sound of unzipping, one of the most welcome sounds she’d ever heard. She gulped at the cool air and reflexively closed her eyes against the harsh light.
When her pupils had adjusted to the brightness, the first thing she saw was that wretched red beard. There was the click of a knife snapping open. She closed her eyes again when she saw the blade and started to pray, waiting for the agonizing sensation she’d felt once before – steel penetrating her body.
There was a slicing sound, quick and clean, and her hands went free.
The red-bearded man had cut the duct tape which bound her.
Elisabetta opened her eyes and awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She was standing unsteadily in a collapsed black holdall in the middle of a large windowless cellar. The room was loaded with pine crates, each the size of a bathtub. But she was more interested in the two unzipped duffel bags which lay beside her.
‘Let them out!’ she demanded.
Another of the kidnappers unzipped the first bag. Micaela was curled in a fetal position, unmoving. Before anyone could stop her, Elisabetta ran to Micaela’s side, kneeled down and touched her cheek. Thank God it was warm.
She looked up at the bearded man. ‘Cut her free. Please.’
Elisabetta stroked her sister’s hair while the man obliged and sliced the tape. Then she rubbed Micaela’s wrists and hands to get the blood flowing. Micaela was breathing slowly, too slowly, but suddenly she opened her mouth and started gasping for air. Her eyes blinked open and squinted. She uttered a weak ‘Elisabetta.’
‘I’m here, my darling.’
‘Are we alive?’
‘Thanks to God, we are.’ She pivoted to face their captors. ‘Let the priest out!’
They unzipped Father Tremblay’s bag.
His long body was folded upon itself; he was motionless, his thick eyeglasses dangling from one ear. Elisabetta went to him and felt his face. It was cool as stone. ‘Micaela, can you come? He needs help!’
As the men watched impassively, Micaela crawled over to his duffel bag and felt for Tremblay’s carotid pulse. She put her ear to his chest.
Crestfallen, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Elisabetta. He’s gone. The ether. Marfan’s patients have bad hearts. He couldn’t take it.’
Elisabetta stood and pointed at the bearded man. ‘Bastards! You killed him!’ she screamed with an anger she hadn’t known she was capable of mustering.
The man shrugged and simply told his colleagues to take the body away. ‘There are beds there,’ he said, pointing at three single beds against one stone wall. They were unmade but sheets, blankets and pillows were laid out. ‘And through that green door is a lavatory. We will bring food. There is no way out so there is no reason to try to escape. You should also be quiet because there is no one to hear you. Okay. Goodbye.’
‘What are you going to do with us? What do you want?’ Micaela demanded.
The bearded man backed away from them, heading toward a sturdy wooden door. ‘Me?’ he answered. ‘I want nothing. My job is done and I go home now to sleep.’
The men left, dragging Father Tremblay’s body with them.
There was the scraping sound of a bolt sliding into place. Elisabetta helped Micaela to one of the beds and sat her down. There were bottles of water on a table. Elisabetta twisted one open, sniffed at it and had a sip. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to her sister. ‘I think it’s all right.’
Micaela drank half of it in one go. Only then did Elisabetta let loose and start crying. Micaela cried too and the two of them held each other.
‘The poor man,’ Elisabetta choked. ‘That poor, poor man. He didn’t deserve to die like that. No last rites. Nothing. I need to pray for him.’
‘You do that,’ Micaela said, rubbing her tearful eyes. ‘I need to pee.’ Shakily, she made for the green door.
Elisabetta said a hasty prayer for the young priest’s soul, then decided that God would want her to concentrate on saving Micaela and herself. She rose and began to explore.
The bolted door wouldn’t budge. It didn’t look as though there was any other way out. The walls were cool, pale limestone and the ceiling was high and vaulted. It was an old cellar, she reckoned, possibly medieval. The crates suggested it was meant for storage, not guests. The metal bed frames looked out of place, brought in for the occasion.
Micaela came back in, shaking her head.
‘How were the facilities?’ Elisabetta asked.
‘The toilet flushed.’
‘Any windows?’
‘No.’ Micaela made her own tug at the door. ‘I think we’re in big trouble.’
‘What time is it?’
Micaela checked her watch. ‘Just past seven. In the morning, I suppose, but we could have missed a whole day.’
‘I doubt it,’ Elisabetta said. ‘What language do you think they were speaking?’
‘It sounded Slavic.’
‘If we were on the road all night we could be in Germany, Austria, Switzerland or Slovenia.’
‘Your brain’s working better than mine,’ Micaela said. ‘You probably got less ether.’
‘Probably.’
Elisabetta used the bathroom herself. It was the size of a closet, only a toilet and a sink, no windows. The walls were the same yellow limestone.
When she came out she started making up her bed.
‘You’re adapting well to your captivity,’ Micaela said.
‘We should get some rest. Lord knows what’s ahead for us.’
Micaela reluctantly began to lay the sheets on her thin mattress and tuck them in. ‘Why didn’t they kill us?’ she asked suddenly.
‘I don’t know.’ Elisabetta was looking around the chamber again. ‘Perhaps they need something from me.’
Micaela finished unfolding her blanket and smoothing it into place. She punched at the lumpy pillow. ‘The beds are terrible.’ She sat back down, kicked off her shoes and rubbed her feet.
‘God willing, we won’t be here long.’ Elisabetta wandered over to a pile of crates stacked high against one of the walls. The boxes were unmarked. She rapped on one; the dull sound told her that it was full.
Because the crates were arranged several boxes deep and weren’t flush with one another they formed an uneven staircase to the top.
Elisabetta hiked up her habit and began to climb.
‘What are you doing?’ Micaela asked. ‘You’re going to fall!’
‘I’ll be fine. I want to see if I can open one.’
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity.’
‘I thought you said we should rest.’
‘In a minute.’
Elisabetta climbed to the top and stood on one of the crates about twelve feet off the ground.
‘Oops!’
The crate shifted a couple of centimeters.
‘Come down!’ Micaela said.
‘No, it’s okay – I think. I’ll be careful.’
Elisabetta couldn’t very well try to open the box she was standing on so she went for the one closer to the wall. She knelt down and inspected the lid. It looked heavy and fitted tightly but it wasn’t nailed or screwed down. She pulled at the edge and it gave a little.
What was she going to find? Weapons? Drugs?
She pursed her lips. She didn’t think so.
With all her strength she managed to lift the lid a couple of centimeters, just enough to insert her fingertips.
