“Oh my God,” Peter whispers.
The voice changes to sound in a hissing prestissimo. It’s playfully beautiful and at the same time filled with difficult fingerings and quick jumps between octaves.
The music already lives in Axel’s mind. All he has to do is let it out. Not every note is perfect, but his fingers instinctively know the way and dance quickly over the fingerboard and the strings.
Vaguely he hears Raphael yelling something from the captain’s bridge and there’s a thud overhead that shakes the crystal chandelier. Axel continues to play—the quivering notes are like sparks of sunlight over the sea.
Steps come thudding down the staircase. When Axel sees Raphael with sweat pouring down his face and a bloody military knife in his hand, he stops playing abruptly. The gray-haired bodyguard runs behind Raphael with his rifle up and ready. It’s a Belgian Fabrique Nationale SCAR.
110
on board
Joona Linna is next to Pasi Rannikko and peering through a pair of binoculars. The first mate stands beside them. They all watch the enormous luxury yacht now dead in the water before them. It rocks slightly although the wind has died down. The flag of Italy droops. There’s no movement on the ship, as if all aboard are suspended in Sleeping Beauty’s hundred-year sleep. Whitecaps have disappeared from the surface of the Baltic Sea, and it is so calm the smooth water mirrors the light blue sky.
The cell phone rings in Joona’s pocket. He hands the binoculars to Niko and answers.
“We have a witness!” Saga is screaming on the other end. “The girl saw everything! Axel Riessen has definitely been kidnapped. The prosecutor has already issued a warrant—you can go on board and search for him!”
“Good work!” Joona says.
Pasi Rannikko looks at Joona expectantly as he puts his phone away.
“We have the authority to arrest Raphael Guidi,” Joona says. “He’s accused of kidnapping.”
“I’ll radio FNS
Hanko
,” Pasi Rannikko says, and rushes up to the communication radio on the bridge.
“They’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Niko says excitedly.
“Request for backup,” Pasi Rannikko says into the microphone. “We have an arrest warrant to board Raphael Guidi’s boat and take him in … Roger, that’s correct … Yes, but hurry! Top speed!”
Joona has the binoculars again and sweeps his gaze along the white stairs from their platform on the deck, past belowdecks, and then back up to the afterdeck with its closed umbrellas. He tries to get a glimpse through a set of overwide windows but they are too black. He follows the railing and then back up the next set of stairs onto the large terrace.
Shimmering hot air filters through vents on the roof of the captain’s bridge. Joona swings his binoculars back to the black windows and stops. He thought he saw movement behind the glass. Something white is hurrying along behind the panes. For a second it looks like a huge wing, bent feathers pressed against the glass.
The next moment, it appears to be cloth or white plastic.
Joona blinks to clear his vision and looks again to find himself staring into a face lifting its own binoculars.
The steel door to the captain’s bridge slams open, and a blond man runs out and jumps down the stairs to race across the foredeck.
These are the first people Joona has seen on the yacht.
The second man is dressed in black. He hurries to the helicopter pad and unfastens the lines around the helicopter’s base. He opens the door to the cockpit.
“They’ve listened in on our radio,” Joona says.
“We’ll change channels,” Pasi Rannikko calls back.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Joona says. “They’re not going to stay. They’re going to try to get away on the helicopter.”
He hands the binoculars to Niko.
“Fifteen minutes to backup,” Pasi Rannikko says tensely.
“Too late,” Joona states swiftly.
“Someone’s already in the helicopter,” Niko calls out.
“Raphael knows we have his arrest warrant and can come aboard,” Joona says.
“So do we board the ship right away?” asks Niko.
“That’s what we’ll have to do,” Joona says, giving him a quick glance.
Niko snaps a magazine into an automatic rifle that is as black as dirty oil. It’s a short-barreled Heckler & Koch 416.
Pasi Rannikko takes his own gun from his holster and hands it to Joona.
“Thanks,” Joona says as he quickly checks the ammunition and looks the gun over. It’s an M9A1 semiautomatic. He recognizes it as similar to the M9 used in the Gulf War, but the magazine is slightly different and there’s a fastener for a lamp and a laser scope.
