The Troika Dolls (47 page)

She saw Dragoman pull Anya closer towards him and turn her shoulders to face Heini.

‘For you.’

Heini looked the girl up and down. ‘Sure, heh. I’ll take it. But honestly, I think I prefer my sparkling parrots here.’ He indicated his bevy of women, now giggling around the cake, dipping their fingers in the whipped cream and touching them to each other’s noses. ‘So marvellously playful, don’t you think?’

Dragoman’s marbles shone with an evil light. ‘But you don’t know who she is.’

Heini raised an eyebrow.

Dragoman spoke softly, but Stevie was close enough. ‘She’s Valery Kozkov’s daughter.’

For a moment Heini was lost for words. Then a smile crept across his face.

‘Heh. Heh. You are a poet my friend, heh, a true poet.’

Dragoman gave Anya a small shove in the back. She took a step forward. Heini took her by the hand and ever so gently drew her towards him, admiring every inch of her.

‘Kozkov’s daughter, heh?’

It took all of Stevie’s willpower to not leap forward, smash Heini in the face and rush for the doors with Anya. She told herself Anya would be easier to rescue in Heini’s hands. Heini’s bodyguards were thugs, hired for their bulk rather than their brain; Dragoman’s were smart, sophisticated killers.

Dragoman’s shadow stepped forward and handed his master a clean white handkerchief, pouring rubbing alcohol onto his hands. Having thoroughly disinfected them, Dragoman nodded sharply to Heini.

‘I expect you to move on my orders immediately. The money will be transferred to you in two parts: one half before, and the other after, delivery of the pharmaceuticals.’ He paused a moment. ‘I don’t have to remind you to be discreet, Heini, do I? If I hear even the faintest rumour in the remotest border town, I will blame you.’

‘You’ll have your little pills,’ Heini assured him. ‘Don’t worry, I leave tomorrow. And Heini will have a wonderful time with his birthday gift when he gets home.’ He touched Anya’s golden hair then looked at Dragoman with admiration. ‘You truly are a wicked man, Felix. Heh.’

Dragoman tapped his index finger and thumb together and his shadow, lurking ever at his shoulders, produced a fresh cigarette in its holder and handed it to his master with the reverence due a peace pipe.

‘I am just a student of human nature, Heini. People are simple puppets. I like to watch them as they play out their little emotions, their base desires, their frailties.’ Dragoman blew smoke through his nose like a dragon. It was scented with cloves, an Indonesian kretek cigarette. ‘It amuses me.’

Stevie, eating cake, nodding to everything Gunnar Gobb said, heard every word.

‘Arrogant ass,’ was her first reaction, but she dismissed it quickly.

It was dangerous to despise one’s enemy. It led one to underestimate him, and it would not do to underestimate Felix Dragoman. She took another bite of the hideous cake. She was starving and it was the only thing that had been edible that evening. She needed the sugar to think.

She heard Anya say something to Heini in Russian, her voice low and dry with fear. Stevie leaned in as much as she dared and caught the word
tualet
.

‘What am I supposed to do about it? You can’t bloody go on your own.’ Heini turned to Dragoman in exasperation. ‘She’s not toilet trained? Like a naughty puppy, heh! You’ve given me a naughty puppy.’

‘She’s in your care now, my friend,’ Dragoman replied with a hint of a smile.

‘Send Sogol with her.’ Heini summoned the ginger-bearded muscle from the far wall with a wave of his fat hand. As the bodyguard lumbered over, Stevie vanished, heading on quick and nimble feet for the ladies room.

It was a proper powder
room, with pale velvet chairs and a huge mirror cut in the shape of a butterfly. Hundreds of tin butterflies, painted in art deco colours, were fixed on the walls and ceiling.

Stevie went through to the tiled area and into the end cubicle. She was counting on Anya heading for the same one, instinctively choosing the one furthest from her tormentors. The ceiling was tall and the old-fashioned cubicles did not reach all the way up. Stevie climbed onto the toilet seat and pulled herself up onto the top of the partitions. There she waited, flattened against the back wall, hoping that Sogol would not look up.

She knew enough about kidnap victims to guess what kind of state Anya would be in. The difficult part would be to get Anya to trust her. Everyone would be an enemy in her eyes and her fear would stop her listening properly. Her nerves would be shot and her mind blank; in that state, she might even scream and run back to the bodyguard.

