by Jasmin Quinn
Chapter 50
Esma was stretched out on the cot, hands tucked behind her head, watching Mack as he unlocked the door and brought in her evening meal. He placed it on the small table and then walked to the door, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know there’s a camera in here.”
Esma nodded. “Of course. I flip it off every morning.” She raised her middle finger and shook it at the camera in case he didn’t understand what she meant.
Mack cracked a grin. “It’s angled towards the entrance so maybe a little past the bathroom door, sweeping a little bit out into the cell. You can’t see the bed or the far corner.” His eyes never wavered from her face, his hands stayed still. Clearly in view of the camera but giving nothing away. Esma was beginning to respect this man from down under.
She got up, walked to the table and looked at the meal. A chili and a couple of soft, fresh buns, some butter. A small piece of chocolate cake for dessert. Water to drink. “Okay.” She sat on the chair, picked up the bun and tore it in two, then spread some butter on one side with a spoon. “I get dressed in the bathroom anyway. I’m thinking even Jackman’s not that perverted that he watches me pee.”
Mack pushed off the wall, looked at his watch as he walked to the bed and sat. “Today is Monday. In two weeks from today, there’ll be a helicopter at a designated location to pick you up and fly you out of here.”
Esma nodded, took another small bite of her bun as her heart leapt into her throat. She didn’t look at Mack. “How’s it going down?”
“In 10 days, I’ll be on assignment. Not here where your escape can be traced back to me. This cell is on the south side of the compound facing west. There’s a door leading out of the basement on the west side, half-way down. It isn’t manned, but it’s locked and alarmed.” He looked at his watch again.
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes. In five minutes. What we don’t discuss today, we’ll discuss tomorrow and the next day and so on. Find a way to mark time. Once I’m gone, your escape will have to be very precise.”
Esma dragged a breath into her lungs. “Why are you helping me, Mack?”
His blue eyes seemed softer as he smiled. “I already told you. I like your curls.”
Esma grinned. “I can live with that.”
“Eat your chili and let me tell you the plan. Then we’ll work out the details. I want you to know as much as possible as soon as possible in case I find myself unavailable.”
She turned back to the food and spooned a small bite of chili into her mouth. It was warm, savory and her stomach embraced it.
Mack took another quick glance at his watch. “Questions for you. Can you cross-county ski or do you prefer snowshoes?”
Esma considered this. “I can do skis.”
“60 kilometres?”
Definitely skis then. “Yeah. In my sleep.”
Mack nodded. “Good. Can you take out a trained armed guard?”
“Dead, maimed or unconscious?”
“Prefer just unconscious. But dead if you have no choice.”
Esma ate another spoonful. “No problem.”
Mack glanced at his watch, stood. “Stay tuned. Have to go.” He walked out of the cell, closed and locked the doors. “Good night, Esma.”
“Night, Mack.” Esma watched as he walked off, then turned back to her food. Her stomach was starting to get queasy, the need to eat regularly at the forefront of her thoughts. And 60 kilometres on cross country skis, yeah, easy in her prime. But not so much in the shape she was in now – in the cell for how long? Three weeks. Jackman having a temper tantrum because the grand prize got away, refusing to see her, talk to her, let her out. She dropped her hand to her belly and rubbed it. Her baby, her child. Someone in this world she could love who would love her back. She had to find her way to safety.
Over the next three days, she and Mack had abbreviated conversations each time he dropped off her meal. He brought extra clothes with her clean clothes, long underwear, a long-sleeved tee. Warm, waterproof socks. Brought her a compass. Due north once she was out of the compound, but she’d have to go south first, then make her way through the trees to the north. She’d have to incapacitate the guard, tie and lock him up. The day of escape would be on a Monday.
