The inevitable. Berg was in the car park, heading toward his car, when he spotted them on the other side of the security fence, Andrey sitting on the hood of their rented car, arms folded. Sychev was by the back passenger door, facing away, phone up to his ear.
Berg had intended to go to his car, to head into town. He wanted to find Erling and find out what the hell they were doing to locate and retrieve Henrik. But with the Russians right there, he couldn’t do that now. Perhaps he should turn around and rush back inside before they spotted him.
Too late. Andrey nudged Sychev in the side and the taller man pulled the phone away and turned and waved with a stupid smirk on his stupid face.
Berg looked around him. A couple of guys were in the yard, one on a forklift, another checking a clipboard as he stood by one of the boats. Neither paid Berg any attention.
He sucked up some courage and moved forward quickly, up to the security fence.
‘Why are you here?’ Berg said to Sychev.
Sychev frowned. ‘I told you we’d be back today.’
‘But why are standing out here, like this?’
Sychev looked down to his feet, bemused. ‘Standing like what?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Would you like us to go inside with you instead?’
No. He didn’t want them anywhere near his factory.
Sychev shrugged. ‘No? Then get in the car. We can talk in there.’
‘Your car? What, so you can dump me miles from anywhere again?’
Andrey snorted in amusement.
‘No, so we can take you into town. Away from all your colleagues here who are surely beginning to wonder now what is happening with you, and us. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?’
Berg gritted his teeth. Sychev’s proposition wasn’t the worst. Plus Marius would be back soon too. Out of all of the men in the factory, Berg was most worried about Marius, following their last run-in. He got the distinct feeling that the guy was planning something.
‘If you’re that concerned about our intentions, you can follow us in your own car,’ Sychev suggested.
That option certainly appealed more.
‘Okay,’ Berg said. ‘Where to?’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you want us to buy you lunch?’
‘Not really.’
Sychev smiled. ‘We’ll meet you at the café.’
‘That’s hardly inconspicuous.’
Sychev shrugged. ‘No, but it is close to what we need to show you.’
He and Andrey turned and got back into their car. Berg waited for only a second before he retreated to do the same.
* * *
Five other people were eating. Whatever time of day, the place was never empty, but it was also never full. Five people, at least, wasn’t as bad as it could be for Berg. He recognized all but one of the faces, though no one paid him much attention.
Marie took their order, engaging in minimal chit-chat. Unusual for her. Normally it was a trick to get her to go away. For Berg at least. He’d known Marie since before she could walk, had known her father for more than twenty years, and had employed him for a lot of that time until he’d divorced Marie’s mother and moved out of the area with his younger wife.
Perhaps not a bad move really.
Marie brought over the food. Berg didn’t really want to eat, but Sychev had insisted they all order, and was also paying, so what would have been the point of Berg declining and then sitting there empty-handed, watching the other two stuff their nasty faces?
Still, he didn’t like the situation at all. The air of deceit remained high, the tension rising further with every beat of his heart.
‘Fish,’ Sychev said.
‘Excuse me?’ Berg responded, looking up from his food.
‘You people eat a lot of fish.’
‘You people?’
Berg didn’t like the way the guy had said that.
‘Yeah. You people. People like you. Around here. This town.’
‘We’re by the sea. The sea has fish in it.’
Sychev slapped his fork onto his plate, his face showing his irritation. ‘No shit,’ he said. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
Berg nodded to Sychev’s food. Both he and Andrey had burgers and fries.
‘You didn’t want to try the local cuisine?’
‘Tried it,’ Sychev said. ‘Not for me.’
‘You prefer American.’
‘More than Norwegian, yes. I like American food, but I hate the people. Here, it’s the opposite.’
Berg had never been to America, but he liked to imagine the big cities – New York, Chicago. What kind of man could he have made himself out there, with so much opportunity in front of him?
‘That’s what I don’t understand about men like you,’ Sychev said.
Berg’s face screwed. ‘So now it’s men like me?’
