The Nameless Ones by John Connolly

Chapter L

Hendricksen had received an email from Angel notifying him of his imminent arrival in Vienna and confirming that Pia Lackner’s removal from London had gone as planned. In return, Hendricksen had shared with Angel and Louis the pictures taken in Belgrade, along with the identification of the principals made by Hendricksen’s driver. Even without access to what had been said in the restaurant, they surmised that Frend had been attempting to negotiate the terms of the Vuksans’ return to Serbia. From their access to his credit card transactions, they were also aware that Frend had elected to re-enter Austria from Romania, despite having a return ticket on the Belgrade-Vienna route. Either Frend had encountered sudden pressing business in Timisoara, which seemed unlikely, or the negotiations with Kiš and Stajić had not gone well, which meant the Vuksans still had no safe haven in Serbia, and so remained exposed.

Now Hendricksen watched from the Architekturzentrum as Frend emerged from the Corbaci café and began walking toward the U-Bahn station. Frend had taken two taxis to Corbaci, ditching one halfway to walk for a time, probably in a vague effort to shake off any surveillance, but Hendricksen was too experienced to lose a quarry to such a simple ruse.

Frend had brought with him a briefcase and an overnight bag. Hendricksen was concerned that the lawyer might be about to take another flight, but his credit cards showed no reservation. Despite Corbaci’s large windows, Hendricksen had not been able to get a good look at Frend’s dining companions because of where they were sitting, and had not wanted to risk being seen inside by the lawyer. He knew only that Frend had been at a table with two people, one of whom appeared to be a young girl. As far as Hendricksen was aware, the Vuksans were not in the habit of keeping company with teenagers – or if they were, it was not for any moral purpose. Hendricksen had managed to take a couple of pictures with his phone, but the distance was too great and the faces remained unclear.

Had Angel or Louis been present, they could have split surveillance duties with Hendricksen. As things stood, he could either stay with Frend or follow the man and the girl. So far, only Frend had come out, and Hendricksen was at risk of losing him if he waited much longer. He chanced a quick glance into Corbaci, but could see no sign of Frend’s companions. He decided to stay with the lawyer.

Later, as he was dying, he would conclude that this had been an error of judgment.

Zorya and Ilić emerged together from the restroom. They attracted one or two curious looks, but no one said anything, this being Vienna.

‘It’s safe now,’ said Zorya. ‘The feeling is gone.’

‘Do you have any idea what caused it?’

‘Danger, but perhaps we should leave Hendricksen for a little while.’

Which had been enough to make Zivco Ilić concur. Unlike Radovan, he was no skeptic when it came to Zorya. His people were from Negotin in eastern Serbia, and he’d grown up with the Vlachs. His family had turned to them in times of need: when a job had to be secured, a proposal of marriage accepted, a run of bad luck ended. He remembered his mother’s funeral, and the old women forming a watchful phalanx around the open coffin, because it was not unknown for the unscrupulous to place beneath the corpse a small possession belonging to an enemy – a key, a button – in order to hex them. The item would be buried with the dead, and shortly afterwards the target of the curse would die in turn.

Many would have laughed at these superstitions, but Ilić knew better. Zorya might have discouraged any investigation of her origins, but her nature had something in common with that of the Vlach witches, which was enough for Zivco Ilić. He looked after the girl, and hoped the girl might look after him in turn. So far, the arrangement appeared to be working.

‘Well?’ said Ilić.

‘The lawyer is hiding something.’

‘Treachery?’

‘No,’ said Zorya, ‘it wasn’t that strong, and it’s not recent. It goes back years. But he’s frightened, and his commitment is wavering.’

‘Is that what you’ll tell Spiridon?’

‘I’ll tell Spiridon what he needs to hear.’

‘And if he asks me?’ said Ilić.

‘You’ll inform him that I shared nothing with you.’

They walked on.

‘What you said to Frend, about his daughter—’ Ilić began.

‘Yes?’

‘Was it true?’

‘Have you ever known me to lie?’

‘No, I have not.’

They walked through the Museumplatz, but drew no attention. Zorya would have sensed it.

‘What about me?’ said Ilić.

‘What about you?’

‘I, too, have a daughter. Will I ever see her again?’

Katarina was eight. Ilić and her mother had not stayed together for very long, but he still sent money regularly, and spent time with the child when he could. He thought he perceived a little of himself in her dark looks, but no one else had ever agreed. Perhaps that was best, for the girl’s sake. Zivco Ilić had never contemplated modeling as a career option.

Zorya stopped.

‘Do you really want me to tell you?’ she said.

‘I think so.’

She reached out and took his right hand in her left. She closed her eyes and squeezed. Her grip was very firm and very cold. After a time, he felt it ease, and her eyes opened again.

‘No,’ she said, ‘you will not.’

Ilić nodded once. ‘I guessed,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only one who experiences intimations of bad luck.’

‘I’m sorry, Zivco. I wish it were otherwise.’

She released his hand. He glanced down at the imprint of her fingers and thumb upon his skin. He waited for the marks to fade, but they stayed, like burns.

‘I’ve never asked you this before,’ he said, ‘but can you see, you know, the moment?’

‘Of a man’s death?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, I cannot.’

‘Then how can you be sure?’

‘I see shadows, clouds. They draw nearer and nearer, until finally the person is swallowed by them.’

‘And these shadows, can they be dispelled?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Zorya. ‘I’ve watched sick people get better, and then the shadows retreat, but they’re always present. They never go away, not entirely. The shadows are with us when we come into the world and they are with us when we leave.’

‘And mine?’

‘Yours are very close now, and very black.’

‘What about Spiridon and Radovan?’

‘I can’t tell you that, but you were never going to live to be old, Zivco.’

‘Not like you.’

‘No, not like me.’

‘May I ask one more question?’ said Zivco.

‘Of course.’

‘Do you ever see your own shadows?’

‘Lately I have begun to glimpse their approach,’ said Zorya, ‘but they are not just shadows. A figure walks among them.’

‘What is it?’

Zorya shivered.

‘It’s a girl.’