Esma was concerned about Mack being a target after she was gone. Worried that he might be thought her accomplice. As they discussed, Mack told her he would get himself taken off his Esma duties early by attempting a clumsy kiss in full view of the camera, which she should not appreciate. To Jackman, Mack’s feeble seduction attempt would undo all the headway he had made with her. He would go to Jackman, let him know he made a mess of it. He warned her to be careful, in case Jackman sent someone else, like Dean Copeland, though Esma didn’t think that would be the case. She and Dean were not friends, not anymore and they wouldn’t get past hellos without starting a brawl.
And so it came to pass; Mack’s last words to her were, “Take care, Esma.”
Hers to him were, “You too.”
Then Mack tried to kiss her and she clobbered him.
Chapter 51
Rusya and Anto were headed to Cyprus, via Greek Cyprus. It was easier to enter the Northern Republic of Turkey-Cyprus through the south, through Nicosia. They were on their way to see Burak Emin, Esma’s reference. Janice called ahead. Burak knew they were coming.
Anto was irritable, missing Katerina, who did his research for him and she was better at it than he. He might be organized, but he was an on-the-ground kind of guy. Not the kind of person who liked working on a laptop looking for stuff. He grumbled all this to Rusya. “It’s why I have money, so I can hire people to do these shitty jobs.”
Rusya had recovered from his hangover and several days later he and Anto were sitting in First Class of a Boeing 747 discussing their plans. Their conversation was stilted, not fluid like it had been in past. The trust was lost between the two. Anto was wary around Rusya. Yes, Rusya had given his word that he would not be harm Marisol and he intended to keep it. But that was less about Anto and more about Marisol. Her father, the former Chief Constable of Vancouver had a lot of connections, some shady, even though he was as clean as a boy scout himself.
And Anto? Rusya would wait and see. The man he trusted without reserve, still trusted, he thought. That man had held a secret from him and while that wasn’t unusual in his world, the secret Anto kept had personal repercussions for Rusya. Two people in his life who he cared about, Anto and Esma, both dropped into his world by his enemy.
The fight had gone out of him when his plane crashed, when Esma walked away from him, when he found out about Anto’s betrayal. It made him rethink everything. He knew it wouldn’t change the outcome of his life. The head of the bratva didn’t walk away. Couldn’t retire. No, in his position, if he decided to leave, his enemies and even some of his friends would make sure that it was in a hearse.
But he was tired of Dimi… of Jackman and thought he should drop a bomb on the fucker’s compound. Jackman was such a self-righteous prick, positioning himself as a defender against the evil that Rusya and his kind were spreading. It was manipulative bullshit, but governments listened to him, gave him an audience, gave him a voice. And the people who worked for him fell into his ideology. Well, not all of them if Anto and Esma were to be believed.
When he thought of Esma, his heart ached. He missed her – her smile, the sweetness of her scent, the way she touched him, kissed him. Her anger even, her need for him, the way she looked at him. He wouldn’t let himself entertain the possibility that Jackman had killed her. That would break him in a way he’d never recover from. He didn’t know if Jackman knew the extent of their relationship, didn’t know what Esma might have told him. But there were no phone calls from the asshole, no mocking emails, promises, threats, which led Rusya to the belief that Jackman didn’t know about the two of them.
If he did, Jackman would use that knowledge as leverage, as a weapon. The way Rusya was fe
eling without her, he thought it would work. He thought he would give Jackman anything to see Esma safe. Even his freedom, even his life.
He shook himself, refocused on Anto who had been talking for a while about something. Who had asked him a question and was waiting patiently for a response. “Could you repeat the question, please?”
Anto tossed him a puzzled look. “Do you want the men with us when we visit this Burak?”
Rusya nodded. “Yes, to the gates at least.” He leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, pictured Esma in his arms, pictured him kissing her. He missed her. Anto was still muttering and Rusya raised his hand slightly. Anto saw, understood and stopped talking.
Their flight into Cyprus arrived in the evening and they made their way to a hotel booked in advance by Janice. Separate suites, and rooms for his men, but all met in Rusya’s suite for a brief meeting. After the meeting was over, Rusya sent them all away, including Anto. He dialled his father, Yuri.
