A light color, late 1960s 280SE Mercedes convertible, with its top up and windows down, pulled up in front of the hotel, driven by a weaselly, clean-shaven man in sunglasses and a dark watch cap.
“It’s about time,” yelled Jamal, leaning in through the passenger side window. “Where the hell did you get this car?”
Haydar smiled. “I borrowed it.”
“You stole an antique car not to attract attention?”
“I always wanted to drive one of these. The stupid owner left it parked on the street. I couldn’t resist. I’ll have it back before morning. Don’t worry, no one will notice.”
If his brother-in-law ever found out that Haydar drove a stolen car to his house, he’d kill him, for sure. Maybe take out Jamal too, simply for being an accomplice to such stupidity.
“You’re such a screw-up,” said Jamal.
He opened the passenger door, dropped onto the seat with his back to Haydar, and struggled to swing his bad leg into the car. “Let’s get out of here.” He leaned out to pull his door closed.
The car didn’t move.
He turned his head toward Haydar. “I said to––”
Through the open windows on the driver’s side a voice said in perfect Turkish, “I’m afraid your friend won’t be able to drive you to your appointment this evening.”
Haydar’s head lay in his own lap, blood gushing from his headless torso as a curved kilij saber pointed straight at Jamal.
“I thought it appropriate to use a classic Ottoman sword for the occasion. I know it’s not considered as effective these days as an AK-47, but it does have the advantage of being silent, and so many are so readily available over here.”
Jamal’s first instinct was to scream, his second to run. He suppressed both. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
Aryan knelt slightly and stared through the open window at Jamal’s eyes. “You know, I came to your home tonight planning on doing precisely that, but as I stood in the shadows wondering why you were out on the street at this ungodly hour, I heard you tell your recently departed colleague that you had a boss anxious to see you. I thought, my, isn’t that convenient? I’d like to see him too.”
“I’ll never take you to him.”
“Suit yourself. I have the feeling he’ll attend your funeral. I should be able to find him that way. On the other hand, if you take me to him we might be able to reach an arrangement that saves both your lives. After all, this is all about money, isn’t it?”
Jamal swallowed. “Yeah. It’s only about money.”
“Good. Get out. We’ll take my car. You drive.”
Jamal hesitated.
“It would be a bit messy driving in this car, don’t you think?”
“But we can’t just leave him here.”
“Of course, we can. Come along now.” The man waggled the sword for Jamal to get out.
Jamal opened the door and swung out his legs. By the time he stood outside, Aryan was next to him, quickly but thoroughly frisking him.
He led Jamal to a dark, beat-up Fiat parked a hundred meters up the beach.
“How did you find me?” asked Jamal.
“I followed you home the one time we met. You weren’t very careful.” Aryan gestured for Jamal to get in the driver side as he went around to the passenger side. He slid in next to Jamal and handed him the keys. He sat with the sword resting across his lap, the blade pointed directly at Jamal, and his right hand firmly wrapped around the grip.
“We really don’t have to do this,” said Jamal. “I can get you all the money you want without going to the boss.”
“That would strike me as discourteous. After all, it wasn’t your idea to kill me, was it?”
Jamal saw only one answer. “No, I thought we should pay you the money.”
“Just following orders.” Aryan smiled.
Jamal’s eye twitched as he nodded yes.
“Just drive, don’t talk. I’ve never had the opportunity to meet your boss, just you and, uh, what’s his name—?” he waved back in the general direction of the Mercedes.
“Haydar.”
He nodded. “How long’s the drive?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Fine, wake me when we’re two minutes away.”
Jamal thought he’d misheard him. Aryan had to know Jamal would kill him at the first opportunity, and yet he’d just announced he’d be taking a nap. It made no sense. Or maybe it made a lot of sense, because instead of spending the ensuing twenty minutes thinking of ways to outmaneuver him, Jamal spent it wondering how Aryan planned on killing him, should he try to take him out.
“We’re almost there,” said Jamal.
“Good,” said Aryan, his eyes still closed and hand still gripping the sword. “I see you do follow orders.”
Jamal said nothing until turning onto a graveled road marked private. “We’re here. It’s about two kilometers to the house.”
Aryan opened his eyes. “Interesting, no security at the gate.”
“He doesn’t need it. Everyone knows to stay out of here.”
“Do they, now? Even curious tourists?”
“Word gets around.”
“Why do I feel you’re not telling me everything? I’m sure you understand that I’ll be deeply disappointed should I learn you haven’t been honest with me…uh…what’s your name?”
“Jamal.” His voice broke.
“So, Jamal, is there anything you want to tell me before I find out for myself?” He lifted the sword so that the blade rose to Jamal’s eye level.
“Nothing. Honest.” Jamal swallowed. “Of course, he has men up by his house.”
“How many?”
“Three or so.”
“Or so?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Anything else?”
