The Princess Trap (20 page)

B
ea had never gone
to school this freakishly early before. The place was empty, and there were only three cars in the parking lot. From one of the ground-floor classrooms came the occasional sound of a weary voice: Some poor sucker was having a private tutoring session before classes began.

Bea pulled open the heavy main door. Of course, the custodian was already up and about, but his cubicle was empty. Usually he’d be sitting there behind the glass partition with a steaming cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. “Hello?” she said. “Anybody frickin’ home?!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Philippa. Bea hadn’t heard her coming. “What are you ranting about so early in the morning?”

“He isn’t here!” moaned Bea. “Oh, for the love of —!”

“Tsk, tsk, don’t let any of the teachers hear you going off like that,” said Philippa. “Why do you want him, anyway? Is he your
secret love
?”

“Shut up, Philippa, this is important!” snapped Bea. Maybe the man had an appointment — even custodians go to the doctor — or he might be somewhere in the school, looking at a broken window. If she was lucky. “You don’t have Jenna’s number, do you?”

“Have what?” asked Philippa.

“Jenna’s cell phone,” said Bea. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You think the custodian’s got Jenna’s phone number?” asked Philippa incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”

Bea groaned. “Would you please try to keep up! I left my phone in the gym yesterday, and the number’s in it, duh! So now I can’t call her …”

“Oh, I get it. You’re worried about Jenna because of all that stuff on TV yesterday!” said Philippa. “I saw it, too.” Now she sounded excited. After all, it wasn’t every day that a former classmate became a princess, or got kidnapped, or appeared in a special news program on television. “But she’s your best friend! Don’t you have the number written down on a piece of paper somewhere? You could just call her from a landline.”

“Do
you
write cell phone numbers down on pieces of paper?” Bea asked sarcastically. “Doesn’t that kind of defeat the whole point of them
being
cell phone numbers? Why do you think they invented all these devices? So that we’d no longer
have
to write every last bit of information down on little pieces of paper!”

By now the rest of the students had started streaming into the building behind them, talking and laughing — the little ones pushing and shoving, the big ones yawning. And still the custodian’s post was empty.

“Maybe someone else has got her number,” said Bea, without too much hope.

No matter what, it’s probably a waste of time
, she thought.
If she’s run away, she’ll have switched off her phone so that the signal can’t be tracked. And if she’s been kidnapped, that’ll be the first thing they’ll take from her. Whatever! I still have to try.

But no one else in school had Jenna’s number. Of course they didn’t. It was only when she started asking around that Bea realized Jenna hadn’t given her new number — a Scandian number — to anyone but her. As Princess of Scandia, she would only have been allowed to give it to her closest friends.

Unbelievable!
thought Bea, still beating herself up for leaving her own phone behind the day before. During French, she was told to answer a question and she didn’t even know what page they were on. During chemistry, she discovered that she’d mistakenly brought her geometry notes instead. But the teachers were nice to her. They had all heard about Jenna’s disappearance, and they knew that Bea and Jenna had always been inseparable.

“She’ll be all right,” said the chemistry teacher, without mentioning a name. It was meant to be comforting.

As soon as the bell rang, Bea rushed out of the chemistry lab and hurried downstairs. If the custodian had just been fixing something in the building, he was sure to be back at his desk by now.

The men hadn’t given them anything to eat; they probably had nothing for themselves, either. It was obvious that they, too, had been surprised by the phone call last night and the sudden change of plans. Jenna thought longingly of the potatoes and carrots still lying there in the navigator’s house. Her mouth watered.

Very little light made its way through the cobwebbed window, but there was enough to follow the movement of the sun. Jenna looked at her watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime,” she said. “Perry, I’m starving!”

“And I’m not?” said Perry. “I can’t stop thinking about the Thunbergs’ buffet!”

“Yes, but that was weird, wasn’t it?” said Jenna thoughtfully.

“The men out there won’t want us to starve to death,” said Perry confidently. “Then they couldn’t get a ransom for us.”

“You don’t think they’re going to do anything to us?” she whispered. When she managed just for a moment to stop thinking about how hungry she was, the unavoidable question kept popping into her mind. “That’s what happens when they kidnap people. You see it on TV. If the ransom money isn’t paid …”

“You think your mother would refuse to pay the ransom?” said Perry. “Or my father?”

