by Oliver Tidy
‘But if he comes back?’
‘If he comes back, we owe him. We owe him and his daughter and his dead wife.’
Mrs Botha nodded. ‘Then we must prepare to repay our debts.’
*
As Acer had rested his aching body, he exercised his mind. In his plus column, he was alive, uninjured, free and back on the island with the element of surprise on his side. In his negative column, he was essentially naked and he had only a craft knife for a weapon, no money and no one to help him.
He thought about working his way back round the island to civilisation, such as it was, trying to find some washing on a line that he could borrow. Then he’d need some footwear. Then he’d need some money to buy a ticket for the ferry back to the mainland. Then he’d need to break into the car because he didn’t have the keys for it. Then he would be armed. But breaking into the car in a secure car park would attract attention that would be investigated. Things could go wrong for him. He might find himself unlucky enough to get caught, arrested, locked up, linked with the assault of a police officer on the European side of the city only days ago, linked with murder and mayhem at the Hotel Suadiye even more recently. If he did get away from the car with the gun, he’d need to come back to the island for his daughter, because that was now the only course of action left open to him.
Plan A had failed. They’d risked their lives and gone all the way into the war-torn depths of Aleppo for nothing. Not for nothing – for Kaan Oktay to get his hands on the evidence that would have incriminated him. Not only that but because of his trip to the east of Turkey four good men and one good woman were dead. Acer put his head in his hands at the disastrous way things had turned out.
Now there was just plan B. And he was beginning to think that he might as well save himself the dangers and the time and the effort of trying to get back to the mainland, getting armed and then getting back to the Oktay estate on Heybeliada because he was already there – and everyone believed he was dead.
The Oktay mansion was less than a couple of hundred metres away. There were men there with clothes that would fit him and guns that would arm him. He just needed to figure out how to take them from them.
***
61
From observations made on his two visits, he knew that the place was well equipped with CCTV cameras at the main points of entry. He did not know whether the security measures would extend to cameras monitoring the pine forests. Whether there were or there weren’t cameras or sensors – or whatever else was used to monitor the Oktays’ estate – was, to his thinking, irrelevant: he needed to get up there. The only question was whether to go in what was left of the daylight or wait until it was dark. He chose daylight because the advantages for travel and making observations in daylight outweighed the dangers.
He soon realised it was going to take him some time to reach his target. Moving across the forest floor barefoot was a slow and painful process. More than once he was forced to stop and rest and inspect the soles of his feet for something that had penetrated them. For variety and because it took no longer and was, if anything, more practical than walking, he covered the ground on his hands and knees, bustling through the undergrowth like some wild animal.
It took him much of what remained of the afternoon to cover the ground, going uphill from the shore to within sight of the buildings. He intended to get as close as he could to the modern building – a place he believed was the base of the estate’s security operation – while there was still daylight left so that he might have an opportunity to monitor something of the comings and goings.
He found a position that served his purpose. Concealed in dense undergrowth, he had a good view of both the rear of the house and the security building. The light and the day were beginning to fade and because of that the temperature started to drop markedly. Acer was cold in just his boxers.
On his crawl through the pine trees, he’d picked up two short lengths of thick branches. As he sat and waited and watched, he used the knife to trim the spindly little offshoots from them and then to whittle the ends of both to sharp and lethal points.
***
62
Day slipped into dusk. The temperature edged into single figures. There had been activity for him to make use of in his intelligence gathering. The woman who he had seen on his previous visit, the housekeeper perhaps, had visited the security building with a tray of covered plates. Acer believed that there had been no more than four plates on the tray – four men. Four men tallied with the numbers he’d encountered on his two visits. That included Barış. But not Kemal.
He’d learned that only two of the men – the driver and the gorilla – liked to smoke and that obviously their habit wasn’t tolerated inside the building. Ten minutes after the food had been delivered, both smokers came out together for their fix. They stood around the back of the building, ten feet from the beginning of the pine forest, and both smoked two cigarettes.
The gorilla was almost as tall as Acer. The driver was shorter and thinner. From previous experience, Acer knew that both men would be carrying guns. The gorilla liked to smoke more often. Twice he’d come out for a cigarette on his own. Both times he’d used his mobile phone – cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. He’d talked and wandered a little way into the forest on a well-worn path. This man was the one Acer had decided to neutralise first, taking his gun and his clothes. He just needed to decide when.
It occurred to him that not all four would stay awake all night. Probably they would do shifts. And probably the shifts would be two on guard, two in bed. The building looked big enough to support that sort of arrangement.
Although he was now very cold – shivering uncontrollably – and hungry, and thirsty, and tired and aching, Acer decided to wait for nightfall. Taking on two with only a sharp stick gave him a better chance of success than taking on four. It made sense and, like most operations of this nature, there would be only one chance to succeed. He had to make sure he was giving himself the best possible chance of success.
