The Lost Labyrinth

THIRTY-ONE
I

Edouard had been fighting anxiety all morning, desperate to find out what had happened to Nina and the children, yet unable to make the call. But the moment attention had focused on Knox, he'd headed up to his room, closed the door, taken the mobile into his bathroom, turned on the shower. Then he'd called Viktor for news.

Four times he'd tried his number. Four times someone else had answered, told him that Viktor was unavailable, offered to get him to call back in due course. But Edouard couldn't wait for due course. And when he tried for the fifth time, he was finally put through.

'Hang on,' said Viktor. 'I've got someone here for you.'

'Edouard?' asked Nina. 'Is that you?'

'Nina, my darling!' he said, tears springing to his eyes. 'Are you all right? Are the children all right?'

'We're fine. We're all fine. Thanks to you.'

'What happened?'

'I've never seen anything like it,' she exulted. 'The Nergadzes are finished. Ilya and Sandro were driven off in a police van. A police van! We'll never have to fear them again.'

'No,' said Edouard.

'And we got your cache back too, your Turkmeni gold.' She gave a happy laugh. 'Actually we got two sets, because they'd already made copies of all the pieces, so that they could have substitutes ready when they melted down the originals; but they hadn't started yet.'

'That's wonderful news. And listen, if you ever tell me not to trust someone in future, I'll take that as-' Outside the bathroom door, a shoe scuffed on carpet. His heart seemed to stop.

'Edouard,' said Nina anxiously. 'What is it? What's going on?'

The door kicked open. Mikhail stood in its frame, his shotgun in both hands, the others standing behind him. Edouard clenched the mobile tight. 'I love you, Nina,' he told her.

'Edouard!' she screamed. 'Edouard!'

'Tell the children I love them,' he told her. 'Tell them I was thinking of them.'

'Edouard!'

'Finish the call,' said Mikhail. Edouard nodded and complied. He couldn't let Nina hear this.

'Who was that?' asked Mikhail. 'Who were you talking to?'

'Your grandfather was abusing my son,' said Edouard. 'I had no choice.'

'Your son is dead,' Mikhail told him flatly. 'All your family are dead. You've just seen to that. I'm going to slit their throats one by one, and I'm going to reach inside and pull their fucking tongues out. Now tell me who you were talking to.'

To Edouard's surprise, the imminence of his own death didn't scare him as much as he'd always anticipated. 'You're finished,' he said, looking from one to the next. 'All of you, you're all finished. And I did it. Me. Edouard Zdanevich.' The muzzle of the shotgun erupted; he felt for the briefest moment the astonishing force of the impact upon his chest and throat, but then he was gone.