Dawn of Hope- Exodus

by Dobrin Kostadinov

  ‘I need you to finish what you yourself started, but did not completely finish. I want you to help me by being yourself and transforming your beliefs into actions. Now is the right time for you to do that. So, will you become that man again or will we stand here moaning? Get it over with living in the past, now’s your time,’ the officer uttered words that left his brother taken aback.

  ‘Why exactly do you think I can do you such a favor? It was precisely your guidance that sent me rotting in jails for so many years!’ his brother said, accusing him and not saving him a thing.

  ‘Because you’re the most selfless person I know and you’re ready to die for your views and hopes. In life things change, wrap your head around that, I need you,’ the General replied, managing to break down the artificial wall that his brother had built up between them. They could finally have a meaningful conversation with no accusations or recriminations, it had been such a long time.

  ‘Come on in. I want to hear what you have to say,’ he invited the officer, pushing the door wide open and waiting for him to go in. Omar not only managed to bring the wall down, but to cross the threshold of Heffer’s home.

  As they were walking down the corridor that was going to lead them to a safe place, Omar had a vague recollection of the day everything between them changed. It happened eighteen years ago, that incident still instilled blackness and hatred in the soul of the Scarred man. It resided in him as a deadly failure he had to live with for the rest of his life. Until then they got along just fine. Shortly after they both came of age and took completely different paths which had no way but to cross each other. Omar had chosen to become the pride and joy of his nation, to become an example in his family and to inspire awe in everyone around while in the eyes of ordinary people his brother had turned into a terrorist. He believed he could favorably change the course of his own destiny and that of the ones around him. An unjustified desire to help and sacrifice yourself and many other people as martyrs.

  Both men were brought up in Tehran’s impoverished ghetto. The difference between the two was that the Scarred one did not feel only his own pain, but also that of the other people who were drowning in misery just like them, but young Omar successfully repressed his sympathy and empathy. In that same long-gone moment Omar received a signal of a terrorist attack at the City Council in the capital. The suspects were precisely his brother along with a few other men who intended to commit a suicide attack for the sake of the poor. With bombs made of plastic explosives strapped to their bodies they wanted the take the mayor and the city officials hostages. They had prepared a list of demands for the government. But they were betrayed by Omar who was working in the antiterrorism division at the time. He could not let things slide, so he sent the Quick Response Force. The commandos caught them before they committed the attack while they were still preparing their weapons and going over their plan of action. None of them gave up without a fight, they did not retreat easily from the rain of lead that showered them. A small battle raged in a hotel room two blocks away from the end destination. The naked flesh lost the battle against the hot metal. Four bodies lay motionless and bloodstained on the floor, Heffer being the only survivor. He made an attempt to escape in the midst of the crossfire, he managed to hide in the other room. Silence fell over the space. The commandos checked the rooms for him. While they lost some time covering the rooms and searching them, the Scarred man decided to try and flee. The fugitive rushed towards the open door leading to a small hall, then dashed off towards the back entrance. Right before he took in gulp of air a law enforcement officer threw himself brutally in his way. The officer stood watch precisely for cases like this one. Panicked and under the influence of the high doses of adrenaline, the guard struck Heffer with the butt of his rifle so hard that he smashed his face into pieces. He got beaten up and disarmed on the spot and later on arrested. Exiled and forgotten, full of hatred and denial directed at his brother, the martyr was morally devastated after all he had to go through. But had he given up because of everything he had undergone? That was something Omar was about to find out . . .

  ´I won´t keep you long, brother, let me tell you my plan and you´ll see you’ll agree to it yourself,´ the General said and sat down in one of the three chairs set on the ground floor a few feet away from the corridor.

  ´Come on, talk, I´m listening,´ Heffer answered and settled next to him in anticipation.

  ´I know you want to help all those wretched poor souls that live beyond the walls of this building. You wanted that before, too, but you shouldn´t have done it the way you had planned. Now I have the chance to do it and I want you to be part of the show. I will help hundreds of thousands, may be even millions. And why not the entire world? If we put the idea into action, I’ll become terrorist number one and I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave me in such a moment, help me!’ Omar started outlining the ambitious goals he wanted to achieve, about the hidden spaceships and his plan to take them over. His brother grew so interested that at some point he held his breath as the General went on clarifying the details. ‘Here’s the plan. I need people who can carry out an attack on a German ammunition supply warehouse, we need the weapons stored inside. You need to find people, I’ll take care of the financial side of the matter. In return you will get weapons and something much more. Thanks to me you will have the entire Tehran in the palm of your hand. Well, what do you think?’ the Officer said, making a brave forecast of the events, but the truth was that he himself had no idea how far things would really go.

  At first Heffer considered the veracity of all he had heard and the possibility his brother could have just wanted to fool him. He wouldn’t dare betray me a second time replayed in his mind several times before he gave his answer.

  ‘Is this some kind of a joke? You want me to assist you in the same thing that I served quite some time for. And on top of everything you organize the heist. I suppose you expect an instant yes or no.‘ Omar lowered his eyes, almost having lost any hope for an affirmative reply. ‘My life couldn’t have turned our any worse . . . I’m wounded and ugly, with no family, maybe my life has long been lost now. But if we can’t help ourselves, we could at least help the once after us.’ On announcing that the Scarred man got up. In turn Omar got pleased by what he heard and smiled. He rose and held out his hand to his brother, but his gesture was cut short.

