Thanks, Natasa, for your kind review! Hope I can alleviate your anxiety a bit with this chapter :)
18 – EIGHTEEN – 1.174^18
Charlie started. He wanted to cry out, but the hand didn't allow him to do so. His breaths came in fits and starts as if he was afraid of the hand shutting off his air supply. Filled with horror, he rolled his eyes downwards, but he couldn't make out anything besides the silhouette of a human hand in the darkness. Darkness? Right. The light was gone. The hand in front of his mouth must have banished it. And it was more than a hand. He couldn't distinguish it with his eyes, but his sense of smell and his sense of taste told him that the hand wasn't there alone: it was covered by a glove, a leather glove. And part of a strong body.
One second and a half after the hand's contact with his mouth, his attention was drawn to another sensation. Something cold was touching his neck; it felt like metal... The same instant, Charlie knew that a knife was being held against his neck. He tried not to breathe, but the panic didn't let go of him. His breathing increased becoming short and shallow.
"Stay calm," an eerily low voice whispered into Charlie's ear, and for a moment Charlie wondered if it wanted to mock him. "Don't move. Got that?"
Charlie didn't dare stir.
"Did you get that!" The voice with the Russian accent had become more precise, though not a decibel louder.
Charlie didn't think that his trachea was in working order right now, and therefore nodded carefully urgently hoping that thereby he wouldn't cut through his own throat. He sensed, more unconsciously than consciously that the figure wasn't here alone. Someone else was standing behind him; Charlie could sense his presence. He therefore had to deal with two unknown persons of which at least one was armed. He started trembling.
"Very well," the voice purred, and shudders ran through Charlie's whole body. "You're gonna listen close to me now and not try any foul trick."
Again Charlie nodded and if by a miracle the skin at his throat remained unharmed despite the nod and despite his trembling.
"You're gonna tell the police that you were wrong and that Boris Chrushtchov killed this Norvtcharov, by order of Max Bolshoyov."
Charlie's heart nearly stopped beating. This guy was from the mafia! He knew about Norvtcharov! And if he demanded that Charlie come up with a wrong result regarding the murderer… perhaps he had a personal interest in a wrong result…?
"You're gonna say that you found that out with your maths and you will convince them this way. And we will know if you tell them something else. If you don't do what we tell you to you'll soon have more bodies. We know that you sent the old guy away, but no one escapes us for long. And if in doubt the agent's gonna kick the bucket. Got that?"
As if paralyzed, Charlie nodded.
"Very well. And not a word to anyone. You know who's gonna pay for your mistakes."
Before Charlie could form another idea, the hand above his mouth and the cold steel at his throat had disappeared, and two shadows disappeared into the dark of the night.
When Charlie sensed his knees trembling, he lowered himself to the floor and wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't even have the force to carry himself to the old chair.
What had just happened?
There had been two of them, Charlie was fairly certain about that. And they had to be from the Russian mafia. Maybe they also had Norvtcharov's death on their conscience. That meant that they were unscrupulous. That meant that they would, if forced to, carry out their threat. Thank God Charlie's father was safe! And he was safe, wasn't he?
Charlie's heart stopped beating for a moment. Then, it beat more violently and quicker. With trembling hands he drew his mobile from his pocket. If they knew that Alan wasn't here anymore, they might know where he was now and maybe they were afraid that Charlie wouldn't pay attention to their threats and maybe they had already been at Aunt Susann's an eternity ago...
Charlie's fingers were already on their way to the call button when he paused. He was upset. Surely his panic would be heard in his voice. That was assuming he'd be able to get out a word in the first place. And Alan would notice. He would first ask for the reason for Charlie's late call. He would know that something was wrong, he would get worried, would maybe return – and thereby play exactly into their hands!
Filled with the fright of what he he'd nearly done Charlie let the mobile fall, and the illumination of the display disappeared again. In the serenity of the darkness Charlie tried to control his breathing and to put his thoughts in order. No, it was nonsense. Alan couldn't be in danger; that didn't make sense. They probably didn't even know where he was. Otherwise they would've told him. Wouldn't they? Would they?
Charlie was close to tears. What should he do? Nothing made any sense. He just wasn't getting anywhere. Logic wasn't helping him here. He was completely lost. He had to tell someone, someone he could confide in, someone who could help him, but who?
Don. Of course. Why the hell had he taken so long to fish the right thought out of his upset mind?
Well, on the other hand it wasn't too much of a surprise. Considering how things were going or rather not going between the two brothers at the moment... someone he could confide in... Could he really confide in Don? Would Don even listen to him?
Feelings that bounced between anger, desperation, defiance and endless sadness filled Charlie. Don had to listen to him; it was important! But he knew that Don wouldn't listen, for Charlie wouldn't be able to tell him anything in the first place...
But maybe these guys would never find out...
Charlie shook his head energetically, as if in order to chase the thought away. No, he wouldn't risk it. He wouldn't put his father or his brother's lives at stake. His opponent was much too well organized for him to even consider such an idea. They already knew much too much, anyway: they knew that Charlie was working for the FBI again, even knew how much he had advanced with his work, knew about the thing that they had sent Alan to safety (hopefully to safety), knew that Charlie would never risk endangering his family...
