by Henry Porter
‘That’s because you needed me to help you.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I do need you for Naji. But your beauty just kept growing in my mind. When I watched you with those children in Pinto’s documentary, I realised how astoundingly beautiful you are – but it’s a kind of secret beauty.’
‘Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.’ She kissed him again, and stroked his chin and examined him. ‘You look tired – maybe we should wait.’ She moved her head back a little. Her brows knitted and she lifted her eyes to read his. ‘When it does happen,’ she said, ‘you should know that I don’t want anything from you. And the really, really important part is’ – she stopped and looked at him hard – ‘I don’t expect you to want anything from me. Understand?’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘but what if I want to settle down with a mortgage, pet insurance and two sets of school fees?’
‘You are hardly the man for that. But if that’s what you want, you’ll have to find someone else, though I don’t think there’s a suitable candidate in this hotel.’ And then she was in his arms and kissing him with the passion that he’d known lay beneath her efficient exterior; he’d known it since he’d first met her at the refugee camp. He told her this, and she smiled then frowned. ‘You know those two men from England who came in asking questions about the religious education of migrant children while you were there? They returned one more time. My colleague realised they were only interested in the boy who was saved by the dolphin, because they kept on coming back to him. They were curious about you, too. I am really sorry – I should have told you. I kept forgetting.’
‘Did you tell Sonia Fell?’
‘Yes, but she wasn’t interested.’
‘Of course she wasn’t. But it confirms what I suspected – that a big operation was put in place to find Naji. That’s what they were there for.’
She broke free. ‘We can’t really go to bed and make love when Naji’s out there, can we?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s an entirely academic consideration, given my state. I need sleep. I’m beat.’
They went inside and were very soon lying in Anastasia’s bed, she on her side and he on his back. He fell asleep immediately, without noticing the hand resting on his chest, or her breath on his face.
*
He woke and went straight to the capsule coffee machine on the other side of the room and made two cups of black coffee. He placed one on Anastasia’s bedside table, pausing momentarily to admire her face in the faint glow from the radio alarm clock. She stirred and stretched and looked up into his face. ‘Aren’t we good?’ she said.
‘Coffee,’ he said, then bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
He moved to the window. It was still dark and the exterior lights wore halos in the dense fog. He sat down at the coffee table, opened up Anastasia’ s laptop and looked at the prices for the Ascot race. Snow Hat had come into 2–1 and was now the clear favourite. His eyes ran down the runners, which had been reduced to seventeen overnight. He let out an expletive when he saw the price on Dark Narcissus had dropped by six points and was now at 12–1. He would have to move quickly before the price was reduced further.
He emailed Macy Harp and asked him to activate the network of punters who would be used to disguise the true size of his main bet by placing many small bets on Dark Narcissus around the country. Each member of the network would make money, however the horse performed, and they were free to place their own bets – but only after they had secured Samson’s wager. The total outlay would be £25,000, plus a reverse forecast that he would text to Judah at ten that morning, just before the main bet went on. This was not quite his largest bet ever, but it would clean him out if it all went wrong. Nothing else made him this nervous, even waiting in a bombed-out building for help to arrive.
Macy Harp emailed back: Ah, so that’s the one you’ve been waiting for. I can cover it all with the funds you have with us. By the way, I hear things are developing north of you. Call if you need further details.
‘So you’ve made your bet,’ she called from the bed.
He gave her a guilty look. ‘It’s in the process of being laid. Can I use your phone? I’m keeping radio silence, and anyway, mine’s next door.’
She yawned and took it from her bag and chucked it across the bed.
He dialled Macy Harp. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘They moved in at three your time,’ Harp replied. ‘In their wisdom, the European governments decided that it would be better to get these men under lock and key than wait for any information they might provide by leading them to others in Northern Europe. Their collective nerve gave out, much to the annoyance of certain parties in the UK, I gather. The French, who’ve had more attacks than all of Europe put together, insisted. That came from the president.’
‘How many arrests? Any familiar names?’
‘None of that is clear. It was a joint operation. They raided five properties. I suppose it’s good news that the characters that have been pursuing your target are most likely already being questioned.’
‘Anything in the media?’ asked Samson.
‘They never release anything. They don’t want to tip off other parties around Europe.’
‘Okay. Look, I’d better get on.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘We may have a result today. I’ll let you know.’
‘By the way, I had an email from Denis last night. He said he’s going to cover your time since that other group stopped picking up the bills. Said it was the least he could do.’
‘That’s good of him.’
‘Good luck this afternoon, Paul. The going looks perfect and the weather’s not too cold. I wish you were here to watch the race.’
He said goodbye and handed the phone to Anastasia.
‘What is it?’ she asked, seeing something in his face.
‘Not sure,’ he said, moving to make another cup of coffee. ‘Probably the usual dread before a race.’
She shook her head disapprovingly, leapt out of bed with an athletic grace that surprised him and went to the bathroom. She didn’t bother to close the door as she stepped into the shower, and he watched her with candid admiration as they continued to chat. ‘You seem in pretty good shape,’ he said.
