The Third Antichrist (51 page)

‘How many men have you got under your direct command, Markovich?’

There was a moment’s silence while Markovich decided whether or not to answer.

‘Cat got your tongue, Markovich? Have you forgotten the orders you were given by your boss, the New Messiah?’

Markovich grunted. ‘I was thinking about Trakhtenberger.’

‘Well, don’t. He’s worm meat. Think about my question instead.’

There was another pause. Markovich almost spat out the answer. ‘Twenty. Maybe thirty. It depends.’

‘Depends on what?’

Markovich sat up straighter. ‘Where they are detailed. What my orders are concerning them. Their responsibilities at home. At the present moment I have five Crusaders guarding the Coryphaeus’s house back in Moldova, and a further ten or so out here on the road in Romania, registering Moldovan voters for the coming elections.’

‘Why does the Coryphaeus need his house guarding?’

Markovich seemed surprised at the question. ‘Well, he doesn’t. Not most of the time, anyway. But it goes in phases. Sometimes he will call on us. Usually when he wants to be undisturbed for a specific period of time. He refuses to be disturbed at the moment, for instance. This happens sometimes. He goes into seclusion with his sister. This time he has told the people that his sister has the typhoid. But I do not think this is true. They are probably meditating. The guards are there to keep well-wishers away. It can go on like this for days.’

‘The meditating?’

‘Yes. Antanasia Catalin is a very holy woman. The Coryphaeus thinks highly of her. They meditate together.’

Abi bit back a cynical snort. Well. Meditation was one way of putting it. ‘So those are the only Crusaders actually back in Moldova, then? The rest of the gang are out here cold-calling?’ Abi’s hands were now free. He continued to hold them behind his back.

‘I suppose so. Yes. That is the case. But what are you getting at? I should have thought our main problem was not how many men I have under my immediate command, but how to get out of this stinking place. The Coryphaeus is going to be very angry with me. I have failed him.’

‘Don’t worry about getting out, Markovich. I have a plan. And I’ll even see you right with the Coryphaeus. But answer my question first.’

Markovich was slightly mollified by Abi’s tone. ‘Well, there are always the reserves. Men who work full time, but who can be called on as Crusaders in an emergency.’

‘But at the moment there are only five armed Crusaders in Albescu?’

‘I told you that. Yes. But why are you asking me all these questions?’

‘Just to pass the time. I am fascinated by your Coryphaeus. As you know, we support him wholeheartedly in what he is aiming to do. To the extent even of funding his presidential campaign. That is why I am interested in the vote-gathering aspect of his work.’

‘You are funding him?’

‘Yes. With a considerable sum of money. That is why he trusts me. That is why he put me in charge of you. Our people have made commitments. I’m sure he has told you all this.’ Abi decided that a little subtle flattery wouldn’t go amiss. ‘And we intend to honour these commitments despite this recent fiasco.’

Markovich nodded his head as if he had been fully cognizant of the situation from the outset. ‘It is bad what happened to Trakhtenberger. He had a wife and three children.’

‘We will make sure she has a pension.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Trakhtenberger died in the line of duty. His widow deserves to be compensated. His children will be well cared for. You have my word on that.’ Abi was grateful that Markovich was not as yet able to make out his features in the rapidly receding gloom. His capacity for playacting was hardly up there with Jean Gabin. ‘The Coryphaeus has a splendid house, I presume?’

‘No. No. It is very humble. Nothing splendid about it. The Coryphaeus lives just like you and I.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it. Is the church attached to his house, by any chance?’

‘No. The house overlooks the church, but it is not attached. The house has its very own driveway, you know. Have you not seen it?’

‘No. I have not had that privilege. The Coryphaeus and I met elsewhere. But I shall doubtless visit him at some point in the future. I look forward to it very much.’ Abi could scarcely contain his glee. ‘I am glad you have the house well guarded, though. But five men does not seem like enough to safeguard such a vulnerable edifice.’

‘I agree with you. I agree with you completely. I have often said as much to the Coryphaeus. Two men on and two men off. It is simply not enough.’

‘So you’ve arranged it like that? But what about the fifth man?’

‘Ah. That was my idea. I am very pleased about that. I have earmarked this man to use his discretion. To check up on the house when the men guarding it are least expecting it. Even the Coryphaeus does not know about him. This way the guards will always stay on the alert.’

‘A wise move. A wise move indeed.’ Abi stood up and shucked off his bonds. In one fluid movement he picked up the snow shovel he had marked out earlier and swung it at Markovich’s head.

Markovich had a split second in which to either cry out or throw himself to one side. He opted for the cry.

Abi’s blow took him full on the temple. Markovich’s head smashed back against the wall. He curled up into a ball and began to howl.

Abi belted him on the knee.

Markovich lurched forward, shrieking.

Abi stepped across and rammed the edge of the shovel down on Markovich’s neck – it was the same movement a man would use when cutting turves. The blow severed Markovich’s spinal cord.

Abi squinted down at his handiwork. Then he wiped his prints off the handle of the shovel and replaced it neatly in the rack.

He moved to the door and took out his picklocks. The thought of the policeman’s cursory body-search still amused him. Abi suspected that he could have got away with a sub-machine gun concealed up his right trouser leg if he’d felt so inclined. Maybe the guy had been drinking, too? Nothing these amateurs did would surprise him anymore. Sabir, on the other hand, bore watching. The man had the luck of the Devil.

