Ryker and Pettersen barely spoke a word to one another for the last hour of the journey. Ryker felt weary, Pettersen – driving – likely even more so. She’d received several calls from Wold during the drive. She hadn’t answered once. Hadn’t listened to his voicemails either. She truly had placed herself on the outside, though even in their silence, Ryker sensed that in shunning her boss, she’d only increased her sense of isolation and vulnerability, and her demeanor had become more and more downbeat as a result.
‘Take the turn here,’ Ryker said.
Pettersen sighed and followed his instruction. The road ahead had no lights. The beams of the patrol car’s headlamps bounced and jostled through the trees surrounding them.
‘What are you expecting to find here?’ Pettersen asked. ‘Do you really think they’d have simply brought Henrik back to the same house again?’
‘It would be stupid not to at least look here.’
Though the truth was he had been torn as to what approach to take – the direct route, simply driving up to the house, or the indirect route through the forest as he had done the day he’d rescued Henrik. A rescue that now seemed pointless.
He hadn’t explained or discussed those two approaches with Pettersen, simply opting for the former choice. Direct. They’d face whatever threat lay beyond them head-on.
‘Should we not at least turn the lights off,’ Pettersen said, slowing the car as she spoke, ‘so we don’t spook whoever is here?’
‘No,’ Ryker said. He thought about trying to explain why, but then he saw the men up ahead, holding their position in the middle of the road. ‘It’s too late now.’
Pettersen sighed. The car crawled forward to the two men. Both were big and bulky, though it was hard to tell how much of the bulk was due to their winter gear to keep them warm in the frigid night. One had a meaty-looking wrench that he held in both hands. The other had a bat in one hand, a radio in the other.
‘Do you know these two?’ Ryker asked.
‘Shit,’ Pettersen said, not in answer, but Ryker assumed because the guy brought the radio to his mouth.
‘I knew this was a bad idea,’ Pettersen added. ‘They’re calling for backup.’
‘Just stay calm. You’re the police. You’re in charge here.’
Pettersen shot him a dubious look but said nothing.
She rolled the car to a stop by the men. One went to her side of the car, one to Ryker, who stared out of his window at the man by his door – the one with the wrench. He glared back at Ryker, face full of suspicion.
Pettersen rolled down her window. As Ryker had become used to now, she began a fast-paced conversation in Norwegian. Calm but strong, as ever. The man with the bat, shivering as he spoke, appeared agitated and suspicious, but after a while it became clear he was losing whatever argument they were having.
A couple of times Pettersen looked and indicated over to Ryker. He said nothing. Tried his best to catch any familiar words from the conversation. Police. Wold. Night. Henrik. Those were about the only ones.
With a sigh Pettersen turned away from the man and closed her window.
‘He won’t let us past.’
‘Because?’
‘Because he’s been told not to let anyone past. He’s already informed whoever is on the other end of that radio that we’re here.’
‘We?’
‘I told him Wold sent me. That I’ve arrested Carl Logan and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with him.’
‘Did he buy that?’
‘Not exactly. He said they’ll contact Wold to ask him.’
Was that good or bad? Ryker didn’t know. The look on Pettersen’s face suggested she wasn’t happy about the situation at all, though was that more of the prospect of the involvement of Wold than anything else?
A tap on Pettersen’s window. She opened it again. A more brief conversation this time before she closed it once more and shut the engine down.
‘We can go through,’ she said. ‘But on foot.’
‘Do we even know who’s in the house?’ Ryker asked. ‘Berg? Wold? The Russians? Henrik?’
‘Now you worry about that?’ she said with an eye-roll – a playful gesture? ‘I know as much as you do.’
‘Then let’s go and find out.’
Ryker and Pettersen stepped out in unison. No sooner had Ryker closed his door than the meathead with the wrench grabbed him, spun him around, and pushed him up against the side of the police car. Pettersen shouted out in protest – about the mistreatment of her car, or her ‘prisoner’, Ryker wasn’t sure. It didn’t even matter. The next second she, too, was up against the metalwork, the radio guy patting her down.
