Skeleton Key

THE HOUSE OF SLAVES

A knock at the door woke Alex just after eight o’clock the next morning. As he sat up in bed, a woman dressed in black with a white apron came in, carrying a case which he recognized as his own. Sarov must have sent someone to the Hotel Valencia to collect it. Alex waited until the woman had gone, then got quickly out of bed and opened it. All his clothes were there. So were the Michael Owen figurine and the bubblegum that Smithers had given him. Only the mobile phone had gone. Clearly, Sarov didn’t want him to phone home.

After what Sarov had said the night before, he decided to leave his Levi’s in the case. Instead he chose a pair of baggy shorts, a plain T-shirt and the Reefer sandals he’d last used when he was surfing in Cornwall. He got dressed and went over to the window. The courtyard he had seen the night before was now bathed in sunlight. It was rectangular in shape, surrounded by a marble walkway and a series of arched colonnades. Two servants were sweeping the fine sand which covered the ground. Two more were watering the plants. He looked up and saw the watch tower that he had noticed from the boat. There was still a guard in place, his machine-gun clearly visible.

At ten to nine, the door opened again. This time it was Conrad who came in, wearing a black shirt buttoned to the neck, black trousers and sandals that revealed four toes on one foot, only three on the other.

“Desayuno!” Alex recognized the Spanish word for breakfast. Conrad had spat the single word out as if it offended him to say it. He was clearly unhappy to see Alex again-but then of course, he’d had other plans.

“Good morning, Conrad!” Alex forced a smile to his face. After what had happened the night before, he was determined to show that the man didn’t scare him. He pointed. “You seem to have forgotten some of your toes.”

He walked over to the door. As he passed through into the corridor, Conrad was suddenly close to him. “It isn’t over yet,” he whispered. “The general may change his mind.”

Alex continued forward. He found himself in a wide corridor above a second courtyard. He looked down at a stone fountain surrounded by white pillars. He could smell perfume in the air. The sound of water rippled through the house. Conrad pointed and Alex took a staircase down and into a room where breakfast had already been served.

General Sarov was sitting at a huge polished table, eating a plate of fruit. He was wearing a tracksuit. He smiled as Alex came in, and gestured towards an empty seat. There were a dozen to choose from.

“Good morning, Alex. You will have to forgive my clothes. I always run before breakfast. Three times around the plantation. A distance of twenty-four miles. I’ll change later. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Help yourself, please, to breakfast. There is fruit and cereal. Fresh bread. Eggs. Personally, I eat my eggs raw. This is a habit I have followed throughout my life. To cook food is to remove half its goodness. Up in smoke!” He raised a hand in the air. “Man is the only creature on the planet that needs to have his meat and vegetables burned or broiled before he can consume them. However, if you wish, I can have some eggs prepared the way you like.”

“No thanks, General. I’ll stick with the fruit and cereal.”

Sarov noticed Conrad standing at the door. “I don’t need you now, thank you, Conrad. We’ll meet again at midday.”

Conrad’s one good eye narrowed. He nodded and left the room.

“I’m afraid Conrad doesn’t like you,” Sarov said.

“That’s all right. I’m not crazy about Conrad.” Alex glanced at the door. “What exactly is the matter with him?” he asked. “He doesn’t look well.”

“By any rights, he should be dead. He was involved in an explosion with a bomb which he happened to be carrying at the time. Conrad is something of a scientific miracle. There are more than thirty metal pins in his body. He has a metal plate in his skull. There are metal wires in his jaw and in most of his major joints.”

“He must set off a lot of alarms in airports,” Alex muttered.

“I would advise you not to make fun of him, Alex. He still very much hopes to kill you.“ Sarov touched his lips with a napkin. ”I won’t allow it to happen, but while we are discussing such unpleasant matters, perhaps I should lay down some house rules, so to speak. I have removed the mobile telephone which I found in your case and I should tell you that all the phones in the house require a code before they can be used. You are to make no contact with the outside world.”

“My people may worry about me,” Alex said.

“From what I know of Mr Blunt and his colleagues in London, that is unlikely. But it’s unimportant. By the time they begin to ask questions, it will be too late.”

Too late? Why? Alex realized he was still completely in the dark.

“The Casa de Oro is fenced all around. The fence is electrified. There is only one entrance and it is well guarded. Do not attempt to escape, Alex. If you do, you may be shot and that is not at all what I have planned. After today, I’m afraid I will be moving you to new quarters. As you may well be aware, I have important guests arriving and it would be better for you to ‘have your own space’ as I believe you say. You are still welcome to use the house, the pool, the grounds. But I would ask you to remain invisible. My guests speak very little English so there is no point approaching them. If you cause me any embarrassment, I will have you whipped.”

General Sarov reached forward and pronged a slice of pineapple.