  ‘Don’t hold your hand out, I agreed because I can help and because I can achieve something in this life. I’m grateful for the chance you’re giving me, but I take it is a form of redemption on your part. Now I’m listening, brother. What do I need to do?’

  ‘Talk to your men, to your old comrades and all the people you can get. Here’s a phone via which only I and no one else will contact you. It’s safeguarded against tapping. I’ll call you tomorrow to talk specifics. And the most important part–you haven’t seen me!’

  The General left, making use of Milev’s tactics to secure a means of communication and the fat man who appeared before closed the door after Omar.

  ‘It’s very brave of you, Hussein, to talk like that to my brother, General Saadi,’ the Scarred man turned to the one who sent Omar off.

  ‘I’ll do anything for you, boss, your orders are our commands. What are we going to do now?’ asked his friend and subordinate.

  ‘I’ll talk to your adherents and we’ll wait. I’ve been waiting for so long for an opportunity like this. Let’s see what is yet to come,’ answered the ex-terrorist.

  The Officer headed back to his car. He had to walk down the same way as before– studded with human anguish and suffering. As he was striding, the weeping children and prostituting women came too much to him and he decided to get out of the place as soon as possible. He quickened his pace and was swept again by the same feeling he had when he came. He was observed again. The sensation was so creepy that it could make a person paranoid. As he gained speed, approaching his car that was parked right around the corner suddenly he got a blow in the back. Two mask
ed men with knives in their hands jumped him. The danger was now real.

  ‘Give us the cash and the belongings!’ they barked in unison, staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

  The overthrown officer fathomed the situation had gotten grave although he could taste the risk throughout his entire walk in the region. He was prepared for it, though. He knew he would not stand a chance against rascals such as those and they would most probably stab and kill him. He rose up and without a trace of fear silently slipped his hand under his Mackintosh. His two attackers, full of ferociousness, could not even react, but were taken completely aback by what they saw. Omar pulled the pistol out of its holster and shot in the head the attacker on his right side without batting an eyelid. Blood and pieces of cranium splattered like pulp behind the collapsing corpse. The instant the pistol released the bullet the second attacker ran for his life. A few more bullets came out, but the criminal managed to slip away behind the corner. Saadi knew there was no point in chasing after him because the culprit was already in the wind. Then he threw a look around and saw a few onlookers staring from their balconies and shivering. He did not pay them much attention and hastened to get to his car, leaving the lifeless body behind. He took off the way he had come, but nevertheless left in his wake something important. That was a chance for survival, a piece of his intentions and justice that he could give to the innocent people–not only to the ones who saw what he did with the minor local criminals but also the hundreds of millions like them. Later on he was going to spend the night with his family without any mention of that incident.

  In the other end of the city where the situation was still calm Alice was examining and analyzing the heaps of information she had at her disposal. Maps, pictures and everything else. Apart from the intelligence she had gathered, she did not forget to contact a black market trader and ask about the price of a cargo plane. The plan of action was coming alive step by step. A supersonic NATO cargo plane with 40 armed men on board, equipped with a stealth technology had to take off for the targeted warehouse. Another group stationed in Berlin had orders to organize a protest before the plane’s landing and heat up the situation. The protesters had to blow up two cars and draw the attention without producing any casualties. The police force and the military would be engaged in taming the passions and prosecuting the car blasts. Shortly after all that was put down in paper: photos of the places where the attack had to start, the place where the plane had to leave ground as well as a price-list of the equipment they needed to buy, including the costs on the machine itself, on fuel and so on. Alice uploaded the data base on a flash drive she put in an envelope she was to give to the General the next day. Along with the drive she also dropped in a big slip of paper with three exclamation marks on it. They had to serve as a reminder that the sum calculated did not include the manpower they needed to hire–how many people were going to work for them was part of the General’s job. The thing that everything hinged on was extremely simple, but hard to find in large numbers–Their Majesty the Banknotes in charge of the obtaining of which Dimitar had put himself. . .

  At 11 p.m. Milev landed on Heathrow in London. He checked out his luggage and headed for the exit where a rent car he had hired waited for him. There was no driver or traces of one in the vehicle. He got into the automobile and turned on the engine. As he was driving out of the terminal he plugged in the ending point in the GPS and set about to find it. The location was not really far, just about an hour’s drive. Mill Hill or the suburb of the rich as all Londoners called it was his intended target.

  When he arrived at the intended location it was already 12:50 a.m. He stepped out of the car that he had parked some feet away from the place and oh, what was he to see–stars in the sky–that was untypical given the light pollution over the city[8] and the slightly cool night was an excellent time for a person to have a walk alone with his thoughts anywhere in the city as long as they were well dressed of course. But he had no extra time to spend alone and Instead he strode for about three hundred feet and took a look at the small detached similar-looking two-story houses built with bricks ages ago. The district had preserved the spirit of a city suburb, surrounded by skyscrapers and trade centers and was at the same time one of the few places perfect for living and having sufficiently aristocratic look. Against the overall picture of those look-alike houses with small gardens and parking capacity for two cars, one particular house stood out–the only three-story one on the street, towering over the other two-story constructions.

