The Lost Labyrinth

III

Knox sat absolutely still as he waited for Boris and Davit to return, for Mikhail kept teasing beneath his chin with his knife, like a barber with a cutthroat razor. It was five minutes before they reappeared. 'He's full of shit,' said Boris, climbing in. 'There's nothing there.'

'Nothing there?' echoed Mikhail. He turned to Knox with a frosty smile. 'Could you explain that to me, please.'

'They missed it,' said Knox. 'They must have missed it.'

'Of course.'

'It's there,' insisted Knox. 'Take me and I'll show you.'

'We looked everywhere,' said Boris. 'It's not there.'

'You lied to me,' said Mikhail, pushing Knox back down onto the floor of the van, switching around his grip on the knife, the better to cut rather than stab. 'I warned you what the penalty for lying would be.'

'I didn't lie,' insisted Knox. 'Your men missed it, that's all.'

'No,' stated Mikhail. 'You lied.'

'I thought the fleece mattered to you,' said Knox. 'Are you going to give it up so easily, just because your guys can't find the right fucking bush?'

'There is no right bush,' said Boris.

'Let me show you,' pleaded Knox. 'For Christ's sake, what harm can I do while I'm trussed up like this?'

Mikhail nodded, to himself more than to Knox. 'I want you to understand something,' he said. 'If you're lying to me, you'll die and the woman Nadya will die. You already know that. So let me add this: your girlfriend Gaille will die too.'

'No,' said Knox weakly.

'Yes,' said Mikhail. 'I'll find her and then I'll fuck her and then I'll kill her. You have my word on it.'

'She has nothing to do with this,' protested Knox.

'She does now,' stated Mikhail. 'You just made sure of it. Unless, of course, you want to change your mind and admit there is no key.'

A moment of silence, as Knox struggled against his fear; but the instinct for self-preservation was too strong for him. It seemed it hadn't been an aberration, him standing by while Augustin had been attacked; it was who he was. 'It's there,' he said. 'I swear it is.'

'Very well.' Mikhail turned to Davit. 'Untie his legs. Put your jacket over his shoulders. I don't want anyone seeing his cuffs.'

'Yes, sir.'

Mikhail and Boris got out and came round to the back, opened the doors. Davit kept his hand on Knox's shoulder as they climbed out. He was surprised that so much of the day had passed that dusk was already falling. All around them, lights were coming on. Mikhail pressed his knife hard into the soft flesh beneath Knox's ribcage, angled upwards at his heart. 'Don't even think about calling for help,' he warned. 'You'll be dead before you can fill your lungs.'

They walked along a narrow strip of grass between the parked vehicles and the waist-high hedge, the Georgians interposing themselves between Knox and the few people around. Not that they were looking his way, all too focused on their own business. A man kissed his sweetheart farewell. Another heaved suitcases into his boot. Mikhail kept his knife-tip pressed so hard against Knox's stomach that he could feel the blood trickling. And still he walked. All those documentaries he'd watched over the years, grainy footage of half-naked starving prisoners being herded into trees: it had bewildered and frustrated him that they'd gone so quiescently to their death. Fight, run, spit in their guards' faces. Something, anything. How much worse could it get? Now, here he was, doing the same. And, to make matters worse, he'd betrayed Gaille first, just for this wretched extra minute. The thought was brutal and bitter. His pace faltered, he drifted to a halt.

'Well?' asked Mikhail. 'Is this the place?'