by Oliver Tidy
Sansom cast a look backwards. No vehicle’s lights penetrated the blackness. He was about to tell Eda to slow down a little when she spoke above the protesting engine. ‘Up ahead we’ll meet the main highway. One way leads to Bodrum, the other will take us back in the direction of the restaurant we were at tonight.’
She interrupted herself to overtake one of the many taxi-style minibuses that plied their trade up and down the coast road linking the remoter communities. They strafed each other with an exchange of angry horn blasts. Favouring concentration on her driving over sharing further thoughts, she dropped a gear again and began a winding ascent.
As they achieved some elevation, Sansom again turned in his seat to try to catch sight of their followers. ‘They’re coming,’ he said.
Still well back and below them now, he could make out a fast-moving pair of headlights. While it wasn’t guaranteed that it was their pursuers, it wasn’t worth the risk of assuming otherwise. If he could see them, then they would also have sight of their fleeing vehicle.
‘How far?’ said Eda.
‘About half a mile. They’ve still got a lot of ground to make up on the minibus, but they’re closing quickly.’
Still looking behind them, Sansom felt himself momentarily part company from his seat and the contents of his stomach rise up and threaten to embarrass him. He realised immediately that they had crested the incline. Turning to look forward as the vehicles behind dropped out of sight, he saw the descent corresponding to the climb they had just made drop down before them.
From their temporary vantage point he could also see the main highway. Laid out for miles in each direction, the ribbon of asphalt was festooned with late-night traffic. Providing Eda could continue at her chosen speeds and keep the car on the road, there was a good chance that they could join the main road before the car chasing them made the top of the hill they were now half-way down.
As if reading his mind, she said, ‘Which way should I go?’
Before he could answer, they were lifted from the road surface as the car went over an unseen hump. Bracing himself for the landing, he fleetingly wondered whether he would need to make that decision. They landed with a protest from the suspension but no interruption to their progress.
Right to Bodrum, where they could lose themselves and their pursuers; left to he-didn’t-really-know-where, other than it would take them back towards the restaurant. He looked behind but the darkness was still complete.
‘You need to tell me soon,’ she said, a hint of unease in her voice.
‘Left,’ he said. ‘Go left and just drive like everyone else. Fit in.’
Instantly the words were out of his mouth, he doubted his decision and feared the chance that he was taking. They should be going right, get into the crowded centre of Bodrum where they would stand a better chance of being anonymous. But that’s what their followers would expect them to do, wouldn’t they?
In the desperate seconds before they reached the highway, he found himself hoping that the minibus was holding up the other vehicle or that maybe, in their haste to catch them, their chasers had suffered the fate that he had half expected Eda’s driving would lead them to.
Eyes fixed on the blackness behind them, he prepared to change his mind. If he saw lights, any lights, prick the darkness before they reached the main carriageway, he would change his mind, tell Eda to go right and get to Bodrum as quickly as she could.
He felt the car begin to slow as she made her approach to join the traffic. He risked a glance at Eda in the dull glow of the dashboard lighting. Her jaw was clenched in concentration and determination; her hands gripped the wheel tightly, eyes boring into the scene in front of her, completely focussed, making her calculations.
And then Sansom realised with a pang of dread that the direction he had told her to take them in would mean crossing a lane of traffic, potentially costing them valuable seconds or a collision. He’d made a stupid basic mistake.
But it was too late. As he turned to look once more behind them, he felt the car surge across the smooth tarmac, heard the screech of tyres and the irate horn-blast of a surprised and then angry motorist, and they were on the road back to where they had been earlier. Immediately Eda slowed the vehicle to blend in with the traffic around them.
Above them, with the commanding view that they had just enjoyed, a pair of headlights broke the cover of the night. Even at the distance between them, Sansom could make out the cloud of dust thrown up and illuminated by the car’s lights as it braked hard to a halt. Sansom imagined them, whoever they were, scanning, arguing, deliberating, deciding. And then they too plunged down the side of the hill towards the highway.
Seconds behind them, the lights of a larger vehicle, probably the minibus, broke cover and began its more leisurely decent. Sansom realised with silent thanks that the bus must have held the car up.
He locked his gaze on to their chasers, followed them down the fall in the land, imagined the occupants’ heated debate about which way to go and then held his breath as they arrived at the main road.
Knowing that they hadn’t arrived in time to see which way Eda had turned, that their decision would now be reliant on hasty reasoning and intuition, he strained to see back through the traffic which option they would take. They turned right. He saw their red tail lights weaving in and out of the traffic and heard with satisfaction the extra confirmation of the blasting horns of affronted drivers. He slumped into the seat, the tension flowing out of his body, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
‘They’ve turned right,’ he said. She almost collapsed on to the wheel as her adrenalin dried up. Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You were amazing. Where did you learn to drive like that?’
‘Istanbul city centre,’ she managed, with a straight face. And then, unable to hold it in, she burst out laughing. In a second he was laughing with her. It was the laughter of those who had negotiated a narrow escape from mortal danger; the euphoric, almost hysterical, laughter that signalled the release of pent-up energy with nowhere else to go.
