Ivan #2
“No,” says Ivan flatly before addressing me directly.
“You’re on your own after this. I’ll be able to explain this because Vladimir was not the brightest star in the night sky, a heavy-handed nutjob, if you know what I mean?
That’s why Mila kept him with her at all times.
Once you’re gone, it’ll not be difficult to blame this fuck-up on him.
I’ll tell her Vlad didn’t properly secure your hands and you took me by surprise.
But you’re going to need to knock me unconscious, too. I know you can do that, Five.”
Ivan stands before me, his chin up, readying himself for me to strike him.
“Wait,” says Lorenzo, as his phone buzzes with a message. “Did you ask him if he remembers a doctor at the institute called Maurice Leblanc?”
“What does he look like?” asks Ivan.
“We only have a name.”
“Then, no. Nobody was ever referred to by name. Only by a prefix and a number. M for military personnel, D for the medical staff and E for the educators. But I could tell you what some of them looked like.”
“Complete anonymity,” I mutter. “An operation run entirely without names.”
“Before you do what you have to, let me say this one last thing. I don’t know how you got out of that place, but I believe we’ve been given a second chance.
They used to drill into us that we were superior, but now I see that for the lie it was.
To fit in, I’ve had to learn things other people take for granted.
Trust, vulnerability, friendship, fear, and yes, love.
But, Five, it’s been worth every hard truth. I would never go back. Never.”
I nod because I am beginning to understand the reality of his words. We have a shared experience I cannot fathom because I have no memory. But I know my feelings for Lorenzo are wholly new and confusing if I am honest with myself.
“Are there any more of us out there?” I ask.
“That, I don’t know. I’ve been in the field for six years, and you’re the first face I’ve recognised. Look, I won’t be able to help you again, Five. Not without compromising my position. This is a one-off. You’re on your own after this.”
“I’m not on my own,” I say. I stand before him, and he nods once.
Somewhere in my memory, I know I must provide a double strike to the main artery on either side of his neck. But with lightning speed that even surprises me, Lorenzo steps forward and punches him in the temple. I step back as Ivan’s body crumbles to the floor.
“I apologise to you only,” he says, shaking out his fist. “But I needed this. Otherwise, I would go crazy. Mrs Bellacci will be here in five minutes. You packed our bags already, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“Now I am ready,” he says before slapping my backside and moving past me out of the door.
I am not sure what kind of car I expected Mrs Bellacci to drive, but a slick black Mercedes four-wheel-drive sports car with a fabric roof sits on the main road outside the lodge entrance.
Then again, I did not expect to see the aristocratic-looking blonde woman sitting behind the wheel.
Lorenzo tosses our bags in the back seat and jumps in with them, letting me sit up front.
Seconds later, Mrs Bellacci puts the car into gear, and I sink into the leather upholstery.
The first twenty minutes go by in silence. Only as we hit a dual-lane A-road does Mrs Bellacci speak with barely suppressed anger. Everything she says is in Italian and clearly aimed at Lorenzo. I do not interrupt but watch the wing mirror to ensure we are not being tailed.
“You were reckless,” she says eventually, in English for my benefit. “Swimming in plain sight. We need to call Dr Romano and tell him what happened. He will not be happy.”
I see her prod a finger on the large display in the centre console to bring up telephone contacts.
“Wait. Is that how you think they found us?” I say, noticing Lorenzo catch my eye in the rearview mirror. “That’s not what happened. They fixed a tracking device to Lorenzo’s bike. Back in Italy.”
“How?” asked Mrs Bellacci, her head snapping around.
“The day I became Aksel, Lorenzo and I went for a bike ride. One of their agents identified Lorenzo when we stopped for a coffee and planted the tracker on his bike.”
“How do you know this?” asks Bellacci, unconvinced.
“One of our captors told me.”
“And you believe them?”
Her tone is castigating, and, unusually for me, I find myself rattled by the rebuke.
“Maybe a more important question to ask is why you’re here?”
“The doctor asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Pull the car over,” I demand, pointing ahead. We are on a long stretch of road in open country, but a picnic area on our left is a few hundred years away. Mrs Bellacci glares at me briefly before slowing the car and stopping beneath the cover of an oak tree in an empty lay-by.
“I don’t want to have this conversation while we’re driving,” I say, turning my full attention to Mrs Bellacci.
“But do you honestly believe these people found us because we happened to be swimming in Lake Grasmere? Come on, Mrs Bellacci. They were not already here on the off chance we might show up. We were either tracked or someone told them where we were. And there are only four people who knew our location—Lorenzo, you, Dr Romano and me. So, unless you believe one of us is a traitor and gave our position away, there must be another, more plausible explanation.”
Mrs Bellacci refuses to look at me but nods as I speak.
“Look, I agree they must have studied our routine of swimming in the morning and taken advantage of that to capture us. I would have done the same, and I take full responsibility. Thankfully, Lorenzo checked in with you regularly, and I had a sense you might be close.”
“The lodge is covered by trees and not easy to protect.”
“But you managed.”
She nods once. “You say you were helped by one of them?” she asks. “An undercover agent for who, the Americans?”
“He is not undercover. He is a Russian agent.”
“And you are telling me this information was given freely by a Russian operative?”
“He had a good reason to help me. We trained together as children. At the Hartfield Institute.”
“And you believe this?” Her tone is more inquisitive and less challenging this time.
“Wholeheartedly.”
The news is met with silence. When I turn to Mrs Bellacci, she mutters something in Italian but does not look at me. I wait for her to translate, but she does not.
“What did she say?”
After a moment, Lorenzo’s subdued voice comes from the back. “She says your obsession is putting us all at risk.”
I cannot argue with that. If not for me, Lorenzo’s bike would never have been tracked, and we would not have faced this situation.
They’re both already being hunted. How fair is it to involve them in my own dilemma?
I am convinced that Albert wanted me to know about my past, and I need answers.
But at what cost? The minibus crash and the quest to uncover my past are my burdens to carry, and mine alone.
“Go ahead and call Dr Romano,” I say.
Mrs Bellacci prods the car’s display panel and calls a number. Romano, as always, answers after only a few rings. Romano greets Mrs Bellacci in Italian, then speaks rapidly and tersely with sentences I cannot follow. Maybe that’s his intention.
“You are together?” he says eventually.
“We are,” I reply. “And it may be best if I’m the one to brief you. Lorenzo and Mrs Bellacci do not have all the information. I can fill the gaps. Then I have a few questions for you.”
I tell them about our trip to the lodge and the morning events, going into detail about Ivan, who, I am convinced, also spent time at the Hartfield Institute.
When I finish, Romano says something in Italian, and Mrs Bellacci replies before reaching across to pull her mobile phone from the glove compartment.
“My apologies for not contacting you earlier,” says Romano.
“Some things have only just come to light. I agree that they must have tracked you using the bike. But Teresa has a point. I understand how you might feel an affinity for this man, Aksel, but remember what Dr Callico told you. Trust nobody. And I would not rely on the word of someone whose loyalties are plain. There is a bug-detecting app and an attachment on Teresa’s phone.
To be on the safe side, I suggest you and Lorenzo scan yourselves and your baggage.
I also think it’s time you paid this man, Maurice Leblanc, a visit. ”
Mrs Bellacci demonstrates by scanning herself from head to foot, then passes the device to Lorenzo, who checks our bags and himself.
“That’s what Lorenzo suggested. I planned to head to Carlisle as soon as we had your all-clear. But isn’t there an unofficial manhunt for me after the incident with Sylvie Leblanc? Lorenzo has seen nothing on the news or on police reports.”