TS 2 Part V Chapter 21

Chapter 21

March 4^th, 2010

Guntram finished lacing the silk tie around his neck, smirking at the thought that the “confidence” measure of the past two months had been to get shoes with laces and ties for dinner. 'As if I would know how to became a super killer with a tie!' He combed his hair, wishing he could get rid of it, instead of symbolic trimmings he had been allowed as Constantin loved to entangle his fingers in the silky mass. 'You have no idea how beautiful it is, angel. It matches the softness of your skin.' He was well aware that his life depended on Constantin's whims and nothing else. His babies' lives depended on his “good behaviour”. The photos of Konrad, Klaus, Karl and Eberhard had been disturbing because Constantin still considered them as a target. 'Why did Konrad take Eberhard instead of me? Couldn't he wait longer? He must think I'm dead and in a way I am.'

'Tonight should be easy. Alexander is satisfied with what he got yesterday and with today's work. He will only want to speak. I can manage it. I can do it. For them I have to do it. I will return to Konrad and my children. They must be almost six years old now and I will miss their birthdays.'

He put the beige jacket on and walked toward the living room to wait for Constantin, leafing an Art book found over the coffee table. He jumped startled when Constantin kissed him but forced himself to calm down and crack a sad smile in return for the caress.

“Good afternoon, Alexander,” he said very formally. Experience had taught him that his captor was more touchy than Konrad regarding protocol and manners, no matter if his outward appearance was more informal and modern.

“Hello, my angel. Should we dine now?” He softly caressed the cheek, trying to get another smile and Guntram cracked one, just to avoid a confrontation. “I have to drive away tomorrow early. I will be back in a week or so.” This time Guntram smiled more truthfully and rose from the sofa ready to obey.

During dinner, Guntram kept his remarks to the minimum and ate what was on his dish, doing his best not to drift away as it was usual. He did his best to focus on the story about an exhibition Constantin's foundation had in Paris, but the noise of cars parking in the house front, caught his attention. He heard some heated discussion down the entrance and footsteps coming in his direction and noticed Constantin becoming very stiff in his chair, looking like a dangerous predator, ready to attack.

“You crazy Russian!” A tanned man shouted, looking like a Latino and with a thick accent. “The Serb is cutting all of us into pieces because of this bitch!” Two other men armed followed him and he walked toward the young man threateningly. “Get rid of him!”

“Sit down, Estévez. I dislike people coming to my house like this.” Constantin shrugged, unimpressed at the display.

“We provide bodies so you can fuck?” the man roared and came closer to Guntram, looking at the visitor in a mix of awe, fear and hope.

“Well, your English certainly needs some brush up or is it your manners? Sit down and we will discuss the situation.”

“Get out of my land! I'll return the bitch before the Serbs burn everything down! They respect nothing! They hang children from the trees as a warning! Our children!”

“Just a display. I know them very well. Probably they killed them painlessly and mounted a charade in your benefit.”

“Konrad is here?” Guntram whispered unable to believe it. “Por favor, señor. Sáqueme de aqui!”

“Mierda! Kuragin, give me the boy and get lost before we kill you!”

“Go with Massaiev, angel. You really don't want to watch this,” Constantin said in French. “Now.”

“Soy Guntram de Lisle,” he said and tried to stand up, but the man grabbed him from the neck and put a knife against his neck, pressing the blade to the point of bleeding. Guntram's heart stopped and he looked in terror at his saviour turned into executioner in less than a second.

“This bitch has caused a war! The fucking Order is killing everyone in its path! I'll give you two days start!”

“Release Guntram before I loose my patience, Estévez.” Constantin said very calmly, returning to his diner. “Leave my land now.”

The warlord looked at the Russian in disbelief. No one ever dared to disobey his orders or challenge him in front of his men. “Russian you...” Estévez started to say but he couldn't finish the sentence as a knife flew across the table with lightening speed to dig into his eye, killing him instantly. Guntram jumped away from the falling body and closed his eyes at the two detonations he heard at his back.

“I told you to leave, angel. Don't say I didn't give you a fair warning,” Constantin commented with an even voice.

Guntram could only look at him in horror, the bile poisoning his mouth, doing his best to control his ragged breathing, but he couldn't. He wanted to confirm with his eyes what his mind was telling him, but his neck was as if it were frozen and he couldn't take his eyes away from Constantin's face, composed and cold as ever, showing no emotion at all.

“Come child, there's nothing for you in here,” Guntram heard Massaiev's soft voice, wording the words with great care. “Close your eyes, gunshot wounds to the head are not nice to see. I'll take you back to your room.”

Guntram did as he was told and firmly shut his eyes, doing his best to cast away the image of deep satisfaction in Constantin's face. Massaiev arm caught him by the waist and partly dragged him out of the way, circling the table to avoid tumbling over the three bodies lying on the floor.

