Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“I thought we were high enough to be above the tree line,” Tom says.
In the middle of this rocky wilderness, we encounter a tollbooth, and while we queue up behind a few battered cars and trucks, my phone buzzes. I’m amazed I can get a signal in these mountains on top of Eastern Europe.
“Oliver, what’s up?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your day, Maxim, but the police have been in touch. They were rather hoping to interview your…um…fiancée, Miss Demachi.”
Ah…so now he knows. I ignore the fiancée part of his statement. “As you know, Alessia has returned to Albania, so they’ll have to wait until she comes back to London.”
“I thought as much.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“They have recovered your laptop and some sound equipment.”
“That’s good news!”
“And the case is now in the hands of the Metropolitan Police. It appears that Miss Demachi’s assailants are known to the police and wanted in connection with other crimes.”
“The Met? Good. Sergeant Nancarrow said those arseholes might have form.”
Tom gives me a sideways glance.
“Have they been charged?”
“As far as I know, not as yet, sir.”
“Keep me up to date with these proceedings if you can. I want to know if they’re charged and if they make bail.”
“Will do.”
“Just relay my message to the police about Miss Demachi. Say she’s had to return to Albania for a family matter. Everything else okay?”
“Tickety-boo, sir.”
“Tickety-boo?” I snort. “Great.” I hang up and pass Tom five euros to pay for the toll.
If Dante and his accomplice are still in custody, the police must be treating this seriously. Maybe they’ve got them for trafficking; I hope so. I hope they lock the fuckers up and throw away the key.
A short while later, we see a sign for Kukës and my spirits lift. We’re nearly there. Soon we’re driving alongside a huge lake, which, when I consult my Google Maps, turns out to be a river—the Drin which feeds Fierza Lake. I remember Alessia talking with such passion about the landscape around her town. My anticipation is growing exponentially. I urge Tom to drive faster. I am going to see her. I am going to save her. I hope.
She might not need saving.
She might want to be here.
Don’t think that!
As we round a sweeping curve of the motorway, Kukës finally comes into view. It’s nestled in the valley, with a wide, blue-green river-lake in front of it and ringed by dramatic mountains. The vista is spectacular.
Wow.
This was Alessia’s view, every day.
We cross a sturdy bridge over the water. On a bluff above, a ghostly abandoned building stands sentinel, and I wonder if it’s another unfinished hotel.
* * *
On the outskirts of Nikšić, in Montenegro, Anatoli pulls in to the parking lot of a roadside café. Alessia stares listlessly out the window.
“I’m hungry. You must be, too. Let’s go,” he says. Alessia doesn’t bother to argue but follows him into the pleasant, clean space. It’s relatively new and decorated with a fun theme—automobiles—a cherry-red hot rod is painted above the bar. It’s an inviting place. But not for Anatoli; he’s irritable. He’s slapped the steering wheel several times and sworn loudly in the last couple of hours, infuriated by other drivers. He is not a patient man.
“Order something for both of us. I’m going to the restroom. Don’t run. I’ll find you.” He scowls at Alessia and leaves her to choose a table.
She’s now keen to make it home. Given how Anatoli behaved yesterday evening, she doesn’t want to spend another night with him. She’d rather face her father. She skims the menu, trying to find common words that she might recognize in either English or Albanian, but she’s tired and can’t seem to concentrate. Anatoli returns. He looks tired. Of course, he’s been driving constantly for several days now, but Alessia refuses to feel any sympathy for him.
“What did you order?” he snaps.
“I haven’t. Here’s the menu.” She hands it to him before he can gripe. A waiter joins them, and Anatoli orders without asking her what she wants. She’s amazed that Montenegrin seems to be yet another language he speaks fluently. The waiter scuttles away, and Anatoli pulls out his mobile phone.
Cool blue eyes meet hers. “Keep quiet,” he says, and he dials a number. “Good afternoon, Shpresa, is Jak there?”
Mama!
Alessia sits up. Fully engaged. He’s talking to her mother.
“Oh…Well, tell him we’ll be home around eight this evening….” Anatoli’s eyes slide to Alessia. “Yes, she’s with me. She’s well….No…She’s in the restroom.”
“What!”
Anatoli puts his index finger to his lips.
“Anatoli, let me talk to my mother,” Alessia insists, holding out her hand for the phone.
“We’ll see you then. Good-bye.” He hangs up.
“Anatoli!” Tears of anger threaten as a lump swells in her throat. She’s never felt as homesick as she does now.
Mama.
How could he begrudge her a few words to her mother?