“But that’s enough of this unpleasantness,” he said. “We have the whole morning together. Do you ride?”

Alex hesitated. He didn’t like horse-riding. “I have ridden,” he said.

“Excellent.”

Alex helped himself to some melon. “I asked you last night what you wanted with me,” he said. “You still haven’t given me a reply.”

“All in good time, Alex. All in good time.”

After breakfast, they walked out into the open air. Now Alex understood how the house had got its name. It was made of some sort of pale yellow brick that, with the sun beating down, really did look gold. Although the house was only two storeys high, it was spread over a vast area, with wide stone steps leading down to a formal garden. Blunt had described it as a palace, but it was more elegant than majestic with slender doors and windows, more archways and finely carved balustrades. Looking at the house, it was as if nothing had changed since the early nineteenth century when it had been built. But there were also armed guards on patrol. There were alarm bells and a series of spotlights mounted on metal brackets. Ugly reminders of the modern age.

They continued over to a stable block where a man was waiting with two magnificent horses; a white stallion for Sarov, a smaller grey for Alex. Riding was the one sport that Alex had never enjoyed. The last time he had got onto a horse it had almost killed him, and it was with reluctance that he took hold of the reins and swung himself into the saddle. Out of the comer of his eye he saw Sarov do the same and knew at once that the Russian was an expert, in total control of his steed.

They rode out together, Alex trying to keep his balance and not look too out of control. Fortunately, his horse seemed to know where they were going.

“This was a sugar farm once,” Sarov explained, repeating what Troy had already told him. “Slaves worked here. There were almost a million slaves in Cuba and Cayo Esqueleto.” He pointed at the tower. “That was the watch tower. They would ring a bell there at half past four in the morning for the slaves to start work. They were brought here from West Africa. They worked here. And they died here.”

They passed close to a low, rectangular building some way from the main house. Alex noticed that the single door and all the windows were barred?

“That is the barracon,” Sarov said. “The house of slaves. Two hundred of them slept in there, penned in like animals. If we have time, I will show you the punishment block. We still have the original stocks. Can you imagine, Alex, being fastened by your ankles for weeks, or even months at a time? Unable to move. Starving and thirsty…”

“I don’t want to imagine it,” Alex said.

“Of course not. The Western world prefers to forget the crimes that made it rich.”

Alex was relieved when they broke into a canter. At least it meant there was no further need to talk. They followed a dirt track that brought them to the edge of the sea. Looking down, Alex could see where Garcia’s boat had been moored the day before. It reminded him of the true nature of the man he was with. Sarov was being friendly. He evidently enjoyed having Alex as his guest. But he was a killer. And a killer with a nuclear bomb.

They came to the end of the track and continued more slowly now, with the sea on their right.

The Casa de Oro had disappeared behind them.

“I wish to tell you something about myself,” Sarov said suddenly. “In fact, I will tell you more than I have ever told anyone else.”

He rode on for a few moments in silence.

“I was born in 1940,” he began. “This was during the Second World War, the year before the Germans attacked my country. Perhaps that is why I have always been a patriot, why I have always thought my country should come first. I have spent much of my life serving it. In the army, fighting for what I believe in. I still believe I am serving it now.”

He reined in his horse and turned to Alex, who had stopped beside him.

“I got married when I was thirty. A year later, my wife gave me something I had always wanted. A son. His name was Vladimir and from the moment he drew his first breath he was the best thing in my life. He grew into a handsome boy, and let me tell you, no father could have been prouder than I was of him. He did well at school, top in almost every class. He was a first-class athlete. I think he could one day have competed at Olympic level. But that was not to be…”

Alex already knew the end of this story. He remembered what Blunt had told him.

“I believed it was right for Vladimir to serve his country, just as I had,” Sarov went on. “I wanted him to join the army. His mother disagreed. Unfortunately, that disagreement ended our marriage.”

“You asked her to leave?”

“No. I didn’t ask her to leave. I ordered her to. She departed from my house and I never saw her again. And Vladimir did join the army. This was in 1988 when he was sixteen years old. He was flown to Afghanistan where we were fighting a hard, difficult war. He had been there for just three weeks when he was sent to reconnoitre a village as part of a patrol. A sniper shot him and he died.”

Sarov’s voice cracked briefly and he stopped. But a moment later he continued in a careful, measured tone.

“The war ended a year later. Our government, weak and cowardly, had lost the spirit to fight. We withdrew. The whole thing had been for nothing. And this is what you must understand. This is the truth. There is nothing more terrible in this world than for a father to lose his son.” He took a breath. “I believed I had lost Vladimir for ever. Until I met you.”

“Me?” Alex was almost too startled to speak.

“You are just two years younger than Vladimir was when he died. But you have so much in common with him, Alex-even though you were brought up on the other side of the world! There is, first, a very slight resemblance. But it is not just your physical appearance. You too are serving your country. Fourteen years old and a spy! How rare it is to find any young person who is prepared to fight for his beliefs!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Alex muttered.