Dr. Sverdloff joined Massaiev and Guntram in the corridor and said they should go to the bedroom to check him and have a sedative and the young man was grateful for it. He only wanted to forget the horrid scene, but the dead man's words gave him hope as his Konrad was looking for him. Some ghost voices told him to lay down on his bed and he let the doctor examine him without complaints. He felt a prickle in his arm and Massaiev removing his clothes, to force him into his pyjamas, but he couldn't care less. He felt as his heart was going to burst in joy. No matter what they were telling him, Konrad had not forgotten or replaced him. He had not lied like Constantin had told him so many times.

* * *

The Russians did their best to drag the bodies out of the dining room before their boss would explode again. He had not lost his touch at all and was as ferocious as ever. 'Poor boy, I wouldn't like to be in his place tonight,' one of them thought and pulled harder from the dead man's arm to quicken his pace. 'Boss is crazy as ever.'

“Dima, get the other two corpses out and throw them into the pit,” Massaiev ordered him. “A real pity to have it so full in one go.”

“Mikhail Petrovich, we will have to move out tonight,” one of the men said fearfully.

“Mr. Kuragin has said nothing so far. Get everything cleaned and double the security measures. Nothing comes nearer than four kilometres from here. Shoot to kill and activate all devises.”

“Very well, sir, “ the four men answered in unison.

Massaiev looked dispassionately at the blood traces all over the corridor. 'Good thing the floor is marble. Wood would have been totally ruined with this. Stupid Colombians. One or two encounters with the Crusaders and they ran away in fear. Several weeks in Algeria is what they need or a week back home.'

“Mr. Kuragin?” he asked politely as his boss was certainly in a mood. “Guntram is sleeping now. The wound to his neck is superficial.”

“Thank you, Massaiev.”

“Should I pack his things?”

“No, we stay here.”

“With all due respect, they will retaliate, sir.”

“I am counting on it. They are a small group. The remaining members will attack us with all what they have and we will eliminate this leak too. We will leave afterwards. Move Guntram to my bedroom permanently. In case of an attack, you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lintorff has been active it seems,” Constantin said with a smirk.

“Not Lintorff, Pavicevic. Hanging children from trees is his trademark. Rumour has that he's as crazy as he was when his younger brother was killed. The men have heard stories about some dismemberments of the Colombian top leaders.”

“The punishment for traitors, Massaiev. Lintorff believes his little lambs have revolted against him. I foresee a new generation raising after the crusaders are finished here. Eisenstein was not so wrong when he pictured the Teutonic Knights throwing babies to the pyre,” Constantin sneered.

“Alexander Nevsky defeated them in his own homeland, never abroad.”

“You are right, Massaiev. It's time to come home. Lintorff already killed the Masons so there are no remaining links to us. There's nothing like helping his short temper to be unleashed.”

“Nevertheless Lacroix escaped, sir.” Massaiev pointed out. “He's truly a dangerous man.”

“His extra resources are cut off, thanks to Lintorff. What he has as personal fortune is not enough as to go against me. He would never go to Lintorff for help. Dear Konrad would execute him on sight for selling his precious son again.”

Constantin waited for Massaiev to leave the room before he rose from his chair and went back to his bedroom to sleep some hours before he would have to prepare the things for his return and new life in Russia.

* * *

Four days have passed after that horrible night and Guntram was still having nightmares about what had transpired. The pills the doctor had prescribed were useless and he couldn't sleep at all. He lived in a state of misery mixed with joy because he was certain that Konrad was still looking for him as the Colombian or Venezuelan man had said. He knew that he was still somewhere in South America and if he was taken at some point to a civilized place, he would have better chances to escape and contact the authorities.

He was terrified of the casual way Constantin had killed the man. 'KGB training, Guntram. Aliosha had it too and was very good in his time. No one could infiltrate a place like him and leave no one alive. He loved to work alone,' Constantin had told him as if it were of no importance. Guntram learned that he was sleeping with an assassin and feared more than before for his boys' lives.

Very carefully, he left the shared bed and walked toward the large window, to sit and peer into the darkness as he used to do when sleep was elusive. He knew that Constantin was always monitoring him, but he had not complained about this “break” of the unspoken rules. He leaned his forehead against the cold window and forced his eyes to discern something in the darkness, but he saw nothing. He tried to remember Konrad's face but some details were blurred. He could imagine parts of his face, like the eyes, the mouth, the nose, but to place them all together was very difficult. He didn't dare to make a sketch of his children too, but he was drawing them, hidden in the things he was painting. 'Konrad is still looking for me. I have to stay low till he finds me. He didn't forget me. I have to survive this to be with him and my children again.'

The powerful explosion of a rocket against the tree in front of him threw him from his seat, but the window held against the shock-wave and the outside walls shooting. Guntram felt Constantin jump over him to protect him with his own body and shouted in his ear “stay low and follow me.” He tried to revolt against his captor but he felt an automatic weapon pressed against his side and froze. “That's cleverer, Guntram. This is not Lintorff, but my former associates. Come with me and don't make a sound if you want those little bastards to live.”

