The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [159]
She was irritated to find she felt a twinge of possessiveness when one of the candy canes put her arm around Henning’s shoulders and playfully kissed him on the cheek.
It was not difficult for her to slip into the role of ‘tired and emotional film starlet disgruntled with the world because of lack of attention to self’. She bid Henning a rather terse goodnight, pouting sulkily as he blew her a distracted kiss, immersed in the merriment.
‘And you better call me before you go to bed,’ Stevie called crossly over her shoulder, hoping this would give Henning a good excuse to use his mobile phone if he discovered anything. She noticed with a shiver that Dragoman’s eyes were on her, steady as beads. She hoped to death that her charade was as good as she thought it was.
The question in her mind, as she padded up the flight of carpeted stairs, was where would they take Anya? Would she join the merry party? It was unlikely. Heini seemed too distracted tonight . . .
Her phone vibrated like a bumble bee in her pocket. Henning.
‘Stevie. They’re sending for a nurse to drug Anya—“my niece is nervous of flying” and so on. They’ve got her in Heini’s rooms, I’m pretty sure. Heini’s planning to drive into Lichtenstein with her. I’m stuck here with them in the spa bath—well the lav, actually.’
‘Got that, Henning. I’m onto it.’ Stevie was suddenly full of dread.
‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she added, but he had already hung up.
A plan was forming as Stevie rushed down towards the medical centre located in the basement. All the drugs were locked up down there and reported in the register. Henning had noted it all on his visit.
David Rice always said, ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’ One’s imagination often dreamed up wild schemes but, without downplaying the ingenuity of many criminals and terrorists, it was often the simple, straightforward plan that worked: a shot to the head, a car bomb, a razor blade to the jugular.
Anyone heading upstairs from the nurses’ station had to pass through the sliding glass doors by the lift. Stevie positioned herself behind a display case that held souvenir t-shirts and bathrobes emblazoned with an enthusiastic Gesundheit in Hoffenschaffen! slogan, and lay in wait. The key to the cabinet hung on a small hook above her head. She pocketed it.
It wasn’t long before she heard a nurse’s trolley. Stevie stayed still until the nurse herself appeared, waiting for the lift, her back to Stevie. She had to be carrying Anya’s drugs—all the other guests were in the ballroom.
It was only the first time she had actually used it outside the training course, but the sleeper hold was surprisingly easy to execute and very effective. Standing behind the nurse, Stevie whipped her forearm around her narrow neck and pressed. She caught the woman as she went limp, then removed her white coat and hat and locked her in the display cabinet. She took off her feather gilet, smoothed her hair back and donned the nurse’s uniform. She wiped the excess makeup from her eyes. It would have to do.
Once in the lift, Stevie examined the clipboard on the trolley. It showed the room number, the name of the drug and the dosage: Midazolam 10 mg.
Stevie’s suspicions were confirmed. Midazolam was a strong sedative. It had similar effects to Rohypnol but, unlike Rohypnol, it could be injected. Ten milligrams would put a small girl like Anya out for at least four hours—and it only took a minute to take effect.
The drug was a perfect choice. With Midazolam, there was no danger of a drop in blood pressure so there was no need to monitor the patient’s vitals, and patients were able to breathe unassisted. Once drugged, Anya would be appear awake—rather stoned, but awake. She would not, however, be able to walk. But it meant that getting Anya safely out of the country would be simple: if anyone did