“Or when the victims have seen their kidnappers,” persisted Jenna, “so they could identify them, testify against them later. Then they kill them. Don’t they?”

Perry stood up. He went to the window, tried looking out, and came back.

“Listen, Jenna,” he said. “You know as well as I do, the whole of Scandia will be looking for us. This is not your average kidnapping. We’re not just the children of some millionaire.” He sat down beside her on the net. It was full of sticky scales, and it still gave off a faint odor of fish. “You’re Princess of Scandia, Jenna. So you can be sure that the entire Scandian police force will be on the job as soon as any demands are made. Maybe the army, too. And I’m the son of a princess’s boyfriend …”

“Perry!” said Jenna.

“It’s true,” said Perry. “And the kidnappers know that — they’re not stupid. They know they’ve got to wrap up this scheme as quickly as possible. And if they harm a single hair on our heads and they get caught …” He drew his hand across his throat. “Curtains!”

“Curtains?” Jenna repeated, perplexed.

“It’s an expression,” Perry said with a shrug.

“So they won’t harm us?” Jenna asked. She really wanted to believe it.

“Only if they’re cornered,” said Perry, absentmindedly peeling the scales away from the blue plastic mesh. “And only as a last resort. But the police know that, too. That’s why they’ll be supercareful, believe me.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Jenna, let’s not drive ourselves crazy. We’ve got to keep it together. Who knows? We might need to make a sudden break or something.”

It was at that moment they heard the car. Even though they couldn’t see it, the engine sounded so smooth and quiet, they knew it must be a large one. They both got up from the net.

“See?” said Perry. “I bet this is our food, and then we’ll try to find out —”

The key turned in the lock.

“Hello, Jenna,” said a man’s voice. With the sunlight behind him, she could only see his silhouette and not his face. Even so, the memories flooded back instantly, and she felt herself going cold.

“Bolström!” she said, retreating. She stumbled over a loose rope and almost fell. “I thought you were …”

Abroad
, she finished the thought. Bolström. If he was behind this kidnapping, what did it mean? She knew from last year just how unscrupulous, how ambitious, how dangerous he was.

“How nice that you remember me, Jenna,” said Bolström with a sneer. “You’ve grown. And if I may say so, you’ve become prettier, too.”

Jenna froze.

“And this must be young Petterson!” Bolström continued, turning toward Perry with a charming smile. “I’m so sorry we have to meet under such unpleasant circumstances, Peter. I knew your father very well when we were children. We went to school together.” He laughed. “But when I think back to how devoted he was to all things military even then, I fear you’re not exactly the son he would have dreamed of, eh?”

Perry stood stock-still and glared.

Bolström laughed again. He seemed to enjoy Perry’s anger. “Not one for words, either, I see. Well, regardless, I must apologize for the inadequate accommodation. There was nothing more comfortable at our immediate disposal, but I hope you’re settling in. You may have to put up with this humble abode a tad longer, though I fear it may leave a little to be desired — especially at night.” He smiled.

“What do you want?” Jenna demanded in a shrill voice.

“What do you think, little Jenna?” asked Bolström. “Are there so many possibilities?” He reached into his jacket pocket for a rolled-up newspaper. “You’re not without imagination. How much do you think you’re worth to your mother? And your uncle, the king? And as for your little friend here — you are friends, I hope? — how much do you think his father will pay for him?” He laughed. “We’re talking about an eight-figure sum, I should think, Jenna, which will provide me with a comfortable old age. Even if I have to pay off a few assistants.” He pointed outside, from where the sounds of the men gulping down food had been coming since he arrived.

He gestured impatiently at Jenna and Perry, sending them to the wall opposite the window. “Very good, very good,” he said. “Now, a little closer together, please. Yes, that’s perfect.” He came toward them and handed the newspaper to Perry. Jenna suddenly understood what was going on.

“You want to photograph us,” she said. “With today’s newspaper. So that our parents know we’re still alive.”

“What a clever girl you are, Jenna!” said Bolström. “I can understand why your father is so proud of you. Incidentally, he sends you his warmest good wishes.”

“Stop it!” Jenna shouted. “Don’t talk about my father!” She began to cry.

Perry put his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t cry, Jenna. Don’t give him that satisfaction.”

Jenna wiped her eyes on her sleeve. But they were already red, and the tears were already on her cheeks. She would look terrible in the photo.