Stevie needed to find the thing that would unfreeze her, something that would go straight through all her self-protecting zombie shells and reach Anya’s heart.

She heard Sogol the Barbarian enter. He wheezed like one of Heini’s pugs. He was checking the stalls. When they all appeared to be empty, he went to wait by the butterfly mirror, out of sight but not of earshot.

Stevie realised she couldn’t even afford to whisper to Anya. Sogol might hear. She pulled out her eyeliner. The old-fashioned water cistern above the seat would make a perfect canvas.

She hopped softly back down. She heard Anya’s heels clack towards the end stall and hoped she wouldn’t scream.

The girl’s fright was evident in her eyes when she found Stevie crouching like a water hen on the toilet seat, but fortunately her yelp of surprise died before it could get out. Stevie put her finger to her lips and pointed at the cistern.

Anya read the word Stevie had written there:
Vadim
.

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, then her hands flew to her face and she began to weep. The sight of her brother’s name at the centre of this strange and terrible night brought a tiny comfort, but with that came all the pain in the world.

Stevie was relieved; Anya had understood.

Sogol’s voice came over the stalls. ‘No crying, eh, only pissing. I want to hear pissing.’ He snorted phlegm.

Stevie took the young girl’s face in her hands and held her close, trying to give Anya all her own strength in that small moment. Then, smearing the indigo letters with her sleeve, she swung herself up onto the top of the cistern and disappeared along the row of stalls.

Nothing would stop Stevie now.

Back in the ballroom, Stevie
found that Henning had attached himself to Heini’s party, the birthday boy slapping him on the shoulder and insisting they drink a toast to ‘birthday girls’. The thought of them had Heini in very high spirits.

Clever Henning, she thought and watched him clink shot glasses with horrid Heini and down the contents. He really did have a knack for making the most unlikely friends.

She heard Heini chuckle. He went to clap Dragoman on the shoulder again but the shadow stepped in.

‘Don’t you worry, Felix. One drink won’t slow things down, heh. The cars are waiting and we will be ready.’

Were they moving out? Henning would have to find out. Where their night was going, Stevie could not follow. Henning alone would be able to get much closer to Heini and Dragoman, and with far less suspicion. No doubt there would be drinking, and cigars, and women in the background.

She was irritated to find she felt a twinge of possessiveness when one of the candy canes put her arm around Henning’s shoulders and playfully kissed him on the cheek.

It was not difficult for her to slip into the role of ‘tired and emotional film starlet disgruntled with the world because of lack of attention to self’. She bid Henning a rather terse goodnight, pouting sulkily as he blew her a distracted kiss, immersed in the merriment.

‘And you better call me before you go to bed,’ Stevie called crossly over her shoulder, hoping this would give Henning a good excuse to use his mobile phone if he discovered anything. She noticed with a shiver that Dragoman’s eyes were on her, steady as beads. She hoped to death that her charade was as good as she thought it was.

The question in her mind, as she padded up the flight of carpeted stairs, was where would they take Anya? Would she join the merry party? It was unlikely. Heini seemed too distracted tonight . . .

Her phone vibrated like a
bumble bee in her pocket. Henning.

‘Stevie. They’re sending for a nurse to drug Anya—“my niece is nervous of flying” and so on. They’ve got her in Heini’s rooms, I’m pretty sure. Heini’s planning to drive into Lichtenstein with her. I’m stuck here with them in the spa bath—well the lav, actually.’

‘Got that, Henning. I’m onto it.’ Stevie was suddenly full of dread.

‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she added, but he had already hung up.

A plan was forming as Stevie rushed down towards the medical centre located in the basement. All the drugs were locked up down there and reported in the register. Henning had noted it all on his visit.

David Rice always said, ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’ One’s imagination often dreamed up wild schemes but, without downplaying the ingenuity of many criminals and terrorists, it was often the simple, straightforward plan that worked: a shot to the head, a car bomb, a razor blade to the jugular.

Anyone heading upstairs from the nurses’ station had to pass through the sliding glass doors by the lift. Stevie positioned herself behind a display case that held souvenir t-shirts and bathrobes emblazoned with an enthusiastic
Gesundheit in Hoffenschaffen!
slogan, and lay in wait. The key to the cabinet hung on a small hook above her head. She pocketed it.