When they had regained control of themselves, she said, ‘What should we do now?’
He noticed that she was shaking. ‘Find somewhere up ahead to stop for a minute.’
Before a mile was up, a darkened road on their side, flanked by mature trees, broke off from the main highway. Eda cautiously drove well down, in case their pursuers had changed their minds and turned in their direction. She rolled the vehicle to a stop, doused the lights and slumped.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get some air.’
Together, they got out, Sansom coming around to her side of the car. Leaning back against the car, she took a cigarette from a pack in a trembling hand and attempted to light it. But her nerves had overtaken her and she couldn’t work the lighter. Gently, Sansom took it from her and, close now, brought it to life. The flame illuminated their features and created an intimacy that, despite their proximity to each other, had not been overly apparent in the darkness. It seemed to surprise them both.
Sansom held the flame, waiting for her to dip her cigarette into it, but her eyes were locked on his, her nicotine-fix forgotten. Slowly raising her hand, she took the cigarette from between her lips and blew out the flame. Reaching out, she took hold of him and, with no resistance, pulled him towards her. Their mouths met and melded together. With the hunger that had filled her recent foolish thoughts, she pushed herself into him and, exploring his mouth with her tongue, found herself welcomed and rewarded in return.
Gasping for air and stunned with the intensity of the pleasure, she pulled herself away from him. Undeterred, he pulled her tighter to him in an embrace that indicated far more to Eda than she could have hoped to anticipate.
Finally, he released her and stepped back. Holding out the lighter, he fired it alive again. This time she lit and inhaled deeply. Her senses reeled with the intoxication of the drugs, natural and man-made, that coursed through her system. She felt utterly spent a
nd sagged against the vehicle.
Lending his arm to steady her, he said, ‘It’s probably just delayed shock.’
With her eyes more accustomed to the darkness, she could make out that he was smiling down at her. She smiled back, not trusting herself to speak, and hoped that he understood what had passed between them. She was still shaking. He came to her again and, putting his arms around her shoulders, gently soothed her anxiety. If their first embrace had been heated, uncontrolled and passionate, this was measured and calculated – and just as welcome and meaningful.
Holding her to him, he said, ‘I need to break a Golden Rule.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Golden Rule of never go back. I need to go back to the villa. I’ve got something there that I need, now.’
She didn’t ask him what it was. She didn’t try to persuade him otherwise. She didn’t worry or argue. Taking a last pull on her cigarette, she dropped it to grind out under her shoe.
‘Now?’ she asked.
‘Now would seem as good a time as any. I can drop you somewhere safe first, pick you up as soon as I’m done.’
‘No,’ she said, with a simple forcefulness. ‘We don’t have time. They might return when they realise that they’ve lost us. Besides, after tonight’s episode you might need me to get you through the gate.’ He hesitated long enough for her to add, ‘Let’s not waste time arguing about it. The answer will be the same, whatever you say to me.’ Without another word she got back into the car and started the engine. With little option, he climbed in beside her.
Heading back towards the villa, the atmosphere matched the turn of events of their evening. As they progressed in silence, it was now Sansom’s turn to fight the emotions and passion that she had awakened in him.
He could not deny that for the last couple of days her company and character had grown on him, but he had managed to quash any tendencies for involvement, reasoning that it was better to maintain his focus on what had become his life’s sole objective. He would let nothing and no one get in the way of that. Nevertheless, things would no longer be the same between them and, if he were honest with himself, perhaps he wouldn’t want them to be.
They arrived back at the seaside community by a different, rural route. They agreed that they should not risk trapping themselves inside the sealed compound and it was settled that Eda would park and wait with the car in a side road while he, following her directions, would work his way along the coastal path on foot and gain entry to the private housing area by way of the beach. It would be time-consuming but, short of driving up to the door and risking everything, neither could see an alternative in the immediacy and danger of the situation.
Before leaving, he reached for her hand, squeezed it firmly, let himself quietly out of the car and disappeared into the night. Within seconds, Eda felt as alone and afraid as she could ever remember. The darkness pushed in around her, crushing her spirit. She locked the doors, pressed herself down into the seat and, eyes fixed on where Sansom should emerge, began her waiting.
Following her instructions, he veered around the perimeter fencing of the community, through an ancient olive grove and clambered down the precarious rocky headland to the shoreline. A bright moon had ventured out from behind an earlier bank of cloud and illuminated his progress, for which he was at once grateful and wary.
With little difficulty, he clambered over the rugged terrain and paddled though the shallows. Within twenty minutes of leaving Eda, he was crouched behind cover, peering through the semi-darkness to scour the area around the villa.
Satisfied that nothing out of the ordinary lay waiting to ambush him, he tacked his way to the front door. Above the lapping of the gently-rolling Aegean behind him and the ubiquitous scratching of the cicadas, he strained his hearing for any signs of life within.
