Contract

by Ty Hutchinson

  “Last night, the Wolf—I’m assuming you know him—sat on the same stool. I gave him an opportunity to have one last conversation with me before his extradition to Russia.”

  “Did you two exchange emails addresses and promise to keep in touch?”

  Demir drew a sharp breath, and his face tightened. “Answers like that won’t help your situation.” He leaned forward and rested his forearm on the table. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, revealing a tangle of black hair on each arm.

  “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

  Demir chuckled as he raised his hands. “The Wolf. Where is he?”

  Where? “That makes two of us with inquisitive minds.”

  “Don’t toy with me. Who hit the other convoy? Where did they take him?”

  There were two convoys? “Is that why the Wolf wasn’t in the car?”

  “The convoy you attacked was a decoy.”

  It was at that moment the disturbing reality of what had taken place that night became clear. It can’t be. How could I have missed this? Now I understood how an army of Turkish police could surround me so quickly. They were waiting for me to strike. All along I was meant to be a distraction, a way to draw the attention of Demir and his men. That would make the other convoy, the one that actually carried the Wolf, extremely vulnerable to an attack by another person. Tark didn’t hire me to help the Wolf escape. He had hired me to take the fall.

  25

  My hands tightened into balls, and my jaw clenched into a slow grind. I felt my heartbeats intensify, each knock taunting me over what had happened.

  Demir knew the convoy would be attacked and had prepared for it. Someone fed him the information. Who? I doubt he was tapped into any sort of widespread intelligence network. Was it Dr. Delacroix or the mysterious Tark? Could Kashani be involved?

  Tark was the most likely culprit. He knew about the Wolf and the details of his extradition and my daughter, but I knew very little about him. With that said, it wasn’t an anomaly in my business; it’s completely normal to know little about our employers, and for them to know the same of us. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement should something go wrong. Tark would be the hardest to get to. I had no idea what he looked like or his location.

  I couldn’t rule out Delacroix. He was a money-hungry parasite and knew of my daughter’s existence. While he had admitted to participating in the plan to kidnap my daughter, did he know about the operation to free the Wolf? If he had, did he really have the means to feed this information to Demir? What benefit was there for Delacroix to be involved? Money? It was the reason he got involved in the beginning. The way he lived, the luxury apartment, his salary at the hospital couldn’t afford him that sort of lifestyle. It was way beyond what the average wealthy doctor could manage under France’s socialized healthcare. Were there other victims? Had he done this to others? Was he involved in a widespread human trafficking operation?

  Lastly, there was Kashani. While I told him nothing about my daughter, he was privy to the details of the operation and had been instrumental in helping me plan a large portion of it, primarily transferring the Wolf to my employer. Kashani dealt in the illegal arms trade. He was Turkish and had a lot of contacts in his country’s government, which allowed him to operate with a fair amount of impunity. But with that said, was he beholden to those who looked away? Was he expected to give up information every now and then in exchange for continuing with his operation? Surely if the government were to find out he was involved in the kidnapping, it would be game over for him. Or maybe he saw it as a way to further secure his relationships. Whatever the motive, there was enough incentive to double-cross me.

  Or course there was the remote possibility that all three could be involved. Did they all work for the Wolf?

  At the moment, figuring out who was responsible was the least of my worries. Death was my concern. Demir wasn’t aware that I myself had been double-crossed and could provided him nothing of value. He had also been used in the Wolf’s escape. For the time being, I needed to make sure he continued to think that I had information. I needed to buy myself time to figure a way out of Diyarbakir Prison.

  It wouldn’t take much to make me disappear. No one would miss me. I needed to be careful. That meant keeping my mouth under control—a talent that had escaped me my entire life. I reeled in my emotions and went to work.

  “You played a dangerous role in this operation—bait.” Demir continued with his questioning. “You must have been extremely confident in your ability to escape.”

  “It was important that you be sold on the idea that my assault on the convoy was the only one taking place. Anything less and the other attack might have failed.”