He considered making his way back into the forest, away from the buildings and the risk of being seen, somewhere he could do some brief exercise to loosen up his aching, stiffening limbs and encourage his circulatory system to warm him up a bit. He quickly dismissed the idea. To warm up would only be to invite cooling down again and to move about would bring inherent risks of being discovered. Also, if he left his good vantage point he might miss something – someone might leave, someone might join them and he wouldn’t know about it. So he sat and froze and watched and waited.
For something to do, he broke off some large fronds of a low-growing plant and draped them around his shoulders and over his head in the hope that they might trap just a little of the body heat he was losing, like a poorly insulated house on a harsh winter’s day. The leaves made him itch, but there was some psychological benefit, a sort of placebo effect – he felt warmer even if he wasn’t.
He shared his attention between the security building and the main residence. In the house, the curtains were open, and there were lights on. He saw members of the household moving about. He couldn’t tell who they were. He heard children’s laughter from an open window and was reminded that not only was his own daughter in there, but Mrs Botha had other children who lived with her.
He considered what he would do if he succeeded in overpowering his target. The man would only be expected to be gone for as long as it took to smoke a couple of cigarettes at most. Acer would need to be quick to relieve him of his clothing and then dress in it himself. He decided that trousers and suit jacket and the man’s shoes would be enough. Then he would enter the building, gun in hand, finger to his lips. Nobody other than suicide bombers wants to die.
The men he surprised in the building would cooperate; he was sure of that. He was sure of it because they would see him as a credible threat, as a man they had tried to kill, a man with nothing to lose, a man with scores to settle, a determined, resilient, fearless spectre. Th
at is the impression he wanted to make, the way Acer wanted them to see him. He did not want to have to start shooting. He didn’t want the bloodshed, he didn’t want the attention it would bring from the house, he didn’t want the other armed men going for their own weapons – one or two of them might manage to get them free and shoot back.
Acer wanted his surprise, his threat and the gun he would be pointing at them to be enough of a perceived danger for them to cooperate. He didn’t expect the language barrier to be a problem.
***
63
Dusk slipped into darkness. All around the outside of the main building and the perimeter of the garden, security lights came on. A harsh, white glare flooded the area and everything in it. It spilled out into the fringes of the forest to where Acer had positioned himself and he felt the heat of the bulbs on his hiding place. Just as he was thinking of scurrying back into the shadows, he heard the two smokers’ voices. He sat stone-still, his back against the trunk of a tree, as they emerged. They came around to the back of the building and lit up not twenty feet away from him. Acer did not move. He was still covered in the fronds. The idea that they were conserving some of his body heat had continued to be worth the occasional scratch.
He dared not even blink as they stood with their backs to the wall and smoked and chatted and stared, it seemed, straight at him. They went back in after one. Acer waited until he was sure they hadn’t just gone back for coats or more smokes and then crawled his way back into the shadows.
The cold and his adrenalin kept him awake and alert. He listened to the voices of the men and the noise of a television courtesy of an open window. He tried to distinguish between them all so that he’d know exactly how many there were, but other than to keep his mind working, it proved a futile exercise.
And he had another matter to occupy his thoughts – with the light driving him back into the forest, how could he now hope to surprise the man whose clothes and gun he wanted?
The temperature crawled down to low single figures and Acer suffered with it. Sitting on the cold, uncomfortable forest floor took its toll on his morale and his fitness. The security lighting and what it meant for his plan caused him frustration and irritation. It all made him increasingly impatient for action.
As he endured his vigil, he realised that the only place he would have a chance of surprising anyone who stepped out around the back of the building was from close up. And that would mean being in the glare of the light. But it had worked for him already. He had been well camouflaged. They hadn’t expected to see anyone hiding in the undergrowth so they weren’t looking for the signs.
The earth of the forest floor was dry. Too dry to colour his face with it effectively. Some sea mist had settled on some of the larger leaves and he used that moisture to work up a paste that he could use to tone down the white of his complexion. He rigged the fronds around his shoulders once again and replaced the makeshift hat he’d made. He found something to amuse himself in it all when he thought of himself as Heybeliada’s answer to the Wild Man of Borneo. He had to hope that his appearance, when he showed himself, would stun his target into inaction long enough to give him the advantage of surprise he would need.
The lights in the main house went off one by one. The noise of conversation and of the television in the security building had been lowered. Acer decided it was time to move into position. He edged his way forward into the light as far as he dared go to take up a place behind a tree. He crouched low and waited. His eyes felt heavy. He could no longer feel his feet. He continually flexed his fingers and toes. The two sharpened sticks lay in the dirt at his feet.
The two smokers emerged together. That was bad. Acer watched and waited as they smoked, wondering whether he could hope to rush two of them. Then the driver flicked his cigarette butt into the forest, rubbed his hands together and went back inside. The gorilla took out another cigarette and his mobile. He made a call. Acer was preparing to charge when the man walked a short way into the forest. He passed within ten feet of Acer. As soon as the gorilla’s back was to him, Acer broke cover and charged. Hearing a disturbance in the undergrowth to his rear, the man turned sharply. He had a cigarette in one hand, the phone in the other and a panicked look on his face. Then the cigarette was falling and the man’s hand was going into his jacket and his mouth was opening. The half-smoked cigarette hit the ground, creating a little explosion of burning tobacco.
