The Last Temptation (57 page)

In the end, she had pretended to pass out. It hadn’t been much of a stretch, for by then Carol had only been clinging to consciousness by a thread. She listened to him moving around the bedroom, getting dressed, heard his footsteps in the hall and then the merciful slam of the apartment door.

Only then did she let the tears come. Hot and heavy, they dripped from her lids, sliding down her temples to mingle with the sweat that plastered her hair to her head. She hadn’t let him see her cry. It was the tiniest shred of victory, but it was enough to save her from feeling utterly destroyed.

Not that she was feeling anything much right then. It was as if by invading her Radecki had simultaneously hollowed her out. And the physical pain helped. It was something to

480

focus on. Her raped, sodomized, and battered body provided plenty to keep her occupied.

But even through the haze of agony and grief and the overwhelming knowledge of degradation, Carol knew she couldn’t just lie there and endure her suffering. He was going to kill Tony. It was probably already too late to do anything to stop him, but she had to try.

She tested the bonds on her wrists again. It was no use. Whatever he had used to pinion her had no give. She tried to move her legs, then realized they too were bound. A sob of despair caught in her throat. Somehow, she was going to have to manage.

Carol dug her heels into the bed, wincing at the fresh waves of suffering that pulsed from her lower abdomen and spread through her body. Gradually, inch by excruciating inch, she dragged herself to the bottom of the bed. She wriggled forward and managed to get her feet on the floor. Her muscles screamed their objections as she struggled into a sitting position. The effort left her gasping for breath.

Gingerly, she tried to stand. At the first effort, her knees wobbled disastrously and she collapsed back on the bed. Bile rose in her throat and she spat it out, past caring as it dribbled down her chest. On the second attempt, she coped better. She was swaying like a reed bed in a sea breeze, but she was upright.

Upright but incapable of forward movement. She could no more jump with her feet tied than she could have swung from the ceiling with her bound wrists. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to roll. Almost weeping with the distress, she let herself fall to the floor. With a mixture of rolling and convulsive crawling, she made it through to the living room, bouncing painfully off the door jambs as she went. The phone on the desk seemed an impossible distance

481

away, but she knew she had to get there. All that kept her going was the knowledge that Tony’s life might depend on what fragile strength she had left in her. She couldn’t afford to dwell on what had been done to her; there was more at stake than that.

In a blur of anguish, she crossed the room and banged into the desk. She squirmed round so she could grip the phone cable in her teeth and, with a backward jerk of her head, yanked it to the floor, the handset bouncing a foot away from her head. Through eyes puffed with tears and bruising, she peered at the push buttons. She knew she had memorized Petra’s mobile number in what felt like a past life and prayed she could remember it now.

Digit by digit, Carol pressed her chin against the keys, hoping she would be quick enough to avoid the electronic switchboard system giving up on her and cutting the line before she reached the end. Finally, she twisted round so she could lean her head against the receiver. She heard the blessed sound of a phone ringing. It stopped abruptly, then she heard the electronic beep of an answering machine. Petra’s voice chattered cheerfully in German, then there was another beep.

Carol tried to speak and could only croak. She cleared her throat painfully. ‘Petra. It’s Carol. I need you now. Come to the apartment. Please.’ It was all she could manage. With her last ounce of energy, she terminated the call by rolling over on to the receiver rest.

Her immediate mission accomplished, Carol gave in and let unconsciousness claim her.

Tony had never been so cold in his life. It had been bad enough in the boot of the car, but at least there he’d been lying on carpet. He had no idea where he was now, but it felt as if he was lying on concrete or stone. He’d begun shivering uncon

482

trollably a while ago, but his body seemed to be beyond that effort now. His muscles ached with cramp and, whenever he breathed, he could feel the broken tips of his ribs protest as they grated against each other. Was this how it had been for the children in Schloss Hochenstein? Freezing, in pain, alone and waiting for death?

