The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith Page B

entrance to the children’s sanctuary, Leo and Timur were denied access, held back by two guards. Frustrated with the delay, Leo showed the men the photo of Lazar, explaining:
    – It’s possible that everyone involved in this man’s arrest is a target. Two men are already dead. If we’re right, the patriarch might be danger.
    The guards were unimpressed:
    – We’ll pass the message on.
    – We need to speak to him.
    – Militia or not, the patriarch has given us instructions not to let anyone in.
    Commotion broke out upstairs: the sound of shouting. In an instant the guards’ complacency turned to panic. They abandoned their post, climbing the stairs, followed by Leo and Timur, bursting into a large hall filled with children. The staff had huddled around a door, shaking it, unable to get in. The guards joined the fray, taking hold of the door handle, listening to the overlapping explanations:
    – He went in there to pray.
    – With the new boy.
    – Krasikov’s not replying.
    – Something smashed.
    Leo cut through the discussion:
    – Kick the door down.
    They turned to him, unsure.
    – Do it now.
    The heaviest and strongest of the guards rushed forward, shoulder smashing against the frame. He charged again, the door broke apart.
    Clambering through the splintered opening, Leo and Timur entered the room. A young voice called out, authoritative, assured:
    – Stay where you are!
    The guards stopped moving, fierce men rendered helpless by the scene before them.
    The patriarch was on his knees, turned toward them, his face as red as blood, his mouth open-his tongue protruding, obscene, like a twisted slug. His neck was pinched: thin steel wire stretched to the hands of the young boy. The boy’s hands were wrapped in rags: the wire coiled around and around. A master with a dog on a leash, the boy exercised absolute and lethal control: he need only apply more tension and the wire would either choke the patriarch or slice into his skin.
    The boy took a careful backward step, almost at the window, keeping the wire tight and ceding no slack. Leo emerged from the pack of guards who’d become paralyzed at their failure to protect. There were maybe ten meters between him and the patriarch. He couldn’t risk running forward. Even if he reached the patriarch there was no way to get his fingers underneath the wire. Addressing Leo, sensing his calculations, the boy said:
    – Any closer, he dies.
    The boy threw open the small window, clambering up onto the ledge. They were on the second floor, too great a height to jump. Leo asked:
    – What do you want?
    – This man’s apology for betraying priests who trusted him, priests he was supposed to protect.
    The boy was speaking words as if from reading from a script. Leo glanced at the patriarch. Surely the threat of death would make him compliant. The boy’s orders were to extract an apology. If those were his orders he’d obey them: that was the only leverage Leo had.
    – He’ll say sorry. Loosen the wire. Let him speak. That’s what you’ve come to hear.
    The patriarch nodded, indicating that he wanted to comply. The boy considered and then slowly loosened the wire. Krasikov gasped, a strangled intake of breath.
    Supreme resilience glistened in the old man’s eyes and Leo realized that he’d made a mistake. Summoning his strength, spraying spit with each word:
    – Tell whoever sent you… I’d betray him again!
    Except for the patriarch, all eyes turned to the boy. But he was already gone. He’d jumped from the window.
    The wire whipped up, the full weight of the boy catching on the old man’s neck, pulling the patriarch with such force that he rose up from his knees like a puppet jerked by strings before falling onto his back, dragged across the floor and smashing the small window. His body caught in the window frame. Leo darted forward, grabbing the wire around the patriarch’s neck, trying to relieve the pressure. But the wire had cut through