Guntram crawled on the floor, following Constantin to one of the closet's doors, the one that was always locked and he had identified as the one where the safe box would be hidden. Still wondering how the glass could withstand such intense firing, he watched the man quickly tape the security code and the door opened to reveal a small elevator. “In with you. Down is Massaiev. Follow him and don't make a sound. Don't try to run away,” Constantin said before he pushed Guntram in and the door closed by itself.

Still huddled in the small compartment, Guntram imagined he could escape but, the door opened to reveal Massaiev and another armed man waiting for him. Without any kind of ceremonies, the older man dragged him to his feet and forced him to march through a corridor made of grey concrete, his feet entangling with themselves in the mad run. Guntram stopped dead on his tracks as he felt an acute pain in his chest and his breathing became ragged. He disentangled from Massaiev's firm grip and leaned against the wall, unable to walk any longer. The man who was with them swore in Russian and Massaiev grabbed his face by the chin and forced his jaws open, making him swallow a pill. He felt himself half lifted when his arm was thrown around the large man's neck and he grabbed him by the waist to keep him standing.

'I don't think he will make it. He's too weak and nervous to walk two kilometres of tunnels,' Massaiev evaluated. “Come Guntram, you have to walk with me. We have to go now as we can't stay here.”

“Go you.”

“You know we have to continue. It's just a little bit longer. There's a car waiting for us and we will fly away from here. We are going home, child.”

“Home?” Guntram said, doing his best to overcame his dizziness.

“Yes, we are going home. Mr. Kuragin will take care of everything.”

The man had to steady the boy once more, but his dazzled mind understood that home was his own home and he did his best to walk briskly the long and narrow corridor, ignoring the warm and wet temperature inside it. The breath of fresh air that hit his face, told him that they were reaching the end of it, and he took a deep breath to be able to continue the several hundred metres ahead of him.

'He's on the limit. We will have to carry him,' Massaiev noticed and increased his hold over the faltering young man, who collapsed in his arms a few instants later.

“Damn!” the Russian cursed.

“Help me to carry him,” Massaiev said and the other huffed but gave his weapon to Massaiev to scoop Guntram in his arms with a “he weights nothing. Do you feed him at all?”

“Mind your business Dima,” Massaiev grunted and walked faster toward the exit, wondering how things were behind.

* * *

The man realised how wrong had his boss been to think that he could sweep in one go a second level Russian Mafia member. Kneeling, with his hands laced on top or his head, he was the only survivor of a twenty members team.

“So, after your master's death, you decided to play hard on me?” purred Constantin like the cat he was holding in his arms. “Take Sasha away, Mikhail Gregorevich. The poor animal had enough for today,” he said before he threw the cat to one of his men's arms. “I do really dislike to be awoken like this as my men can testify,” he continued. “Who sent you?”

“No one.”

“Do yourself a favour and speak. One more chance. Who sent you?”

“No one,”

“As you wish. You will miss the Order's mercy when I am finished with you,” Constantin said nonchalantly and the man spat him on the face to enrage him, hoping to be killed fast. “How rude!” The Russian mocked his captive. “What do you like best? Water, knife or rope?” He asked playfully as his men paled at the words.

* * *

“Do you see, Mikhail Gregorevich? They always speak in the end, unless they have nothing to tell,” Constantin asked dispassionately, watching the results of his “work” over the body. “No training at all. What a pity. I enjoy more if they last more than two hours.”

“They have not spoken with Lintorff and he's after everything that looks Indigenous, sir.” Mikhail said quietly, his stomach, churning at the sight of torn pieces of flesh. 'One thing is to do it to a body, but to a living creature, is too much for my taste.'

“I remember now one of our students. He was an Emo, a Goth or something like that. He loved to cut himself and make photos of it. Very interesting work, but not as good as this. Too bad he can't use this material for his photos. Anyway, discard all this and burn down all signs of our presence here.” Constantin said pointing to the disjointed man's body.

“Very well, sir.”

“Pavicevic has been working diligently during the past months and getting more creative than ever, it seems. Did you ever hear to make someone swallow a poisonous frog alive? Poor animal.”

The mental image of slow and painful death by motor paralysis while keeping your senses awake hit the man and he gulped nervously. 'Crazy Serbs. The Colombians must be desperate to hide from them.'

“He even brought all his friends to play along. A real Serbian invasion, it seems,” Constantin said nonchalantly. “We go back home tonight.”

“I'm glad to hear that, sir.”

“What was Pavicevic thinking when he tortured and killed Guntram's lawyer in Argentina? Leaving a half burned body, hanging from a lamppost in the middle of an university campus is simply tasteless. Stuffing his mouth with an Encyclical against Masonry? He used to be more subtle in his messages, but they are blaming everything on them, just as I expected they would.”