Physical discomfort, however, ranked a poor second behind the mental torture. He didn’t understand how it had happened, but Radecki had found him in Koblenz, and had known exactly who he was. He’d thought he was so smart, coming up with his idea of a plausible story on the spur of the moment. But all he had achieved was to leave Carol in more danger than she had been before.

The worst thing about his gift for worming his way inside other people’s heads was that it left him with no illusions about the extremes of evil that human beings were capable of. Someone with less insight would not have understood the psychological message that Radecki had sent out loud and clear. One way or another, he was going to have sex with Carol. Tony knew that could never be consensual; what he had provoked by his futile attempts to save Carol was to deliver her up to rape.

He had heard all the arguments about rape not being the worst thing that could happen to a woman, but he had never found them convincing. For a woman like Carol, whose sense of identity was bound up in her perception of herself as strong and ultimately inviolable, rape brought havoc to the personality. It made the glue that integrated the person come unstuck. It left her with nothing but fragments of the life she thought she had owned. It undermined everything she thought she knew about herself.

And he had not only let that happen to Carol, he had made it happen. To have said nothing at all would have been better

483

than what he had actually done. Even to have admitted the whole truth would probably have given her more chance of survival.

Oh come on, the voice in his head berated him. Stop making a meal of this. You’re using guilt to make yourself important. As soon as Radecki decided that Carol was part of a black operation that killed his girlfriend, he was going to take that kind of revenge. Stop wallowing and start thinking.

The trouble was, there was nothing about his situation that thinking would help. Like those children whose fate had been an abiding presence since he had entered the grim fastness of the schloss, he was powerless. He was bound and gagged, wrapped in smelly tarpaulin, his body too weak to put up any kind of resistance. One way or another, he was going to die here. Either Radecki would kill him, or else they’d simply leave him here to a slow, grim death. And all because some megalomaniac bastard had put Carol in the middle of a black operation.

For, strangely enough, he didn’t doubt what Radecki had told him. It made sense of what had seemed the extraordinary coincidence of Carol’s resemblance to Katerina. That Morgan and his team had happened to stumble across Carol after Katerina’s death had always been hard for him to swallow. But it had been easier to think that ridiculous quirks of fate happened than to contemplate the arrogant brutality that killed an innocent woman simply to set up a snare to entrap her lover.

It would all be deniable, of course. If Carol survived, which was probably no more than a fifty-fifty chance right now, nobody would ever admit the way she’d been set up by her own side. She’d be bought off with whatever professional sop she asked for, but she’d always have Katerina’s death hanging round her neck like an albatross. Every time she looked in the

484

i

mirror, she would be reminded of the accident of genetics that had cost another woman her life.

Whatever the outcome for Carol tonight, he knew she would never be whole again. And while he knew it would be n almost unbearable to see that disintegration happen to her,

he bitterly regretted that he wouldn’t be there to offer what small help he could. He’d never been one for regrets, believing that the choices people make are invariably the only possible ones for them at that point in their lives. But now he was about to die, he realized that they did have some value after all. Regret for things done and undone could provoke change in the future.

Only those with no future left could see that clearly.

\

Petra walked out of the safe house with a deep sense of fulfilment. Mother and daughter had had a satisfyingly emotional reunion, and Marlene was acting as if Petra were her new best friend. For the first time, she had actually volunteered information, revealing that she knew far more about Darko s? Krasic’s activities than Petra had suspected. ‘Tanja’s father

j| used to work for Radecki and Krasic,’ she had admitted. ‘His

brother’s a shipping agent, and Rudi was the go-between who helped set up their transport arrangements in the early days.’

‘Where’s Rudi now?’

‘Feeding the fishes. His body turned up in the Spree a couple of years ago. It was supposed to have been an accident. He was pissed and they said he’d fallen in and drowned. We’d split up by then, but I always wondered. Radecki and Krasic don’t like anybody knowing their business.’

