t want the police involved. He only wanted to be taken to people he knew. Not his foster parents, but friends. People he trusted who would keep him safe. He’d explained little of what he meant by that, though Ryker understood his point, particularly given his own doubts about Wold and Pettersen in Blodstein. The Trondheim police were a different outfit altogether, but did that really mean Ryker could trust them more than people that Henrik knew?
‘Which way?’ Ryker asked as they approached an intersection and a red light.
‘Left. We’re almost there now.’
Henrik seemed a little perkier because of it. Ryker made the turn. They left behind the rows of neat little timber houses with pointed eaves – the same traditional style that lined the pretty and historic waterfront in the city – and moved onto a street that was far more… basic. Low-level, flat-roofed terraces. A run of shops and takeaways. A small retail park. Beyond it a cluster of four high-rises. Not modern, glass-rich apartments favored by young professionals in many cities all over the world, but bland-looking, hastily erected concrete blocks used to house those on or below the poverty line. Ryker hadn’t seen this side of Trondheim before, though it didn’t surprise him that it existed, even in a city as quaint as this one.
‘This is it?’ Ryker said as he pulled off the main road and onto a twisting track that headed toward the blocks. Alongside the road, sitting lower than their bigger cousins, were a series of four-story-tall brick blocks.
‘Yeah,’ Henrik said. ‘This is it.’
He sounded more downbeat now. Ryker looked over. He was unhappy about something.
‘What?’ Ryker asked.
‘You were expecting something nicer?’ Henrik asked. ‘A mansion with a swimming pool and somewhere to land my helicopter?’
‘Not at all,’ Ryker said. ‘You said you were fostered. That you were bounced around. It’s an unfortunate truth that kids like that, like me too, don’t—’
‘You’re nothing like me.’
Ryker didn’t bother to argue.
‘Pull up here,’ Henrik said, looking to the left.
Ryker did so.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off with your foster parents?’ Ryker asked.
He knew exactly where they lived. Less than two miles away.
He’d found their address through his research in the library – a cross-reference of various open-access databases.
‘I want to be here.’
‘You’re only fourteen years old.’
‘It’s my choice.’
Ryker wasn’t sure it technically was.
‘So who does live here?’ he asked.
‘None of your business.’
‘I’m asking all the same.’
Henrik sighed. ‘Friends.’ He reached for the door handle.
‘I’ll help you inside.’ Ryker moved for his handle too. He sensed Henrik’s protest coming. Still, Ryker got out of the car.
‘I don’t want you to,’ Henrik said, looking over the top of the car to Ryker.
‘I don’t really care.’ Ryker shut his door. ‘I’ve done all this to help you, Henrik. I’m not about to let you walk off into the unknown now.’
‘Unknown? This place isn’t unknown to me.’
‘But it is to me.’
And Ryker wouldn’t be swayed. He moved around the car to Henrik’s side. So what if the boy was angry with him? He was young, rebellious, had a mind of his own, but he was still a kid.
They walked side by side along the verge and up the path toward some steps that led to the top level of flats. Ryker guessed each block consisted of two duplexes stacked atop one another. Various noises drifted over from the tightly packed dwellings around them – talking, shouting, music, dogs barking, TVs. A door opened off to Ryker’s right and a man stepped out. Tracksuit. Cap covering his face. He glanced up but then put his head down and sauntered toward the road.
‘You really should go,’ Henrik said. He moved a little quicker to step ahead of Ryker.
Ryker took no notice of the instruction. They made it to the top of the stairs. Henrik moved to the door. Ryker followed a couple of steps behind, hands in pockets.
Henrik reached the door and stopped. He turned back to Ryker, part anger, part apprehension etched on his features. Then he knocked. Ryker stayed back. The music beyond stopped. Ryker could make out voices. How many people were in there? The door opened. Two bright eyes were caught in the light seeping out from inside. A man. Tall. Slender. Young – early twenties – but he had a shaved head that shone with reflected light. His face was screwed up when he answered the door but as soon as he laid eyes on Henrik he beamed.
‘Henrik!’
He reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair then pulled him in for a manly slap on the back. He turned and called inside. Ryker didn’t catch any of the Norwegian, but soon two others were by the skinhead’s side. Similar age – early twenties, or perhaps late teens. Dark clothing. A few tattoos. Beer cans in hand.
The tall skinhead looked over to Ryker. Suspicion now on his face. He said something, but Ryker only caught a few of the words. It wasn’t friendly. Henrik responded. Engelsk was in there. English. So too hjelpe. Help.
The skinhead tutted. ‘You can go now,’ he said to Ryker.
Ryker stepped forward, peering into the interior beyond. Various odors caught in his nose. Tobacco. Cannabis. Beer. Sweat. His gaze rested back on Skinhead. Ryker knew these types. Far from the worst guys around, but he would bet his life’s worth they were little more than bums. Bums who partied and drank too much and smoked too much. Jobs? Unlikely, other than a bit of cash-in-hand work here and there. Petty crime? Far more likely. Perhaps some unfair assumptions in there, but regardless, Ryker knew this was no place for a fourteen-year-old.
