The Shadow Dancers

by Angus McLean

  The girl pounced forward, landing a decent kick to the guy’s hip as he twisted away from her. She was on him then, fists flashing at his face then grabbing at his gun arm. They struggled together like a couple of drunks on a dance floor.

  The pudgy guy started yelling now and grabbing for Moore’s face. Moore turned and threw him against the wall. As the guy bounced off he took an elbow strike to the nose that dropped him like a sack of spuds.

  The other two were still wrestling when Moore came in, and he could see that although the girl was obviously strong, the guy was going to win the battle. The young guy saw him coming and twisted the girl in between them as a shield.

  Moore grabbed the back of the girl’s jacket and held her steady while reaching past her and raking the guy’s face with clawed fingers. The guy shrieked and closed his eyes, momentarily distracted. It was long enough.

  The girl had the guy’s gun arm still gripped tightly, and Moore pushed her to the side, exposing the young guy’s back to him. He slammed a brutal jab to the guy’s kidneys, then another, feeling him start to slump. The girl pulled the gun arm out and locked onto the hand, which was gripping an old Tokarev automatic.

  Moore drove his foot into the back of the guy’s knee, buckling the leg and sending him to a half kneel, following up with a vicious rabbit punch to the side of his neck.

  He could hear loud voices and running feet from the direction of the stairwell. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  The girl had the pistol free and the young guy was effectively out of the game for now, moaning and gasping on the floor. The pudgy guy was starting to get up, his face bloodied.

  ‘Gimme that.’ Moore snatched the Tokarev from the girl and dropped the magazine from it. As he racked the slide and cleared the chamber the girl moved towards the pudgy man and booted him hard between the legs.

  He let out a strangled cry and clutched himself as he fell forwards.

  ‘Arsehole,’ she snarled at him, and Moore looked at her with surprise. She had a distinctly Kiwi accent.

  He tossed the pistol aside as the door from the stairs burst open and a man charged through, a club of some sort in his hand. There were at least two other heads behind him, and they were moving fast.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  Moore grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her with him towards Room 332. The door crashed open with a single kick, the lock exploding this time, and they raced in.

  A shot sounded behind them, removing any doubt about the intentions of the Turks.

  Moore dragged the cheap dresser into the doorway and moved to the bed, knowing they only had seconds before the guys were on them. The girl clicked on and helped him flip the mattress up and ram it into the tight doorway as well. It wouldn’t keep them for long, but it was better than nothing.

  He hurried to the windows and swung one open, looking down. They were three floors up but there was a canopy over the footpath below. No balconies and no trucks conveniently parked. He glanced at the girl. Maybe sixty five kilos, he reckoned; fifty percent lighter than him.

  She joined him at the window, looking down first and then at him.

  ‘Are you fucking kidding?’

  ‘You wanna get shot instead?’

  The door was getting pounded now, bodies crashing against it. They had about five seconds if they were lucky.

  ‘Get up there.’ Moore helped her climb onto the window ledge and edge out. ‘Aim for the canopy,’ he said.

  ‘No shit.’ She took a breath and jumped.

  Moore quickly climbed up behind her, seeing her hit the canopy on her side and bounce, one side of the canopy’s frame bending under her weight. She was moving for the edge when he dropped, his gut leaping into his throat as the wind rushed past him.

  He went down sideways and hit the canopy like a spastic starfish, trying to spread the impact and avoid plunging straight through the canvas. It ripped immediately and the frame broke, dumping him in a tangle on the ground in front of a group of shocked tourists. Phone cameras flashed as he hauled himself to his feet and looked up.

  Two of the guys were glaring down from the open window at them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘This way.’ The girl was gesturing for him to hurry up, and he did as he was told.

  They legged it down the cobbled street, ducking into the first side street and into the first alley off that. The girl was fast and Moore worked hard to keep up.

  The city was still waking up and Moore felt horribly exposed as they ran down the nearly empty roads.

  After another turn he called her to a stop.