“I’m in Cyprus. I’m going after Esma.”
Yuri was not happy. “Don’t be a fool, Rusya. She’s not what you need. Look what happened because of her. You almost died in a plane crash.”
Rusya let Yuri’s words bounce around. “I may need a safe place once I have her. We’re closer to Moscow than Vancouver. I need to know if you’ll provide one for us if I find myself running.”
Yuri sighed heavily. “Yes, Rusya. Of course. How would it look if I denied you safe passage?”
Rusya raised his brows slightly at the phone but didn’t challenge his father’s perspective. Yuri had taught Rusya to be a man of his word, so Rusya trusted Yuri to keep his. “I’ll be in touch later tomorrow. I’m meeting with the man who organized our meeting with the Turks. He has some knowledge of Esma.”
“Be careful, son. A woman isn’t worth risking your life for.”
“Perhaps tell mom that.” Rusya hung up.
His father was wrong. Esma was worth everything he had. He’d give it up if he could have her back. Maybe that’s what he should tell Jackman, but what good would it do? He couldn’t take back the death of Jackman’s father.
The thought made his anger surge, the emotion he’d been missing since the plane crash. Who the fuck did Jackman think he was, playing god with so many lives? His, Anto’s, Esma’s. Maybe it was time to end this, time to find a way to lure Jackman from his isolated fortress. Time to play Jackman’s fucking game.
He ate his room service without really tasting it. Then to bed. He was tired, unhappy, Esma in his head, on his mind. He lay for an hour at least, eyes closed, unmoving, trying to remember what she felt like in his arms. Then his thoughts drifted to the meeting he had tomorrow. He worried he was pinning too much hope on the outcome.
♦ ♦ ♦
They travelled north from Nicosia to Kyrenia by car. Kyrenia was a small city on the northern coast of Cyprus and the current home of Burak Emin, a lean man of about six feet, with a black beard that competed with Anto’s in size and untidiness.
Burak was a gracious host inviting Rusya and Anto in, offering them drink and food, both based on the local cultural traditions. Rusya declined the food but accepted a milky beverage with ice called raki that smelled and tasted a little like licorice. Anto turned up his nose at both, a wariness on his face as he eyed Rusya’s drink. He rose as Burak and Rusya moved onto the topic of Esma and walked to the doorway they had entered by. Here he crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall, a looming reminder to Burak of the frailty of the human body.
If Burak was disconcerted at all, he didn’t show it. Instead, he explained his role in Esma’s world without discomfort, regret or emotion. “It was a job to me. I take seriously all jobs that come with hefty paychecks.”
Rusya nodded. That was fair. “Your job was to provide a reference for Esma Akkaya, so she could come to my home and infiltrate my operations.”
Burak disputed this. “My job was to speak to the qualifications of a woman named Esma Akkaya who was seeking a position in someone’s organization as a translator. The woman was wanted in Turkey for murder and I was to be forthcoming about that if asked.” He shrugged as he added, “It would not have mattered whose organization, even if I knew.”
Rusya wasn’t sure what to think of this criminal. He seemed to have no fear of Rusya despite knowing exactly who Rusya was. “Your paycheck came from Jackman?”
Burak took a small sip of his raki. “Yes. Since you know.” He picked up a dolmade and took a bite, then dropped it onto his small plate and wiped his fingers on his napkin. “Tell me, Mr. Savisin, since so far, this conversation could have taken place over the phone, what brings you all the way to Cyprus, to my home?”
Rusya decided he liked this man. To the point, no silly little word play. Rusya thought he should repay him in kind. “Did you have anything to do with setting up the bratva-Turkish deal?”
“Yes. But that was self-serving. Jackman might think he’s clever because he invented the circumstances, but the deal is real. It benefits us all.” He paused, shifted, crossing his legs. “What’s your real question? What do you really want to know?”