Acer swung his club and the man used his gun arm to parry the blow. He took it on the raised forearm and the club snapped cleanly and loudly in two. The man grunted but seemed uninjured. He threw a punch with his other hand wrapped around his mobile phone. Acer deflected it but it upset his balance. The man recovered quickly and came at Acer swinging wildly. Acer was forced back two steps in his surprise at the man’s speed and strength. The man positioned himself for a roundhouse punch. Acer ducked it and, springing inside the man’s reach, brought the second sharpened stick up hard into the man’s stomach. The man released a lungful of wind and folded at the knees.
Acer looked over his shoulder at the building. Nothing. He fumbled inside the man’s jacket and took his gun from him. He stood up, backed off and pointed it with two hands. The man was clutching at his stomach. Blood oozed through his fingers. His face was contorted in pain.
Acer was conscious that time was ticking. It was against Acer’s nature and his conflict principles, but this was not a fair fight. Acer fell on the man and clubbed him repeatedly on the side of the head with the butt of the gun. The man slumped. Acer got behind him and dragged him back into the darkness. He stripped him of his jacket and trousers and shoes. Everything was too big for him but it was wearable and better than too small or just a thin pair of shorts. He felt instantly warmer.
He checked the pistol for ammunition, slipped off the safety and approached the security building. He stood outside the closed door and listened. He heard the gentle noise of a television show. He opened the door and walked in, pistol extended, finger to his lips just as he’d planned.
***
64
There was one man in the room – the driver. He had his back to Acer. He was sitting in an armchair facing a television and a bank of CCTV screens. Acer could tell from the angle of his head that he was asleep. Acer looked around. There were three more doors. He turned his attention back to the man and decided to put him out where he sat. He crossed the distance between them and with two hands brought the gun down hard just behind the ear. The man toppled further to the side. He still seemed asleep, although blood trickled out of the gash Acer had opened up in his thinning hair. Acer removed the man’s weapon and put it in his jacket pocket.
Acer crossed to the nearest door. It was not shut. He nudged it open – a small kitchen. Empty. He tried the next one – a small bathroom. Empty. He went to the third. The door was closed. He grasped the handle, counted to three in his head and pushed in. There was a light switch on the wall immediately inside the door. He flicked it on and raised the gun to shoot. He was at the end of a short corridor. Two more doors led off this. He opened the first and turned on the light. There was one man in the room. He was undressed and asleep in bed. He started to complain about his rude awakening and then he saw the gun and recognised Acer. The man went from groggy with sleep to sharply awake, wide-eyed and terrified, like he’d seen a ghost. He put his hands up. Acer kept the gun pointed at him and whispered, ‘Barış?’
The man shook his head. He started to gabble something in Turkish. Acer cut him off by putting his finger to his lips. He motioned the man to get out of bed. The man threw back the covers and swung his legs down. Acer took a step back and motioned the man forward. Acer motioned with the gun that the man should get down on his knees. The man looked like he might cry. He gabbled more Turkish. Acer pointed the gun at his face. The man got down on his knees and closed his eyes. Acer went behind him and clubbed him with the pistol. The man toppled forward onto his face. A holster with a gun in it was draped over the back of a
chair. Acer slipped off the jacket, put on the harness and put the jacket over the top of it. Now he felt armed.
He stuck his head back in the little corridor. Nothing. He quickly looked back in the control room. No change. He headed back down the corridor to the second door. He tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. He pushed into the room and flicked the lights on. It was a room that was used but it was empty. As he stood wondering where Barış was, he noticed a handful of cable ties discarded with small change and some folded bits of paper on top of a chest of drawers. He grabbed them and went back to make sure that if anyone regained consciousness they wouldn’t be going anywhere.
He was standing in the control room staring at the CCTV screens, drinking from a bottle of water and eating a banana and biscuits. He was feeling warmer, energised, more confident by the minute. The cameras covered both main access points to the property by normal means – road and sea. He continued to wonder where Barış was. He wondered if the house would be locked. He wondered where in the house he would find Kaan Oktay because that was who he was there for now. As he stared at the screens thinking, he saw something that shouldn’t be there. The cameras down by the jetty were pointing at a car. It was the car that he had travelled in to get to and from the sea. If the car was down there, then someone was down there or had gone down there to take a boat somewhere. He felt he knew where Barış was now and it was not impossible that Kaan Oktay was with him.
***
65
Acer checked the man he’d left for dead in the garden. He didn’t need cable ties.
Keeping to the shadows, he crossed the garden to the house. He tried the back door. Locked. He didn’t know who was inside. He didn’t know for certain that Barış and Kaan Oktay were not at home, so he had to assume and behave as though they were. He used his knowledge of the layout of the property to navigate his way to the big lounge he’d been in that morning. There were no lights on. There were no lights on anywhere downstairs.