Without speaking again, Pasi Rannikko aims his ship toward the aft bridge of the yacht, which is just above the waterline. As they near it, the yacht seems to rise higher and higher, almost like an apartment building. Pasi puts his engine into reverse to slow, whipping up the wake, and Niko throws fenders over the side. The hulls bang against each other and sparks fly.
Joona climbs aboard even as the boats veer away from each other. Water churns up between them. Niko jumps and Joona catches his hand; his automatic rifle bangs against the railing. They run together toward the stairs, force their way past the debris of scattered wicker chairs and old wine boxes, and race up.
Niko turns for a second to wave at Pasi Rannikko, who is roaring away from the yacht.
111
traitors
Raphael Guidi is on the bridge with his bodyguard, the one with gray hair and glasses. The navigator looks at them both with such fright as he nervously rubs his hand across his stomach over and over.
“What’s going on?” demands Raphael.
“I ordered the helicopter to get ready,” the navigator quavers. “I thought—”
“Where’s that damned police boat?”
“There,” he says pointing aft.
Close under the yacht’s afterdeck, beyond the swimming pool and the winches for the lifeboats, the gray naval boat is bumping close and churning up a wake as it reverses its engines. “The radio call … what did they say exactly?” Raphael demands.
“They said they didn’t have much time. They called for backup. They said they had an arrest warrant.”
“How can they!” Raphael howls and looks around.
Down on the helicopter pad they can see the pilot already in the cockpit. The rotors have just begun to move. And they can hear Paganini’s Caprice no. 24 being played in the dining room beneath them.
“Their backup is coming,” the navigator says, and points to a spot on the radar.
“I see. How much time do we have?” Raphael asks.
“They’re moving at about thirty-three knots, so … ten minutes?”
“No danger,” says the bodyguard, glancing at the helicopter. “We can get you and Peter out of here. Only three minutes until—”
The blond bodyguard runs onto the bridge. He’s shouting, and his face is white.
“Someone’s on board! Someone’s on the ship!” he yells.
“How many?” The gray-haired man is now totally alert.
“I only saw one. He has an automatic rifle. No special equipment.”
“Go stop him.”
“Give me a knife!” demands Raphael.
The guard pulls out a knife with a channeled gray blade. Raphael takes it and whirls on the navigator. His eyes tighten.
“Did you or did you not tell me they would wait for backup?” he screams. “You told me they would wait!”
“That’s what they said—”
“Then what are they doing here? They have nothing on me!” Raphael says. “They have absolutely nothing!”
The navigator steps back as he shakes his head. Raphael barges closer.
“Why the hell are they here if they have nothing on me?” Raphael keeps screaming. “There’s nothing—”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” the navigator screams. “I can only tell you what I heard—”
“What did
you
tell
them
?”
“Tell them? Me? I don’t understand—”
“Don’t mess with me! Just tell me what the fuck you told them!”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Coming from you, that’s strange … most unusual, very strange indeed. Don’t you think so?”
“I only listened in as I was told to, I didn’t—”
“Why don’t you confess!” Raphael roars as he leaps toward the navigator and pushes the knife deep into his belly.
There is little resistance as the knife slides through his shirt, his fat, and into his intestines. Blood is channeled past the knife and spatters on Raphael’s hand and arm and even onto his gym clothes. A confused expression comes over the navigator’s face as he tries to step backward to get away from the knife, but Raphael looks deep into his eyes.
The beautiful music still filters up from the dining room. Unbelievably rapid notes dance up and down the scale.
“It could be Axel Riessen,” the gray-haired bodyguard says abruptly. “Maybe he was bugged … maybe he’s in contact with the police…”
Raphael jerks the knife back out of the navigator’s body and throws himself down the stairs.
The navigator stands still, holding his stomach as blood drops onto his black shoes. He tries to walk, but slides to the ground instead and lies there, staring mutely at the ceiling.
Raphael’s bodyguard is running behind him, holding his rifle ready to fire as they both run down the carpeted stairs.
Axel stops playing when Raphael comes roaring in, pointing to him with the bloody knife.
“You traitor!” he roars. “You betrayed me!”
