Birth of an Assassin

by Stone, Rik

  But why should Levent care about her? He just wanted the money and be gone.

  He turned his attention to the bottom-right corner of the units, knelt in front of it and opened the cabinet door. In front of him was the shiny green door of the safe.

  Right, remember what he told you, Levent thought. Two full turns clockwise a click now carry on in the same direction to the first number … and the other way to the second. He spun the dial back and forth until all six cams had clicked into position then pushed the handle down, gripped the lever and swung the door open to reveal wads of brand new banknotes.

  In the excitement he’d forgotten about Yuri, but a document at the bottom of the safe reminded him. A poor reader, Levent had to persevere to make sense of it. It mentioned a club in Icmeler, someone called Otto Mitrokhin – sounded Russian, but how could he be sure? He searched further afield, checking every part of the apartment where documents might be stored. Nothing. Mitrokhin had to be the man. He found a small suitcase and stacked it with the cash, but still he hesitated as he laid the document on top of the money. It must be what Yuri wanted, he told himself. It had to be.

  Daylight had faded. He’d been there too long; time to make his escape. He left the lounge and entered the long passageway on a cushion of air. For the first time since losing Emel, things were going right. He opened the main door out of the apartment with a big smile on his face, but…

  “Hello, Levent,” Beyrek said, returning the smile. “The porter tells me I sent you for something. Did you find it?”

  *

  Levent stared, wide-eyed, and became aware of Beyrek’s wife and sons standing at his side – and his henchmen behind him, Tunc and Tolga Osman. And next to them a scruffy uniformed policeman with more pouches around his jowls than a hamster could respectably get away with.

  He froze. “But…” he stammered and without a thought in his head, he pulled back and slammed the door, wedging the suitcase against it. He had to get away. His shoulder pressed hard against the entrance panel, but the key turned in the lock and he and the case were forced back. Leave the money. Run.

  There were large windows in the living room; if Levent could get through them and climb up, he could disappear over the rooftops. He ran. The main door flew open and several crashes followed. Levent heard Beyrek curse and the children yelp. They must have fallen over the suitcase. But heavier footfall clattered into the hallway. Levent got to the lounge, scrambled up onto the windowsill and kicked the shutters open, but his followers were closing in, too quickly.

  Arabic latticework ran across the top of the window frame; he needed to grab hold of it, but it was a half-metre above where he stood and the ground was three floors down. No time. He jumped and secured a grip on the lattice. He was out of reach; at least he thought he was until a hand snapped around his ankle. Levent kicked out with his unfettered foot until the hold was released.

  His body lifted half its length – almost there, almost free – but the Raki, the Raki had weakened him. Stamina dwindled. His arms dropped and his body hung loose. Again, he tried pulling his weight up, but the strength was gone. Another grip on his ankle pulled him down and back into the lounge.

  Beyrek came in, brushing down his expensive suit while shaking his head. Levent stared at him open-eyed. Medium height, Beyrek had a square frame and his hair had begun thinning at the front. His Mediterranean skin was swarthy and Levent knew he sweated year round. The body odour he had carried in his youth was now masked with a strong scent.

  Beyrek cut into his thoughts. “Now that was just fucking silly.”

  Levent answered with a trembling voice, as the two thugs held him in a vice-like grip. “How…? Why are you back so soon?”

  “If you must know, my new Russian business partner had everything sorted out by the time I got there. I signed a few documents and here I am.” Beyrek laughed again.

  Levent’s body slumped. “Beyrek, please don’t let the police take me from Mehmet, please… Beyrek, you and I grew up together.”

  “Levent, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been stupid, but this time you’ve gone too far. Oh, and that brings me to introductions,” Beyrek said, opening his hand towards the policeman. “This is Captain Ahmet and he works for me.”

  Levent noticed Gizem, Beyrek’s wife. She was opening the suitcase and taking out the document he’d taken for Yuri.

  “Beyrek,” she said. “Look, he’s stolen more than money.” She held up the papers. “The cash wasn’t enough. He intended blackmailing you.”

  “No, that was…” Levent stopped. He’d promised Yuri he wouldn’t tell. “I put it in the case accidentally.”

  “Beyrek, you must take the appropriate action or your peers” – Gizem looked at the men in the room – “and your underlings will think you can be taken for a fool.”

  Beyrek agreed. “Yes, Gizem, you’re right, but what–?”

  “Take him to the Bosporus,” she told him.

  Beyrek pondered, at first looking uncertain, but then nodded. “Okay, you’re right,” he said and turned to one of the henchmen. “Tunc, you know little Zeki. Go and find him. Bring him back here and then we’ll all go down and see Yuri Aleksii. He lives on his boat down at the quayside. He can ferry us across the Golden Horn.”

  Across the Golden Horn, Levent thought. His spirit lifted. Did that mean he’d get a beating and be allowed to go home to Mehmet?

  *

  Levent was pushed and dragged through alleyways and streets, as Captain Ahmet walked ahead, nodding to those who might stop and stare. Tunc and Tolga had frogmarched him from the apartment down to the jetty. But even if they hadn’t, Levent had known there would have been little point in him struggling, and even less in trying to find a chance to run. If he escaped, Beyrek would catch up with him sometime. No, he had to just accept the punishment and walk away.

  They came down onto the jetty as Yuri was climbing off his boat.

  “Yuri,” Beyrek said softly, but smiled with a clenched jaw. “I have work for you and it must be done tonight.”

  “And what work is so urgent it needs doing at this time?” Yuri complained.