“Quite right, my young friend,” said Bolström. “And very gallant. Now smile. Smile!” The tiny camera clicked in his hand. “Ah well, it’ll have to do. But remember, this photo will be in all tomorrow’s newspapers — and not only in Scandia. I’m sure you’d like to spread a little charm, wouldn’t you?”

Perry made an angry move toward him, but then stopped himself and stepped back again.

“And now one with a flash,” said Bolström, and Jenna involuntarily closed her eyes. “Good, that’s lovely. Now we can only hope that your parents come up with the money quickly. I’m sure you don’t want to sit here in all the gull droppings any longer than you have to, hmm?”

He was virtually out the door when Perry called after him, “What about food? Aren’t you going to give us something to eat?”

Bolström raised his hands in mock horror, as if he were embarrassed. “Food, oh dear me!” he said. “When the men have had enough, I’m sure they’ll give you their leftovers. Let’s just hope they’re not too hungry themselves!” He laughed one last time, then shut the door behind him.

“Perry?” whispered Jenna. She was almost pleased to see that he, too, had started to cry.

“S
lowly, slowly!”
said the custodian in his distinctive eastern accent when Bea opened the door to his post. Everybody loved the custodian. Nothing ever flustered him. He would separate fighting sophomores with a calm “What going on here?” and would give extra gold stars for the younger students to stick on their tests when their teachers weren’t looking. Bea should have stayed out in the hallway and spoken to him through the Plexiglas partition, but he could see that she simply couldn’t wait. “Is world coming to an end?”

“Almost!” said Bea. “I left my bag in the gym yesterday — or maybe it was the locker room …”

The custodian nodded and turned to the cabinet behind him. “Is plenty choice for you!” he said, opening it up. “I no understand how you young people never take your things! You have so much money? Your parents no yell at you?”

Bea shrugged her shoulders. “I do take my things,” she said. “It’s a —”

“Not this one,” said the custodian, holding up a pink backpack with fairies and princesses all over it. “That belong to a fifth-grader, yes? They leave it on purpose. To get new one. Fifth grade too old for fairies.”

“Mine is —” Bea attempted again.

“And not this one,” the custodian continued his inventory. “This one” was a dark blue bag on which someone had used a thick black marker to write the names of all the teams in the NBA. “Is boy. Also forget on purpose. Maybe mother tell him off. Ah, but this one …” And there in his hand was Bea’s burgundy-red messenger bag. “This one look as if it wait just for you.”

“That’s it!” cried Bea, grabbing the bag. She rummaged inside.

“Something wrong?” asked the custodian.

Bea shook her head. She pulled out her T-shirt, then her track pants, then one sneaker, then the other. She reached deep down into the bag, and then she tipped it over on its side and shook it empty.

“Nothing!” she said. “My phone’s gone! Somebody stole my cell!”

“It was switched on?” asked the custodian.

“No, I never turn it on in school,” said Bea. “That’s
totally
verboten. If someone texted me and the teacher heard it — buh-bye! Though it seems to be buh-bye now, anyway …”

The custodian smiled. “Was very new model? With the apps and all this things?”

“Yeah, right,” said Bea. “Like my parents are millionaires. No, it was just a cheap little cell phone. They’ll still freak, though, when I tell them it’s gone!”

“You see, you lucky!” said the custodian. “When thief see cheap phone, maybe he throw away. Then maybe you get back.”

Bea stared at him. “Oh, yeah, that’s going to happen. As if.”

“Can happen, yes!” said the custodian. “Pigs can fly.”

“But I need it
now
!” mumbled Bea. “Thanks anyway.” Slowly she trudged back out into the corridor and then up the stairs. She was all for folksy wisdom, but for real? She didn’t believe in flying pigs.

When Bolström’s car had gone, Jenna and Perry said nothing for a few minutes. Then Perry went to the door and rattled the handle. The men were still on the other side, eating and talking. He heard them laugh.

“Don’t bother,” said Jenna. “You won’t be able to open it, and even if you did, they’d catch you right away. I’m not hungry anymore, anyway.”

Perry came back. “That jerk,” he said.

Jenna was surprised at how calm she suddenly felt. Her fear and despair seemed to have gone. “Why do you think Bolström’s mixed up in this?” she asked.