The bodyguard suddenly fires his rifle at the window, the bullets slamming through while the brass casings clatter down the stairs.
112
automatic fire
Joona and Niko run up the winding stairs, past the lower deck and to the huge afterdeck. The silent ocean is like an infinite glass plate spreading in all directions. Oddly, they hear violin music. Joona tries to see what’s beyond the glass doors, but he can make out only vague shapes behind the mirrored surface. He can see only part of the dining room, but no people. The music continues feverishly. It’s as distant as a dream, sound dampened by the doors.
They pause for a few seconds and then they dash past an open area with a dump heap for a swimming pool. Silently, they run across the sunken terrace and over to the metal stairs.
Footsteps sound overhead and Niko points to the stairs. They press their bodies against the wall.
The light, playful notes are clearer now. The violinist’s work is extraordinary. Joona peeks into the enormous dining room and sees the odd arrangement of office equipment on the impressive table. He still can see no people; the person playing the music must be beyond the wide stairs.
Joona motions for Niko to follow and cover his back as he points to the captain’s bridge overhead.
The violin stops abruptly in the middle of an ascending, beautiful run.
Very suddenly.
Joona throws his body behind the stairs at the same moment automatic fire slams out. Quick, hard bangs. The full metal jacket bullets splinter the stairs where he’d just been standing and are now ricocheting in all directions.
Joona crouches farther back, behind the stairs, and feels an adrenaline rush. Niko has found cover behind a lifeboat crane and is returning fire. Joona, bent over, sees the row the bullet holes have made in the dark glass, like frosted rings around black pupils.
113
the blade of the knife
The gray-haired bodyguard continues down the stairs with his weapon steadily aimed at the windows. Smoke trickles from his rifle and the casings are still bouncing down the stairs.
Peter has curled into a ball and holds his hands over his ears.
Silently the bodyguard slips out a side door.
Axel is backing away between the tables, holding the violin and its bow, and retreating as Raphael points at him with the knife.
“How could you ruin everything?” he roars as he tries to catch up to Axel. “I’m going to cut up your face, I’m going to—”
“Pappa, what’s going on?” screams Peter.
“Get my gun and get on the helicopter! We’re leaving this boat!”
The boy nods. His face is pale, his chin wobbles. Raphael skirts around tables toward Axel. Axel moves backward and throws down chairs between them.
“Load it with Parabellum, hollow-point!” commands Raphael.
“How many?” the boy asks. “One magazine?”
“Yes, that’s enough—but hurry!” Raphael yells as he kicks aside a chair.
Axel is trying to get through the door on the other side of the room. He turns the lock one-handed, but the door won’t open.
“I’m not finished with you!” howls Raphael.
Axel shakes the door again with his free hand and then sees the bolt high up. Raphael is barging closer. The knife glistens in his hand. Axel reacts impulsively and whirls around to hurl the beautiful violin at Raphael. It tumbles in the air, red and glowing. Raphael jumps aside and trips but still lunges as he tries to save the instrument. He almost catches it, but fumbles although he’s broken its fall. The violin skitters across the floor with a sibilant whisper.
Axel has gotten the door open and rushes out into a cluttered hallway. There’s so much trash he can hardly get through. He clambers over a heap of lounge-chair pillows and over a pile of diving masks and wet suits.
“I’ll get you!” Raphael is following him with the knife in one hand and the violin in the other.
Axel’s foot gets caught in the mesh of a rolled-up tennis net. He crawls away, kicking at it as Raphael draws nearer.
Short, hard bursts of automatic fire can be heard outside.
Raphael pounces, driving the knife down at Axel, but he misses as Axel kicks himself loose. He scrambles to his feet and knocks over a foosball table to block Raphael, then rushes again down the hallway to the door at the end. His hands fumble with the lock and the handle, but something blocks it shut. He shoves. The door opens a crack.
“You can’t get away from me!”
Axel tries to press himself through the gap, but it’s too narrow. The edge of a large shelving unit stacked with clay pots is in the way. Axel throws his whole weight against the door and the unit beyond scrapes a few inches. He can feel Raphael behind him. He shoves once more and finally can squeeze his body through. He tears his hand on the lock but he can’t notice. He must get out of there.