Countdown to a Vacuum
Chapter Twenty-nine
Late in the evening Sikosi Tsiki killed a mouse with a wellaimed throw of a knife. By then Tania had already gone to bed. Konovalenko was waiting until it was late enough for him to call Jan Kleyn in South Africa and get the final instructions for Sikosi Tsiki’s return journey. Konovalenko also intended to raise the question of his own future as an immigrant to South Africa. There was not a sound to be heard from the cellar. Tania had been down to look at the girl and said she was asleep. For the first time in ages he felt totally content. He had made contact with Wallander. Konovalenko had demanded an unsigned letter of safe conduct from him, in return for getting his daughter back unharmed. Wallander would give him a week’s start, and personally insure the police search was wrongly directed. As Konovalenko intended to return to Stockholm immediately, Wallander would make sure the search for him was concentrated in southern Sweden.
But none of this was true, of course. Konovalenko intended to shoot both him and the girl. He wondered whether Wallander really believed what he had said. If so he would return to being the kind of cop Konovalenko had started by thinking he was, the naive provincial drudge. But he had no intention of making the mistake of underestimating Wallander yet again.
During the day he had devoted many hours to Sikosi Tsiki. Just as in preparing Victor Mabasha, Konovalenko had run through various possible turns of events in connection with the assassination attempt. He had the impression Sikosi Tsiki was quicker-witted than Victor Mabasha. Moreover, he seemed completely unaffected by the passing but unambiguous racist remarks Konovalenko could not resist making. He intended to provoke him even more over the next few days, to see if he could pin down the limit of his self-control.
There was one characteristic Sikosi Tsiki shared with Victor Mabasha. Konovalenko started to wonder whether it was something typical of the African temperament. He was thinking of their introversion, the impossible task of trying to figure out what they really thought. It irritated him. He was used to being able to see straight through people, read their thoughts, and hence give himself an opportunity to anticipate their reactions.
He gazed at the man who had just speared a mouse in a corner of the room with his strangely curved knife. He’ll do a good job, thought Konovalenko. A few more days of planning and weapons training, and he’ll be ready to go home. He’ll be my entrance visa to South Africa.
Sikosi Tsiki stood up and retrieved his knife with the mouse speared on the end of it. Then he went out into the kitchen and removed the victim. He dropped it into a garbage pail and rinsed the blade. Konovalenko observed him, occasionally taking a sip of vodka from his glass.
“A knife with a curved blade,” he said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”
“My ancestors used to make them over a thousand years ago,” said Sikosi Tsiki.
“But the curved blade?” wondered Konovalenko. “Why?”
“Nobody knows,” answered Sikosi Tsiki. “It’s still a secret. The day the secret is revealed, the knife will lose its power.”
Soon after he disappeared into his room. Konovalenko was annoyed by the mysterious reply he had received. He heard Sikosi Tsiki locking the door behind him.
Konovalenko was on his own now. He went around the room turning off the lights, apart from the lamp next to the table where the telephone was. He checked the time. Half past midnight. Soon he would call Jan Kleyn. He listened at the cellar hatch. Not a sound. He poured himself another glass of vodka. He would save it until after he had finished speaking with Jan Kleyn.
The call to South Africa was brief.
Jan Kleyn listened to Konovalenko’s assurances that Sikosi Tsiki would cause no problems. There was no doubt about his mental stability. Then Jan Kleyn announced his verdict. He wanted Sikosi Tsiki to return to South Africa within a week at the most. Konovalenko’s job was to make arrangements immediately to get him out of Sweden, and make sure the return journey to Johannesburg was booked and confirmed. Konovalenko had the impression Jan Kleyn was in a hurry, that he was under pressure. Of course, he had no way of confirming his hunch. But it was enough to put him off his stride when it came to discussing his own journey to South Africa. The call ended without his having said a single word about the future. He felt annoyed with himself afterwards. He drained his vodka glass and wondered if Jan Kleyn intended to double-cross him. But he dismissed the thought. Besides, he was convinced they really needed his talents and experience in South Africa. He drank another glass of vodka, then went out onto the porch to urinate. It was raining. He gazed out into the mist, and decided he should be pleased with himself. Just a few more hours and all his problems would be over, for this particular job. His assignment was almost at an end. Then he would have time to devote to his future. Not the least significant decision he would have to make was whether to take Tania with him to South Africa, or if he should do what he did with his wife and leave her behind.
He locked the door, retired to his own room and lay down. He did not get undressed, but just pulled a blanket over him. Tania could sleep alone tonight. He needed some rest.
She was lying awake in her room, and heard Konovalenko shut the door and lie down on top of the bed. She lay still, listening. She was scared. Deep down she had the feeling it would be impossible to get the girl out of the cellar and then leave the house without Konovalenko hearing. Nor was it possible to lock the door to his room quietly. She had tried that earlier in the day, when Konovalenko and the African were out shooting rifles in the quarry. Besides, it was possible for him to jump out of the bedroom window even if the door was barricaded. She wished she had some sleeping pills. She could have dissolved them in one of his vodka bottles. But all she had was herself, and she knew she had to try. Earlier in the day she had prepared a little suitcase with some money and clothes. She hid it in the barn. She also left her rain clothes there, and a pair of boots.
She checked the time. A quarter past one. She knew the meeting with the cop was scheduled for dawn. She and the daughter would have to be a long way away by then. As soon as she heard Konovalenko start to snore, she would get up. She knew Konovalenko was a very light sleeper and kept waking up, but rarely during the first half hour after falling asleep.
She still was not sure why she was doing this. She knew she was risking her own life. But she did not feel the need to justify her actions to herself. Some things were just dictated by life itself.
Konovalenko turned over and coughed. Twenty-five past one. Some nights Konovalenko chose not to sleep, but just lay on the bed resting. If this was one of those nights, there was nothing she could do to help the girl. She noticed how that made her feel even more scared. It was a threat that seemed to her greater than any danger she might run herself.
At twenty to two she finally heard Konovalenko start to snore. She listened for about half a minute. Then she carefully got out of bed. She was fully dressed. All the time she had been clutching the key to the lock on the chains around the girl’s ankles. She cautiously opened the door of her room and avoided the floorboards she knew would creak. She sneaked into the kitchen, switched on her flashlight and started easing up the hatch very carefully. It was a critical moment: the girl might start screaming. That had not happened so far. But it could, she realized that. Konovalenko was snoring. She listened. Then she climbed cautiously down the ladder. The girl was curled into a ball. Her eyes were open. Tania squatted beside her and whispered while stroking her cropped hair. She said they were going to run away, but she would have to be very, very quiet. The girl did not react. Her eyes were completely expressionless. Tania was suddenly afraid she would not be able to move. Perhaps she was rendered immobile by fear? She had to turn her over on her side in order to get to the padlock. The girl suddenly started kicking and punching. Tania just managed to place her hand over the girl’s mouth before she started screaming. Tania was strong, and pressed as hard as she could. Just one half-stifled yell would be enough to wake Konovalenko. She shuddered at the thought. Konovalenko was quite capable of nailing down the hatch and leaving them both down there in the darkness. Tania tried to whisper to her at the same time as she pressed. The girl’s eyes had come alive, and Tania hoped she would understand now. She slowly took away her hand, unlocked the padlock, and carefully removed the chains.
At the same moment she noticed Konovalenko had stopped snoring. She held her breath. He started again. She hurriedly got to her feet, reached for the hatch, and closed it. The girl had understood. She sat up, and was quiet. But her eyes had come alive again.
Tania suddenly thought her heart would stand still. She heard footsteps in the kitchen above them. Someone