Without casting another glance at the tortured body laying on his cellar's floor, Constantin walked toward his studio to gather his papers. He opened the safe box and took the envelope containing his passports and certificates, along with Guntram's new ones. 'Fyodor Nicolaievich Tarasov is a good name for him. Fedia suits my angel.'

* * *

Massaiev had to tell the driver to stop so Guntram could throw up at the side of the rickety road, a path in the middle of the jungle, still very dark. “It's all right boy, it's just an hour or so more till we get to the airport,” he comforted him, rubbing his back. 'Sverdloff told me that the first symptom of an incoming heart attack is throwing up to alleviate the pressure over the heart. Please, let it be just the nerves.' “How do you feel, Fyodor?”

“What?” Guntram asked, doing his best to recover and watching the Land Rover parked some twenty metres away with the driver smoking a cigarette, leaning against it.

“Fyodor. That's your new identity, child. We can call you Fedia if you prefer.”

“That's not my name!”

“Only till we get home, my child. Remember it well as we don't want troubles with the local authorities.”

“I'm not Russian! I don't even speak it!”

“No need to. Be quiet and let me do the talk. Bear in mind that if you try to fool me, Mr. Kuragin will be very displeased.”

“Let me go, please.”

“Fyodor, be quiet and don't give us troubles. You are in no shape to argue. Go inside the car, change your clothes.”

Guntram pushed Massaiev and tried to run away but the man was faster and caught him under the bored look of the distant driver. He punched Guntram on the face hard and the boy fell to the ground. “Don't fight with me, Fyodor,” he hissed and pulled him back to his feet. “Get dressed and don't get so worked up. The little bastards' lives depend on it.”

“Little fighter, uh?” Dima smirked when a still upset Massaiev dragged Guntram back to the car.

“Be quiet about this.”

“Boss will see it. You hit hard, Mikhail Petrovich. His nose is bleeding”

“Get in and change yourself,” he barked to the boy fearfully standing next to the van. 'Time to kill those hopes you have, Guntram. No one is coming for you.' “Give me your pyjamas when you're finished.”

Guntram knew better than fighting again with Massaiev and grudgingly obeyed the man, talking in Russian with the other man, keeping their distance from the car. He dressed himself with the clothes he found in a bag and noticed that there was also a thick pullover left in there. He descended from the car to suffer one of Massaiev's close inspections and he looked at him defiantly, his hand clutching a handkerchief to his nose to contain the bleeding.

“Show me your left arm, Fyodor,” the French-Russian said softly and Guntram obeyed reluctantly. Fast as a snake, Massaiev held it by the wrist and made a superficial cut that bled profusely. The other Russian swore and rushed to the old man while Guntram wailed in pain, fighting to set himself free and cradle his arm against his chest, but Massaiev held him in place. “Now, clean the blood with the pyjama,” he ordered the driver.

“Are you nuts? He can bleed to death!” Dima yelled but did as he was told.

“He'll be fine. This is nothing. He bleeds so much because of the medications he takes. Get the first aid kit and a plastic bag, but don't touch it without gloves,” he said in Russian. “Come on, Guntram. Don't be a sissy and stop wailing like a little girl. Your friends at the Order can do much more than this.”

“You're an animal!” Guntram bellowed in pain, trying to get loose, but he couldn't.

“I'm just giving your former boyfriend something to think about. You see, I'm easing his pain in the moment.”

“What?”

“Lintorff will get this new blood sample, courtesy of the Colombians and Masons. He has already killed most of them, but he can always add a few more to the list. Did Mr. Kuragin tell you about your lawyer in Argentina?”

“What?”

“The one with the double name, the Mason who was at the Supreme Court? Careful, this might sting a bit,” he said and removed the pyjama top from the wound before he took the disinfectant bottle from the man to pour some over the wound. “Superficial as I said. Nothing to worry about. You will be like new in four or five days, Fyodor.”

“His clothes have Mr. Kuragin fingerprints all over it!” Dima protested.

“Mr. Kuragin has no fingerprints since seven years ago,” Massaiev sneered in Russian. “Neither do I. You have no police record and the ones from your time in the Red Army were changed, weren't they? A lovely DNA sample to drive Lintorff madder than he already is. Don't you want to let your former boyfriend be in peace? He will assume that you are dead and stop killing people around.”

“Konrad would never kill anyone!” Guntram shouted and both men burst into laughter.

“Sit down in the car. I have to cover this,” said a chuckling Massaiev while he tore opened the package with the impregnated gauze. “This helps to get it closed faster,” he explained softly, placing the yellow patches over the fifteen centimetres gash. “It has stopped bleeding,” he observed and started to roll the bandage around the arm. “It will feel like burning for a bit or throbbing even. I can give you something for the pain, if you want.”

Guntram looked at him in shock, not understanding how the man who had just hurt him on purpose was bandaging his arm with great care and concern, almost like a father. “Konrad is a good man,” he whispered.