‘Nonsense,’ she said, turning off the water after a few minutes. ‘I’m not at all in shape – not like I used to be. I’ve danced since I was ten – I wanted to make it my life once, but didn’t have the dedication, and I should have started much earlier.’
‘I think you’re just fine,’ he said, as she reached for the towel, her face filled with pleasure.
Seventeen
They were in the square just before light, though it had taken some time for their convoy to creep down from the monastery in the fog, which didn’t improve as they reached the valley. It smothered Pudnik and choked its townsfolk. Matters weren’t helped by the arrival of scores of farm vehicles, towing trailers full of livestock and pumping exhaust into the town’s inert air. The numbers of migrants had swollen due to God knows what new expulsion in the east or sudden change in the flow of suffering from the south, and groups hung about watching the market activity, as they had the day before, although the mood was more pessimistic. The buses that were to take them to the Serbian border had not materialised, and there were rumours of border closures and new obstacles all the way to Austria.
Vuk drove his own vehicle, Samson was in the rented car and Anastasia and Hisami were in the SUV that Samson had driven from the airport the night before. He didn’t particularly want Hisami along with them, because Simcek’s people might spot him and wonder what he was doing in Pudnik, but now that Samson was on Hisami’s payroll he confined himself to asking him to stay in the vehicle. And of course he too would have to remain concealed because of Simcek. That meant Anastasia and Vuk would be the only ones in th
e market looking for Naji. If Vuk saw him first, it was agreed that he would wait until Anastasia could approach the boy. In the meantime, they would communicate by phone, although Samson was reluctant to switch on any of his phones, and instead was relying on a primitive set Vuk had given him, but without a charger that he could plug into the car.
He parked up between the bus station and the marketplace, but the fog meant that he couldn’t see to the other side of the market. And there were too many police and plain-clothes security agents moving among the stalls and around the bus station for him to risk leaving the car, even with his hood up and a scarf tied round most of his face. He could see Hisami’s vehicle parked on the far side of the bus station, and a quick look through his binoculars told him that the billionaire was warming to the task of surveillance by sitting well down in his seat and reading a newspaper.
Nothing happened for an hour, and then Anastasia called. ‘I have found the couple whose baby Naji saved. The woman, Fatimah, just rushed up to me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, it’s astonishing. I thought they’d be in Germany by now, but they haven’t got the right papers. They were here yesterday and Naji borrowed their phone to call his family. That’s when he got the news about his younger sister. Fatimah comforted him and helped him to a first aid station where he stole some dressings and fled. What happened next is interesting. The man at the first aid station ran after him and saw which way he left the town, but Naji was moving too fast and he gave up chasing him.’
‘His companion must be quite seriously hurt, and that means he can’t be far away. Are you with the couple now?
‘Yes.’
‘Do they know which way Naji went?’
‘No, but the medical aid worker is here and he does. He’s working a mobile facility. We’re right by that.’
He held up his binoculars, swept the far side of the market and spotted a camper van adjacent to the bus station ticket office. ‘I see where you are,’ he said. ‘It’s important that you know which street Naji took and that you watch at the spot where it enters the market.’
‘Got it – I’ll call you.’
‘And I’ll let Denis and Vuk know what’s happening.’
*
The vet, Jasna, stayed long into the evening, drinking plum brandy with the old couple, Darko and Irina. She told Naji that Moon had been in much more danger than Ifkar, for she had an infection in her wound. While examining the dog, she noticed the signs of mistreatment in her past: scars beneath her coat and one knotty lump on her leg, which might have been caused by a poorly set broken bone when she was a puppy. She made Naji feel the lump. It was then that he told her the story of her rescue from the cruel shepherd in Bulgaria, which Jasna relayed in detail to the old couple, who were evidently shocked. They clearly loved animals.
Naji had never encountered a woman like Jasna before. She was beautiful in a way, though she was forthright and sat with her legs apart, slapping her thigh when she laughed. Yet she was also tender with Moon and Ifkar. She complimented him on his English – a sure way to Naji’s heart – and asked him about his life in Syria and how he and Ifkar came to be travelling together. He replied that they had met just a few days ago but after their experiences in the mountains – being charged by a bear and shot at – it seemed like a lifetime. He told her about both incidents, but did not go into a lot of detail on the second and certainly didn’t say that he and the phone he was carrying were the reason they were attacked. Eventually, he asked if she knew a way he could get down to the market the next morning to meet a man who was going to help him. She translated to Darko, who exploded with laughter. Jasna turned to Naji and explained that he would be leaving on his tractor at dawn to meet the mushroom buyer in Pudnik market.
That was how Naji came to be in Darko’s trailer next morning, holding on to two long flower boxes filled with polished fungi, each wrapped in tissue paper and lying in a bed of dried moss. Visibility was no more than a few metres, which meant the journey on the pot-holed track took over an hour. The eerie shapes of the trees fascinated Naji, but he was happy he didn’t have to slog through the forest on foot, for he certainly would have got lost. Darko sang along to a radio playing folk music in his cab and sometimes turned round to beam at Naji and wave his cigarette hand at him.
