Contract

by Ty Hutchinson

“And the one behind this plan?”

  “He told me to keep my mouth shut or he would follow through with his threats to hurt members of my family. I’ve never mentioned a word about what happened. That is, until you showed up.”

  Delacroix appeared to be telling the truth. I hated him for what he did and wanted nothing more than to make him pay, but as it stood, he was the only real connection I might have to locating my daughter. I had to wonder if the person who contacted me online, Tark, was the same person who had contacted the doctor.

  “Does the name Tark mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “Have you told me everything?”

  “I have. You must believe me.” Delacroix clasped his hands together and held them up in front of him. “I’m sorry. Had I known his intentions were to kidnap your child, I never would have given him any information.”

  Bullshit! You might not have known that, but surely you don’t think someone throws that sort of money around merely for information. I nearly killed Delacroix then. “You’re not supposed to hand over patient information to begin with. But more importantly, you and I had an agreement.” I stood and walked around the table. “No one was to know you were delivering my child.” I leaned down, my face a foot from his. I brought the titanium blade into view. The razor sharp edge inches from his cheek.

  Sweat poured down the sides of Delacroix’s face. His breaths were choppy, his body rigid, and his eyes wide with anticipation. “You do remember that was part of our arrangement, right? Punishable in only one way.”

  14

  It took much restraint, but that night I left Delacroix alive, something I rarely do with people who have wronged me. And he had done just that, in the worst way possible. But he had also provided me with the confirmation I needed to seriously consider my next move with Tark. That information had extended his life, even though I had specifically told him years ago that any breach of our contract by him could only end in one way.

  As it stood, I couldn’t rule out any future usefulness from him. He had played a role in my daughter’s disappearance; he might be able to help with her recovery. Somewhere in the world, my daughter was alive.

  On the train ride back to Saint-Hubert, I went over everything Delacroix had relayed to me. According to the doctor, this mystery person had provided information, a description that fit me. Once he established that he had found the right doctor and patient, his plan to kidnap my daughter went into effect. But that was not the information I found interesting. In order for this plan to work at all, this person had to have knowledge of one very important factor—that I was pregnant to begin with.

  It wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t a case of human trafficking and me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This person knew about my pregnancy and sought me out.

  How was as big of a question as was why. I had told no one about my condition. As soon as I knew, I immediately went into hiding and remained that way, until Long showed up at the cottage. I retraced my steps from the beginning of my pregnancy to the time I gave birth and couldn’t come up with anything definitive.

  I never told the father; in fact, I had cut off all contact the moment I knew. There was the possibility that someone kept tabs on me during those nine months. Surely if they did, they would see my belly. I couldn’t physically hide that, at least not toward the end. I wasn’t saying no one saw me; I had contact with people in the normal course of living my life—shopkeepers, taxi drivers, people in general—but no one that knew me or my profession. I had even kept my friend, Long, in the dark. A difficult decision, but one I felt necessary.

  I thought about my fellow assassins, the ones who were part of my clan. The ones who thought I had something to do with the death of Ma, our figurehead. Still, I couldn’t simply narrow it down to them.

  There were, of course, the individuals I had been hired to kill. It’s possible their family or people loyal to them had figured out I was the assassin responsible, and sought revenge. I couldn’t discount an angry prospect I had turned down, and there were a few.

  In fact, when I thought about it, I could rationalize that most people I’d come in contact with could have reason to kidnap my daughter. But still, not a single person stood out. At least not at the moment. I knew then that I had no choice but to accept Tark’s contract. It was the only way I could determine what he knew. Was he in possession of my daughter, or just information on her whereabouts? He could also be a hired agent, nothing more than a messenger.

  I also had to seriously consider the fact that Tark knew nothing of my daughter’s whereabouts. That he had somehow stumbled across this information and had decided to use it toward his advantage. If that was the case, Tark had just shortened his life.

  He was an adversary withholding information about my daughter for his own benefit, to use me in as many ways as possible. My goal was to minimize that while extracting as much information as I could from him. And, of course, kill him.

  15

  I returned to Saint-Hubert later that night, around eleven p.m. When I arrived at the cottage, the lights were off, and I wondered if Long had left or gone to sleep early. I took the same precautions I always had and approached from the rear of the property. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit on edge. Someone knew about my pregnancy, which meant they likely knew where I lived. I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain if my location had been compromised or how much it mattered at that point.

  I slipped my blade out of its sheath, holding it close to my thigh as I entered the cottage. After a quick search, I made my way back to my office, where I found a note from Long. He’d had a contract come through shortly after I left.

  Eager to resume contact with Tark, I posted an invitation on the Board for him to join me in a private chat. Experience told me whatever he had in mind would be much more complicated than a simple hit. While I waited, I fixed myself a cup of tea and snacked on gingersnaps. I had gotten in a habit of eating them while pregnant, and it was a tiny way to stay connected to my daughter.

  It didn’t take long for Tark to respond.

  Tark: You’ve decided to accept my offer?

  Sei: Tell me more about the contract.

  Tark: I need you to escort the Black Wolf out of Turkey.