It wasn’t long before she heard a nurse’s trolley. Stevie stayed still until the nurse herself appeared, waiting for the lift, her back to Stevie. She had to be carrying Anya’s drugs—all the other guests were in the ballroom.

It was only the first time she had actually used it outside the training course, but the sleeper hold was surprisingly easy to execute and very effective. Standing behind the nurse, Stevie whipped her forearm around her narrow neck and pressed. She caught the woman as she went limp, then removed her white coat and hat and locked her in the display cabinet. She took off her feather gilet, smoothed her hair back and donned the nurse’s uniform. She wiped the excess makeup from her eyes. It would have to do.

Once in the lift, Stevie examined the clipboard on the trolley. It showed the room number, the name of the drug and the dosage:
Midazolam
10 mg
.

Stevie’s suspicions were confirmed. Midazolam was a strong sedative. It had similar effects to Rohypnol but, unlike Rohypnol, it could be injected. Ten milligrams would put a small girl like Anya out for at least four hours—and it only took a minute to take effect.

The drug was a perfect choice. With Midazolam, there was no danger of a drop in blood pressure so there was no need to monitor the patient’s vitals, and patients were able to breathe unassisted. Once drugged, Anya would be appear awake—rather stoned, but awake. She would not, however, be able to walk. But it meant that getting Anya safely out of the country would be simple: if anyone did notice her grogginess, it could be dismissed as drunkenness or food poisoning to anyone curious.

The Steinbock Room was Heini’s, and there was Sogol, standing at the door like a ginger bear, smoking a cigarette with his thumb and forefinger and picking his nose.

Stevie trundled towards him, a paper mask over her nose and mouth. She was counting on Sogol being as incurious as he looked. She could see the outline of a handgun under his jogging suit.

Sogol was expecting the nurse. He opened the door without a word and followed Stevie in, locking it behind him. He moved further into the room and then unlocked the bathroom door. He had, Stevie noted, left the key in the lock.

Anya was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, still in her velvet dress, shivering. Her eyes flashed with fear when the door opened, but Stevie was relieved to see that if Anya did recognise her eyes over the paper mask she gave no indication.

Stevie uncovered her metal tray and began to prepare the syringe. Fortunately she had once taken care of a diabetic dog who needed insulin and so had become quite proficient at giving injections.

When Anya saw the needle she screamed and cowered further into the corner, shaking.

Sogol grunted. He thought it was funny.

Stevie turned to him. ‘I will need your assistance. Please hold the girl.’

Sogol went over and grabbed Anya’s arms, holding her still. Tears were pouring down the girl’s face.

Stevie uncapped the needle on the syringe and moved towards her. She took hold of Anya’s arm and carefully swabbed the fragile limb with alcohol. Then she gave the syringe a good flick and pressed the plunger a millimetre to make sure there were no air bubbles.

‘Please, stay very—’

Stevie’s hand moved like a wasp, the syringe jabbing Sogol right in the jugular vein like a vicious slap. She jammed the plunger down then ripped Anya from his surprised hands. Before Sogol could react, she had pushed the prisoner out of the bathroom door, sprinted out behind her, then locked it, kicking the key under the bed.

She heard Sogol roar and rush at the door, another crash against it—would it hold?—then a thunderous thud on the floor. The barbarian was out for the count.

Stevie ripped off her paper mask.

‘Run with me. We have no time.’

They pelted down the corridor, Anya barefoot, her evening dress ripped almost in two, Stevie dragging her by the wrist.

They reached the boot room on the ground floor, dark and empty at this time of night. Stevie dialled Henning.

‘Darling!’ she said in a loud voice. ‘Where the hell are you?’

‘Just having a quiet chat with the boys, sweetie.’ She knew he must still be with Heini and Dragoman. She would have to be careful.

‘It’s almost three!’ she protested loudly in case anyone could hear her end of the conversation through Henning’s phone. Then she whispered, ‘
I’ve got her
.’

‘I won’t be much longer, darling,’ Henning reassured her. ‘I hope you’re tucked up in bed.’

‘
Boot room
,’ Stevie whispered, then louder, ‘Where else would I be?!
Car keys
.’ Stevie needed to help Henning find an excuse to get away from the men. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she whined into the phone. ‘I need a pill.’