As sure as he could be that he was alone, he pushed open the front door, which had clearly already been forced. It swung back on gently-protesting hinges. Nothing exploded out of the dark interior at him. No warning voices called out. The sea and the insects continued their calling to each other. Steeling himself, he entered.
If he was expecting to see the place ransacked, he was disappointed. Nothing appeared out of place. Other than the forced door lock there was no sign that the unwelcome had paid a visit. Perhaps, he fleetingly considered, Eda and he had returned just as the intruders had made their move. He pushed from his mind the consequences that would have arisen had they returned ten minutes earlier.
Moving quickly now, seizing his advantage and opportunity, he darted about the house gathering up the things he had returned for. In the dimness, with the blood pounding in his ears, constantly checking over his shoulder, his reconnaissance took him longer than he would have liked.
In a long few minutes, he had what he had come for and was poised at the doorway to leave. Looking out, he still saw nothing to make him anxious and, pulling the door softly closed behind him, he disappeared into the night.
His return was more awkward. Encumbered by the holdall and with an upward journey, he took more than twenty minutes to find his way back to the car. Approaching the front of the vehicle, he waved his arms above his head, as they had agreed, to signal that it was him and there was no danger. Receiving no answering sign, he increased his pace, thinking that probably she had simply dozed off. He didn’t want to frighten her with his return.
Rounding the car to the driver’s side, he felt the crunch of fragments of glass under his feet. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, he edged closer, put his hand to where the window should have been, where Eda should have been waiting for him. She was gone.
Mosaic pieces of glass that had once been the driver’s window were sprayed across the interior. Her handbag lay on the back seat where she had thrown it after their restaurant meal – an aeon ago. The keys hung from the ignition, glinting in the moonlight with the gentle swaying movement that his intrusion had brought.
***
20
Detective Inspector Tallis was lying on his sun-lounger enjoying the firm kneading of an experienced woman’s touch as she worked fragrant oils into his back when the phone rang at his side. As he instinctively reached out to hook it from its cradle, the woman, the sun and the oils all melted away back into his subconscious, and he found himself spread-eagled on his front on the bed in his hotel room. With weary irritation, he lifted the receiver to his ear.
A woman’s voice said, ‘Mr Tallis?’ He encouraged her with a grunt. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. There is a Mr Fallon at reception wishing to see you. He says it’s urgent.’ It took Tallis only a moment to realise that Sansom must be downstairs.
‘You’d better send him up,’ he said.
He hauled himself out of bed and went to the bathroom.
Answering the tap at the door, he was first surprised and then concerned to see only Sansom in the corridor. One look at the soldier’s face told him there was trouble. He ushered him in.
‘Where’s Eda?’
Dropping his holdall, Sansom slumped down into the single chair. ‘I don’t know.’
Tallis perched on the edge of his unmade bed and tried to hide the worry that he felt welling up inside him. ‘What do you mean?’
Sansom told him everything that had happened since they had dropped him off at the hotel earlier that evening and how, at the end of it, he had come back to the car to find the driver’s window smashed and Eda gone. As Sansom unravelled the story, Tallis’s spirits plummeted.
‘What could be so important that you had to go back there?’ he said. ‘You should have come straight here.’
‘Does that matter now?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Tallis, regretting his remark. He could see how troubled Sansom was. ‘Any other signs of a struggle?’
‘What more do you need? No, there was nothing else. They must have given up the chase and come back quicker than we anticipated. I can’t believe they have her.’
‘We don’t know that they do
.’
‘It has to be Botha’s men. If it was the police, they’d have waited for me as well, wouldn’t they?’
Tallis had to concede that it was likely. ‘You still have the phone with you that you used to speak to Botha?’ he said. Sansom nodded. ‘Why haven’t they called you to let you know they have her – used the advantage in some way?’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his ageing, tired mind caught up with him. He could see that Sansom was distraught enough without adding to his misery by giving voice to every thought he had.
‘Perhaps they’re using some of their gentle persuasion to find out everything she knows,’ said Sansom.
‘Then we have to face the possibility that they’ll turn up here before too long,’ said Tallis, already rising and making for his clothes. ‘We can’t take the chance that they won’t. And we’d be no good to Eda then.’
Leaving the hotel but not checking out, they made their way to Eda’s car, which Sansom had driven up from Akyarlar, and left the area. Ten minutes later and a couple of streets away, they sat in a dimly-lit booth at the rear of an all-night kebab house, although neither was hungry. Instant coffee sat untouched between them next to Botha’s phone.
‘There’s no reason for them to hurt her,’ said Tallis, attempting to penetrate the soldier’s darkening mood.
‘There was no reason for them to kill all those people from The Rendezvous, but they did,’ said Sansom.
As much of an immediate concern for Tallis was Sansom’s obviously rapidly-deteriorating spirit. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘it will be no good for us, or Eda, if we lose our composure. We have to detach our emotions. We have to,’ he repeated more forcefully as Sansom looked about to argue with him. ‘Start thinking like the professional you once were or you might as well give her up now.’