  ‘Take your jacket off,’ he told her, stripping off his own shell. He crammed it into a rubbish bin and untucked his shirt. The girl followed suit but held onto her jacket.

  ‘Can’t I just carry it?’ she said, ‘I don’t want to dump it.’

  ‘They’ll be looking for us and they’ll remember our clothing,’ he said. ‘Ditch it, we need to keep moving.’

  She reluctantly binned it, immediately looking different in her grey cargoes and blue long sleeved top.

  ‘Catch your breath and get your head together,’ Moore told her. ‘If those guys find us we’re fucked. Stick with me and do what I say, okay?’

  He could see her natural instinct was to question him, and he bit his tongue. Generation fucking Y were supposed to be smart and strong; he hoped that was true.

  He led her at a brisk walk to the end of the road, scanning constantly for threats. They found a taxi parked up, and woke the slumbering driver.

  ‘The President Hotel please mate.’ Moore climbed in the back with the girl and kept an eye out as they drove to the large hotel.

  Alighting there, Moore quickly found another taxi and told the driver to take them to the Spice Market.

  ‘Market not open yet,’ the driver said in a thick accent.

  ‘No problem,’ Moore smiled genially, and waggled his fingers like legs, ‘walkie walkie.’

  The driver grunted and accepted the fare, dropping them outside the market. He grunted again when Moore paid him, but said nothing else.

  They got out and found an ATM. Moore took a large lump of cash out and pocketed it, then did the same with a second card. Whatever he’d just got himself involved in, somebody would be looking for them. They had to keep moving and leave no sign. Cash was king.

  He saw the girl watching him as he did his transactions, and he wondered for the hundredth time exactly who she was and what she was up to.

  The next stop was a shop just opening that sold all the usual over-priced junk aimed at tourists. Moore found the hat rack and grabbed a couple of tacky caps, adding a pair of touristy T-shirts. The girl waited silently while he paid in cash. Moore went outside and took his shirt off, pulled the T-shirt on then added the hat. He looked to the girl.

  ‘I’m not taking my top off,’ she said.

  ‘Put it over the top then,’ he replied tersely, ‘I’m not looking for a perv.’

  She did so, adjusted the cap and waited while he binned his shirt.

  ‘Right,’ Moore said, putting his hand out. ‘I’m Rob.’

  ‘Katie.’ She shook hands firmly and seemed to thaw slightly.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk first then get a coffee and get acquainted.’

  Twenty minutes later they were at a table with a makeshift breakfast.

  ‘I’m looking for my friend,’ Katie said. ‘She’s gone missing over here somewhere.’

  ‘Natalie Oldham?’

  She nodded. ‘You obviously know who she is, and who her dad is.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I saw you lurking round the hotel,’ she said. ‘You’re obviously looking for her too.’

  Moore nodded. ‘How do you know her?’

  ‘I used to flat with Nat at Otago Uni,’ Katie explained, ‘she came to the UK before me. I only came over a few months ago and crashed at her place.’

  ‘In Sutton?’ Moore took a sip of his coffee. It was thick and
strong and welcome. The café was on the outer of the Grand Bazaar, which didn’t open for another half hour.

  Katie nodded. ‘I’m sharing a room with another mate of hers-we’re both all over the place with shifts and stuff, so it works okay.’

  Moore nodded, thinking back to the second room he’d searched in the flat.

  ‘You’re not Shelley Parker then?’ he said.

  ‘No. Katie Simpson. Shelley’s the other chick, she’s an Aussie. Her and Nat temped together for a bit.’ She looked at him suspiciously as she sipped her coffee. ‘How d’you know about her?’

  Moore shrugged non-committedly. He wasn’t prepared to play all his cards just yet. ‘Who do you work for?’ he asked instead.

  ‘I’m with an agency at the moment, temping. Office work. I’m supposed to be starting an investigation job next week, in the NHS.’

  Moore cocked an eyebrow. ‘You’re a cop?’