“You have courage. That business at the sugar factory and in the cave would prove it even if your track record didn’t speak volumes more. You speak many languages and one day, soon, you could learn Russian. You ride, you dive, you fight, and you aren’t scared. I have never met a boy like you. Except one. You are like my Vladimir, Alex, and that is what I hope you will become.”

“What are you getting at?” Alex asked. They still weren’t moving and he was beginning to feel the heat of the sun. The horse was sweating and attracting flies. The sea was a long way beneath them and none of its breeze was reaching them.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve read your file. You have grown up on your own. You had an uncle but you didn’t even know what he was until he died. You have no parents. I have no son. We are both alone.”

“We’re a world apart, General.”

“We don’t need to be. I am planning something that will change the world for ever. When I am finished, the world will be a better, stronger, healthier place. You came here to prevent that happening. But when you understand what I’m doing, you will see that we do not need to be enemies. On the contrary! I want to adopt you!”

Alex stared. He didn’t know what to say.

“You will be my son, Alex, and you will continue where Vladimir left off. I will be a father to you and we will share the new world I create. Don’t speak now! Just consider. If I really believed you were my enemy, I would have allowed Conrad to kill you. But the moment I found out who you were, I knew that you couldn’t be. We even have the same name, you and I. Alexei and Alex. I will adopt you, Alex. I will become the father you have lost.”

“And what if I say no?”

“You will not say no!” Violence had slid into his eyes like smoke behind glass. His face was twisted as if in pain. Sarov took a deep breath and suddenly he was calm. “When you know the plan, you will join me.”

“Then why don’t you tell me the plan? Tell me what you’re going to do!”

“Not yet, Alex. You’re not ready yet. But you will be. And it will all happen very soon.”

General Alexei Sarov pulled on his reins. The horse spun round and he galloped off, leaving the sea behind. Alex shook his head in wonderment. Then he kicked at the flanks of his own horse and followed.

That evening, Alex ate on his own. Sarov had excused himself, saying he had work to do. Alex didn’t have much appetite. Conrad stood in the room watching his every mouthful and although he didn’t speak, anger and hostility radiated out of him. The moment Alex finished, Conrad signalled, a single hand pointing to the door.

He followed Conrad out of the main house, down the steps and into the slave quarters, the barracon that Sarov had shown him earlier. It seemed that this was to be his new accommodation. The inside of the building was divided into a series of cells with bare brick walls and thick doors, each with a square grille in the centre. But at least it had been modernized. There was electricity, fresh water and-mercifully in the heat of the night-air-conditioning. Alex knew he was a lot luckier than the hundreds of lost souls who had once been confined there.

There was a basin and a toilet hidden behind a screen in his cell. Alex’s case had been carried over and placed on a bed which had a metal frame and a thin mattress but which was still comfortable enough. Sarov had also provided him with books to read. Alex glanced at the covers. They were English translations of Russian classics; Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. He guessed they must have been Vladimir ’s favourite authors.

Conrad closed and locked the door.

“Goodnight, Conrad,” Alex called out. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

He just managed to glimpse a bloodshot eye peering through the grille and knew that he had scored a point. Then Conrad was gone.

Alex lay on the bed for some time, thinking about what Sarov had said. Adoption! It was almost too much for him to take in. Only a week ago he had wondered what it would be like to have a father, and now two of them had turned up at once-first Tom Turner and now Sarov! Things were definitely going from bad to worse.

There was a burst of light outside the window. Night had been replaced by a hard, electric daylight. Alex rolled off the bed and went over to the barred window. It looked out onto the main square at the front of the house. The electric lights he had noticed earlier had all come on and the square was full of people. The guards-a dozen of them-had formed a line, machine-guns resting against their chests. Servants and plantation workers had gathered around the door. Sarov himself was there, in a dark green uniform, several medals pinned to his chest. Conrad was behind him.

As Alex watched, four black limousines appeared, driving slowly along the lane that led up from the gatehouse. They were escorted by two motorcycles, the riders, like Sarov, in military dress. Dust spiralled behind the convoy, twisting up into the electric light.

They stopped. The car doors opened and about fifteen men got out. Alex could barely make out their faces against the blinding light. They were little more than silhouettes. But he saw one man-small, thin and bald, dressed in a suit. Sarov moved forward to meet him. The two men shook hands, then embraced. It was a signal for everyone to relax. Sarov gestured and the whole group began to move towards the house, leaving the motorcyclists behind.

Alex was certain he had seen the bald man before, in the newspapers. He knew now why he had been locked up in the slaves’ quarters, out of harm’s way. Whatever Sarov’s plan was, the next phase had just begun.

The Russian president had arrived.