Jamal paused.
“Jamal, don’t hold back on me.” The sword flickered closer to his eye.
“Closed-circuit television starts about a hundred meters before the gate at the main house.”
“Good thing I decided to bring these along.” Aryan pulled a watch cap and sunglasses out of his shirt.
Jamal looked at him in horror.
“Poor man has no need for them now. Waste not, want not.” He pulled the cap snugly down over his ears to cover his blond hair, and masked his eyes with the sunglasses. Next, he pulled up the collar on his dark jacket and hunched down in the seat to shield his cheeks. “Too bad I’m blessed with fair skin, but in this light, they won’t be able to tell.”
The man opening the gate only gave a cursory glance to Jamal’s passenger. He seemed far more interested in delivering a message to Jamal. “The boss wants you to meet him in the garage out back of the house. He said for you to drive straight there.”
As soon as Jamal drove through the gate, Aryan said, “Has he ever told you to use the garage before?”
“No.”
“Sounds like he’s not up for entertaining guests tonight.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to wake my sister and the kids.”
“What’s your sister doing here?”
“She’s married to him.”
Aryan laughed. “So these special arrangements are for your benefit, not mine.”
Jamal felt like he might throw up.
“Cheer up. Cooperate with me and this could turn out to be a big surprise for everyone.” Aryan paused. “On the other hand, please don’t try any last-second heroics. I can assure you the time for that is long past.” With a quick thrust of his right hand the tip of the sword pressed at Jamal’s right carotid artery.
“Don’t worry,” said Jamal, his voice breaking again. “I’m not going to do anything except listen.”
“Good.”
“And pray.”
“E
ven better.” Aryan withdrew the sword from Jamal’s neck.
No lights shone from the house, but a tiny light off to the right marked a driveway leading around behind the house. Jamal turned at the light and, just past the back of the house, aimed for a concrete structure thirty meters away.
“That’s the garage.” Jamal stopped the car.
In the dark it was hard to make out more than the shape of three garage doors. Only the center door stood open.
“It looks pretty well lit up inside for three in the morning.” Aryan nodded toward three men waiting inside. “Which one’s your brother-in-law?”
“Malik’s the fat one, standing near the back wall.”
Malik waved at the car and pointed to a spot between his two men.
“I guess he wants us to stop there.”
Jamal gave him a sidelong glance. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Keep driving slowly into the garage. We don’t want your brother-in-law getting suspicious.” Aryan sat up straight in the seat and gripped the sword tighter. “And turn on your high beams.”
Chapter Five
The Fiat crept closer to the open garage door as Aryan fidgeted with something on the dash. The two men closest to the car tried shielding their eyes from the high beams as Malik yelled at Jamal to turn off the lights.
“Just keep driving.”
Malik yelled again as the car nosed into the garage.
“Step hard on the gas,” said Aryan.
“What?”
Aryan didn’t answer, just thrust his sword through Jamal’s right shoe, pinning his foot to the gas pedal, and grabbed and spun the steering wheel in the direction of the man on the left, pinning him to the front of the Fiat as it crashed head-on into the solid rear wall.
The man to the right fumbled for his gun, but Aryan was out of the car and slicing him to pieces before he found it.
Malik hadn’t moved from his spot by the rear wall.
Aryan turned to face him. “Wise of you not to reach for a weapon.”
Malik didn’t speak.
“It must have been tempting, though, with me holding only a sword.”
Malik’s eyes shifted ever so slightly to Aryan’s right.
At Malik’s movement, Aryan dropped into a crouch and spun counterclockwise, yanking a nine-millimeter pistol from the small of his back with his left hand and putting a bullet in the head of the man who’d moments before waved them through the gate.
“Anybody else out there?” asked Aryan, drawing himself back to his full height. “I mean, anyone you don’t want me to kill.”
Malik shut his eyes. “Only my family.”
“Good.” Aryan tucked the pistol back in its place.
Malik opened his eyes. “What do you want?”
“I assume you know who I am?”
Malik nodded.
“Even though we’ve never met.”
He nodded again.
“So I assume you also know my reputation?”
Another nod.
“Then, why do you have to ask what I want?”
Malik swallowed hard. “Money? Revenge?”
Aryan shook his head from side to side. “There’s so much revenge out there waiting for me to take, I don’t know where to start. And if I did, I’d have no time left for anything else.” He sighed. “I guess if the only choice you leave me is revenge, I’d be more than happy to kill you. And your entire family. Family first, of course.” He whipped the sword around in the air in flourished strokes.
Malik seemed to hyperventilate.
“Would you like some water?”
“No, no. You want your money.”
“Of course.”
“How much?”
“Are we bargaining now?” said Aryan.
Malik raised his hands. “No, I just want to know how much, so I can get it for you.”