“As you say, child. We drive away now. We are almost there and Dr. Sverdloff will take a look at it. It's a pity we don't have ice for your nose,” he said and pushed him gently back into the car, forcing him to sit before fasting the seat belt over him. Once Massaiev sat next to him -the bloodied clothes bagged and left in the passenger seat-, he offered the young man a small candy bar he had in his pocket, but Guntram refused to eat it, trying to put as much distance from the man as he could.

The Range Rover continued to drive for an hour more, till the car reached an old highway and Guntram almost plastered himself to the window to see if he could see the road signs in the dawn and realised that they were in Spanish, confirming his suspicions. 'I can fight in the airport. There must be policemen around.'

The car parked in front of a very old fuel station to refuel and Massaiev only said, “be nice, Fedia.” when the employee approached them. Fearing for the old man's life, Guntram preferred to be quiet and asked to go to the bathroom. “Here? Do you want to catch a disease?” Massaiev sneered. “Wait till we are at the airfield.”

After his hope of escaping was crushed once more, Guntram slouched in his seat, looking totally devastated.

* * *

The car parked again in front of an old hangar and Guntram looked around in the bright morning, hoping to see someone, but his hopes were once again killed when he noticed the two men coming toward them looked like Russians. Massaiev pulled him out of the car and dragged him inside the hangar to a miserable office, reeking of engine grease and fuel. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and the pain made him think otherwise. “Go to the toilette now, wash your face, boy. Comb the hair too,” Massaiev ordered him.

Once Guntram was ready, he left the small toilette and sat where he was ordered, while Massaiev gave him an ice pack for the face. A man brought him a coffee and a sandwich and he was told to eat as they would be leaving soon.

“Where are we going?” he asked but no one bothered to answer him, too busy with their hushed conversation in their language. Guntram could do nothing but eating his breakfast in silence, watching the weapons the Russians carried.

Some time later, Guntram couldn't tell because he had dozed- Massaiev took him outside and told him to get inside a small plane, where was another man and the pilot already in. “Where is Alexander?” he asked when the man took his place next to him.

“Different route, my child. Don't worry. He's fine. You will see him tonight. Enjoy the flight,” Massaiev said jovially and Guntram turned his back to him, to look through the window.

One second of inattention was all what Massaiev needed to prepare the syringe and inject it unto the boy's arm, making him wail in pain and fight back for a few seconds before the tranquillizer made him feel drowsy and sleep.

* * *

When Guntram was able to open his eyes again, his whereabouts had dramatically changed. He was no longer in the small plane but inside a large room with white walls and laying on a comfortable bed. The small round windows told him that he was in a plane and he opened one of them, but the picture only showed total darkness.

He sat in the bed, disoriented as always and noticed that his bandage had been changed, but his clothes remained the same. He was covered with a large duvet and his shoes were next to the bed. Groggily he stood up and had to hold himself to the wall as the dizziness hit him with vengeance the minute he left the bed. He shivered from cold and noticed the jersey he had seen before was lying over a small table and he put it on, before using the toilet.

Still uncertain of his next move, he walked toward what was supposed to be the exit and tried the door. It opened and he looked in awe at the small living room, with a large white sofa for five people on one side, coffee table with flowers on top and the round table set for five people too.

“Hello, my angel. You look better tonight,” Constantin said as a matter of fact and Guntram jumped as he had not seen him, sitting in one of the two seats at his right.

“Why did you drug me?”

“Massaiev thought it was for the best. You were very nervous and needed to rest as you refused to do it in the car. I understand this was a long trip for you.”

“He sliced my arm!”

“Yes, but I see his point. All has been taken care, my Fedia. The doctor says you're fine and with some silicone patches, you'll get no further scars at all. It will not be more ruined than it is.”

“Where are you taking me now?”

“Home, my angel. Home. We will be very happy there. Sasha is in a cage, but you can have him once we have taken off.”

“Where is home?”

“Russia, my love. Where else?”

“You can't return there!”

“It's my land and now yours, too. You will have to be very nice and quiet when we land. I don't want troubles with the local authorities. It's a long flight and I would appreciate if you behave sensibly. Massaiev told me you tried to run away again.”

“Where is Larsen?” Guntram asked horrified.

“We left him behind as I promised I would. He can find his own way home. His services are no longer needed.”

“Why? He has a wife and two daughters!”

“Let's hope Lacroix remembers to pay for their alimony if he does not make it, angel, but in the moment, he's busy running away from Lintroff and all the insane crusaders. Now, we will have dinner with my men and you will be the perfect gentleman you were taught to be.”

“Your men?”

“You know already Massaiev and you will meet the two CEO's from the small oil company I own nowadays. It's just a lucrative hobby. I can't stay the whole day in the house to sit idly.”

“I will not...”

“Fyodor, do as you are told,” Constantin growled and stood up. “I can be a hundred times worse than Lintorff when it comes to punishments.”

“Why do you do this? I don't love you or ever will.”

“In time and with the appropriate incentives, you will.”