The man behind Ryker forcefully spread Ryker’s legs. Felt from his groin to his ankles, back up to his hips. Then he used his forearm on Ryker’s neck to crush Ryker’s head into the car, pinning him. Ryker gritted his teeth and sucked it up. A few seconds later and the pressure was released before the guy hauled him back straight.
‘Walk.’
Ryker looked over at Pettersen. In the thin moonlight he couldn’t quite read the look on her face. They were lined up next to each other at the front of the car. Wrench Guy stood in front, while the other guy spoke into his radio one more time. Then he came up to his friend and barked an instruction at Ryker and Pettersen. The two of them exchanged a glance before they stepped forward – the two men by their sides to chaperone.
The men really should have thought their plan through more thoroughly.
Ryker swung around. He grabbed Wrench Guy by the throat with one hand. He squeezed hard and hauled his knee up and smashed it into the guy’s privates.
‘Shit, no!’ Pettersen shouted. Ryker thought he’d given her the look. Thought she’d understood. Perhaps not. Either way, she was in this fight now too.
Not worrying about her – yet – Ryker hit the guy again and the wrench came free. He let go and the man collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as he clutched his groin. Ryker grabbed the wrench. Glanced to his side to see Pettersen wrestling upright with the other guy, trying to get him into a submission hold.
Ryker lifted the wrench up to finish off the guy below him…
‘No!’
Another shout from Pettersen. If the instruction had been to him, Ryker didn’t heed it. He smacked the wrench down onto the guy’s back, sending him sprawling, face down with an oomph.
Ryker turned. Ready to strike again. No need. Pettersen had him. A hammerlock. She kicked him in the back of the leg to send him down to his knees.
‘Get the cuffs!’ she shouted to Ryker. He grabbed them from her belt. Clasped one before she took over. She kicked the cuffed man down into the dirt. Turned to Ryker. Yeah, it was dark, but the annoyed look was clear enough.
‘What is wrong with you?’ she said.
‘Me? I’m just evening the odds a little.’
‘You don’t even know who they are. Why they’re here. Who else is in that house.’
‘That’s why I only hurt him a little.’
He glanced to Wrench Guy who squirmed and groaned on the ground.
‘Do you have any more cuffs?’ Ryker asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Maybe you should get your shotgun too.’
She glared at him. Said nothing before she moved for her car.
Ryker grabbed the radio from the ground. Gave it a quick once-over before he dropped it again and crushed it under his heel.
Together with Pettersen they cuffed the second guy then put both men – grumbling and fighting, just a little – in the back of the police car. Not that they were under arrest, but at least in there they were secure enough. For now.
‘Ask them who’s at the house,’ Ryker said when Pettersen grabbed the door to lock them in.
‘I already did,’ she said.
‘And?’
‘And I was told to stick my fist up my asshole.’
‘You’ll have to teach me the Norwegian for that one.’
She didn’t look impressed by his quip.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
She moved to the back of the car. Opened the trunk. Took out the shotgun.
‘Ready.’
They set off along the track, through the dark. No headlights now, no torch, just the light of the moon and the silence of the night.
‘This is a really bad idea,’ Pettersen whispered.
Ryker didn’t say anything.
‘They already know we’re coming,’ she added.
‘They’re expecting us to arrive with their guards by our sides.’
‘It’s not going to take them long to realize that isn’t the case.’
‘No,’ Ryker said.
Pettersen stopped and turned to him. ‘No? Is that all you have to say? No?’
‘What else should I say?’
‘How about explaining to me what your plan is? What do we do when we get there?’
‘We can’t possibly know, as we don’t even know who is there.’
Silence as she glared at him. ‘Really? Is that it?’
Ryker shrugged. He knew his calmness and nonchalance wasn’t winning her over, but he also thought her agitation and rumination had more to do with her nerves than anything else.
