Ben was back at the lake when Alan and his son Jacob drove up with the boat. Overnight, there had been a freezing frost, and all the trees were white, sparkling in the bright sun. It was bitterly cold. They launched the boat into the lake by the dock.
Ben oriented his map and started the engine. It was shockingly loud in the silent calm of the beautiful place. He motored slowly down the southern edge of the lake, marking each house and dock he came to on his map then stopping and checking them out. Firstly, he let Radulf sniff around and then he checked each building. Most of them were empty for the winter, but one or two were occupied. Interestingly, they all reported hearing a boat about the time Nikolas had gone missing. It was too quiet and too cold for a boat on the lake to be missed at this time of the year. He asked each of those he spoke with to phone the police and tell them what they’d heard, and then continued on his slow navigation of the lake.
By lunchtime, he’d covered about one mile of one side of a lake that stretched for over fifteen miles of inlets, small islands and one little village. It was hopeless. He reckoned with the short daylight hours, it would take him weeks to cover the place in the way he was now. He was never so grateful to have his phone ring and see it was Kate. “Where are you?”
“In a place called Aero-esk-o-bing, or something like that.”
“Aeroeskoebing.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“I’ll come get you. Is he with you?”
She laughed. “Unfortunately. He reminds me of someone, and not in the good ways, yeah?” For the first time since Nikolas left him—was taken—Ben felt hopeful.
§ § §
He met Kate at Alan Lund’s. She was standing surrounded by suitcases and exuded glamour. The man standing next to her was hunched against the cold and swearing in a fluid and inventive stream about everything from the cold to the length of the trip to the dumb-assed buildings. But when he saw Ben, he grinned and came over and hugged him. “Fucking Diesel, man. How can you lose a great big fucker like that boss of yours? You dumbnut shithead.” He rubbed Ben’s hair with his knuckles then stood back. “What the fuck do you call that poncy girly shit? Cus that ain’t hair man—that’s just fucking gay.”
“Hello, Squeezy.”
“Yeah, don’t you fucking hello me, this—” and he returned to his theme about the cold and the ferry crossing, but Ben tuned him out as he had for the four years they’d served together.
Kate hugged him as well. “I like the hair, Ben, and don’t let anyone tell you it’s not manly.” He chuckled into the warm, beautiful-smelling crook of her neck.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, cut the girly shit and let’s go somewhere warm. It was T-shirts in fucking London when we left, and now it’s like Father fucking Christmas is fucking passing over.” They both stared at Squeezy, and he amended, “Jack Frost? Whatever. Fuck.”
Ben took them into the restaurant and to his usual table. Alan came over, asking how the search had gone, and Ben shook his head. “I’ve been in contact with some friends who have hunting sheds near the lake. They’ll meet with you this afternoon and help you search them. They know them all. Also, my son Jacob has asked his friends who have cabins on the lake to check them if they’re empty,” Alan told him. “I’m so sorry, but it’s all I could think of to do. The police are doing the same, of course, but it’s a very small force here.” Ben just nodded his thanks. He couldn’t speak and bit his lip, tipping his face up. Squeezy apparently saw an opportunity to make a new friend, so clapped Alan over the shoulder and led him off, proclaiming he hadn’t had a fucking bite to eat in fucking years.
Alone at last, Kate looked more seriously at Ben. “You need to eat, and you need to sleep, Ben. If he’s still alive—”
“If?What the fuck, Kate!”
“Ifhe’s still alive, which you have to admit isn’t very likely—Stop, listen. Ben! Listen. He was almost taken in London, and if they’d got him there, he’d have been dead within hours—if he was lucky. Youknowthis.”
“No, Kate. You’re wrong. This isn’t related to that. This has nothing to do with Gregory or the Chechens.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it has. He’s been in Russia for months. They’ve followed—”
“No. This is different. I can’t explain it, but it is. They wouldn’t have taken him like this. They’d have taken me as well, for a start. I was there, too. I was naked. We had no weapons. Why not take me? I killed two of them, remember?”
“Yes, Benjamin, I do. I saw the autopsy reports. Thank you for that reminder. Okay, I see what you’re saying, but who’d take him here, and why? He’s not even here as Aleksey, is he?”
“You mean Nikolas.”
“Oh, yes, silly me, how could I have got that wrong? But my point is, no one knows he’s here on the island.”
“Well, the woman I lived with does, but I think we can rule her out.”
“Fuck. Okay, we go to work. I’m downloading geo-sat maps of the lake and surrounds for you, but Ben, just because he was taken by boat doesn’t mean he’s anywhere near the lake. He could’ve been put in a vehicle and be anywhere by now—Okay, we have to start somewhere. Where’re we staying? I assume we can’t use the cabin yet.”
“I’ve got a friend to put you up. She’s nice. Gabby. She’s being really helpful. She speaks okay English. Squeezy’s in with me at Ingrid’s.”
“Okay, I’ll go to Gabby’s and set up. You and Squeezy—does he have a real name? I can’t call him that—seriously, Ben.”
Ben frowned in puzzlement. She put a hand on his arm. “Priorities. Go. Go and look for him.”
Ben and Squeezy took the boat back out with Daddybark, Radulf’s new Op Fucking Cold nickname. No one in Special Forces could avoid a nickname so Squeezy had given their new sniffer dog one. (He’d been instrumental in naming the operation, too.)