‘You’re very sensitive today,’ Sychev said, glancing around the café, looking smug, as though content at riling Berg, and hoping other people were taking notice. They weren’t.
‘What do you expect?’ Berg said.
Sychev shook his head. ‘My point was, men like you. Intelligent. Hard-working. Materialistic.’
Berg bit his tongue. What was Sychev playing at?
‘You’re telling me you’re not those things?’ Sychev asked.
‘Materialistic?’
‘Look at you. Nice car, clothes, house. Pretty wife. You like expensive things. But you stayed here, in Blodstein.’
‘You want to know why I stay here?’
‘I do.’
‘Because it’s my home. My family’s home. Has been for generations. This is where I belong.’
‘No, not that,’ Sychev said as he wiped a blob of ketchup from his chin. ‘You stay here because you feel like a king here. And if you went somewhere else you wouldn’t be. You would be a little man in a big place. You’re scared.’
Berg chewed through a mouthful of fish to stop himself from biting back.
Sychev shrugged. ‘I’m only saying, it’s a shame. Almost a waste. But you can still become bigger. You know that, don’t you? You know that’s why we’re here?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. You’re here only for my benefit. The charity of Jesper the Great.’
Sychev laughed. ‘No need to be like that. Of course it’s not all about you. We all get richer our way. What’s wrong with that?’
‘What’s wrong is that the more you get your claws into my business—’
‘The more money we all make together? You only don’t like the idea because you’re too proud. Who cares who controls what? By the time you retire, all you’ll need is money, not control.’
‘And when we die, all we need is a wooden box and a big hole to put it in. We all end up the same, in the end.’
Sychev nodded as though he saw the statement as deeply profound.
‘All the more reason to go with the flow as they say.’
Berg sniffed, trying to quell his agitation.
‘You know you’re not the only businessman in this country we deal with.’
‘Then why not just take your offers somewhere else.’
‘Because we haven’t got what we came for yet. And Jesper always gets what he wants.’
Berg said nothing.
‘Tell me about the boy,’ Sychev said.
‘No,’ Berg responded.
‘You seem to be under a mistaken impression that you have a choice here.’
With that Andrey suddenly reached over. He grabbed Berg’s wrist, pulled it under the table, and twisted it around. His grip strength, his arm strength, was something else. Berg couldn’t fight back at all. Andrey pushed Berg’s wrist to bursting point and he grimaced, his whole body tensed, trying to stop his bones from snapping while showing no reaction so as to not draw attention from the other people around him.
‘Tell me about the boy,’ Sychev said.
‘He’s nothing,’ Berg said, through gritted teeth. ‘Just a stupid plot.’
‘What plot?’
Sychev nodded to Andrey who released Berg’s arm. Berg nursed his throbbing wrist and tried to regain his composure as he looked around the café.
‘The kid is Rosen’s son,’ he said quietly.
Silence for a couple of seconds.
‘Erik Rosen?’ Sychev said.
Berg nodded.
‘Illegitimate son,’ Berg said. ‘Rosen had an affair, years ago. Henrik is his, but Rosen doesn’t even know it.’
‘So why did you kidnap him?’
‘Why do you think?’
Sychev crossed his knife and fork over his plate, even though he’d barely half-finished his food. He sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
‘You’re a sly dog, aren’t you?’ he said, smirking. ‘You’re going to blackmail Rosen? How? Threaten to kill the boy?’
Berg said nothing now.
‘How much?’
‘I hadn’t got that far. We’ve had… complications. I think you know about that.’
Sychev laughed now. ‘Sigurd, Sigurd, why didn’t you tell us this before?’
Berg said nothing once more.
‘If I’d known about this before we negotiated with Rosen, we could have helped each other even more.’
