Page 79 of Savage Warrior

“I’ll be back soon, “I promise. “I have to go and find Natalija.”

“The men took her,” he tells me. “She was crying.”

I hug him. This child has seen far too much already, but I have to ask him what he knows. “Can you remember anything about those men?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I hid.”

“That was sensible. Did they know you were there?”

More head shaking.

“They didn’t search the apartment?”

“Yes, but I was in the cupboard. Natalija told me to hide in there and not come out.”

“Your sister is clever, and so are you. And very brave. You did well.”

He manages a smile. “Can you get her back?”

“I mean to try.” I give him a quick hug. “You need to stay with my friend while I search for her. Can you do that for me?”

“I think so.”

“He will be fine.” Marius turns to Ethan. “What do you wish me to do with the child?”

“Could you see to it that he gets to Caraksay?”

“Consider it done, my friend. Now go.”

“We start with Isak Ivanov,” I announce as soon as we’re back in our Trabant and headed once more into the city. “Can Casey locate him for us?”

“Probably.” Ethan texts her.

We have a reply within ten minutes and the address of Ivanov’s business premises.

We find ourselves outside a run-down café just off the main square.

“Is this it?” Tony peers at the grimy shop window. “Looks like the best you could hope for here is a dose of dysentery.”

“Let’s see if he’s here.” I lead the way through the front door.

A handful of clients are scattered around the half dozen or so tables sipping what I suppose passes for coffee here. They eye Ethan and me with varying degrees of suspicion and hostility when I march up to the counter.

The proprietor wipes his beefy paws on his apron and glares at us. “What do you want?” he snarls. His tone does nothing to suggest so much as a hint of hospitality.

“Isak Ivanov,” I tell him.

“Not here.”

“When will he be here?” I demand.

The café owner shrugs. “What am I? His secretary?”

I’m about to explain the error of getting in our way, but Ethan decides to hurry matters along. He grabs the man by the back of his head and smashes his face down on the counter. A stack of cups goes flying, and blood spurts from the unfortunate café owner’s nose. I’m pretty certain I heard a satisfying crunch.

He staggers to his feet, lets out an unearthly yell, and swings his fist at Ethan.

Bad idea. Moments later, he’s on his back behind his own counter, wheezing from a boot to his gut. While Ethan is convincing our man of the wisdom of cooperating, I whirl to fend off any of the clientele who might feel moved to intervene.

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