How to Betray Your Country by James Wolff (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

He doesn’t recognize the voice. He prises open a gap in the rubber seal, but it is completely dark in the room.

Can you help me?

Who is that?

August.

What … are you inside a fridge?

Youssef? Is that Youssef?

What are you doing in there?

What? I…

He doesn’t know how to answer.

You gave me your word, says Youssef. You said you would help me find my wife and daughter. I know you were drunk but you signed a piece of paper.

It occurs to him that in his confusion Youssef might think sitting in a padlocked fridge is something he has chosen to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

Are you angry with me, August? I heard you talking on the phone about this house —

Get me out.

What? Okay. Do you have the key?

Keep your voice down. Can you see the key anywhere? On the floor? Okay, forget that. Slide the chain up and over the top of the fridge. As quietly as you can.

There is a loud scraping noise.

Jesus. Quietly, I said.

It will not go.

What do you mean?

Well, it is very heavy.

Seriously? Try again. Quickly.

It is stuck. Wait, I will go and get help.

What? Where will you get help from?

I saw an old guy outside. I think he is the caretaker. Wait, is there a light in here? I cannot see what —

What? What did you say?

The light, is there —

No, no – don’t switch the light on. Did you say you saw a caretaker outside?

Yes, he is doing something down by the water.

Did he see you?

What?

Did he see you?

I do not think so. I walked down from the road —

He’s not a caretaker, Youssef. He’s the man who’s done this to me. You can do it on your own. Just push the chain up a few centimetres at a time and work your way around.

August tracks the noise of the chain as it climbs higher up the fridge.

What’s happening? Why have you stopped?

My hands are tired. Just a minute.

For Christ’s sake. Keep going, Youssef. Come on, faster.

All right, I think that is —

The fridge door swings open and he falls out.

The bottle falls out after him. August empties it onto the floor and smashes it as quietly as he can against the edge of a wall. They fumble their way towards the stairwell. He waves the broken bottle into the darkness ahead of them as they begin to descend. A blue midnight glow presses against the unshuttered windows.

They stop on the first floor, at the back of the house.

Can you jump from here, Youssef?

What?

Can you jump down from here?

Youssef pushes the shutters open.

Are you mad? It is completely black, I cannot see —

We’re on the first floor. It’s about three metres down, no more than that. The ground is soft. Run straight through the trees up to the road. Don’t use the driveway, don’t let anyone see you. Especially the caretaker. Got that? Have you got a mobile phone? When you get to the road, stop the first vehicle that goes past. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve heard traffic at all hours. Get them to come down into the driveway with their lights on and sounding their horn. Get them to make as much noise as possible. And call the police.

Youssef lands with a dull thud and a loud curse. August listens to his angry progress through the trees towards the road. He has no idea what he’s going to do. He should run, he should run as far away as he can from this place. But amid the wreckage of his broken mind, amid the horror and bewilderment and grief, is a refusal to accept that this man should be allowed to cause such destruction and simply walk away on his own terms. He can barely take a step without help. Each breath stabs at him. He’s covered in blood and his broken finger is black and stiffly swollen. But he doesn’t want to climb through a window and disappear among the trees. He wants to walk out on his own. He wants to look this man in the eye and show him that he hasn’t won.

Gripping the banister, he makes his way down the final flight of stairs and pulls open the front door. The night sky is the colour of bruised flesh. He stands there for several minutes, revived by the cold air, long enough to see the driveway and the scrubby grass, the way the trees lean together conspiratorially, the moonlight and the rustling water and the bag on the passenger seat of the parked car. He walks down to the car and slowly circles it. He holds the broken bottle lightly in his right hand. There is no sign of the vizier. He reaches in through the window and opens the bag and sees bundles of money wrapped in plastic. He stops and straightens and listens for any sound of a vehicle passing on the road above the house, but there is only silence. He wonders if Youssef has gone. The plastic rustles when he touches it. A figure kneeling in the distance hears the noise. When he stands it is as though he is emerging out of the black water. He turns and the light catches his pale unblinking eyes. He starts to walk towards the house, towards August, who tightens his hold on the bottle and steps forward.

They are twenty paces apart when they hear it. An engine, a clamour of voices and a horn, sounded repeatedly, followed by a scattering of loose earth. A lorry swings into sight and comes to a stop. Youssef is shouting something from the open window, but no one can hear what he’s saying.

The vizier looks at August for a long time. And then he turns and walks down to the water and begins to wade through the shallows until it is deep enough to swim. Only when he has almost disappeared from sight does August see a rowing boat bobbing fifty metres from shore,