Three cars made up the convoy. Erling, Sonja, and one other man were up front in the Nissan pickup. Three more men were in the older, more battered Toyota pickup behind. Pettersen’s patrol vehicle took up the middle spot. She drove, once more. Next to her up front was Berg, with Ryker sitting behind Pettersen, his eyes on Berg and only Berg. He didn’t trust him, but he did trust that at least he wasn’t working with the Russians, even if Ryker still didn’t fully understand what was at play between the parties, nor who Henrik really was.
‘What happened to you and your wife?’ Ryker asked.
She remained at the house. Uncuffed now, though with the remaining contingent of Berg’s gang watching over her. For her protection, or to keep her captive? Ryker really didn’t know. Would those guys even put up much of a fight if this entire trip was a ruse by the Russians so they could go back to the house and annihilate anyone left there?
No, those men were battered already and it wouldn’t be much of a fight, but why would the Russians – if they had Henrik, the asset – want to do that in any case?
‘I asked you a question,’ Ryker said.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then give me the short version.’
Berg sighed. Because he was building up to it, or because he was thinking of how to lie?
‘We haven’t been good for a long time. I thought she was having an affair. But the man she was with was actually a lawyer.’
‘You hired a private investigator,’ Ryker said.
‘And the Russians killed him.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘To put pressure on me. They found out about Henrik. They also found out that my wife and Tronstad – the lawyer – were trying to find dirt on me. They figured out about Henrik too. My wife wanted any dirt she could find about me. My personal life, my business life. The Russians cut Tronstad apart getting him to talk. Skinned him to find out what he knew.’
The last words were slightly choked, with what Ryker felt was genuine emotion, even if he didn’t fully understand the Russians’ actions based on Berg’s explanation. Tronstad, if he was nothing but an everyday guy, a lawyer, likely would have spilled whatever he knew with the lightest pressure. He didn’t need to be skinned to talk. So had Berg lied about something, or were the Russians – or at least one of them – basic sociopaths?
‘They would have killed my wife too…’ Berg said. ‘I’m not sure about me. They need me. They need my business. That’s why they’re here. But they don’t have to kill me to hurt me.’
‘They’re blackmailing you?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’
‘No. Not really. If what you’re saying is true—’
‘Of course it’s true!’ Berg blasted, turning around in his chair to glare at Ryker. ‘This isn’t the sort of thing anyone would make up. I saw what they did to Tronstad. That would have been Isabell. If Erling and the others hadn’t saved me then I’m sure the Russians would have tortured me too, even if they wouldn’t have killed me. You said there were dead bodies in Trondheim? Tell me about that. That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? You saw what they did, and you want revenge.’
Were Ryker’s intentions that obvious? Images flashed in his mind of the bloodbath in Trondheim. Berg smiled, apparently pleased with his own deduction.
‘Those Russians are everyone’s enemies here,’ Berg said. ‘We can stop them.’
‘And then what?’
No response from Berg.
‘And then what?’ Ryker asked again.
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘We deal with the Russians tonight. Get Henrik back. And then what? The Russians here, they’re it? Just three of them, their own little empire?’
‘No. It’s not the three of them. Of course it isn’t.’
‘So what happens next? Their boss sends more people over. Another wave. Another after that if needed.’
‘Let’s worry about the future another time,’ Pettersen said. ‘We’re here.’
Ryker hadn’t been looking out of the windows at the darkened scenery at all. For all he knew they could have traveled in any direction, could have been anywhere. What he saw as they came over a rise in the road was a large, mainly corrugated steel structure looming in the near distance, sitting behind a high-security fence. A series of lights provided illumination across the building’s grounds, but he saw nothing but blackness beyond – the sea?
‘You know this place?’ Ryker asked Pettersen.
‘Of course.’
‘It looks quiet.’
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Berg said as though Ryker was an idiot.
‘Just two cars, I see.’
Two cars. Three Russians. And Henrik. Hopefully.
‘You don’t have night shifts?’ Ryker said. ‘No nighttime security staff?’
‘No,’ Berg said. ‘Anyone here already is with them.’
‘How would they even get access?’
‘I don’t know.’
Ryker wasn’t sure he believed that, but he also didn’t know why Berg would withhold on him now.
The car in front rolled to a stop by the closed gates.
‘So come on, Ryker, what’s the plan this time?’ Pettersen said, pulling up too.
Ryker thought but said nothing.