But where from? Where were they getting all this information from?
Damn it.
An extremely unsettling thought had crossed Charlie's mind, and his breathing increased while his eyes were hastily scanning the dark garage. Bugs! They must have planted some kind of listening device here, here in the garage, in the house or in the FBI headquarters. Charlie hadn't talked about their plans concerning Alan and about his work other than in these three places – and it was highly unlikely that anyone else had done so also. Anyway – that meant that they were eavesdropping on them, at least on him!
Charlie shuddered. How had these guys managed to do that? He was here, after all, he should have noticed something... But that was nonsense; after all it wasn't that he never left the house. Moreover, he had no idea when these bugs had been planted – if they were really there, and Charlie was becoming more and more certain with every passing second that they were there. Maybe – yes, certainly! - it had happened right after their escape from their prison in the mountains so they could spy on the progress of their work.
But... if these guys knew what they already knew... if Charlie obeyed them... then they would never be able to solve this whole case! Charlie had to tell somebody, some law enforcement would be best! However, what if they had also planted bugs in the FBI offices...
Charlie swallowed. No, he couldn't go to the FBI; the risk was just too high. And if they were shadowing him –
Good God! The thought hadn't even crossed his mind until now! Maybe these guys were lying in wait right now, watching every single move? Wildly Charlie looked around, too panicked to notice how senseless this move was. He felt coldness running down his spine. All of a sudden he again was the little boy sitting on the floor, afraid of the dark. Too afraid to even think about standing up and switching the light on.
But if he could go neither to the LAPD nor elsewhere – actually, it was crazy: he went in and out in all sorts of agencies and then when you needed them they weren't there! – then he would have to bring Don in whether he liked it or not. But surely Don would listen to him. Certainly... wouldn't he? But it was important, after all! It was about Don's life!
But no... Charlie couldn't go to Don. He couldn't tell him. These guys would find out. They had found out everything up to this point. If he didn't want them to cut Don's throat, he had to remain silent. He had to obey their order and hope that the mafia wouldn't become even more powerful and that Don thus wouldn't be in danger despite everything. However, if he told Don that Don was in danger, then Don was in danger!
Charlie shook his head. This whole thing made no sense! It was so illogical! How to know what to do if everything he could do was wrong?
I have to go on, his inner voice suddenly urged him, and Charlie was so programmed to obey every order at once that he sprang to his feet from his sitting position on the floor and hurried towards the board. Of course at once all the blood sank in his legs, and he had to lean against it until the feeling of vertigo was gone. He held his eyes closed during the process, and his thoughts inevitably jumped back towards the masked men. He shuddered. It was so unreal, it couldn't be...
But it was true and he had to do something.
It wasn't until he wanted to take a look at his previous work when he noticed that it was still dark. With nervous energy he stepped over to the door and switched on the ceiling-light. Even before it was completely on he stood in front of the board again or rather: he paced up and down in front of it. Adrenaline forced him to move constantly. He couldn't stand still. But he had to get on, he had to find out more...
Again he shuddered. It was so frightening how easily these guys had been able to assault him. They had come and gone and nobody had seen them. They'd been here for only a few minutes and although he still wasn't sure if he hadn't merely dreamed everything, he knew that he would never manage to forget those minutes. He still felt the knife against his throat, smelled the leather gloves, sensed the presence of someone unknown in every dark corner of the garage. He still heard their words, the threat to do something to hurt his brother or his father...
With his gaze empty Charlie stared at the board until it occurred to him that he had intended to go on working. Concentrate, he forced himself impatiently. Come on, you have to think, you mustn't get distracted. You can't risk putting them in further danger...
He wouldn't be able to bear it. He wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to one of them, if they were hurt or even worse. He couldn't do that. And what if something happened to him because he hadn't obeyed the mafia's orders? Not only if something happened to them, but worse that it was his fault?
Aghast, Charlie staggered back a few steps until he bumped into the desk. He couldn't, he couldn't do that, he couldn't do that anymore.
He didn't know how much time had passed since his decision to discover the secret behind the organization, but finally it became clear to him that it was too much. He couldn't concentrate. His head was so empty, so full of fright and worry and panic that there was no room anymore for cool, calculating logic.
Again he felt his knees trembling and again he lowered himself to the floor. It was too much. He couldn't do this anymore. The first shock was over and it wasn't until now that he realized everything clearly and in every detail what had happened. He could no longer hold back the tears and during the first few minutes he didn't even try.
After a while he thought he'd built enough strength to drag himself to the house. He struggled to get to his feet and stumbled along to his bedroom. The journey seemed to last forever, as he expected to be assaulted every instant. In his bedroom, however, he was at the end of his tether. Dimly, he felt his shoes slip off his feet, but he didn't have the necessary energy anymore to get rid of his clothes. He simply threw himself on his bed and fell asleep while the tears in his eyes were slowly drying.