  Beyrek sniggered. “I need you to take us to the other side of the bridge.”

  “But why is Levent handcuffed?” Yuri asked and Levent could tell he was nervous about it.

  “He’s been up to his mischief. But don’t you worry about that.”

  Yuri was clearly uneasy. “I was going for a few vodkas. Do I have a choice?”

  Tunc and Tolga stepped forward and Beyrek said, “No!”

  “Then you’d better climb on board.”

  *

  Captain Ahmet tucked his crumpled blue shirt under his overhung belly and into the waistband of a pair of trousers he seemed to have trouble keeping up. “Do you need me for anything else?” he asked Beyrek, as he pushed back a mop of salt and pepper hair under his cap.

  “No, getting our friend here so smoothly from the apartment has earned you the rest of the evening off. You can go for now, but I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Levent watched Captain Ahmet wipe his podgy hands on his trousers and shake with Beyrek. He then struggled to get from the boat and up onto the jetty. By the time he’d made it, he was breathing heavily and took a moment to recover before he waved and left.

  Tolga jumped onto the deck, waited for the boat to stop rocking and turned to help Tunc, who was having trouble with an awkward-looking bag. Levent waited on the jetty, unmoving. When the bag was boarded safely, Tolga got up onto the gunwale and dragged Levent onto a thirty-foot fishing boat that had been converted to carry cargo and passengers.

  A boy, maybe sixteen years old, then jumped onto the boat. Levent hadn’t noticed him till now, but guessed he’d be ‘little Zeki’. To contradict the name, he was a tall boy who looked like an ageing street urchin: scruffy, matted hair, shining blue-black, haunted black eyes and a pencil-thin body covered by a tatty, oversized suit. Neither he nor t
he clothing looked like they had ever been washed.

  All aboard, Yuri fired up the engine and left the boat idling until the exhaust cleared. He cast off and the boat crabbed sideways from the quayside, turned to take a line parallel with the Galata Bridge and veered slightly to avoid the floating pontoons near the centre. A few minutes later, they tied up against the opposite jetty and Levent’s thoughts of simply getting a thrashing before going home faded. Zeki stepped onto the boardwalk – alone.

  “What about Levent?” Yuri asked.

  Beyrek merely looked at Yuri and ordered him, “Cast off.” He then turned to Zeki. “You know what to do, so do it right.”

  Zeki nodded and walked off.

  “I don’t understand,” Levent said. “Gizem said to take me across to Galata…”

  Beyrek nodded at his henchman and Tolga responded with a heavy punch to Levent’s ribs, the impact drove violently into his left side, buckling him towards the force.

  They were motoring out to the middle of the strait when Beyrek said, “Stop here, and turn off the navigation lights.”

  “Why?” Yuri asked, worry lines crinkling his skin. “Don’t do anything here you might regret, Beyrek.”

  Beyrek gave another nod and Tolga stuck a pistol under Yuri’s chin.

  “Yuri,” Beyrek said, “just let things take their course or you just might join him.”

  Levent became rigid with fear on realising they were going to kill him. But surely Beyrek couldn’t do that; they’d once been like brothers. He couldn’t. “Beyrek, please, give me one more chance,” he begged.

  “Your big mistake, Levent, was letting Emel die.” Pain and hatred fought for control in Beyrek’s eyes. “She could have lived like a queen, but instead she let herself be treated like dirt by you. No, no more chances.”

  Levent’s spirits collapsed. His legs folded. “I beg…” he began.

  “Enough!” Beyrek shouted then took out a pistol and stood behind Yuri. “Tolga, I’ll watch Yuri. You help Tunc… Yuri, you can feel the pistol. If you make a move for any reason, I will blow away the base of your spine.”

  Levent listened, legs turning to jelly, as Tolga struggled to take out what looked like a sack of sand from the bag. He was powerless as Tunc pulled his knees apart, took a rope and tied his ankles and legs to either side of the sack.

  “No, please,” Levent croaked.

  “He’s ready, Mister Ozel,” Tunc said.

  “Then do it,” Beyrek commanded.

  Levent looked about in desperation and saw a full moon casting a glow over liquid shimmering with a dreamy beauty and a clear, navy-blue sky teeming with stars.

  The vastness filled him with more anguish.

  “Please, Beyrek,” he pleaded, “please, don’t do this.”

  Beyrek’s cold eyes looked through him as if, already, he didn’t exist and Levent’s spirit caved in. Tolga lifted the sack and Levent’s legs and Tunc took the upper half of his body. Together, they threw him over the stern.

  Levent looked up to the sky and too quickly, he fell backward into the sea. He tried to take a deep breath but the icy-cold water had engulfed him. With the shock came a sharp sense of awareness and in an instant, he saw everything he’d ever done wrong and everything he might have done right. If only he had another chance. But even if Beyrek had a last-minute change of heart, it was too late. He’d hit the sea horizontally, but the weight of the sack pulled him upright and he plummeted down.

  He kept his eyes open, desperate for that last glimpse of life, held his breath, but his lungs were set to burst. Resistance faltered and air bubbles escaped, brushing his face on their journey to freedom. Yielding to the seduction, he let more air escape and then he sucked in. He wanted to gag, to cough, but the pressure of the water was too much and the cascade filled his lungs.

  Discomfort lessened and stillness filled him; he had drowned and in a moment, life would leave his body. But for now, illusion comforted him; through a watery blur, he saw a wavering figure. Emel beckoned. Anxiety left Levent, but then the darkness became absolute, for he was dead.

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