  She nodded. ‘Back home, yeah. I took unpaid leave for two years for an OE.’ She smiled wryly. ‘It was going great.’

  ‘Where are you based back home?’

  ‘Porirua, Hutt Valley. I’m a Detective,’ she said with obvious pride.

  Moore nodded. Things were starting to fall into place. The Hutt Valley and Kapiti-Mana were neighbours to the capital city, but they were different beasts. Wellington was home to politicians, commerce and plenty of white collars. Porirua and the Hutt were home to meth heads, gangsters and all other categories of degenerates. It made sense then that she was no stranger to fights and aggression.

  ‘So how did you end up in Istanbul, snooping around?’ he asked.

  Katie smirked and put her cup down. ‘Hold on a second,’ she said, ‘what about you? Who are you? What’re you doing here?’

  She waited him out as he carefully considered his response. She was clearly used to being the one asking the questions, not answering them.

  ‘My name is Rob. I work for the New Zealand embassy in London.’ He gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘Just a pen-pushing civil servant, but I’m trying to find Natalie.’

  ‘Because of who her old man is, or just because she’s a Kiwi who’s gone missing?’

  Moore shrugged. ‘Both, I guess. Her father being a Cabinet Minister adds an edge to it I suppose, but I’d probably be here anyway if he wasn’t.’

  She raised a doubtful eyebrow but said nothing. ‘Who were those guys at the hotel?’

  ‘No idea.’ He drained his cup and reached for the pastry it had come with. ‘They didn’t like you though.’

  ‘True that,’ she agreed. She took a bite of her own pastry. ‘They didn’t really say much, just grabbed me and pulled me out. Then you came along. Did they shoot at us?’

  ‘Yep.’

  She nodded and absorbed that. Moore figured she’d probably never been shot at before. She brushed a crumb from her lip and narrowed her gaze. ‘You were pretty handy back there.’

  ‘Well I don’t normally jump out of windows when I first meet someone,’ he smiled, ‘but it seemed like a good idea at the time.’ He touched his right side gingerly. ‘Kinda hurt a bit though.’

  She looked like she was going to say something but changed her mind and held back. That was okay; he didn’t really want to answer too many questions just yet.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ she asked instead.

  ‘I need to make a call,’ he said. ‘I don’t think talking to the cops here will do much good.’

  ‘Already did,’ she replied. ‘Got nowhere.’

  ‘Did you give them your details? Name, where you were staying?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He considered that. Possibly the guys at the hotel had been cops then. Or maybe intelligence officers. Either way it didn’t matter. She was now known to the Turkish police, and it wouldn’t take a genius to link her to the hotel incident.

  It put them in a very precarious position.

  ‘Right,’ Moore said, ‘as of now we need to keep our heads down. You can’t go back to your hotel, and we definitely can’t go back to the Altan.’

  ‘What about my stuff? I’ve got my camera, my tablet…’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘No. No way. Those guys that tried to lift you were probably either cops or intelligence. If not, then they were bad guys. None of those are good options.’

  She frowned, clearly unhappy about losing all her gear. ‘So what do we do then? I’ve got my wallet and phone and that’s it.’

  ‘Passport?’

  ‘In my bag.’

  Moore pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Never mind, we can sort that out later. Right now we need to get to Ankara. I’ll make a phone call.’

  ‘What’s in Ankara?’

  He looked at her as he dug out his phone. ‘The embassy.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Since the last resident left after an untidy drug scandal almost a year ago, the High Commission in Ankara did not have an intelligence officer on the staff.

  Instead they relied on their military attaché for such services, and Moore had dealt with him before. Jeff Jenkins was an experienced RNZAF Squadron Leader, winding down the military term of his working life with a view to moving into another chapter. He was a fanatical marathon runner and amateur photographer, both habits which were of use in his role.

  He answered the phone immediately when Moore rang. The conversation lasted two minutes and Moore and Katie were soon on the move again.