  ‘You’re just so predictable,’ Dimitar said aloud and continued towards the building. His end goal was to visit an acquaintance who had promises to keep–owing something to a person like Milev was not a thing to be taken lightly. The Bulgarian came to a halt once he reached the house and took a thorough look around. He noticed the alarm system–it was of the signal only variety, there were no guards. That encouraged him even further to resort to action. He walked over to the door calmly and pressed the bell. While he was waiting he threw a glance at the small, but well-arranged garden outside the house. Two brand new cars were parked in front of the door–a sports one and a limousine. A magnificent granite fountain that worked even during the night and in the winter stood between them–a total masterpiece. It represented a woman slightly bent forward, pouring water from an earthen pot into some similar-looking pot resting in her feet. The water slowly spilled down from high up and filled in the lower container, from there on the water overflowed and leaked into the siphon and then went on to take another round. Despite the small space, the statue and the two automobiles formed a good esthetic unity and Milev stood there contemplating them in fascination. A while later the door was unlocked and the man he expected to see appeared.

  Harry Rogers, a rich young man who had amassed his wealth through theft and Internet fraud, the same man who helped Konrad to achieve his goals, was the owner of all that property. When he opened the door and saw Milev’s visage he turned pale. The color of his skin instantly became paper white and his lips turned blue. He felt a surge of adrenaline and right before he was about to cook up some mess because of his momentary state Dimitar spoke.

  ‘Hello, Harry, how are you?’ Dimitar greeted with a smile.

  ‘Fine, thank you, Mr. Milev, how are you?’ he replied, trying to work up a smile despite the fear that had seized him.

  ‘I’m fine, too, but it can always get better,’ he gave a wide grin this time and went on. ‘Won’t you invite me in?’

  ‘Of course, come on in.’

  The ex-military went through the door, took his coat off and went deeper into the house, swiping it with a probing look.

  ‘You’ve fixed up quite a life for yourself, two cars in front, a beautiful garden, not to mention the inside of your house. You’ve created quite a beautiful atmosphere with these crystal chandeliers and pictures on the walls. You’ve managed to embody the spirit of the Renaissance in here. You’ve become a man of means.’

  ‘Money is meant to be spent, right?’ the Englishman tried to say something.

  ‘That’s what they are meant for, true. You should remove that enormous TV set from the living-room, though–it isn’t doing justice to the pictures and the statues in the corners of the room.’ At that moment Rogers realized that the meeting was not going to go smoothly, but there was nothing he could do as he had no clue what his old acquaintance could do and the man continued to speak just as frankly and surprisingly. ‘Look, I haven’t come to give you advice on interior design. Come, let’s sit on these two leather armchairs in your living-room.’

  The Englishman got startled and scared at the same time–how was it possible that the Balkan knew what furniture he had and he suspected that the Bulgarian might have been watching him for quite some time. The two men settled into the outrageously costly armchairs, almost across from each other. Rogers barely managed to overcome his fear and sit down; he had the option to run away, but he knew he was going to be found eventually anyway.

  ‘I
t was high time I found you. You thought that since I let you go so long ago you wouldn’t see me again? On the contrary, I told you right there and then–you owe me for life, and you’re trying to give me the slip. Well, that won’t happen!’ he reminded Rogers of their first threat-filled encounter that the young man had almost forgotten.

  ‘That wasn’t my intention, nor was I hiding, I just had to move every now and then because I easily got myself enemies.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised . . . You’ve lived your entire life as a criminal and that’s what I need. I need you to be yourself. I won’t beat about the bush and I’ll tell you what I want from you right away.’

  At that moment Milev reminded himself about one of the terrifying moments of their first clash. The Bulgarian unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt and slipped his hand underneath. He pulled out a big dagger with an eight-inch long blade. He squeezed it in his right hand, took a good look at it, as though it was a precious jewel and set it on the nearby table. Rogers opened his eyes wide and gulped so heavily and dryly that that produced an audible sound. His eyes fell on something he had not seen in a long time.

  ‘Calm down, I just wanted to show you a Bulgarian army knife made of reinforced oxidized steel. This dagger has taken part in a few wars and has felt the blood of many a man. Let’s hope it won’t leave marks on more victims.’ With every word he kept inducing more and more fear into his interlocutor, using his ability to manipulate and break people mentally. Or maybe that is exactly what he was after–reminding him of something long gone. ‘Let’s cut to the chase, I did it the first time, I’ll do it now, too. You have three options. One of them is breaking into a run and fleeing, but tomorrow I’ll find you again. The second one is breaking into a run and getting caught by me. The third one is a bit different and more dangerous. You can resist, we´ll get into a skirmish, you and I against each other. But different as the options may be, in all three cases I´ll use the dagger and I’ll hand you over to the police. It´s been a long time since it´s felt the sensation of cutting living flesh as it is drowning in deafening cries of pain and suffering.