And now he was here. But where was here? He tried to speak, but something was clamped against his lips and it wasn’t until then he realised he was gagged.
Pelham’s voice, gentle and soft. ‘Just a mild sedative, Adam. You’ve been out no more than a few minutes. You might get a bit of a headache, but nothing serious. Now, let’s get started.’
A guard stepped forward and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. Adam felt himself being swivelled round, and he suddenly saw himself dimly reflected in a big glass pane in front of him. He looked like a wild man, eyes staring, strapped to the chair by leather belts around his wrists and ankles and another one across his chest. The gag over his mouth was like a ping pong ball, pulled tight into his mouth by a buckle behind his neck.
The glass in front of him was a window, and he was looking through into another room.
‘I’m sorry you decided to be difficult, Adam,’ Pelham’s voice said behind him. He could see the man’s reflection standing behind the chair. ‘I’m disappointed. I was hoping you and I could have a good relationship.’
Through the window, Adam saw the door open and somebody walked into the other room. He’d seen that face before. It was the woman who’d brought him from his hotel. She turned to the window with that impassive, steely gaze he remembered from Graz. Her eyes seemed to be searching, and he realised that she couldn’t see him. The window was a two-way mirror.
The door in the other room swung open again and a man walked in backwards, pulling something into the room. Adam knew him too. He was the muscular, bull-necked man who had been with the woman in Graz, the one who had hit him in the back of the head in the hotel corridor. The thing he was pulling into the room was some kind of trolley. Adam’s fuzzed-out brain took a second to register what it was.
When he did, horror shot up through him like lava in an erupting volcano.
The upper tier of the medical trolley was covered with shiny implements. Scalpels, drills, saws, needles. A large serrated knife. Beside it, a meat cleaver with a big square-nosed blade and a wooden handle.
The stocky man rolled the trolley across to the far wall and left the room. The woman took her time walking over to it. With her back to the two-way mirror she kneeled down beside it to pick something from the lower shelf, then stood up holding some kind of opaque plastic bundle. Adam watched as she unfurled it and realised it was an apron, the kind that slaughterers wore for butchering animals. She tied the apron strings neatly around her narrow waist, then reached into the front pocket, took out a pair of rubber gloves and pulled one on, then the other.
But then the door of the room opened again, and the stocky man walked in backwards again clutching the handle of another wheeled trolley. This time it was heavier, and his tall companion from before was helping him with it.
But Adam wasn’t watching them. When he saw what they were bringing in, he started screaming through the gag and thrashing against his bonds.
The trolley was a workbench on wheels. Lying on his back across its pitted wooden surface, chained to its four corners by his wrists and ankles, stripped to his underwear, was Rory.
All Adam could hear was the screaming and crying and pleading of his son as they wheeled him in.
‘Let me go! Dad! Dad! I want my dad! Don’t hurt me!’ His back was arched as he struggled against the cuffs, the pale skin stretched over his ribs. He looked sickly and fragile and ill with terror.
Adam fought the leather straps holding him to the chair with every muscle in his body. He thought his heart was going to give out.
‘I told you I was just someone with a job to do,’ Pelham said quietly. ‘And I always do my job. Even if it’s not very pleasant. And this isn’t going to be, Adam. I’m sorry.’
The two men wheeled the bench into the middle of the room, then stepped back to the side and let the woman take over. She glanced at the two-way mirror and nodded, and Adam saw a thin smile spread over her stony face. It was the first expression he’d seen on it. She seemed to be watching him, looking right at him as though she could sense his presence on the other side of the glass and knew what he was feeling.
‘Her name is Irina Dragojevic,’ Pelham said behind him. ‘The less you know about her background, the better. Of all the unsavoury things she does for a living, this is her favourite. She’s an expert. That’s why she was hired for this job, to do the things that the rest of us won’t. She enjoys it, Adam. You can see it in her eyes.’
Adam was bellowing through the gag, twisting his head from side to side and trying to bite the material apart as he watched the woman walk slowly around the boy on the bench and go over to the instrument trolley. She ran her hand along the row of implements, like a chef selecting the best tool for the task in hand. A heavy hacker to chop through a tough joint, a long slim blade to fillet a fish. Her fingers rested on the handle of a scalpel. She picked it up and examined the blade against the light, ran her gaze thoughtfully along the cutting edge. She shook her head, neatly replaced the scalpel and picked up the big meat cleaver. She weighed it in her hand and nodded to herself. Looked slowly back at the two-way mirror and one side of her mouth twisted into a smile of anticipation.
Next to her on the bench, Rory was struggling harder than ever, fingers clawing at the wooden bench, veins standing out horribly on his neck, screaming so hard Adam was terrified that his lungs would burst.
The woman’s gaze swivelled down at the child. She stared for a moment, then drew back her free hand and slapped him across the face, twice, with cracks that echoed in the room.
‘Quiet,’ she said.
The harsh blows silenced Rory’s screams. His chest heaved and he began to sob piteously.
Adam wasn’t a violent man. He’d never enjoyed nor invited confrontation, never been in a fight, always dreaded trouble. Once, when he’d been a student in New York, a tough guy in a bar had spilled his drink to see if the shy boy would put up his fists. Adam had left the place as quickly as he could, and never returned.
But if he could have got free of the chair, he’d have been through that window like a missile and he would have sawn open that bitch’s throat right there on the floor with a shard of broken glass and tasted the spray of her blood and spit in her face as she died.
‘You still have time to reconsider,’ Pelham said. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I was being unreasonable.’
On the other side of the glass, the woman slid the blade of the cleaver along Rory’s body, up his stomach to his chest, then over the trembling curve of his shoulder and down his arm. It stopped at his left wrist. Played on the skin, just hard enough to leave a white mark.
Then the woman took deep breath, looked as if she’d just seen God, and raised the cleaver eighteen inches in the air.
The blade paused, catching the light. The woman glanced back at the mirror with raised eyebrows and a look that said ‘Shall I go on?’
Rory wasn’t struggling any more. His breath seemed to be coming in rapid gasps.
‘Well, Adam?’ said Pelham’s voice in his ear as he bent close to him. ‘Your choice. She’ll start with the left wrist, then she’ll do the left ankle and go on working her way round. She’s waiting for me to tap on the glass. Once for no, twice for yes. What shall it be? Do you really want your son to be maimed for life?’
Adam felt fingers at the back of his neck, and the gag went slack. He shook it free and it dropped into his lap. He twisted his head round so that he could see Pelham in the corner of his eye.
‘Make her stop,’ he pleaded. His voice came out as a croak. ‘Don’t let her hurt my boy. Please. I’ll do anything.’
‘All this could have been avoided, Adam. You have to learn there are consequences to your actions.’
‘Please,’ Adam sobbed. His eyes were screwed up in agony. Mucus dripped in strands from his chin.
‘You’ll give me your word of honour? That you won’t defy me again? Because next time I won’t give you a second chance.’
Adam hung his head, breathing hard. Then nodded. ‘I’d like us to be friends, Adam. I really would. And friends don’t ever lie to each other. You’re not lying to me, are you?’
‘I swear to God. I swear. Don’t hurt him.’
Pelham straightened, stepped over to the glass and tapped loudly, once. He held his hand there, and for a terrible instant Adam thought he was going to tap a second time. But then he took his hand away.
Behind the glass, the woman’s eyes glinted with rage. She slammed the cleaver back down on the trolley, ripped off her gloves and apron and stormed out of the room. The stocky man and his tall companion moved in silence towards the bench and wheeled the trembling, whimpering boy back out through the door.
