All in all, it had been one hell of a shitty day. The run-in with Marius – what was Berg going to do with him anyway? Nyland and his lackluster investigation. Henrik running away with Carl Logan, whoever the hell he was. And looming over all of that? The constant threat of the Russians.
The Russians, who’d been unusually quiet today, Berg pondered as he shut down the engine and stepped out onto his drive. He looked at the darkened street beyond. No sign of Nyland there now. Not unusual. Berg hadn’t spotted him there that morning either. Though he was becoming increasingly agitated that the PI wasn’t now returning his calls or messages. The last he’d heard from Nyland was that Isabell had once again met with the lawyer, Tronstad, in that house in Blodstein. Berg had been well-minded to jump into the car at that point and head to the house to confront that bastard. He hadn’t. Next time…
But more to the point, why the fuck was Nyland now on radio silence, particularly given the extra money Berg had transferred to him?
He turned for the front door. He never made it. His phone vibrated. Unknown number. On this day, of all days, Berg decided it was probably a good idea to take it.
‘It’s me,’ the accented voice said. ‘Valeri Sychev.’
‘It’s late,’ Berg said. ‘Come and see me tomorrow.’
‘No.’
This time the voice echoed. Berg turned to where the sound had come from and Sychev appeared at the bottom of the driveway.
Berg’s heart thudded a little harder in his chest.
‘Was it really necessary to call me, then?’ Berg said, not impressed by the little trick.
‘This way,’ Sychev said. ‘We’re going for a little ride.’
Berg’s insides curdled. What could go wrong?
* * *
Andrey, the Bulldog, drove. Sychev and Berg sat in the back seats of the Audi, Sychev on the driver’s side. The streets were dark and quiet on the outskirts of the town so late at night. The town center likely would be too. They never made it there. Bulldog pulled into a narrow lane and stopped the car.
‘A busy day,’ Sychev said.
Berg had watched him closely the whole way. His hands – empty – had remained on his lap, but was the Russian armed? A knife or gun in his jacket, or stashed somewhere down the side of his seat?
‘A challenging day for sure,’ Berg said.
Sychev sighed. ‘Tell me about it.’
Silence. Was it a serious command?
‘Please,’ Sychev said. ‘Tell me about this boy. The one causing you problems.’
How the hell—
‘What boy?’ Berg said. The response sounded feeble even to his own ears.
The smug look on Sychev’s face broadened a little.
‘I have to admit, you surprised me, Sigurd. When I came here, I’d heard a little of your father’s reputation. But you? I knew nothing about you. Not really.’
Berg said nothing to that, though the mention of his father angered him. He hated his father, even if he wouldn’t have been where he was in life without him.
‘I suppose I had certain ideas about who you were,’ Sychev continued. ‘Businessman. A rich man. Rich enough, anyway, because there are so many levels to wealth. But you’re not a man who made himself rich. You used your family’s money. I’m not saying that’s bad, but even before I met you I imagined someone spoiled, arrogant, confident, entitled. Someone who has to always get his own way. A big baby, really.’
Bulldog laughed. Berg caught the hardman’s stare in the rearview mirror for a moment.
‘I have to say,’ Sychev added, ‘a lot of my ideas were right, but you still surprised me. There’s more to you than I thought.’
Berg still said nothing, even if he felt as bruised as he did angry, as he did apprehensive by where the conversation was headed.
‘Tell me about the boy,’ Sychev said. ‘Who is he? What does he mean to you?’
‘No,’ Berg said.
Sychev raised an eyebrow.
‘No,’ Berg said again. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘You came here, to my corner of the world, for business. To deal. You want to deal? Fine, let’s talk about it. Anything else in my life? Nothing to do with you.’
‘That’s not your choice to make.’
‘Then you’ll never get anything from me.’
Sychev shook his head and let out a long sigh. A sigh so long Berg was surprised the guy’s face didn’t turn bright purple.
‘You’re not as powerful in this town as you think you are,’ Sychev said.
Silence again from Berg. Did he think himself powerful here? Well, of course, he did. Look at the rest of the people around him. He was superior on almost every level.
‘I can say the same to you,’ Berg said. ‘This is my town.’
Sychev’s face remained neutral now. For some reason, it riled Berg all the more. ‘You’re probably wondering how we know about the boy,’ he said.
‘If I knew which boy you keep on referring to, then—’
‘Please, Sigurd. Please, stop. The boy you kidnapped. Henrik is his name, I think. The boy you had some men watching over in that house in the forest. The boy who today managed to escape from that house and has now run away from you.’
Berg gritted his teeth.
‘You want to know how I know all this?’ Sychev said.
Berg didn’t answer.
‘Because I asked. I asked all sorts of people all sorts of questions about you. It didn’t take long to get some interesting answers. The very men who were looking after him told me. You think these men are loyal to you, that they would never turn on you. But, unfortunately, that’s not true. Perhaps the biggest problem is, you believe you’re better than them. I think they see that too. They see your arrogance. The way you look down on them, mistreat them. So it was easy for me. All I had to do was ask about you, offer a little in return, and here we are.’
Sychev shrugged, extreme nonchalance.
‘Except you’re sitting here, with me now,’ Berg said, ‘asking questions about who the boy is, why he was there. So yeah, perhaps one or two of my guys mentioned something to you, but you’re not as clever as you think you are either. Because you know virtually nothing.’
‘I know your men would betray you. They were going to hand the boy to me. Money. That was all it took. We met them in a bar last night. Did you know that?’
Berg ground his teeth harder. So hard his jaw ached.
‘You didn’t know?’
‘And how is it that he’s now missing,’ Berg said. ‘Was that down to you too?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Sychev said, shaking his head. ‘It seems we’re not the only ones in this town capable of making trouble for you.’
Sychev looked at his watch and sighed.
‘Get out,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard. Get out. It’s late, and I’m tired.’
‘Then take me home,’ Berg said, his temperature rising.
Before Sychev said another word Bulldog shot into action. He heaved open his door, stomped out. Yanked Berg’s door open. Reached in and grabbed Berg by the scruff of his neck.
‘Okay, okay!’ Berg shouted. Bulldog dragged Berg out and only removed his hands from Berg’s coat when they were both standing out in the cold.
‘We’ll come to your office in the morning,’ Sychev called from the warm interior. ‘Then you can tell me everything. I want to know exactly what you’re planning with this boy. And I want you to have your final offer ready for me. Or we’ll be done playing nicely with you.’
Bulldog kicked the passenger door shut. He glared at Berg in a momentary stand-off before getting back into the driver’s seat. With spinning tires, the Audi shot off down the road. Berg held an arm up to his face to stop the grit from getting into his eyes.
Was this how Nyland had felt the other day when Berg had left him stranded?
Berg pushed that thought away. When the red tail lights faded into the distance, he finally let out a sigh of relief.
He shivered in the cold. His home was a good thirty-minute walk away, along dark, unlit tracks. Not a pleasant walk by any means.
At least it would give him plenty of time to think.
He set off, brain moving at warp speed.
Today had been one hell of a shitty day. Even worse now than when he’d earlier arrived home. At least the Russians had finally put all their cards on the table.
It would need some thought, but one way or another Berg would come out of this on top. Whatever it took, he’d win.
He always did.