Strangers: A Novel(97)

I’m averse to the thought of letting her go out on her own, but I guess in the end she’s right. However unlikely it might be that one of Gabor’s people will run into us, it’s still probably better if I wait at the hotel.

“All right, then.”

“Great. Back soon.” Joanna plants a kiss on my mouth. Before I can react, she’s already heading to the door.

With robot-like motions, I fold up the envelope and slide it into my front pocket, walk over to the bed, then sit down on the edge of it.

Ela, Gabor, Bernhard, Gavin. Joanna’s father. My goodness, what have we gotten ourselves into here? How wonderful and tranquil our life had been until last week, and how I’d taken being with Joanna, being engaged to her, for granted. The things I’d give now to have that life back. I’d fulfill all of her wishes, every last one of them. I’d …

An impulse makes me get to my feet again, go back over to the window. I want to see her get into the taxi. Not a minute passes before she appears below. The taxis are all farther down the street, on the other side. Joanna purposefully makes for the cars; she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look up.

She’s only about fifty yards away when suddenly the door of a parked car right in front of her is thrown open. I see legs clad in a dark pair of pants, a torso. A hand grabs hold of Joanna and drags her into the car, so quickly she has no chance to fight back. The door isn’t even slammed shut again before the car pulls out of the space and races away.

It all happened much too fast, and there were virtually no people in the street either. No one saw it. No one but me. Gavin and his people really know what they’re doing.

The whole thing took maybe ten seconds. More seconds pass until I get over the shock.

I storm out of the room, down the little corridor to the elevators. I press down hard on the call button, decide it’s taking too long, yank open the door to the stairwell. Third floor. I run down two stairs at once, support myself against the rail. Between the second and first floor, my senses kick back in, telling me I’m acting like a complete idiot. What the hell am I running for? Do I think I’ll still see the car with Joanna inside drive away when I finally reach the space it pulled out of two minutes ago? And isn’t it clear who dragged her into the car and where they’re taking her, anyway?

I knew turning the phone back on was a mistake. Unbridled fury takes hold of me, burning so fiercely it nearly consumes me.

I reach the ground floor. Pay the bill first, that should only take a minute. Don’t risk any trouble with the police, not under any circumstances. Good, my common sense is working again.

I walk over to reception, tell the chubby lady at the counter my room number, and impatiently watch her type away on the keyboard. A hundred and twenty euros. I pull the envelope out of my pocket, put a hundred and a fifty down on the counter. “Keep the change,” I say, and leave, but not before noticing the confused look she gives me.

“To the airport. General Aviation Terminal,” I bark at the taxi driver. He turns around and raises an eyebrow. Then he nods.

No talking, no conversation. He understood.

As we drive I stare out of the window, not registering the things I’m seeing. My anger at Joanna’s father grows with every mile. As does my sense of powerlessness. But I’m not going to let them get rid of me, I’m going to scream at that Gavin person and, if need be, go at him with my fists. Although, even now I know I’m not going to be able to do a thing. If they’re still there. Yes. If they’re still there in the first place.

I pay the driver generously and dash out of the cab. My injured arm collides with the edge of the door; the pain and the anger make me curse in equal measures.

The terminal hall, the passage through to customs. The officer gives me a skeptical look. But there’s no way he could recognize me, it’s not the same man as yesterday. “I have to get in there, to Mr. Berrigan’s plane, please.”

“What’s your name?” His tone sounds much more friendly than I would have expected, judging from his facial expression at least.

“Thieben. Erik Thieben.”

The man looks down at a list in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see you on here anywhere.”

“No, I was on the list yesterday. I was here then, but I forgot something.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t let you through.”

“But I have to go see these people. It’s important.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“Damn it, this is a life or death situation,” I burst out. “Don’t you get it?”

I see the man’s eyes looking past me, searching. And I know what that means. Security. I’m an idiot. It’s all over.

“Excuse me.” I suddenly hear a familiar voice, speaking English, with an Australian accent. “Could you please let the man through? He’s with us. Mr. Berrigan sorted everything out yesterday.”

The officer briefly scrutinizes Gavin, then turns back to me. “Your ID, please.”

The name Berrigan obviously works on German customs officers as well. I get my ID back, walk past the counter and toward the stairs, alongside Gavin. Once we’re at the staircase I position myself in front of him, practically snorting with anger. “Where’s Joanna?” I say in English.

Not a muscle twitches in Gavin’s face. His gaze literally drills into me. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who ran away with her.”