  Another taxi took them to a car rental agency, where Moore hired a silver Audi A3 for three days with full insurance cover and a card for the toll gates on the expressways. The guy behind the desk did his best to sell an upgrade and extension of the term, all done with the biggest smile and most sincere advice for his best customer, but he was fighting a losing battle. Moore compromised and took a GPS unit to shut him up, and minutes later they were on the road.

  Moore stopped at a service station to fuel up on gas and supplies, including snacks, bottled water and toothbrushes and paste. He grabbed them each a pair of cheap sunglasses and found a paper map on a rack-GPS wasn’t always the best option. He also snaffled a car charger for his iPhone, having left his back at the Altan Hotel.

  He needed to get his hands on at least a couple of pay-as-you-go phones, but that would have to wait until later.

  Katie proved to be a good navigator and got them out of the city and heading west. He got her to use the map system on his phone instead of the rental agency’s GPS unit; even though they were easily enough traced through the car’s own computer and the toll road cameras, the less sign they left behind the better.

  ‘Four hundred and fifty k’s,’ Katie said, settling back into her seat with the iPhone in her lap. She pointed ahead. ‘Go that way for ages.’

  He cocked an eyebrow at her as he accelerated and joined the flow. ‘Really? That’s your advice?’

  She shrugged and tucked her hands between her thighs. He noticed they were firm and slim in her cargoes. ‘It’s what the map lady says.’

  Moore focussed on his driving, finding the traffic a challenge. Indicators seemed to be optional and there were clearly an excess of driver’s licenses in the Weetbix packets here. He had a million thoughts jumbling in his head right now, but he needed to stay focussed on the task at hand.

  Thinking three steps ahead but taking one at a time was the key to staying in the game. He didn’t know exactly what they were dealing with, but it was clearly more than just some rich kid running away to “find” herself. The fact that there were others involved-either cops, the intelligence service or organised crime-was not good. In this part of the world he considered them all to be enemies until proven otherwise.

  Organised crime could mean human traffickers or ransom-demanding kidnappers. Spooks meant big trouble-politicians, spies and big business all went hand in hand. Cops in Third World countries were always bad news. Corruption was rife and it was easy for people to disappear.

  His mind turned to Paul Oldham and his sidekick, Tristan. There was no do
ubt that Oldham could pay a ransom if one was demanded, but it hadn’t been. He wondered if the politico was involved in something else, maybe something shady, something that wasn’t being disclosed just yet. Definitely possible, if not probable.

  One of his most pressing needs right now was to get rid of the girl. Even though she was a cop and seemed to be doing okay so far, this was a whole different ball game. Cops weren’t trained for this sort of gig and she would just be a liability. He needed to debrief her then hand her over to JJ at the embassy and move on with the hunt.

  As he glanced at her sideways he found her staring straight back at him. Although her eyes were shielded by her sunnies, the set of her jaw told him she knew what he was thinking. There was a stubbornness there and he knew she would not take kindly to his plan.

  Moore looked away and concentrated on the road ahead.

  Too fucking bad, he thought to himself. This was no game of tiddly-winks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JJ called them five minutes before their scheduled meet and gave them directions to a café on the outskirts of Goksu Park in the heart of the city.

  As a meeting place it was ideal-being a major tourist attraction the park was large and busy, providing plenty of cover in open sight. It also made sense to change the meeting place at the last minute, allowing JJ to hopefully spot any tail they may have picked up along the way.

  Moore followed Katie’s directions and kept a subtle eye out while he did so, but by the time they alighted from the Audi he had not seen his colleague or any other watchers.

  They walked the last block to the café, taking their time and switching back twice before Moore was confident he’d spotted the watchers. He stopped outside a restaurant and called JJ.

  ‘The girl in the grey jacket,’ Moore said without preamble, ‘she one of yours?’

  JJ chuckled down the line. ‘Yep.’

  Moore watched the woman walk past on the opposite side of the road, seemingly oblivious to their presence. She looked like a local. Late twenties, shoulder length dark hair, stockyish build.