He opened the door. Listened. Then relaxed.

He hefted Markovich over his shoulder and carried him upstairs. He dumped him down beside Trakhtenberger, cut his bonds, and disposed of the rope. He returned to the cellar and collected the discarded Nordic skis, boots, and ski poles that Sabir had been using earlier.

On his way back upstairs he glanced at the shotguns and the Dragunov rifle that Sabir and his cohorts had left behind. He shook his head dolefully. No. There was no future in any of those. Not for a man on foot. He helped himself to a parka jacket, some gloves, and a ridiculous fur hat with earflaps that was hanging behind the storeroom door.

He hesitated for a moment on his way out of the lodge.

Grunting, he dumped the skis, boots, sticks and clothing outside the front door, and went back inside.

He hurried through into the room in which Lemma had been sleeping. He bundled up the used bedlinen and the sleeping bags in a pile on the floor. He slit the sleeping bags open with his penknife, then surrounded the heap of stuffing with wood from the log pile. Then he raked the embers out from inside the wood-burner and spread them across the stuffing, criss-crossing the whole with kindling. His improvised pyramid was smoking in a most satisfactory manner by the time he left the room.

He went into the rear sitting room and did the same with the sleeping bags in there. He soon had a second fire going. He added some eviscerated sofa cushions to the blaze for good measure.

He returned to the hall, switched his shoes for the Nordic ski boots, then threw his used footgear back inside the lodge. He left the front door ajar. There was nothing like an open doorway to create a draught.

He attached the Nordic skis to his leather boot-tips and tested their spring and flexibility. When he was satisfied with the setup, he put on the coat, hat and gloves, and forged down the valley in the direction he had arrived. It was downhill all the way.

Abi reckoned that it shouldn’t take him more than three or four hours of ski time to reach the main gates. He would steal himself a car in C
ă
r
ţ
i
ş
oara and take it from there.

Behind him, the fire began to rage out of control.

Albescu, Moldova
Sunday, 7 February 2010

84

Abi watched the two Crusaders from his hidden position high up beneath the triple bells on Albescu’s church tower. It was just as Markovich had indicated. The two guards were taking turn and turn about the Coryphaeus’s house, which the church tower clearly overlooked. They seemed bored. And cold. There was much foot-stamping and hand-slapping, and the men’s muttering carried clearly up to him on the frozen night air.

Two hours into their tour of duty, the third Crusader – the one who was meant to be on a roving spy commission – turned up. All three men huddled together and shared the thermos of coffee the third Crusader had brought.

Surprise visit, my arse, thought Abi.

The visiting Crusader added a hefty dash of something alcoholic to the men’s mugs from his stainless steel hip-flask. The volume of sound rose. The men were clearly settling in for a good grumble.

Abi hastened down through the empty church. It was now or never. The Crusaders would be looking at a minimum two further hours of guard duty before they could hope to be relieved. They would be making the most of their illegal break.

Looping well beyond the men’s sight line, Abi hurried round to the temporarily unguarded rear of the house. The place had not been designed to keep people out. It had been designed to make a statement about the importance of the person occupying it in relation to those living around him.

Abi vaulted over the rear fence and made straight for the back door. Even if the Crusaders broke up their coffee klatch that instant and returned to their posts, he would still have a minimum of sixty seconds’ leeway to crack the door.

He checked the lock and smiled. Bog-standard Russian design. Primitive mechanism. A wooden bar and twin supports would have been more effective.

He heard the crunch of the returning Crusader’s boots just as he triggered the mechanism. He darted inside the door and eased it shut behind him. He counted to sixty. Nothing. He was inside.

He took off his boots and tied them around his neck. What a bloody fool he’d been not to carry his old shoes down from the lodge with him. These boots were all very well in the snow, but their leather Nordic tips and Vibram soles didn’t make for noiseless walking on parquet flooring. He cursed himself for not having taken the time to whittle away the excess leather with his penknife while he was waiting in the church.

He eased his fighting baton from the sheath inside his sleeve and silently extended it. He could hear a raised voice from upstairs. A man’s voice. Haranguing somebody. There was a peevish quality to it that he recognized. Lupei.

Was he talking to his sister? Or was there somebody else in the house? Maybe his sister really did have typhoid? Abi had to find out.

He started up the polished wooden steps. No danger of pressure pads here. Or of hidden cameras. The floor and walls were bare of all covering. Abi made a face. One could hardly call the house welcoming.

He reached the landing and stopped again. The same voice was droning on. Was it a recording? No. This was a live human being speaking. But it seemed to Abi as if Lupei either had a static audience, or was simply talking to himself. Maybe he was rehearsing one of his sermons in front of the mirror?

Abi moved closer to the door. He listened for any rustling, coughing, or nose-blowing that would indicate more than one person in the room. An audience, maybe. Anyone.

There was utter silence.

He frowned and cracked open the door.

Lupei was standing in the centre of the room. He was staring down at the bed. He had a whip in one hand.

The woman on the bed was clearly unconscious. The sheets on which she lay were soaked through with blood. She was naked. Lupei had attached her to the bed with a series of leather straps so that, at first glance, his victim appeared to be covered by the shadow of prison bars.