developing in the wake of the explosion: the rational and the fearful. And fear was heady fuel for those who might seek to exploit it; it was how the Sancti had exercised their dominance over the mountain for thousands of years. Although his decision to remove them had been born of compassion rather than political ambition, he couldn’t help but admit in his private moments that he was glad they were gone and hoped never to see their return. He had felt a difference in the Citadel since the Sancti had left. It felt freer somehow; as if the air flowed more smoothly. But as he watched Axel reach the edge of the garden and disappear back into the mountain he realized their return could come about sooner than he had imagined, and that he had just stared a rival in the eye.
11
Room 406, Davlat Hastenesi Hospital
Liv watched the door swing inwards, revealing the darkened corridor and the shadow that stood there, the white slash of his collar glowing brightly in the gloom. She looked up at the priest’s face. It was set in a practised mask of seriousness and compassion, like he was visiting a bereaved parishioner, or listening to a low-grade confession at the end of a dull Sunday. He seemed so normal, and yet she was terrified of him — terrified and full of an anger that rose up inside her, along with the detuned radio noise in her head. Her fists clenched on the bed, twisting handfuls of starched sheet. So complete was her focus on him that she didn’t even notice the second figure enter the room until the door banged shut behind him.
He was bigger than the priest and several inches taller — though his bearish, stooping posture all but levelled them. His right arm was held tightly across his chest by a sling and his other held two black plastic evidence bags. A pair of intelligent eyes regarded her from above half-moon glasses that clung crookedly to an impressive nose. Liv broke into a smile, her anger melting in the warmth of his gaze. It was the detective who had first called her and alerted her to her brother’s death.
‘Arkadian!’ The last time she had seen him was at the airport, in amongst the carnage when the agents of the Citadel tried to silence them all. She had seen him slammed backwards by the force of bullets. ‘I thought you were…’
‘Dead? Not quite. Obviously I’ve been better, but in the circumstances I’m not complaining.’ He lowered himself on to the edge of her bed, his weight squashing the mattress and tipping her closer. His presence calmed her, almost as much as the priest’s caused her distress. ‘How are you?’
She wanted to blurt out everything that was going through her head, but instead her eyes flicked towards the priest listening in the corner of the room and she held back. She leaned in closer. ‘Why is he here?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Arkadian twisted round on the bed. ‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Ulvi,’ the priest said, looking like a schoolboy who’d just been caught smoking by the headmaster. He cleared his throat and straightened. ‘Father Ulvi Simsek.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Father. Lady wants to know why you’re here.’
The priest looked at Liv then back to Arkadian. ‘It has been agreed that a member of the Church should be present at every interview.’
‘But this isn’t an interview. She’s already given a statement, which I’m sure you’ve either listened to or read a transcript of.’
‘I have to be here, as a representative of the Church.’
‘And why is that exactly?’
The priest’s face flushed at the continued interrogation. It made Liv feel better, seeing his obvious discomfort, but she still wanted him out of the room. ‘The Church founded this hospital and still owns the land it stands on,’ he said. ‘It has been agreed that all persons who were brought from the Citadel will be monitored by a representative of the Church while they remain our guests.’
‘Well then, how about we come up with our own agreement? You give us five minutes to have a little friendly catch-up and we promise not to tell your boss about it. Who’s to know?’
The priest stared at Arkadian. ‘God will know,’ he said, as if that put an end to the matter. ‘I have been instructed to be present at every interview.’
‘Yes, but you see — this isn’t… oh, never mind.’ He turned back to Liv. ‘We’re just going round in circles here. Why don’t we agree to ignore him, like he’s a butler or something?’ He held up the evidence bags. ‘I have something for you. They found it in the warehouse over at the airport. The tech guys have finished with it. Thought you might want it back.’
He dropped one of the bags on the bed. The plastic crinkled in her hands as she loosened the string around its neck. Inside was her battered holdall, the only piece of luggage she’d brought with her on the journey here. ‘Thanks,’ she said, closing it up again. She would wait until she was alone before going through it. She didn’t want the priest’s eyes roaming all over her private stuff. Then it occurred to her that he’d probably already seen it outside in the corridor, before it was allowed into the room. The thought made her feel trapped and helpless. She looked up at Arkadian. ‘There’s a cop outside in the corridor,’ she said.
Arkadian nodded.
‘Why?’
‘Keep an eye on you and the others. Keep the press out.’
Liv smiled. ‘I am the press.’
Arkadian smiled. ‘Then I guess he’s not doing a very good job. Fortunately for everyone concerned, you can’t remember anything.’
‘Yeah, lucky me.’
‘You’ve been through a lot. These things take time.’
Liv glanced at the priest again, weighing up what he might know against what she might want to keep from him.
‘What exactly have I been through?’ Arkadian looked puzzled. ‘Seriously. My memory is so patchy I can’t work out what’s real and what’s not. It would really help if you could talk me through it.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
Arkadian placed the second evidence bag down on the bed, took her hand and started to talk. He started with her brother’s appearance on top of the Citadel, moved carefully through his death and what they found during the autopsy, and finished with the events at the airport where Oscar had died smothering a grenade meant for all of them, Arkadian had been shot and Liv had been knocked unconscious only to reappear a few hours later being carried out of the Citadel by Gabriel. When he had finished, Liv looked across at the priest. He didn’t look back. Arkadian’s carefully told history, delivered in the precise and methodical manner of a seasoned police detective, had blown the mist from almost every recess of her mind. She could now recall everything, all except the one thing she wanted to remember most — what had happened to her inside the Citadel.
‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing Arkadian’s hand.
‘My pleasure.’ He let go and reached into his pocket. ‘They’ll be letting you out of here soon.’ He handed her a card. ‘When they do, I want you to give me a call. Least I can do is drive you to the airport.’ He looked down at his bandaged arm. ‘Or get someone else to drive us both.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, reminding her of the way her father used to say goodnight when she was younger and the world was a safer place.
‘You look after yourself,’ he said, getting up and heading for the door.
‘What’s in the other bag?’
‘Something for Mrs Mann,’ he said. ‘She’s just down the hall.’
‘Say “Hi” from me,’ Liv said.
‘I will.’
‘And say “Hi” to Gabriel too — when you see him.’
‘Oh, you can tell him yourself. They can’t hold him for ever, and I’m not pressing any charges, even though he stuck an anaesthetic in me. I feel pretty sure he’ll be out before you know it.’