‘Henrik,’ Ryker said, holding his hand out to him. Henrik smiled at Ryker, then pushed past his friends into the house.
‘Thanks for everything,’ he called out before disappearing inside.
One of the other men followed him, leaving Skinhead and one companion in the doorway, both glaring at Ryker.
‘You know he was kidnapped?’ Ryker said.
The two guys didn’t flinch.
‘Kid. Napped.’
Nothing.
‘He’s been missing for weeks,’ Ryker said. ‘Did you even know? Care?’
‘He’s safe with us,’ Skinhead said. ‘Now fuck off.’
With that, the two moved back and the door slammed shut. The men retreated out of sight behind the frosted glass. Seconds later the blaring music returned.
Ryker remained standing on the spot, brain whirring.
Disconsolately, he hung his head and turned to go back to his car.
Once inside, he remained in the driver’s seat with the engine off. Honestly, he was a little dumbfounded. Over the course of the day, he’d risked his life to save Henrik. Had fought off those men at the house, had led the boy through the forest, through the water. Had kept Henrik safe while they recuperated. Helped him to steal a car to get him out of Blodstein. Had driven him all this way. Ryker had done all of that almost without question. A natural instinct of wanting to help a vulnerable person in distress, someone who was otherwise unable to help themselves.
Sitting in the car, he felt like a chump. He still had no explanation for why those men in Blodstein had kidnapped Henrik in the first place, or what they wanted with him, but he also now realized he knew so little about Henrik himself. Ryker had only seen a young victim of a horrible crime. Henrik was still a young victim, but Ryker had no doubt the gloss had been taken off these last few hours.
Who was Henrik, really?
Regardless, Ryker knew one thing: he wasn’t happy leaving Henrik in that house.
He stepped back out into the night. Strode over to the building. Up the steps, to the front door. He rapped the wood with his knuckle. The music stopped once more. Footsteps. The door opened. Skinhead. Face screwed up in anger, he opened his mouth. Ryker reached out, grabbed him by the neck, lifted him off his feet, and tossed him to the ground.
He strode forward. Through the grimy corridor. The stench of cannabis grew, almost overpowering, sending Ryker’s head into a spin. He stormed into the back room. Four, five, six people. Three men. Two women. Plus Henrik. Sunken into a sofa, wedged between a man and woman. Well, they were barely adults, but they were older than Henrik. Henrik, who had a spliff in his hand.
There’d been smiles on the faces at first, but when they spotted Ryker looming, the happy looks disappeared in a flash, replaced by shock and anger.
‘What the hell?’ Henrik said, bouncing up to his feet.
‘You’re not staying here,’ Ryker said.
‘Where’s—’
‘Motherfucker!’
Ryker turned to see Skinhead lurching for him. Ryker shimmied. Skinhead stumbled past. Ryker slapped him across the back to aid his forward momentum and he plummeted to the floor.
Ryker heard murmurs and gasps of shock. The gaggle looked on at him as though he was some out-of-control beast.
He needed to rein it in. But he also needed Henrik.
‘Come on, Henrik. You don’t belong here. We’ll find somewhere else.’
‘Who do you think you are?’ Henrik sneered.
‘I’m not leaving you here.’
Henrik shook his head in disgust. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘Those men from Blodstein could turn up. What then?’
Skinhead rose to his feet. He rubbed at his neck. Then at his head.
‘I’m safe here,’ Henrik said. ‘I’m staying.’
‘Safe?’
Ryker glanced at Skinhead and the others. Did Henrik really believe his own words?
Movement behind Ryker. He half-turned. Spotted the glint of metal. A knife. He spun, reached out, and grabbed the wrist. Balled his fist and threw it forward.
Crack.
Solid connection into the chest. The figure plummeted, gasping for breath.
The figure. A scrawny young woman.
‘Shit,’ Ryker said.
But she did have a knife in her hand.
The woman, girl, whatever she was, squirmed on the ground, moaning, hand clutched to her chest as she tried to breathe.
Ryker turned back to the group. They all looked shocked, abhorred. Like Ryker had just committed the most horrendous crime known to man. He wanted to argue against that. She’d been about to stab him. Hadn’t she?
Ryker was well used to dealing with people trying to hurt him. Act quickly, forcefully. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his thing, but then it was hardly normal for a teenage girl to attack him.
‘Get out,’ Henrik said. Angered, but the words were measured. Then, louder… ‘Get out!’
The power and forcefulness and emotion in the screech caused Ryker to step back.
He held Henrik’s eye for a moment.
‘Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again.’
Other than grabbing the boy and hauling him out of there, what choice did Ryker have?
Feeling about as useless as he could ever remember, he turned for the door.