* * *

Dinner was served after the plane took off and went in perfect harmony as Guntram preferred to keep his mouth shut, too tired and defeated to do anything more. He ate mechanically, constantly thinking on the bloodied clothes. 'Will they be sent to Konrad? What if he believes I'm dead? What if he stops looking for me? I have no chances of escaping in Russia. Everything belongs to Constantin or his people.” From his seat, he listened to the men talking over the table, stroking his cat to hide his fear, but he couldn't understand a single word of what was being said.

“Are you tired, Fyodor? Go to bed now.” Constantin ordered him mildly and Guntram obeyed saying good night to the men before going back to the bedroom.

'He still thinks Lintorff will come for him. He was doing so well till that stupid man got in the middle. We will have to start all over again, but this time the baby will put him in his place,' Constantin thought before returning to his business.

* * *

The stewardess woke Guntram, gently shaking his shoulder. “Sir, you have to have breakfast now. We land in an hour.”

“Where?”

“Austin.”

“Are we in the USA?” Guntram asked in disbelief as he was expecting to be in Russia.

“Yes, sir.”

Disoriented, Guntram rose from the bed and saw one outfit for a cold winter, laying on top of a chair and dressed with the clothes. He walked back to the living room and found Constantin and Massaiev already sitting at the set for breakfast round table. “Did you sleep well, angel?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied automatically, thinking than in less than an hour he would be landing in the States. He picked the napkin and placed it over his lap, biting his lip to prevent the laughter to escape. He took the spoon and started to eat the fruit salad the stewardess placed in front of him.

“Yes, nothing like a good night sleep for you, Fedia. You look much better,” said Constantin with a smirk.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

“I imagine you're thinking how to evade us in Austin. Well, don't try it. The little Lintorff fleas may have an accident before you can even call a policeman.”

“Why are we going there?”

“We are only staying in Austin for a few days. Three weeks maximum. There's this Heart Institute, one of the leading centre in its type and I want that they do a full assessment on your condition. Dr. Sverdloff is already there and speaking with your new doctors. They can perform this surgery I spoke about and it will be very good for you and the baby if you are able to do the normal things a father uses to do, like running or playing football with him.”

“There's no surgery for my condition. It's chronic. Can only replace things.”

“No, that's not so. Trust Sverdloff because he knows very well.”

Guntram finished his breakfast in silence and let Massaiev take a look at the wound, the thin scars running along the two long gashes and the much smaller one along his wrist. He had regained some of the hand mobility, but his fingers were curled most of the time to avoid moving them; opening the hand felt like a burning pain running from the tips of his fingers to the shoulder. Massaiev observed that the new cuts were well closed and removed the bandages to apply some transparent silicone patches over them. “This will reduce your scars. You know them already.”

“Yes, I do,” Guntram whispered remembering that after the doctor had removed the stitches he had been forced to have the thing glued to his arm day and night to reduce the marks. He just hated them as the cold, sticky feeling he had every time they were applied, reminded him of his own weakness. 'Konrad loves me still, not matter what they tell me. One day I will return and get my babies back.'

“Very well, it looks like new. Put your jersey back on. It's chilly out there,” Massaiev said and smiled briefly. “You'll like the city. All the High Tech you want is there along with many pharmaceutical companies.”

“What's so funny in a pharmaceutical company?” Guntram asked puzzled, but glad for the chit chat Massaiev had started. Anything was a good excuse to escape with is mind from his new defeat. He was well aware that his life depended on Constantin's mercy and the impotence feeling was simply maddening.

“Ah, you'll learn it in a few years. It's a vibrant and modern city, unlike the one where you used to live. We are staying at the Four Season, in front of Lady Bird Lake.”

“I thought Texas was a desert.”

“Maybe Austin was one long time ago but there are three artificial lakes; a huge contrast against the skyscrapers looming over them. Very nice. I was at that hotel years ago on business and there was a wedding. Somebody made a mistake with the bookings and I got the suite originally destined for the bride and there was nothing else available. I offered to exchange rooms with her -the poor girl was crying like crazy- and they invited me to the wedding out of gratitude.”

“That's weird!”

“Why? I was not even supposed to solve their problem, but better start with the right foot if you are getting married. As I had nothing else to do, I went there and enjoyed the party. They considered me something very exotic. A French with a touch of Russian.”

“I assumed you were Russian,”

“My family was Russian in its origins and my mother was friends with Mr. Kuragin's mother in Paris. My family had rubber plantations in Indochina till the revolution. We moved to Paris in 1953 after my father died. I entered in the French Army in 1958 and served in Algeria till the end. I made career and was named military attaché in the seventies in Central Europe. I went to Moscow in 1983 and work here since 1991. I'm sixty-eight years old, child.”

“You don't show your age, Mikhail Petrovich,” was the puzzled reply.

“Thank you.” Massaiev, smiled softly, glad that Guntram harboured no resentment against him. 'I hated to hurt him, but we have to get Lintorff off of our backs. He will be fine once he's settled. He's again sad and confused.'