‘Let me guess, we walk right in and get the job done?’
Without seeing her face he really couldn’t be sure whether she was mocking him or not.
‘Three men wait on the outside,’ Ryker said. ‘In case anyone else shows up. The rest of us go inside. Two up front, two at the back. Me and Berg in the middle.’
‘And the guns?’ Pettersen asked.
‘Not for me. One up front, one at the back.’
No one said anything.
‘Agreed?’ Ryker asked.
‘Why not,’ Berg said.
Up ahead, Sonja opened the gates and once her car was moving again, Pettersen followed them in. The three cars parked in a row, on the opposite side of the forecourt to the two cars already there.
Everyone stepped out. Ryker took a deep inhale of fresh, sea air. Cold, but it helped to clear his head a little. Not for the first time tonight the unknown lay ahead, but for once he at least had numbers on his side. Unless he’d read the whole situation backward.
He looked about the place. Certainly, the darkened grounds had plenty of places for people to hide out, though Ryker spotted nothing to worry him. He saw it as unlikely that the Russians had an entire other army of men, loyal to them, disloyal to Berg.
Ryker remained silent as Berg and Pettersen quietly corralled the troops. Soon Pettersen came up to him.
‘We’re ready,’ she said.
Ryker nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
He looked over at Erling. The big man glared at him. Anger and venom. Clearly, he didn’t like that Ryker had bettered him earlier – kind of, anyway. But for now, they were on the same side. Ryker would remain wary. Of all of them. The only person in the group he truly believed to be on his side was Pettersen, and even with her, he wouldn’t trust her 100 percent. She was still one of them. A local. He was the outsider.
As were the Russians.
They moved off in formation. Sonja – gun in hand – at the front with Erling. Pettersen – gun in hand – and some other guy at the back. Ryker walked next to Berg.
‘The side entrance,’ Berg said.
He didn’t say which side, but they all veered off to the left. Clearly, the others all knew this place a lot better than Ryker did.
The side door – closed – came into sight and Sonja stopped and swung around, stooping low to point the barrel of her shotgun into the darkness.
Everyone else paused. A few murmurs of disquiet.
‘There’s nothing there,’ Ryker said.
That received a glower and a mumbling rebuke from Sonja and Erling though Ryker didn’t understand the Norwegian.
They carried on to the door. Erling opened it. Light spilled out from within. Sonja, gun held out, stepped in first. Everyone else paused. As though waiting for the sound of gunfire or some other indication of what lay beyond. Nothing. Erling moved in next. Ryker grabbed Berg, holding on to the back of his coat to push him forward and keep him close. Insurance. A human shield. Whichever, Ryker didn’t care for Berg, even if they were on the same side right now. Kind of.
He pushed Berg over the threshold. Took in the space in front of him. A big space. Warehouse, factory, offices, all in one. The area directly in front of them was cleared and well-lit. Polished concrete floor. Two men on their feet: the Russians. Henrik was on his knees in front of them. A cloth gag in his mouth. Hands behind his back. The shorter of the Russians – Bulldog – had a gleaming knife in his hand, a few inches from Henrik.
‘Good evening,’ the taller man said with a callous smile as he took in the new arrivals. His smile faltered a little when he looked at Ryker, then again when he clocked Pettersen, still in her police uniform.
‘Quite a party now,’ he said.
His little bulldog grinned. Or was it a grimace?
The last man in closed the door. Ryker and the others all stood in a line looking at the enemy.
‘I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,’ the tall man said, fixing his gaze on Ryker.
‘Not yet,’ Ryker said.
‘My name is Valeri Sychev. This is my associate, Andrey.’
‘Nice to put a name to a face.’
‘And you are?’
‘James Ryker. Or Carl Logan. Call me whatever you want.’
A raised eyebrow from Sychev.
‘Where’s the other one?’ Berg asked.
Sychev’s smile broadened. ‘Konstantin?’ Then a shake of the head. ‘I’ve really tried very hard, but it’s so difficult to get him to do what I ask. He’s so primal.’
Sychev turned and called out to the darkened area behind him.
A scrape and a scratch echoed and then came squeaking. Old wheels turning. Ryker remained rooted, at the ready, but to his left and right he sensed growing nerves, shuffling of feet.
Out of the dark… Ryker sucked in a breath. A trolley. Pushed by a man. On the trolley… It took Ryker several beats to understand what he saw.
A big, bloody, pulpy mess. Raw, lacerated flesh.