Perry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t even understand what he’s doing back in Scandia,” he said. “For a year now, he’s been pretty much the most wanted criminal in the country. Though maybe that means he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“But why is it Bolström of all people who found us?” she asked. “That can’t be a coincidence! I mean, our parents must have had hundreds of people searching for us, so why is it Bolström who —?”

“Because he must have been the first to think of looking in the navigator’s house,” said Perry. “You sort of have that place in common, considering. He must have realized that this was his chance to make buckets of money and then maybe disappear with it for good.”

The door opened, and a man they hadn’t seen before put a tray down on the floor. Evidently there had been a change of guards. “Enjoy your meal!” he said. “Lots of tasty scraps.” He laughed and closed the door.

Jenna didn’t even look at it. “I’m just thirsty,” she said. “Perry, they will pay up, won’t they? My mother and your father.”

Perry nodded. He passed her a bottle of water, and took one for himself. “And fast, I hope,” he said. “Then, if Bolström has only kidnapped us for the money, he’ll leave the country ASAP. And then we’ll be free.”

“But I still don’t understand what that phone call in the car was all about,” said Jenna. “If Bolström sent the men to look for us in Saarstad so he could demand a ransom, why did they initially want to take us back to Morgard? It doesn’t make sense.”

Perry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I know. That’s what worries me.”

“Well, you’re the genius,” said Jenna. “At least Jonas always says so. You figure it out!” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her heart missed a beat.
Jonas
, she thought.
Oh no! Why did I have to start thinking about Jonas?

During Bolström’s brief absence, a layer of powdery gray dust had accumulated over all the flat surfaces in the room. On a chaise longue that was much too short and narrow for his squat body lay the curled-up figure of Norlin, fast asleep. Every so often he let out a short, startled snore; then he tried to wriggle over onto his other side, realized in his sleep that he would fall off, grunted, snuffled, and began to breathe evenly again. On the floor next to the chaise longue was a half-full bottle of cognac, with a completely empty one not far away from it.

As he walked past, Bolström kicked the empty bottle, which rolled a short distance until it caught against the curved leg of the chaise longue.

Bolström picked up the telephone, dialed, and leaned against the ornate desk.

“Now listen,” he whispered into the receiver. “No, I can’t speak any louder. The drunken sot’s asleep, and under no circumstances do I want him to hear this. And by the way, not a word to the Captain, either, or at least not the whole story. You know yourself —”

The person on the other end interrupted him.

“Yes, yes,” said Bolström. “I’m well aware of that. Norlin’s becoming more and more of a liability. After we’ve ‘saved the beloved country’ — as he likes to put it — of course he’ll have to go.” Without looking, he groped behind him on the desktop for his cigarettes. He lit one. “We’ll think of something. I’ve got no problem with that. The children are the main threat …” He took a long puff on his cigarette.

The person at the other end was speaking. Bolström exhaled, and a smoke ring rose to the ceiling. He looked pleased with himself. “Agreed, indeed, they have to disappear for good,” he said, “but not yet, golden boy. Come on, think! For now, we go on informing the media of our demands, every day.” He let out a grunt as the other man interrupted him again. “No, not money! Once we’ve saved the country, what will we need money for? The floodgates will be open and we can take whatever we want. What we’re demanding now is a swap: the children for Minister Liron. Admit it: That’s a stroke of genius.”

Again he inhaled and listened. “Exactly, now you’ve got it,” he said. “Then it’ll be obvious to everyone that it was the rebels who abducted the children, so if anyone still has any doubts, that’ll be the final proof that the rebels and the northerners in the government have been conspiring together. With the Minister of the Interior. Ha, what a traitor! Imagine the outrage!” He tapped his ashes nonchalantly onto the floor. “And when the children are found later — the
bodies
of the children, dear boy — then it’ll be clear to every citizen of Scandia that the kidnappers — the rebels — were the ones who killed those poor, innocent babes. Perfect! Absolutely perfect.”

He laughed. “Right you are,” he said. “Bit of a detour there, but ultimately it’s all working out in our favor.” He listened for a moment. “Of course. Then it’ll be time to get rid of Norlin. And guess what? The rebels will be responsible for that, too. I’m telling you, dear boy, things couldn’t have gone better.”

He took one last puff and then stubbed out the cigarette on the desktop. A nasty black burn mark stained the white lacquer. “And then we march in,” he said. “But we may need to act very fast, and very soon.”