“Sigmund, here Sigmund.”
She took a tin of dog meat from the cupboard, scooped the contents out into a bowl and placed it on the floor. “Come on Sigmund.” She waited for the familiar sound of the dog bounding down the stairs into the kitchen, but it didn’t come. She stopped what she was doing and listened.
“Sigmund?”
A cold draught blew on her ankles as she walked through into the lounge. She stopped as she saw the open French window at the end of the room. The air blew on her face and her skin tingled. She stepped out and looked around for the dog. Its toys were scattered around, some half-buried in the mud. She felt the moisture of the grass on her bare feet as she walked through the foliage archway. A faint whimpering came from one of the bushes to the side of the flowerbed. She dropped down to her knees and pushed aside the leaves and branches. The dog’s front paws lay limply on the mud and it recoiled at her touch. She pushed the branch aside a bit more and caught sight of the dog’s blood-soaked stomach.
“My God, Sigmund.”
She placed her had on the mud and as she lifted it, the red liquid dripped down her wrist and onto her white blouse. She sprung to her feet, holding her hand out in front of her. As she backed up away from the dog, a hand covered her mouth and an arm grabbed her around the chest. She kicked her legs as she was carried back into the house, but the grip was too strong. A second man in a balaclava followed them back into her treatment room and closed the door. She hit her head on the wall as she was thrown onto the couch. The man who had grabbed her closed the curtains and flicked on a small table lamp. She thought about bolting for the door as the two sets of eyes looked at her, but knew there was no chance she would get away.
“Give us files on Matt Harper,” said the second man, handing her a USB stick and pointing towards her computer. The Eastern European accent was thick and menacing. The thought of handing over the details of a patient made her feel sick to her stomach. The man stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her over towards the computer. She typed in her password, her fingers shaking and leaving sticky, red fingerprints on the keys. She plugged in the USB and pulled up the folder with all her patient files.
“Everything on Matt Harper,” said the voice over her shoulder. “Now.”
She transferred over some of his basic details and paused as she looked at the files with the details of their sessions. His thoughts. Her thoughts. Everything they had had discussed. She felt her head snap back as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled hard. “Everything!” She placed the cursor over the files and dragged them onto the USB. The man waited for them to copy and grabbed it out of the computer. She stared at the screen as they spoke to each other in a language she didn’t understand. They fell silent as a knock at the front door disturbed their conversation. She held her breath and braced herself to be hit or worse as they whispered behind her back. She breathed out as they bolted for the door and ran back through the lounge and out into the garden. She staggered over to the curtain and pulled it back. The bullied CEO stood on her doorstep, looking slightly embarrassed. She noticed his forgotten umbrella sitting on a side table, picked it up and staggered unsteadily towards the door.
“Tamara, my God,” he said, as she stood in front of him, her hair bedraggled and her hands bloodstained. “What happened?” She dropped the umbrella and hugged him, holding on tight and not letting go.
- Chapter 36 -
The Island
Harper watched as the last security guard switched on his headlights and drove off down the mountain. The temperature was dropping fast so he zipped up his jacket and walked back towards the monastery. The clouds hung low around the Lantau peak and he could feel them caressing his face. They would be safe here, he thought. Safer than in the city anyway. He made his way round to the back of the building and opened the door. Vitsin sat in the far corner, his gaunt face lit by flickering candlelight.
“How are you feeling?” said Harper.
“My leg still aches a little from the crash, but I’m okay.”
“That’s good. Here, I got this for you.” He handed him a bottle of water.
“I never meant to cause all this trouble, you know,” said Vitsin, struggling to twist off the bottle cap and putting it to his lips.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I feel like I need to explain.”
Harper stayed silent.
Vitsin crossed his arms and bent forward a little. “At first it was just offers. You security services and ours, both offering me the world to come and work for them. They were persuasive, but I told them I wasn’t interested.”
“I can imagine that didn’t go down well.”
“They knew I was getting close to completing my work. And I’m sure if I had everything stored on a computer they would have just taken what they wanted. But I write very little down.”
“So they tried to take you instead.”
“I noticed people hanging around my apartment at night and the same faces were walking past me several times a day. Watching. Waiting.”
“Why didn’t you ask someone at the fund for help? Katusev maybe?”
“Everyone was on edge by this time. Katusev had his own problems with the government. I didn’t want to throw my problems on him too.”
“So what happened?”
“Some people tried to grab me late at night near the Metro station. I had a knife in my pocket. I stuck it in the biggest one’s gut and ran. I ran and didn’t look back.” Vitsin wept and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
“None of this is your fault Seva.”
“So many people have died since. I just wish I had stayed in Moscow.”
Vitsin looked up. He was unconvincing as a man of close to 20-years-old. He had no facial hair and the build of a youth. He crossed his legs with one thigh on top of the other, his foot twitching loosely on the end of his leg.
“I shouldn’t have brought the professor into this. It’s my fault he’s dead.”
Harper sat down next to him. “Did you pull the trigger?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Did you pull the trigger?”
“I suppose not.”
“The answer is no Seva.”
Vitsin said nothing.
“They killed Ruminenko. Not you. You have to believe that.”
Vitsin stood and walked over to the back of the temple. Golden Buddha statues lined the wall. Harper followed and stood beside him.
“You know, the professor always told me I should dedicate myself to something more pure, but I would never listen.”
“I imagine it was hard to resist the big offers.”
“The money was nice, but it was more than that. I wanted to prove I could do what no one had ever done before. Katusev and Cavendish gave me that opportunity.”
“And Ruminenko tried to stop you?”
“He came from a different era. An era where they changed the world. He just wanted that for me too. He understood that what I was going to do was intellectually empty.”