  “You almost got away. You’re very good at what you do.”

  “Should I take that as a vote of confidence and a promise of future employment from you?” I smiled at Demir. The first bit of humanity I had shown him since we meet.

  He chuckled under his breath. “You assume too much. You assume you have a future.”

  “You said earlier that answers would buy me my freedom. Did I misinterpret your words?”

  “No, of course not. So long as we continue to partner together and resolve this situation.”

  It appeared as though Demir believed in my willingness to cooperate with him. Of course he had no reason not to. He sought information, and I assumed he had very little at the moment.

  “That’s very comforting to hear,” I replied.

  “You’ll find I can be a fair man. I’m not above making deals.”

  I continued to smile. We chatted for another ten minutes before he sent me back to my cell.

  The entire interaction was strange. The longer it took to recapture the Wolf, the greater the odds of him escaping the country. Whatever Demir’s reason for leniency during my interrogation, I knew I could count on one thing: if he ever discovered that I had been double-crossed, I would be of no value to him and he’d dispose of me.

  26

  When I returned to my cell, I saw that I had been given a thin mattress along with a ratty wool blanket and a dingy white pillow, more flat than fluffy. A grey plastic pitcher filled with water had been placed next to the bed.

  “We gave you a complimentary upgrade,” said one of the guards. He laughed at his joke before locking the door behind him.

  The mattress was four-feet by five-and-a-half feet long with noticeable lumps and a few dark stains. I supposed a bed with bloodstains was better than no bed. I unfolded the blanket and spread it out before sitting down. It instantly felt much better on my behind than the concrete floor had. My wrists and feet were still in shackles but I was immensely more comfortable than when I first woke.

  I dipped my nose into the pitcher. The water smelled clean, so I took a tiny sip. I didn’t vomit, so I greedily drank half of it. It appeared that Demir was making a valid attempt at making my stay somewhat more tolerable. Though, if that treatment were reserved for special guests of Diyarbakir, I’d hate to be a nobody.

  For the next few hours, I slept undisturbed until the clanking of my cell door opening woke me. A guard entered holding a metal food tray in one hand. He said nothing as he placed it on the floor. Must be noon.

  I picked up the tray and brought it back to the mattress. The smell wafting up from it triggered a low growl from my stomach. The cafeteria tray contained a few slices of cucumber and tomato, a bread roll, olives, a few pieces of plaited cheese, and two hard-boiled eggs. It wasn’t much but I was famished. I hadn’t eaten since leaving Kashani’s apartment.

  I ate all of the food and then drank half of the remaining water. I wasn’t sure when it would be replenished, if at all. I didn’t feel the need to pee, a sign of dehydration, but it was better to ration what I had left.

  I lay back down and stretched out. The prison garb I wore was loose, which would help the cuts and scrapes breathe and heal faster. With my stomach now content, my thoughts turned to formalizing a plan of escape.


  My walk to and from the interrogation room made it clear that I was in an area no longer being used to house prisoners. This was an advantage.

  So far, there appeared to be no scheduled checks, and I hadn’t heard any foot patrols outside my cell door. Demir had already admitted to underestimating me once. Could he seriously be doing it again, or was there something about this building that I wasn’t aware of? I could only assume the majority of the guards were with the majority of the prisoners.

  The halls were poorly lit, and the lights were kept off in the rooms I had passed. That worked in my favor. If could get out of my cell, I was confident I could find a way out of the building. The problem was the unknown outside.

  The window allowed the sun to enter my cell, which gave me some sense of time, but I wasn’t tall enough to see out. I could hear the occasional vehicle or voices passing by. I couldn’t begin to ascertain where in the compound they were holding me, let alone guess what possible escape routes were available to me. The most logical of options were through the front gate or over the wall.

  Just before the sunset, the same guard delivered another tray of food and a full pitcher of water. He collected the empties without saying a word. Dinner consisted of another roll, sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, olives, and a few rubbery pieces of meat—goat, perhaps.