A person. Definitely a person, though almost unidentifiable. The madman pushing the trolley wore nothing but a pair of jeans. The skin of his muscular torso was lined with scars and streaked with blood.
His eyes…
Ryker shivered.
Konstantin stopped. He tipped the trolley up and the heap of flesh slid off and plopped to the floor where it lay unmoving. Ryker flinched at the horrific sight and sound. Whoever the lump was, they were dead. But they’d suffered horribly before their final breath. Death, most likely, had come as a welcome relief.
‘What have you done?’ Berg gasped.
Sychev and Andrey didn’t look in the least bit moved. Konstantin. he didn’t look anything. He had nothing there, no emotion at all.
‘You should be thanking me, Sigurd,’ Sychev said. ‘This man was working against you. Trying to ruin everything for you.’
Another gasp from Berg, as though he’d just figured out who it was, then, ‘Marius?’
‘A worm of a man. Not like you. Not like me. Do you know, he even let us in here tonight? He knew what we were planning for you, but he let us in here anyway. How could you ever have trusted a man like that?’
No one said anything. Ryker looked at Pettersen. To Erling. Shock. That was the main reaction he saw. Shock and fear. Yet Ryker and the others had the numbers. Had guns too. They couldn’t let the advantage slip.
‘Give us the boy,’ Ryker said. ‘That’s all we came here for.’
Sychev scoffed. ‘That might be why you’re here, but I’m sure you don’t speak for everyone.’
‘Give us the boy,’ Pettersen said, pointing her gun at Sychev.
No reaction at all from the Russians to the threat.
‘You can have him when our business is concluded,’ Sychev said.
‘You know who he is, right?’ Ryker said.
‘Henrik? Yes, we’ve been told.’
‘Then give this man his son back. Whatever business you have, it doesn’t involve Henrik.’
Doubt now in Sychev’s eyes. Doubt, and confusion.
‘His son?’
Berg shuffled. ‘Just give us the boy. Then we can talk.’
Then Sychev laughed. Loud and long. Ryker had doubted Berg’s claim. Now he was certain Henrik wasn’t Berg’s son. So who was he?
‘Go and get him,’ Sychev said, turning to Konstantin, then back to Berg. ‘You’re even more sneaky than I imagined.’
Konstantin went to move away. ‘Don’t move!’ Pettersen shouted.
‘I’m sorry, lady,’ Sychev said, ‘but this is important.’
Pettersen looked at Ryker. He looked at Sychev.
‘Go and get who?’ Ryker said.
‘You’ll see.’
Ryker nodded to Pettersen. She pulled the gun down, just enough to make it clear Konstantin could move. He disappeared into the dark once more.
Sychev focused on Berg. ‘Have you lied to everyone here, or only to your new friend?’
Ryker turned to Berg. The guy looked like… Well, he looked like he’d been found out. Ryker clenched his teeth in anger, even though he’d suspected as much.
‘Henrik isn’t his son,’ Sychev said. ‘He’s the son of Erik Rosen.’
‘Who the fuck is Erik Rosen?’ Ryker asked, not bothered about hiding his irritation.
Sychev tutted. ‘You really should have done your homework before befriending this man. Rosen is his competitor. It’s that simple. Your good friend here is nothing but a… a megalomaniac. I love that word! He kidnapped the poor boy to blackmail his competitor. This is about money, pure and simple.’
‘No,’ Berg said, shaking his head in defiance.
‘No? We could always ask the man himself.’ Sychev looked behind him. ‘He’s here too. In a little better shape than poor Marius. After all, Erik still has value—’
‘No,’ Berg said, managing a manic cackle.
Everyone in the room stood in silence. A turning point? Sychev certainly looked a little less certain of himself given the conviction in Berg’s taunt.
‘He’s not my son,’ Berg said looking at Ryker. ‘I told you what you needed to hear.’ He faced Sychev. ‘And I’m sorry, but he’s not Rosen’s son either.’
‘Then who the fuck is he?’ Erling said, sounding impatient. A little bit angry. Ryker understood the sentiment. What the hell was going on?
‘He’s Jesper’s son, you piece of shit,’ Berg said. He stepped back, his face screwed up in anger. ‘Kill them!’
He looked at Pettersen, then Sonja. Both were hesitant…
But then both lifted their weapons…
‘Now,’ Sychev said, absolute calm, despite his predicament.
The lights flicked off and the room plunged into darkness.