“We are landing now,” the old man commented and noticed how tense Guntram was. “It's a very good hospital.”

“I hate landings,” Guntram said softly and Massaiev took his right hand to comfort him. “Your cat too, according to the men,” he whispered.

Massaiev chuckled at the youth's face of relief when the plane slowed down. “Someone from Customs will come to make our paperwork. Just be quiet and everything will be fine.”

The stewardess returned with his cat -looking very upset and loudly complaining-, secured in his box. “Sasha has a lot of temper, sir,” she said and left it on the table before she went to get the coats. Constantin returned from the other room and sat next to Guntram, only giving him a warning glance when he heard the captain's greeting the two officers from Customs.

The black woman and the man identified themselves and asked for the papers. A man Guntram has never seen before, extended all the passports to the officers and they started to read them customary, mostly focusing on Sasha's papers.

“Is the cat vaccinated?” the woman asked, frowning a bit at the hissing cat, furious that she had tried to touch him.

“Yes, of course,” the man said while she looked once more at the visas, driving Guntram nervous and willing that she would find that they were fake.

“Everything is in order. Thank you, sir. Welcome to the United States,” she said, returning the E-5 visa to the personal assistant of this Russian oil tycoon.

Guntram bleakly watched her retreating form and felt lost once more. “Come. Fyodor, leave the cat alone. Someone will bring him to the hotel.” Constantin pulled him to his feet and helped him with the coat. “Do you need help with the buttons?”

“No, thank you. I can manage now,” Guntram answered, taking the button with the left middle and thumb to use the right hand for buttoning the eyelet to the button. He followed the men meekly and descended the plane stairwell watching the large limousine and four black cars more parked nearby.

* * *

The suite was large and luxurious, with an adjoined bedroom, overlooking the grandiose lake but on the middle of a bustling city. Guntram looked at the calm waters in awe, glistening in the cold morning and sat by the window in the bedroom, ignoring Constantin speaking in Russian with his people in the living room.

The door opened and Constantin entered in the large room. “You acted very sensible today, my angel. I was expecting no less from you.” Guntram only looked and him and returned his gaze toward the waters. “Dr. Sverdloff will come for dinner and tomorrow he will check you in at the hospital. Would you like to go around? Massaiev can drive you around.”

“Can I really go out?” Guntram asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I trust you will not break your promise to me.”

“No, I will not,” he answered in a hurry as the promise of a few hours of freedom was very tempting.

“Good, then go with Mikhail Petrovich. Be back at five as it's cold after darkness falls,” Constantin kissed him on the forehead and caressed his cheek. “Don't worry, everything will be fine with the doctors. This is a very good place and Sverdloff knows what he does.”

“What did you do with the shirt?”

“Nothing. I threw it away,” Constantin lied. “Go on, don't waste your time here.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“I only want the best for you, my love. It's you who has to lower your barriers and put aside your fears. I love you and this is all for you,” Constantin said very softly and kissed Guntram on the lips, expecting him to withdraw but the youth stayed and sought comfort in him arms, utterly tired, having lost all his strength to fight.

* * *

'He's a complete different person only after five hours,' Massaiev considered. 'His face has changed and he looks much younger than he really is. Only a walk across the city and watching people made him feel fine again.' The man observed again the boy heartedly finishing a large blueberry muffin with his tea, looking through the window to the busy street.

“Do you want another? You go to a hospital tomorrow.”

“No, thank you. It's been years since I had a muffin, oozing grease like this one,” he chuckled and cast his eyes down, ashamed of his childish remark.

“Well, you can have one more. I'll keep your secret with Mr. Kuragin, but you have to finish your dinner tonight. I also don't want troubles.”

“In that case, thank you,” Guntram answered, looking at the waitress, taking in every detail in her dress, just as he had done with all the people he had seen on the streets or the tall trees in the park. He had been very tempted to run to a policeman he had seen, but one warning look from Massaiev had been enough to discourage any kind of escape attempt. The other two men in suit, walking close to him and his jailer, had convinced him the policeman would have dropped dead before he would have finished his first sentence.

“I wish I had my sketch pad,” he sighed looking at the people briskly walking the streets, probably in a hurry to return home. 'Everything looks so painfully normal, that this nightmare looks unreal to me. I'm becoming insane and soon I'll be dead,' he thought but kept his amiable face, hoping to fool his guardian.

“Here,” Massaiev interrupted his reverie by placing a small notebook over the table. “I bought it at the Museum as I thought you may need it.”

“I have no pencils.”

“Wrong. We have the cowboy pencil. Don't complain for ninety-nine cents,” he joked and showed him a pencil with a plastic hat on the top and Guntram laughed and his eyes lit for the first time in months, glad that he could also grab, even for a fleeting instant, the normalcy that permeated everyday people -busy with their own lives-, ignoring the young man, dressed with several hundred dollars worth clothes but forced to beg for his painkillers, sitting in front of his aristocratic and elegant grandfather, a dedicated Cerberus.