‘All I know is I’m doing this, here, tonight. I’m going to that house. I’ll fight every man and woman there if I have to. If Henrik’s there we’ll take him away to safety. If he’s not, we’ll find where he is and go there next. I’m sorry, but that’s the plan.’
‘And what if we take one step closer and they put a bullet in your brain with a hunting rifle from fifty yards away?’
‘On balance, I’m not sure that’s likely.’
‘Have you always been like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘So…’ She huffed and then rattled off something in Norwegian. An insult of some kind. Or just verbal diarrhea in exasperation.
‘I’ve been in plenty of situations like this before,’ Ryker said. ‘And getting the job done is more important than worrying about possible outcomes.’
Pettersen sighed and Ryker sensed another protest brewing until he moved off.
‘We could at least go into the forest,’ she said. ‘Try to surprise them.’
‘Why? Like you said, they already know we’re coming.’
Pettersen didn’t respond again, except to show her continued dissatisfaction with a renewed grumble under her breath. She held the shotgun in both hands as they walked, the barrel pointed to the ground in front of her. Ryker really hoped they didn’t need to use it. In many ways having the gun made him all the more nervous. He’d fired plenty of guns in his life. Had killed plenty of people with such weapons. Yes, they made him feel more safe. But bringing a gun to any situation also changed the dynamic. Once that first shot was fired… all bets were off.
Before long the house came into view. Who could miss it, with the security lights blaring as they were? Ryker and Pettersen remained in darkness a few more steps, but something became apparent when they were finally visible because of the increased action in front of them.
‘Berg’s here,’ Pettersen said.
Ryker thought he’d spotted him too. He’d never met Sigurd Berg before now, but his demeanor – standing tall by the house, staring straight ahead at the new arrivals, while others moved into action around him – gave him away.
Ryker spotted Erling too. By Berg’s side. Sonja as well. Movement in the forest to the left and right. Two other men peeled away from the house, walking a few yards apart from each other, half-crouching as though not sure what to expect as they closed the distance to Ryker and Pettersen.
One of them shouted over. The one with the shotgun in his hand. The shotgun that was up to his shoulder, the barrel pointed at Pettersen. Ryker could only guess he’d told her to toss her weapon.
She glanced at him, a questioning look on her face.
Then, as if for Ryker’s benefit, ‘Drop the weapons!’
English this time.
Ryker tossed the wrench. It clattered a couple of feet in front of the guy holding the shotgun. Ryker kept moving toward the other guy who, crowbar in his grip, held up like a baseball bat.
‘Ryker?’ Pettersen said.
‘Put it down,’ he said.
She did so.
‘Hands in the air,’ the shotgun guy said, waving the barrel back and forth between Ryker and Pettersen.
Pettersen stopped moving. Ryker wished she hadn’t. He’d been about to make a break for the guy with the crowbar, but he wouldn’t leave her behind with that shotgun in range. He stopped with her. Berg remained ten yards away. Not yet part of the welcoming party.
‘Sigurd, what are you doing?’ Pettersen shouted to him.
No reaction from Berg.
Erling and Sonja stepped forward as if to protect their boss.
‘Where’s Henrik?’ Ryker shouted. ‘We only want him. Give us the boy and we’ll go.’
A few questioning glances. The two men in front of Ryker came to a stop. Not quite reaching distance.
Ryker took another step forward. Doing so drew an angry shout from the man with the gun as he fixed the barrel firmly in Ryker’s direction.
Until… ‘Please, Sigurd, I don’t know what’s happening here…’ Now Pettersen moved forward. One step, two, three. She went past Ryker. Then stopped and opened up in Norwegian. Ryker didn’t concentrate on her words. Only on the two men directly in front of him. Pettersen moved again and the guy with the crowbar edged closer still. The guy with the gun went back. Okay, so that told a lot. He didn’t want that gun in his hands. He was scared. He didn’t want to shoot. Especially not at a police officer.
