(4) A Death in Hysterium

What Sanguineus knew from the Intell files was that Mincie Jurgenssen, the mother of Volanda, 21, and Hyacinth,17, married James Hurley Furies, a Florida real estate broker, in 1999 and took with her to Suwannee City her youngest daughter, leaving Volanda in the care of her ex-husband, Gustav, a computer software salesman.

Hyacinth grew up under the influence of a governess from New Orleans, from whom she got her southern drawl and a taste for Cajun cuisine. From her step-dad she appropriated a love of archery; from her mother a touch of cruelty, with the intelligence and sociopathic predisposition to apply it effectively. 

Her emancipation at 16 was the result of a fierce confrontation with James Furies the day after Mincie died of leukemia; that and the prudent decision of a judge who was anxious to keep his downloaded pics of a very provocative Hyacinth a secret from the world at large. 

As for her older sister, they had frequent Internet contact that painted each other in a deceptive light. Neither wished the other to know what was going on in their private life. There was this astonishing coincidence: Volanda recruited by a certain Heathcliffe Samson, thought to be a lone operator in the assassin trade, and Hyacinth recruited by Red Rum on the recommendation of her archery coach, a former Olympian who moonlighted as the chief instructor of non-explosive projectile weapons at a private training ground in Florida.

Sanguineus found the coincidence to be just a little too far fetched. While Hyacinth had been down in Basement Four, he had the in-house hackers working on whatever info they could get on the former Olympian, Stimson, and on Heathcliffe Samson. 

Stimson and Samson. It sounded so like a partnership. And sure enough, Samson was an archery enthusiast in his youth and had briefly trained under Stimson in 1987. This info was sent to Intell, evaluated, and forwarded to Rolgo, who had by then identified the trigger person as Hyacinth's sister. 

Sanguineus suspected that Stimson was marked for interrogation. In his conversation with Rolgo in the breakfast nook, it was decided that he, Sanguineus, should interrogate Hyacinth. He thought this an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and with this in mind he took Hyacinth for a walk after her nap.

They went to the Amagerbrogade that parallels a sparkling blue waterway; the spires of churches rising above the trees across the inlet; the shadow of the Radisson Blu hotel in their path. 

Around her neck Hyacinth wore a polygraph collar, connected by a wire to the device carried discreetly in Sanguineus' hand as they strolled leisurely side by side.

Hyacinth knew she was in trouble again, but apparently did not know the cause. She hadn't been told about her sister's involvement in the killings. She inquired forthrightly if this was about her probation. 

Sanguineus was blunt in asking her if she had gone to Sweden during the three days that she was missing from the Florida safe house. She was genuinely shocked by the question, and answered truthfully, according to the polygraph indicator, that she had spent the three days with her former governess, in Gainsburg, an hour's bus ride from the safe house.

Sanguineus gave her the still of the young woman in the patio of the Hard Rock Cafe. "That isn't you?"

"Of course not. She has long black hair."

"Could be a wig."

"But look at her breasts. They're not nearly as large as mine."

"Good point. But her facial features are remarkably similar to yours."

"She's imposturing me! That thingy in your hand proves she isn't me. I'm telling the truth."

"Apparently so," he said, stopping to scan the roof of the hotel annex. The roof was on a level with the floor where Room 1513 was situated. "Someone wanted to point the finger at you. And I don't think that someone is Volanda Jurgenssen."

"What? My sister? What does Volanda have to do with this? She works with our father at Biotech Software. I'm, like, totally lost here."

Sanguineus handed her the polygraph indicator. "Take off the collar. Wait there on the greenbelt where you can watch the roof of that brick building. I'll be back shortly."

"What the hell is going on? Why did you mention my sister?"

"Do as you're told, Three Dash Zero Nine."

The man with silver streaks in his bushy black eyebrows was lying on the roof of the annex softly cursing the pebbled sealant that made his position uncomfortable. He repeatedly adjusted, minutely, his Browning scope, through which he had a commanding view of 1513's sitting room. 

It was 3:47 pm. He expected to see his target any minute now. The door was in the crosshairs.

"Hello," said a deep voice from a short distance behind him. 

He jerked his head around and saw, to his horror, that a man's upper body protruded from the hatch that gave access to the roof, near the air-conditioning units. He glimpsed a black sockcap and shades, a pair of black gloves extended toward him with a Glock automatic steady in their grip. 

He didn't hear the sound of the shot, but was conscious of only a cold numbness that spread instantly from his rectum to his shoulder blades. He couldn't breathe. He tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but could not. The second shot he heard clearly, a muffled pop, which put a numbness in his throat just as his insides erupted in a terrible pain. 

He knew he was going to die, but when death came moments later, he didn't know it.

Annike, in appearance so like a toad, said to her brother, "The invitations have been sent out, and all but one have responded."

They were in the workshop, where Miklos was setting a large glass bell over the instrumentation of his model. "Who is the no-show?" he asked, hoping it would not be the blonde in the perpetual grey and pink sweater.

"It's the gentleman with those big bushy eyebrows, you remember. He was here last month, a friend of Heathcliffe's. He hasn't responded to the invitation. Perhaps he's busy. Oh, and Angela will be in Stockholm the night of the gathering, so we needn't worry about her sticking her disagreeable nose in the festivities. Has the victim been apprehended, do you know? The Mistress of Ceremonies is so slow in telling me anything."

"She has her own ideas on how Hysterium should be run," Miklos said, removing his plastic gloves. His deformed back was troubling him again. "Mix a drink for me, Annike dear. And have my new rockingchair placed on the dais in the throne room. Much easier on my spine. It's the seventh anniversary of the founding of Hysterium, you know, and I want to enjoy it."

[Continued in the following post.]