Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

Luke didn’t answer.

“Don’t be stubborn, Luke.” Mikhal opened the cell door, and the rat scampered away. “You’ve been in here for two days. Do you think I like to punish you? But Rakovac is determined you do this kill. All you have to do is point the gun and pull the trigger. Then you walk away, and I give you a fine dinner and let you get back to your books.”

“No.”

Mikhal knelt beside him. “Do it,” he coaxed. “It’s not as if you haven’t killed before. I put a gun in your hand when you were scarcely able to hold it. I’ve taken you on so many of my raids since you were eight. You fought for the great cause. Do you think when you fired that gun that you didn’t kill? What’s the difference? This is just easier. He’s tied and can’t try to kill you. You walk up to the man and press the trigger.”

“There’s a difference.” He would not have known that difference if his books had not said that fighting in a war and the killing of the helpless were not the same. He was still confused about it, but he would believe his books. He believed nothing Rakovac said. Rakovac was the enemy. When he had been younger, he had never thought at all. He had just done as he was told. But that was before he had found the books. “Why does Rakovac want me to do it?”

“I believe he thinks it may upset your dear mother. As I’ve told you, all your pain is caused by her.”

Luke had heard those words all his life too when he was growing up and at first he hadn’t doubted them. It was only in the past few years that his hatred of Rakovac had cleared his head of those lies. It was Rakovac who wielded the whip. It was Rakovac who punished and tormented. Usually not personally; he relied on Mikhal to carry out his orders. Luke had lived with Mikhal Czadas as long as he could remember in this crumbling stone house on the lake.

He had gradually become vaguely aware that Mikhal took orders from Rakovac about his care in exchange for the weapons he supplied him. It was a rare occasion when Rakovac visited Savrin House, and it usually involved a beating and Rakovac showing him the picture of the woman he said was Luke’s mother and telling him that she was responsible.

She was not responsible. She was not real to him. He had only a vague memory of her, but it was of kindness and warmth. But no one was responsible for this pain but Rakovac. When he’d finally gotten over the confusion and hurt, he’d realized that everything Rakovac or Mikhal told him was lies. Why should he believe the man who hurt him?

“Do it for me, Luke,” Mikhal said. “Look at all I do for you. Are you not treated well? Except for these little rebellions when you cause me trouble, I’m very kind to you. I keep you fed and housed and supplied with all those books you love so much.”

Books. It had been a magical day when he had been exploring and discovered the library, with the thousands of books that had belonged to Nikolai Savrin and his English wife, the former owners of the house. And when Mikhal had discovered how fascinated he was by them, they had become weapons. He had even had Luke taught to read both Russian and English so that the love would grow. Now the books were kept or withdrawn at Mikhal’s whim…or Rakovac’s order.

“Why should it matter to my mother if I kill this man or not?”

“Rakovac believes she has the foolish idea that your soul may be damaged in some way. It will hurt her. Don’t worry your head about it. Just do as Rakovac says.”

He was silent a moment. Was it worth enduring the beating that was bound to come? All it would take would be to pull the trigger.

Rakovac wanted it. It was worth the pain. “No.”

Mikhal sat back on his heels. “The man’s going to die anyway. Rakovac thinks Medvar cheated him. He only sent him here because he had this brilliant idea of how he could use him.”

“No.”

Mikhal sighed and got to his feet. “Then I’ll have to do it myself.” He started to turn away. “Though Rakovac will be angry with both of us.”

He was leaving, Luke realized, stunned.

“You’re not going to beat me?”

“It doesn’t work anymore. The last few times I became very frustrated. I spoke to Rakovac about it, and he told me not to worry. That our time together was almost over anyway.” He smiled maliciously over his shoulder. “So instead, I’ll just burn all your books.”

“No!”

“I’ve been thinking about doing it for a long time. They’re beginning to be troublesome. At first, I found them useful in controlling you. It came as a surprise to me since I’ve never cared much for books. I couldn’t see why they meant so much to you.”

Because they took me away from this place, Luke thought in agony. Because when I was reading, you and Rakovac and what you did to me didn’t matter anymore.

“But that time is past,” Mikhal said. “I actually believe that’s where you got the idea of running away from here.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I’ll let you watch. We’ll make a bonfire beside the lake. Come along.”

It was no use refusing. Mikhal had ways to make sure he saw the burning. Luke got to his feet and stumbled toward the door.

“Unless you change your mind. Why make me do this? You know I’m right.”

Luke shook his head. He had to fight them, he thought in agony. They weren’t right. Everything they said and did were lies. Maybe the whole world was full of lies. There were stories in the books about truth and kindness and courage, but they might also not be true. How could he be sure? He only knew Mikhal and Rakovac and the few people he’d met when Mikhal had taken him away from Savrin House on the raids.

And he supposed he knew the woman, Catherine Ling, who Rakovac called his mother. But he only knew her face and Rakovac’s ugly words and that faint memory.

“You’re a fool, Luke,” Mikhal said softly. He turned on his heel. “Come and see your precious books go up in flames.”

Thirty minutes later, Luke stood on the bank of the lake and watched the black smoke curl up to the gray sky from the pile of books heaped on the shore. The wind was whipping sharply, stinging his cheeks and causing the fire to leap higher.

Don’t cry, Luke told himself.

Mikhal was staring hungrily at his face, waiting for him to break, for the tears to come.

He wouldn’t cry.

He stared defiantly at Mikhal across the fire. If he looked at Mikhal instead of the burning books that had been his only friends, he could hold the tears back.

And he would never let him see how much it hurt.

“The skull wasn’t Luke,” Kelly repeated. “I’m so glad, Catherine.”

“So was I. I wanted to fall down at Eve’s feet this morning when she brought me in to see the reconstruction.” Catherine poured a cup of coffee from the fresh pot that Natalie had just made. “But the problem still exists. I have to find him.” She sat down at the table. “We can’t just wait for him to call and hope that he’ll let something slip or give us our chance.”

Kelly nodded as she lifted her orange juice to her lips. “The surveillance report. I’m doing the best I can. You’re reading it, too. You can see that there isn’t anything that you can put your finger on.”

“I thought you said there was always a pattern.”

“The pattern is there, but it’s hard to define.” Kelly frowned thoughtfully. “But lately I’ve thought I’ve caught glimpses.”

Catherine tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried to fill in Rakovac’s background, so that I could get a handle on him. In the past nine years he’s been involved in all sorts of corruption. Bribing of officials in the Russian Parliament, drugs, vice, arms deals. His manipulation of the members of the parliament is what made him golden in the eyes of the U.S. Congress. He seems to have a magic touch where that kind of dealing is concerned. He used bribery, intimidation, even murder to get what he wanted from them.”