With Pettersen distracting everyone, Ryker made the move first. He darted forward. The guy with the crowbar sprang into action, rushed forward too. He coiled the crowbar behind his head, ready to swing in a vicious arc. Solid contact on Ryker’s skull with a weapon like that could prove fatal. Maybe the guy knew that. Maybe he didn’t.
The bar came forward with a growl of determination from the man’s lips. Ryker pushed his weight back, kicked his feet forward to slide across the dirt in a two-footed tackle. The crowbar swung uselessly through the air, connected with nothing. The momentum sent the guy off balance just as Ryker made contact. He took both legs with him. The guy collapsed on top. Ryker grabbed the crowbar from him, pulled himself out from underneath and smashed the metal down onto the man’s ankle.
Crack.
A howl of pain. Probably a broken bone or two, but much kinder than the broken skull the man had intended for Ryker.
Another swipe arced Ryker’s way. The butt of the shotgun. Not the weapon’s intended purpose, but still a nasty blow if the wood made contact. Ryker ducked and the butt smacked into his back. Painful, but not serious. He sprang back up. His feet lifted off the ground. He balled his fist and it crashed into the underside of the man’s chin with ferocious force, sending him to the ground two yards further back. The gun clattered away.
Ryker looked over. Pettersen groaned, pulling herself to her feet. A dribble of blood wormed down the side of her head. Hit with the shotgun too?
‘Behind you!’ Ryker shouted.
Sonja. Not just her, in fact, but bodies everywhere all of a sudden, as if an army had sprouted from the trees around them. Ryker spun. Swung the crowbar. Solid contact on the hips of a man charging him. He spun again, deflected a bat with his forearm, though the strike sent a painful judder up his arm into his neck. He swiped with his leg, unbalancing the attacker before sending his elbow into their ribs.
He took a blow to the back of his head which sent him stumbling. Stumbling forward. Toward the house. Right into the path of Erling. The big man reached out and grabbed Ryker by the throat. Lifted him off his feet. No mean feat considering Ryker’s own height and weight. A headbutt sent Ryker’s vision spinning. Erling tossed him to the ground. A boot came down for Ryker’s face… Not Erling’s. The boot belonged to the guy who’d moments ago hit Ryker in the head. Ryker caught the boot. Somehow found the strength to hold it at bay. Summoned a deeper reserve to bounce back to his feet, still holding the boot. The man stumbled. Ryker tossed him and let go and the guy landed on the ground, the back of his head first. He wasn’t getting up for a while.
Erling. Where was he?
Too late.
A thick arm laced around Ryker’s neck from behind. Pressure to the back of his legs sent him down, much like Pettersen had done earlier to the man with the radio.
Ryker fought against the arm that choked him, but Erling was simply stronger. Ryker dug his nails into flesh, clawed, but got a fist to the kidney in return. Another made his eyes water. Powerful shots. Enough to do serious damage if Ryker allowed himself to be pummeled over and over.
‘Okay, okay,’ Ryker choked out, relaxing his body a second, bringing his arms down, hoping Erling would give him some slack. He didn’t.
‘Let him go.’
Ryker flicked his gaze as his face contorted and he tried in vain to breathe. Pettersen. On her feet. Sonja wasn’t. Sonja was lying, belly on the ground, angry eyes staring at Ryker. Pettersen’s boot on Sonja’s back helped to hold her own, but the shotgun in Pettersen’s hands, the barrel inches from Sonja’s head, likely proved even more persuasive.
As Ryker coughed and spluttered he looked around at the writhing, groaning bodies. No serious injuries, but certainly a lot of people wouldn’t be up for fighting again tonight. Ryker’s main concern, though, remained Erling, and his vice grip around Ryker’s neck.
‘I said, let him go,’ Pettersen repeated, before prodding the shotgun barrel into the back of Sonja’s head.