'I see now why the boss fell for him so madly,' Massaiev thought as Guntram cracked a shy smile with real gratitude before he focused all his attention to sketch at an incredible speed the contours of the vulgar, prematurely aged waitress, dressed with the common pink chequered uniform.

* * *

It was a great surprise to have dinner at the hotel's restaurant and Guntram ate heartedly, telling Constantin about all the things he had seen during the day. Over coffee, doctor Sverdloff arrived and spoke about the hospital and the intervention he was planning to make, using laser. “You will only have to stay for a week in the hospital. The complete procedure is called Implant of a cardioverter-defibrillator (ICD) after the alcohol septal ablation. This device will reduce significantly the risk of sudden death and I can lower your medications. You will feel much better after it.”

“Is that a pacemaker? Why my doctor never tried it before?”

“No, it's a defibrillator; it produces a shock to stop any dangerous arrhythmia. You will feel nothing when it happens, perhaps a prick. The generator is very small, two inches long and half an inch thick so it can be placed under the clavicle and the leads are inserted through the veins to the heart chamber. You have not developed bradycardia so you don't need a pacemaker and in case you would, we can always change what you have for a dual device, but I'm confident this will not happen.”

“What is the ablation part?”

“It's a simple procedure, non invasive and in 90% of the cases, it reduces the symptoms. In your case the muscle thickens without a direct cause such as hypertension or an aortic valve disease. What we do is to use wires and balloons to locate the septal artery and infuse pure alcohol to provoke a heart attack and this way we kill the area of the muscle responsible for the obstruction. It's very similar to a coronary angioplasty and you will only need some sedation and it should take about forty minutes. You will have to stay in the hospital for three more days, just for monitoring. A week later or two, we proceed with the implantation of the ICD and that only requires to spend one night in the hospital.”

“Is it so simple?”

“Well, it took me many years to make it look simple,” Svertloff chortled.

“Why was it not used before?”

“I'm not van Horn, so I can't speak for him. I know this procedure very well, since it was developed by Dr. Sigwart in 1994. He retired just a few years ago and we spoke about your case and he agrees with me.”

“Where is the trick then?”

“Well, there is a complication that occurs in 15% to 30% of the cases. It's called “complete heart block” which requires a permanent pacemaker implantation. We could also trigger a heart attack in the non target territory or tear the artery, but normally we don't do such things. You could have an allergic reaction to the dye or suffer kidney failure because of it. I am convinced that this would be the best for you and the risk is well worth it.”

“Will my heart endure it? I already had one heart attack in 2002.”

“Yes, but the area is well revascularized. This is minimal compared to what you suffered. We are winning time with this, years and in life quality as hypertrophic cardiomyopathy has a genetic origin and we can't ignore that it will return at some point, let's say in twenty or thirty years. The patients I operated back in 1996 are still alive and living a normal life, having to make a check once per year. The ICD will control your future arrhythmias and it's just to be on the safe side because of the iatrogenic scar created during the procedure. Although there's not conclusive evidence that ASA might be proarrhythmic, some patients needed to have one implanted a few years later, I prefer to be conservative in this. A myectomy, that's the good old surgery that has been done since the sixties -we open your heart and remove part of the muscle- is too aggressive for you and maybe this is why van Horn never considered it. Also ASA has still no long term studies on their effects on young people.”

“He spoke about a pacemaker and a heart transplant in the future.”

“I imagine he referred to a dual devise; pacemaker and ICD. The heart transplant is something very far away in your future. You have tachycardia and 3cm thickness with 90 mm gradient; you can't escape from the ICD and the best is to do all in one go. I do not recommend a myectomy in your case at all and several doctors agree with me. Tomorrow they will perform an angiography to evaluate you. It might be a little uncomfortable feeling, but it's not risky at all.”

Guntram smiled nervously and gulped.

“Angel, Dr. Sverdloff is one of the leading cardiologists in St. Petersburg and his credentials are far larger than van Horn's. I would not let him touch you if I would not be convinced that this is for the best. Like everything in this life, there is a risk involved but your future -as things are now- is dying in five to seven years if you don't get a donor,” Constantin said very softly. “This is your chance to lead a normal life. This centre performs over 200 of these procedures each year and the complications rate is very low, 12% if you need to know. The worst that could happen is that you have to suffer hospital food for two weeks.”

“I'm used to it,” Guntram murmured, still unable to believe that a simple surgery could change his life so much. Would he be able to run again? To live without the pervasive weariness? Would he get rid of the ever present pills? 'If I die on the operation table, I get my freedom back. Either way, I win,' he considered.

“Then, there is nothing more to discuss. I'll be with you all the time and smuggle a chocolate bar for you if you want,” Constantin decided and Guntram bowed his head, also knowing that his options to escape or to have anything to say on the matter were close to zero.

“Not in this life, sir,” Sverdloff growled. “He is my patient now.”