Naji might have enjoyed the trip more if he hadn’t been so on edge. Ifkar and Moon had both improved overnight and Ifkar was eating well, even for him – something that hugely pleased Irina, who had stood back with her hands clasped around her middle, watching him as her husband got ready to leave. His anxieties about Ifkar and Moon had been replaced by new worries about not knowing what Samson looked like, plus the fear that the market would be filled with Al-munajil’s men. Naji had now had time to process the fact that two men he’d never seen before had followed them over the mountain and shot at them. Had those men just been lucky, or were there so many of them looking for him that one group or another was bound to find him? He knew that they wouldn’t be long satisfied with the phone they’d taken. Once they realised it wasn’t his, they would start looking for him again.
They chugged into town behind several other tractors with trailers and a vehicle with caterpillar tracks that sent black smoke into the air and held everyone up. Darko found a space near one of the market entrances, parked and swung down from his cab, indicating that Naji should pick up one of the boxes. Naji followed him into a smoky café where men were seated drinking coffee and clinking shot glasses, which they held with their little fingers pointing out. The mushroom buyer was at a table alone, leafing through invoices. He raised the corner of each box, peeped inside and nodded his approval. Then the haggling began. It was as if Naji wasn’t there, although the other men in the café were interested to know what Darko was doing with a migrant boy. He tugged at Darko’s parka and tapped his watch – how long did he have in the market square? Darko opened his hands and seemed to say that he should take as long as he needed.
Naji slipped out, pulling his cap down and wrapping the lower half of his face in the scarf Irina had insisted on tying round his neck as he left the farm. He walked towards the main market area, noticing that it was a very different event to the day before, with many more farmers and pens for animals. He paused at one with four puppies for sale, and another that contained a goat that was butting the sides of the pen. For the first time in many weeks he was without his backpack. This made him feel a little odd but also much freer, and he darted between the pens and the stalls, merging here and there with groups of men, picking up information and looking out for anyone who might be Samson. He learned that the additional buses that had been promised to take people to the Serbian border hadn’t turned up, and that meant Fatimah and Hassan Antar must be in the crowds with their baby. He might be able persuade Fatimah to lend him her phone again, then he would call Munira and she could tell Samson to meet him by the church with the big tower, one minute’s walk from the market. Otherwise he could try borrowing a phone, or stealing one. He had to do something, or he would never find the Englishman in this crowd with all this fog.
*
The crappy little phone that Vuk had loaned Samson sprang into life.
‘Yes,’ said Samson irritably. Three uniformed policemen were standing just a few metres away, blocking his view of most of the market and the bus station.
‘Boss, they got no person.’
‘Who’s got no person?’
‘Bosnia-Herzgovina! Your people make raid on houses and factory and get no person. No Al-munajil. No Ibrahim. No Usaim. No fat guy that drives fat fucking pickup. No one fucking person in houses – just lot of old women in beds.’
‘They raided the properties they had under observation and no one was there – is that what you’re saying?’
‘That’s what I say to you, boss,’ said Vuk, with a tone that suggested Samson was an idiot.
‘But Aco, Simeon
and Lupcho followed them into Serbia and then Bosnia. I was led to believe they saw them in the pickup going north in Serbia? What the hell happened?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe switch few days ago.’
‘You’re saying they were never in Bosnia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what my people are doing? What are they planning to do?’
‘No, this is all what Lupcho know.’
The phone started protesting. Samson looked at the screen. ‘I need a charger, Vuk – the bloody battery’s running out on your phone.’
‘Okay, I bring it for you.’
‘Wait!’ Samson said. Something was going on thirty metres away from him. A Mercedes SUV with darkened glass had pulled up and the policemen that had been standing in front of Samson’s car hurried over. One of them spoke into his radio, and several other uniformed cops who’d been patrolling the market approached the Mercedes. The driver’s door opened and the thuggish young officer who had been with Simcek during Samson’s interview got out. Then Simcek himself appeared from the other side of the car and gestured for the police to move into the open space in front of Samson. ‘It’s Simcek,’ whispered Samson. ‘He’s right by me. I can’t move.’ He straightened in the seat so his face couldn’t be seen and turned slightly away, though Simcek now had his back to him.
‘He’s showing them photographs. They are looking for someone.’ He paused. ‘Jesus, I wonder if he thinks Al-munajil is here. That would explain why Simcek has stayed in Pudnik.’
‘Al-munajil here in Pudnik – that figures,’ said Vuk, as if he had thought this all along.
‘Maybe. Look, I’m right in front of the truck with the green cover. As soon as you see the police move away, bring that bloody charger. Where are you, by the way?’
‘With Mr Hisami.’
‘Well, tell him to stay put – I don’t want him leaving the car and running into Simcek.’