Doing so only made Erling squeeze with all the more vigor and Ryker wheezed and rasped for breath. He raked at Erling’s arm once more, hoping it would cause him to ease the grip.
Nothing.
‘You two,’ Berg said as he moved closer, a sneer on his face, a honcho by his side.
Berg still had the numbers, but he looked a little rattled, even if the shotgun that the man with him held on to was pointed at Pettersen. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘I told you,’ Ryker choked out. ‘We just want the boy.’
Berg didn’t even look at Ryker, never mind respond.
‘Put the gun down, Inspector,’ he said to Pettersen.
‘Let him go first. I will shoot her.’
‘I wouldn’t doubt you keeping your word,’ Berg said. ‘But you know as soon as you pull the trigger you’re dead too?’
Pettersen seemed to consider this as if weighing up whether it was worth it.
‘We both throw the guns,’ Pettersen said. ‘Erling lets Ryker go.’
Berg raised an eyebrow as he flicked his gaze to Ryker. Likely because he’d not heard that name before, but only knew Ryker as Carl Logan, the name he’d first used in front of Wold.
‘When Wold finds out about this—’
Berg sniggered at Pettersen’s words. A childish move that clearly irritated her.
‘I’m sure you two will have lots to talk about after tonight,’ Berg said.
Ryker wrestled with Erling’s arm again, and Berg nodded to his man. ‘Let him speak.’
The grip loosened just enough.
‘Henrik,’ Ryker said. ‘No one else… needs to get hurt tonight. Just… let him go.’
‘Let him go? You think he was my prisoner here?’
Berg took a step forward. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Ryker now.
‘You’ve caused me a lot of problems. A lot of heartache. What did I ever do to you?’
Ryker said nothing.
‘You came here once before. Attacked my friends. Took Henrik from me. And look what has happened since. There are people dead now because of you.’
Ryker still kept his mouth shut.
‘Didn’t you ever think to ask yourself why him? Why Henrik?’
‘I know more than you think,’ Ryker said.
Ryker’s decision to speak up drew another fist to the kidney from Erling.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Berg said, calling his man off. ‘Let him talk.’
‘I know you went to see the Johansens,’ Ryker said through labored breaths. ‘They’re dead now, aren’t they?’
Nothing from Berg. Confirmation?
‘I also know someone took Henrik again tonight. In Trondheim. Killed four of his friends. That’s why we’re here.’
Berg shook his head. ‘You really know nothing at all.’ He let that unfinished statement hang. ‘Look around you. What is this place?’
Ryker didn’t really understand the question.
‘Does this look like a prison to you?’ Pause. No answer. ‘Henrik was never my prisoner here. How do you not understand that?’
Ryker’s brain whirred.
‘I would never harm that boy,’ Berg said. ‘He’s my son.’
Ryker looked at Pettersen. No reaction on her face, but he could imagine the same doubts firing in his mind also fired in hers. The last time he’d been here, Erling had said the same as Berg. Like some bad soap opera where every guy thought he was the boy’s father.
But… Did it make sense this time?
‘I didn’t know until recently,’ Berg said. ‘I brought him here to keep him safe. I have many enemies. I think you may even have met them already. They want to harm me, and my family.’
The Russians?
‘And he was safe here.’ Berg spoke those last words with what appeared to be genuine bitterness. He rose to his feet once again. ‘He was safe here. Until you arrived. Now he’s gone.’
Ryker didn’t know what to say. Had he really read the situation so wrong? Had he inadvertently placed Henrik in danger? Caused the deaths of those youngsters in Trondheim?
In a way, it didn’t even matter if it was the truth or not. What mattered was making sure Henrik was safe.
‘He’s not here,’ Ryker said. ‘But you know who has him.’
Berg said nothing. He turned away. Whispered something to the man with the shotgun. Ryker couldn’t hear the words. Perhaps Pettersen could, because the next moment, she lifted the barrel of her shotgun up, away from Sonja, and fired.