  I was afraid Tark would say that, not that killing him in his jail cell would be any easier.

  Sei: Babysitting isn’t my expertise.

  Tark: I heard you move like a ghost. Surely you can achieve the same with another person.

  Sei: Exactly how do you expect me to break the Wolf out of prison? Magic?

  Tark: That I can help with.

  Tark told me that Russia had secured the right to extradite the Wolf. They claimed he had killed a high-ranking officer in the Ministry of Intelligence. Once he was back in the hands of the Russian government, Tark assured me there would be no court proceedings, and they would simply execute the Wolf or use him as their own personal hitman.

  The Black Wolf was currently incarcerated in Diyarbakir, a city located in southeastern Turkey about one hundred kilometers north of the Syrian border. His transfer had already been scheduled to take place in nine days. It was a twenty-minute ride between the prison and the airport. That was my window of opportunity. Tark went on to tell me that the Turkish prison used armed convoys of three to four vehicles to transfer high-value prisoners. He said it would be no different with the Wolf.

  I couldn’t disagree with the plan. Grabbing the Wolf while he was on the move would be our best chance at succeeding. I’d taken out marks who rode in secured convoys; it was not terribly difficult. However, my objective wasn’t to kill—slightly different, but manageable. The way I viewed the situation, so long as the Wolf did everything I said, he would survive.

  Sei: Once we’re free of the convoy, then what?

  Tark: You will take him to a location along the border of Syria. But let me be clear. You must deliver the Wolf alive. If he dies, the deal is off.

>   Sei: What exactly am I receiving in return?

  Tark: I will tell you where you can find your daughter.

  Sei: How do I know if you are speaking the truth?

  Tark: You don’t. But if you want any chance of seeing her again, you’ll have to trust me.

  16

  I had a little over a week to plan and execute the contract, which was completely ludicrous. Because of the time constraints, I would need help and access to equipment while on the ground in Turkey. And I knew just the person who could help.

  Basir Kashani was a Turkish arms dealer I had known for eight years. He had a base of operation in Cyprus, about seventy-five miles off the coast of Turkey. He was extremely familiar with the Turkish landscape and had a long list of helpful contacts within the country. Most importantly, I could trust him.

  I met Kashani when he was struggling to break into his particular line of work—illegal arms trade—and we had crossed paths through a mutual contact. I did him a favor; I took out his competition. Not purposely; the man in question was my mark. However, to show his appreciation, Kashani promised to return the favor. It was time for payback.

  I sent an email to the address I last had for him hoping it still worked. I signed off with the pet name he had for me. Kashani never understood the idea of having a single name; he thought it strange and from the moment we met, had always called me Sei-Sei. I was in luck. A few hours later, I received a reply from him.

  The following afternoon I touched down in Cyprus at Larnaca International Airport, a major travel hub for passengers traveling between Europe and the Middle East. I exited the jet walkway and entered a modernized terminal. High-end shops and restaurants lined the walkway to immigration and baggage claim in the Arrivals Hall. I traveled light, as usual, needing only my knapsack. I preferred to acquire necessities when needed and dispose of them when finished. My clothing consisted of jeans, a pastel button-down, tennis shoes and dark shades. I looked like every other traveler passing through.

  Kashani had instructed me to look for a silver Ranger Rover once outside the terminal. “The driver will be wearing a black baseball cap,” he wrote. It took me a minute or so to find the vehicle matching that description. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t quite see the driver inside. But since I saw no other vehicle fitting the description, I headed straight for it.

  The weather in Cyprus was in the low seventies with mild humidity. The skies were clear, and the sun shone bright. Night temperatures would drop to a low of fifty degrees Fahrenheit. I could expect slightly lower temperatures in Diyarbakir.

  When I got within ten feet of the vehicle, the driver door opened and out stepped a stocky man with olive skin. He wore khaki pants with a white polo shirt neatly tucked inside. A black baseball cap sat on his head. He held up his hand as I approached. “Please remove your glasses,” he said with a slight Turkish accent. He took a moment to look me over. Satisfied, he opened the passenger door for me.

  Once we cleared the terminal and merged onto the highway, I asked how he knew he had picked up the correct person.

  “Basir said you were Asian.”

  “There a lot of Asians passing through the airport.”

  “He said you were small.”

  “That’s it?”

  “He said you were pretty.”

  He added nothing more and kept his eyes on the road, which suited me. I preferred using the time to think about next steps rather than force small talk.

  We remained on the highway for fifteen minutes before exiting and making a series of lefts and rights on the surface streets. I noticed seagulls in the air and assumed we were near Kashani’s residence. He’d mentioned he had a view of the beach.

  We turned onto a street lined with thick brush that ended into a small cul-de-sac, which had one driveway leading into a walled enclosure. Black steel gates opened as the Range Rover approached and an armed guard appeared and waved us on.

  We followed the road for another fifty yards before an impressive Mediterranean-style mansion came into view. The first thing I noticed were sculpted dolphins leaping out of a fountain anchoring the roundabout. The second was Kashani waving from a balcony on the second floor. He had the same wide smile, and his hair had thinned, but he looked more or less exactly how I remembered.