“That’s a good attitude. My fee for the task I did for you on Lesvos is now five times what you failed to deliver. Another full fee for each additional kill you’ve caused me to make. And it shall continue to go up with each person I’m required to eliminate until paid in full.”
Malik nodded nervously. “Agreed.”
“And now to the part that will greatly benefit us both.”
Malik cocked his head. “I don’t follow.”
Aryan pointed the tip of his sword left and right. “Look around you. What do you see?”
“Dead guys?”
“Incompetence. You surround yourself with incompetents. You were lucky enough to be born into a well-connected local family, and because you knew who to bribe, you’ve made a fine living picking the low hanging fruit of refugees desperate to pay whatever it takes to cross into Greece.”
Aryan patted Malik on the shoulder with the flat of the sword. “Your mistake is in thinking you know how to do anything more than that.” He shook his head. “Assassinating one of the most respected advocates of the worldwide refugee movement was not a smart way to better your situation.”
Aryan lifted the sword. “If I hadn’t taken the time to make his death look like an NGO played a key part, every politician in the EU would be screaming for yours and every other refugee trafficker’s head. All you cared about was seeing him dead. My added touch is what gave you political cover.”
Aryan rested his sword on his own shoulder. “Now I see it was a wasted gesture. You have no idea how to use it. You’re more blunt in your style than terrorists, but a lot easier to track down.”
Malik bit at his lip.
“Just look at tonight. Your brother-in-law and his late friend wiped out an entire family in an attempt to get rid of me. And for what? Because of paranoia on your part that I might someday tell someone that you hired me to kill the Greek? Congratulations, genius. Now all of Turkey’s looking in your backyard for terrorists who used a van they’ll likely be able to tie straight back to you. Good luck.”
“Did you kill Jamal?” Malik looked toward the Fiat.
Aryan smiled. “No, that will cost you extra. He’s buried in there under an air bag. I only turned off the one on my side. But if I were you, I’d worry more about your own head. You’re creating so much heat for your colleagues in the trafficking business, I wouldn’t be surprised if they take you out themselves.”
Malik looked at the sword on Aryan’s shoulder. “How much would they pay you to do that service for them?”
“Haven’t asked, but if you and I can’t reach terms, they may not have to worry about paying at all.”
“I thought we agreed on five times your fee?”
“That’s for past services. I’m talking about the future.”
Aryan waited for Malik to speak, but Malik said nothing.
“I see you know how to bargain.” Aryan smiled. “So here’s our arrangement. It’s really quite simple. I do your thinking, I take care of all your problems, and you take care of seeing that the refugees pay you to get them across to Greece, or Italy, or whatever new routes I open for you.”
“New routes?”
“That’s my concern, not yours. You just take care of what you do best, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What’s this going to cost me?”
“An equal partnership.”
“How can I agree to that?”
“I know, I should offer you less. I guess I’m feeling generous. After all, if I slit your throat, I’m certain any number of locals would be beating a path to my door begging to take me up on that same proposition.”
“It’s not that simple. There are other people involved.”
“I’ll deal with them.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“I like that, because once you agree, if ever you renege––”
“Malik! What’s happening?”
“Go back to the house,” Malik shouted.
“That wouldn’t show proper hospitality.” Aryan waved for the woman to come inside. “Permit me to introduce myself. I’m your husband’s business associate.” He held out his left hand, his right still gripping the bloody sword.
Her eyes darted between Aryan and her husband. “What should I do?” she asked Malik.
Aryan shook his head. “Don’t ask him. I told you what to do.”
Malik waved for her to come to him. She made a wide arc around Aryan to reach her husband. He put his arm around her shoulders and yanked her to him.
“Is our business here finished?” asked Malik.
“Almost. First, I need the money.”
“I’ll get it from the bank tomorrow.”
Aryan smiled again. “You’re getting a bit cocky, my friend.” He stepped forward, swept the sword off his shoulder, and sliced it down through the front of the woman’s robe to her beige nightgown beneath.
Malik started to step forward but stopped.
“Another wise decision,” said Aryan. “Not a drop of her blood has been spilled.” He brought the tip of his sword up against the neck of her nightgown and drew it slowly down along the outline of one breast. “Yet.”
“Stop,” shouted Malik. “I’ll get you the money. It’s in the house.”
“Good. Now for resolving the matter of our partnership.”
“I can’t agree to that now. Impossible. There are others to consider.”
Aryan used the tip of his sword to lift the wife’s nightgown above her panties. With a quick flick of his wrist he sliced them open, and firmly pressed the back of the blade between her legs.
“Malik, do something,” she whimpered.
“Fine. Equal partners.”
Aryan put the sword back on his shoulder. “Your third wise decision of the evening.”
l l l l l
“I hear you’re looking for me,” came the voice over the phone.
Andreas looked at the clock on the nightstand next to his bed. “Not at six in the morning.”
An Aegean April Page 6