Rusya studied the dark bearded man seated across from him. He had a sudden realization that this man was not Turkish. He was hiding behind the customs and traditions, but Burak Emin was not his name. And he reminded Rusya of someone, a flash of familiarity in the way he held his eyes. It made him curious. But he set it aside. “I want to know about Esma Akkaya. Is she alive?” The question made his heart thud.
“Yes.”
Relief slammed him with such intensity he thought he might fall out of his chair. But he held onto it, kept the celebration inside as he narrowed his eyes. “How can you say that with such certainty, Mr. Emin?” He hoped he added the right amount of menace and was rewarded with a frown by Burak.
“Because there are arrangements in place for her to come here, to my home.”
Rusya was incredulous and a little skeptical. “By Jackman?”
Burak shook his head. “No, Jackman has her locked up. He has no intentions of letting her leave his compound. Her escape has been arranged by another organization.”
Rusya checked to make sure his hands weren’t shaking before he took a drink of his raki. Tried not grimace as he set the cup down. Made a vow to stop drinking. He thought his heart might beat out of his chest at the news. “When will she get here?”
Burak gazed at Rusya, a pause while he gathered his thoughts. “Mr. Savisin, I’m not a good person most of the time. I make my money doing things that should put me in jail. But I’m also not a man without a conscience and I work with an organization whose name I won’t share with you. Sometimes they need my help for the rescue of people. Those people sometimes need my home as a safe house. Maybe they’ve been kidnapped and tortured, maybe they’re political prisoners or sex slaves. It’s not my role to ask about their crimes, their background or provide companionship or counselling. My role is to help them escape, open my door, give them a place to stay until they can be moved to where they need to be.
“Esma Akkaya has no one in the world she can trust. She’s alone. Jackman took advantage of her vulnerabilities, even though he saved her life. He is a self-serving prick and I have every intention of rescuing her and keeping her safe.”
Rusya felt his temper fraying, but he swallowed down the anger at the arrogant fuck in front of him. Instead, he leaned in towards Burak, keeping his tone even, his voice low. “Who is she to you that you would be willing to go to war with me over her?”
Burak’s face registered surprise before he schooled his features. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Savisin?”
Rusya tilted his head. “Of course. I have the full force of the bratva behind me. You and your Turks have brokered a deal with us. No one would like it if you impede me in any way. It would be the end of the deal and it would be the end of your Turks.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“I want to know the rescue plan. I want the time
, date, place. I want you to back the fuck off, keep your men out of my way and let me pick up Esma.”
Rusya sat back, kept his eyes on Burak’s face. Waited. The Turk or whatever the fuck he was had the good sense not to ask Rusya’s intentions towards Esma.
“I’ll make a call.” Burak rose and left the room. Rusya glanced at Anto, standing by the door, arms crossed, a small grin playing at his lips. His mind flitted to their conversation back at Anto’s penthouse. Anto, his betrayal, his decision to let Esma go back to Jackman. How would it play out? Then to Esma, wondering how she was, what she was doing. He had two pictures of her in his mind. The one Burak had painted, of the woman, alone in a cell, held prisoner. The other, Esma and Jackman talking, her sharing everything she knew about Rusya’s operations. Telling him how the meeting between the bratva and the Turks went down. His stomach soured as his mind took him down more rabbit holes, to an image of Jackman and Esma in bed together.
He shut his eyes to that possibility and was relieved as Burak returned, sat down across from Rusya. “It’s done. She’ll come to you.” Then he shared the details.
As Rusya left, he turned to Burak, offered his hand. “I’d like another opportunity to meet with you. When you come to Canada, to Vancouver, come see me. Perhaps we have more to talk about.”
Burak nodded, his face noncommittal. “Perhaps.”
Chapter 52
Mack was informed about the change of plans while he was in Rome. His boss, Owen, called him, let him know that Esma would be returned to Rusya. The safehouse that had been arranged had been compromised and Rusya Savisin was not about to back down.
Savisin was not their target, not his target. His job was Jackman. But it angered him that his organization would let such a thing happen. A woman in Esma’s position being sacrificed for the greater good.