The Lost Labyrinth

SEVENTEEN
I

The morning was drawing on, and Mikhail still hadn't emerged from his room. 'Shall we knock?' asked Zaal.

'He took the Ferrari out again last night,' muttered Boris. 'I think he brought someone back with him.'

'Is that a yes or a no?'

'If you want to knock, don't let me stop you.'

'Maybe another ten minutes.'

It didn't take that long. His door opened suddenly and he appeared on the balcony, looking very Hollywood in shades, jeans, a white cotton T-shirt and his leather trench-coat. A waif-like young woman in a sequined dress and high heels followed him closely down the stairs, using him for cover. With her short brown hair and slight frame, she had rather the look of Gaille Bonnard about her, and Edouard couldn't help but wonder if that brief encounter in the lift last night hadn't given Mikhail an itch that he'd gone out specifically to scratch. 'Knox will be starting his speech soon,' he said brusquely, as though he'd been the one kept waiting. 'We're leaving in five minutes. Be ready.'

'I'm going to have to stay behind,' said Edouard. 'Your father has asked me to work on-'

'You're coming.'

'Yes, but-'

'I said you're coming,' said Mikhail. 'Speak to my father from the car.' He turned and walked away before Edouard could protest further, over to the kitchen where he began giving instructions to Boris.

'Don't worry so much,' said Davit, with unexpected sympathy, from an armchair. 'It'll be fine.'

'I'm a historian,' shrugged Edouard, as he went over to join the big man. He felt clammy with perspiration. 'This kind of business…' He shook his head.

'I understand,' said Davit. 'It can take a bit of getting used to.'

Edouard sighed as he sat down. 'How come you look so familiar?' he asked. 'Have we met before?'

'I don't think so. But perhaps you watch rugby?'

'That's it!' said Edouard, snapping his fingers. 'The Tbilisi Lions! You play lock for them.'

'Used to,' grinned Davit.

'I saw you jumping against Pavel in the semis a few years back. What a game that was.'

'He was a good line-out man, Pavel. The best I ever went up against.'

'You gave him one hell of a fight.'

'We still lost.'

'Games like that, no one really loses.'

'I can tell that you've never played sports for a living.'

Edouard grinned. 'He's my son's hero, Pavel. All he wants in life is to be a lock. Poor kid takes after me, though. He'll be lucky if he's big enough to play scrum-half.'

'Best position, scrum half,' Davit assured him. 'All the glory, all the girls, none of the damage.'

'Try telling him that.'

'Maybe I will, if I see you at one of the games. I could introduce him to Pavel if you like.'

'Would you? He'd love that. Honestly, he worships you guys. I'd be his hero for a year if you-'

'Are you two going to be yapping all night?' asked Boris, standing by the door with Mikhail and his hooker.

'Coming,' said Davit, pushing to his feet.

'Hell!' muttered Edouard, feeling a little sick again. 'What if we're seen? What if someone remembers us?'

'Don't worry,' murmured Davit, nodding towards Mikhail. 'Who's going to remember you with Morpheus over there to look at?' He spoke in a low voice, yet Mikhail must have heard. He turned immediately their way and began to march towards them with such coldness in his eyes that Edouard and Davit both froze. He undid and drew out his leather whipcord belt as he advanced, feeding one end back through the buckle to make an improvised noose, wrapping the free end twice around his fist, the better to hold it. He raised it up and feinted to lasso Edouard, but at the last moment turned on Davit instead, throwing it over the big man's head and hauling it tight with such swiftness that he had no time to interpose his fingers. Then he tugged so hard that he spilled backwards over the arm of his chair, sending shudders through the polished wooden floorboards. And now Mikhail dragged him behind him, while Davit kicked and squirmed and scrabbled uselessly at the strangling leather, unable to prevent it tightening around his throat and cutting off his windpipe, his face bulging and turning crimson.

Edouard watched in horror. Davit was only in trouble for trying to reassure him. He felt he should be doing something to help, but he was paralysed by fear. Davit slapped the ground in submission, yet Mikhail still didn't relent. His struggles began to weaken, his eyes threatened to turn upwards, and finally Mikhail dropped the belt contemptuously onto the floor, allowing Davit to get a fingertip beneath the noose to loosen it, then to turn onto his side and suck great draughts of air into his starving lungs.

Mikhail sank down onto his haunches to gather up his belt and feed it back through his belt-loops. Then he lifted Davit's head by a hank of hair and looked him in his eyes. 'I need you alive,' he said. 'You should be glad of that.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' gasped Davit, tears streaming down his cheeks. 'I didn't mean anything.'

'If you ever say anything disrespectful about-'

'I won't! I swear I won't!'

'Don't interrupt me,' said Mikhail. 'I don't like being interrupted.'

'I'm sorry,' wept Davit. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything.'

'Good. Then as I was saying, if you ever again say anything disrespectful about me again, it won't matter whether I need you alive or not. Is that clear?'

'Yes.'

'Yes, what?'

'Yes, sir.'

Mikhail let him go, then stood up and looked disdainfully down. 'Pull yourself together,' he said. 'We've got work to do.'