  “Sei-Sei,” I heard him call out as I exited the vehicle. “It’s so good to see you. Please come upstairs.”

  The driver escorted me into Kashani’s palatial residence. The foyer, a room itself, opened into twenty-foot-high ceilings, from which the centerpiece, an opulent chandelier, hung. The floors were white marble, and a double staircase leading to the second floor had an ornate banister. Impressive paintings hung on the walls like giant picture windows. Kashani appeared just as we reached the second floor. In each hand he carried some sort of fruity drink.

  “Welcome, Sei-Sei,” he said, holding one of the glasses out to me. “Enjoy. Don’t worry; it’s alcohol free.”

  Kashani and I spent the next hour or so catching up while we lounged on a balcony with unobstructed views of a sandy beach that led to never-ending aquamarine. A deliciously scented sea breeze blew gently through my hair against a melodic backdrop of lapping waves and squawking gulls.

  I drew a deep breath as I took in the scenery. “If I’m not mistaken, I’d say that favor I did for you has paid impressive dividends.”

  “I have you to thank for all of this,” Kashani said, gesturing to his estate. He placed his glass down, and his thick brows narrowed toward his nose. “Tell me, how can I help?”

  I kept the details of the job brief and left out the nature of my payment. When I finished, Kashani said nothing and only ran a hand through his black hair.

  “You made sure you didn’t waste this favor I owe you on something trivial.”

  “This is the job. Can you help?”

  “Getting you to Diyarbakir isn’t a problem. Providing you with equipment isn’t a problem. I don’t even think attacking the convoy will be much of problem. It’s what happens after. If you are successful, you will unleash a wrath. The city and surrounding towns will be on high alert, checkpoints will be set up, and a massive manhunt will begin. They won’t stop looking until they catch you and this Black Wolf.”

  “I understand. Can you get me to the border?”

  Kashani let out another breath and wiped his hand over this mouth. “You know this is a crazy plan, right?”

  I smiled.

  “I can arrange for transportation, but I cannot guarantee your travel will be without problems.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “My ability to help will be limited. You understand that?”

  “I’ve gotten this far in life, haven’t I?”

  “I’m serious, Sei-Sei. If you’re caught… I don’t even want to think of it.”

  For a few minutes I stared off into the surf, contemplating the journey I was about to embark on.

  Kashani broke the silence. “This Black Wolf, he could be a problem. You realize that? He might be difficult to control.”

  I turned to my old friend. “Then he will end up dead or back in his jail cell.”

  17

  That night, Kashani decided to accompany me on the trip, stating it would be easier for him to make the arrangements if he were in Diyarbakir. The driver, whose name I later learned was Feza, would also be coming with us to tackle the five-hour drive inland.

  “I have a small place above a spice shop in the old city. We can stay there without drawing attention. Plus, I have other business I can attend to while I’m there. Win-win, isn’t that the saying?”

  I figured the real reason he wanted to come was that he worried about me. I didn’t need him to, but it was nice.

  The three of us left early the next morning under the cover of darkness. Kashani had arranged for a boat to ferry us to Karatas, a small fishing village on the southern coast of Turkey. From there, we piled into a black sedan and settled in for the long drive ahead.

  �
��Driving in a Mercedes S-Class is your way of staying under the radar?” I asked.

  “Like I said last night. Getting there isn’t a problem. It’s getting out. There will be no Mercedes waiting to pick you up.”

  “So long as you give me the equipment I need, I’ll be fine.” Before we left Cyprus, I gave Kashani a list of items I would need to pull the job off. I requested the same sniper rifle I kept in my personal arsenal. I also requested a Sig Sauer with a sound suppressor and eight extra magazines. Lastly, I wanted a fixed-blade combat knife, two fiber wires, a pen flashlight, and a black tactical vest to house all the equipment. I didn’t expect Kashani to have a problem providing me with my requests; he was a black market arms dealer.

  On the drive to Diyarbakir, we breezed through a couple of checkpoints without so much as a second glance from the soldiers who manned them and stopped once for a bite to eat and to refuel. We arrived into the city just as the sun had begun to set.

  “My place is located in the old part of town, on the other side.” Kashani said, pointing at the aging high wall that encircled the old city. “Inside it’s a maze of small streets, perfect for moving around undetected.”

  Vehicles weren’t allowed inside, so Feza dropped us off just outside the city gates. I wrapped a scarf around my head before Kashani and I continued on foot.

  “Where’s the prison?”

  “It’s in the newer part of town. There you must be careful.”

  We arrived at Kashani’s shop, which looked like the dozens of others that we passed. Large woven baskets stacked next to each other were piled high with a colorful assortment of fragrant spices and herbs. Two elderly women dressed in headscarves, black sweaters, and floral skirts sat outside tending to the edible merchandise. They paused their conversation and watched us with inquisitive smiles as we moved through the narrow walkway leading inside the store. I snatched a handful of dried apple from a basket and munched as we walked.