It was yet another angle to go at. But that could wait till morning. Exhausted, Petra walked to her car, taking out her mobile and switching it back on. She’d turned it off while she’d been in the safe house, wanting no interruptions while

485

she talked to Marlene. Immediately it rang, telling her she had a message. She dialled in to her message service and retrieved it. At first, she couldn’t make out what was being said, only recognizing the voice as Carol’s because she was speaking English. Hastily, she played it again, finger in her other ear to drown out the background traffic noise.

This time, there was no mistaking the words, or the desperation behind them. What the hell had happened? Petra ran the last few yards and drove like a traffic cop to Carol’s street. She abandoned the car in a disabled bay and raced back up the street to the apartment block, groping in her bag for the spare set of keys to the apartment, congratulating herself on the foresight that had made her take a copy of Carol’s keys. Luckily the lift was standing at the ground floor, so she didn’t need to waste her energy running up the stairs.

She was about to put the key in the lock when she had a momentary flash of concern. What if this was a trap? What if Radecki or Krasic had forced Carol to make the call?

Petra pushed the thought away. Carol wouldn’t put another officer at risk like that. If she’d been coerced, she would have found a form of words that would have given Petra warning. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The apartment was silent, though she could see the flicker of the TV screen from the hallway. She picked up the smells of sex and blood and froze where she stood. ‘Carol?’ she called out.

Nothing. Petra slipped her hand into her bag, where her standard-issue Walther PPK nestled in an easily accessible inside pocket. Cautiously, she drew the gun and slipped off the safety. Gently placing her bag on the floor, she held the gun in a two-handed grip as she inched forward towards the living-room doorway, her back to the wall.

She turned swiftly into the room, straight into a firing stance. What confronted her was far, far worse than she could

486

have imagined. Carol lay in a crumpled heap, wrists and ankles bound behind her back with leather belts. Her face was a streaked mess of blood, saliva, mucus and tears. Her nose was swollen and angled improbably. Her eyes were invisible in the puffy purpling of bruised flesh. Smudged trails of blood and shit were visible on her thighs. There was no room for doubt about what had happened here.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Petra moaned. She crossed the room in rapid strides, sticking her gun in her waistband. Tears of anger and grief swelled inside her as she sought frantically for a pulse in Carol’s neck. Relief hit her as her fingers felt the slow beat of blood in the carotid artery.

What to do first? Petra hurried through to the kitchen and yanked out the drawers, looking for a sharp knife. She grabbed a dishtowel and ran it under the cold tap.

Gingerly she cut the belts away from Carol’s hands and feet, swearing as sh& took in the deep welts they left. Carol’s arms fell to her sides and a groan escaped from her lips. Petra sat down behind her and manoeuvred her into a more comfortable position, tenderly cradling her. She wiped the damp towel across Carol’s forehead, constantly repeating, ‘It’s Petra, Carol. I’m here for you.’

Within a minute, Carol’s swollen eyelids flickered, a thin gap appearing between them. ‘Petra?’ she whispered.

‘I’m here, Carol. You’re safe now.’

Carol struggled in her arms. ‘Tony. They’ve got Tony,’ she cried.

‘Radecki?’ Petra asked, no doubt in her mind who was responsible for this nightmare.

‘He’s got Tony. He’s going to kill him. He told me. He knows who I am. I’m blown. And he’s going to kill Tony because we killed Katerina.’ Petra’s mind tried to grapple with Carol’s words and make

487

sense of them. What was all this about killing Katerina? She shook her head. She couldn’t process this stuff now, and it was clear that there were more urgent matters on hand. She had no idea how long had passed since the attack on Carol. She had no idea where Radecki and Krasic were. She headed straight for the salient question. ‘Where have they got him? Do you know?’

‘No, I don’t know. But you’ve got to find them. Stop them. You can’t let them kill Tony.’ Carol’s voice was desperate. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she clung on to Petra like a terrified child.