A lie. There’d been no ‘negotiation’ with Rosen. The way Berg understood it, the Russians had wrenched most of the business out from under him. Dirty money, dressed up as a big investment. Yes, Rosen Tech as an enterprise – despite the recent ‘issue’ at the factory – was now well set up for the future, bigger than ever, but Rosen’s own share of the business was tiny. The exact same ploy Sychev had attempted to push onto Berg.
‘You know, if you’re telling me the truth—’
‘Of course, I’m telling you the truth!’ Berg interrupted.
Sychev paused a moment. ‘If you’re telling me the truth, I have to say I may have made a big mistake. And I can only apologize for that.’
‘What mistake?’ Berg said, a strange feeling brewing inside his gut.
‘If you’d told me sooner…’
Sychev looked at Andrey and the two of them had a quick exchange in their native tongue. Berg’s nerves continued to grow.
‘The problem is, Sigurd, that these issues arise when people aren’t honest with each other. Unfortunately, you weren’t honest with me. At least, not soon enough.’
‘What have you done? Nyland? Is that it? You killed Nyland because of this? You’re trying to frame me?’
Sychev looked around the room then leaned in, across the table. ‘You might want to keep your voice down, talking like that.’
He had a point. But Berg’s head was in bits.
‘But no. I’m not talking about Nyland. Come on, we’ve something to show you.’
Sychev pulled some notes from his pocket and placed them neatly on the table. The three of them headed out. Berg kept his eyes on the floor, he didn’t want to know whether or not Marie or the other customers looked his way.
Outside, he took a couple of steps toward the car but then noticed Sychev and Andrey pulling away.
‘Not the car,’ Sychev said, before turning and looking across the street.
That building. Berg had been keenly aware of the building the whole time they’d sat inside. The same building Nyland had seen his wife go into before, with that Stefan Tronstad.
The horrible feeling in his gut ratcheted.
‘Come on,’ Sychev said.
The three of them crossed the road. Sychev pulled ahead and knocked on the door of the building. He turned back to Berg, an apologetic look on his face. Genuine? Berg didn’t know, nor was he sure it even mattered.
‘There’s no one here,’ Berg said after a long and silent wait.
‘There is,’ Sychev said, tapping into his phone. ‘Just be patient.’
Nothing more was said. One, two, three minutes passed. Berg looked around him as they waited. What was he hoping for? An intervention? Wold or Pettersen or someone else to come to his rescue?
The door opened. Berg turned to see… a man. A normal-looking man. Normal dress. Although he looked like he’d just come out of the shower with wet hair and flushed cheeks. He pulled back from the door. Sychev moved in first. Berg followed, Andrey behind.
The door closed, Berg went to spin around but Andrey grabbed him. Vice-like grip. Andrey pushed Berg’s right hand up in between his shoulder blades.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Andrey said, his voice a callous whisper in Berg’s ear.
The other man scuttled in front. ‘Through here,’ he said.
Sychev turned and smiled at Berg, then moved forward. Andrey applied more pressure and Berg shuffled along.
He couldn’t be sure what hit him first. The sounds, or the smell. The smell… Wet, metallic. The sounds… Nothing more than murmurs. Groans, even. Not quite human. Almost mechanical in nature, but… not.
As grim thoughts rattled in his mind, it was the sight that caused his legs to give way.
Andrey pulled him upright. Berg didn’t know where to look.
Two bodies. Both bound. One – a man – hung upside down. The other – a woman – was slumped in a chair. The man… Gaping flesh on his thighs oozed dark blood which drenched his torso. His torso, which had slashes and gashes all over. His head glistened with blood which pooled beneath him. Surely he wasn’t alive?
The woman…
‘Isabell,’ Berg said, the name trembling in his mouth.
Her head remained bowed. She didn’t move. But she did try to speak. ‘Si-Sig… Ssss…’
‘What have you done?’ Berg said to Sychev.
The Russian turned to him, a look of stern concentration.
‘No, Sigurd, not me. This was because of you.’
Thud.
A blow to the back of his head. Fist? Bat? Berg had no idea. The next moment, he toppled face down onto the blood-soaked floor.