  When I lifted the roll, I noticed a piece of paper stuck to the bottom. I peeled it off and was about to discard it when I noticed handwriting on it. It read: Tuesday and Thursday. Deliveries. Before sunrise. It was signed with a single letter “K.”

  Kashani!

  Could the note really be from him? If Kashani had sent the message, could I trust him? Did it mean he wasn’t involved in my capture? Or was it a trap set by Demir? I pondered briefly, but quickly realized I had no choice but to assume Kashani was trying to help.

  The ambush had taken place in the early morning hours on Monday. It was evening. His message said deliveries happen on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. He had to be talking about the delivery trucks that come and go from the prison. If so, that could be my way out.

  Knowing that sometime between midnight and probably six the next day, a truck would make a delivery to the prison. I sat quietly, listening for anything resembling just that.

  My cell was dark except for a sliver of moonlight that squeezed in through the window. It really didn’t help much. I had no idea what time it was and wouldn’t until sunrise. I squinted and read the message over and over. I had to believe I was interpreting it the way it was intended; a delivery would be made before sunrise. Did that mean just before sunrise, or was the window the entire night? I assumed he was talking about a morning delivery. It made the most sense.

  At my best guess, it was between three and five in the morning when I heard the undeniable sound of a large diesel truck. It passed just outside my window. So far, so good. I started a count in my head and stopped when I heard the diesel engine again. According to my calculations, I had roughly twenty minutes from its arrival to its departure to exit my cell and get outside. Thursday morning would be the next delivery. I had two days. I’d planned bigger things in less time.

  27

  Most of Tuesday was uneventful. I thought for sure Demir would have interrogated me in the morning. Time was of essence on his end. Who knew how much headway the Wolf had made toward the border. If he’d been with me, surely we would have been at or near the Syrian border by now. But maybe that was not the border he was heading to. Perhaps it was too easy. Demir would know it was the closet border to Diyarbakir and dispatch men to patrol the area. But then again, Turkey’s relations with Syria were dismal. Any sort of congregation of men along the border would raise a flag with the Syrians. It could limit his ability to seal off the border.

  It wasn’t until evening came along that the same two guards who escorted me the first night appeared. A punch to the back of my head to move quicker was a solid indication that they weren’t in the same joking mood.

  We went through the same routine in the interrogation room. My shackles were secured to the table, and I sat alone waiting for Demir. When he did appear, he didn’t have that smile I remembered from out last encounter. The hunt for the Wolf must not be going well.

  “Are you ready to give me answers?” he asked as he sat in the chair across from me. “Are you deaf?” he shouted when I didn’t answer.

  “You need to ask a question,” I said in a non-confrontational tone.

  “Where are they taking the Wolf? Tell me!” He slammed his fist on the metal table.

  “The Syrian border.” I gave him the only information I knew that would make sense, the location I had planned to go to.

  Demir eyed me for a moment before speaking. “Are you positive? Could there have been a change in plans?”

  My assumptions were right. Demir had the Turkey/Syrian border on lockdown and had expected to catch them. Perhaps that was the reason for his lackluster interrogation earlier.

  The door opened, and the same two guards appeared with a wooden chair and a rubber hose. The guard with the chair leaned it back against the table and then sat me in it while the other hooked the hose up to the water faucet extending from the wall. Demir had finally decided to press me harder.

  The simultaneous waterboarding and questioning went on for what seemed like an eternity. But it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Waterboarding was part of my training as a teenager. Long and I were both forced to experience that and a variety of other torture techniques. Should we ever have found ourselves in a precarious situation, we would at least know what to expect. I had been waterboarded so many times by my family of assassins, I worried my reaction would indicate its ineffectiveness on me. I did my best to choke and cough.

  I continued to repeat the same story to Demir: my role was to distract while another team attacked the other convoy to free the Wolf. I told him I was on my own, and that it was never in the plan for me to meet up with the other team.

  Demir wouldn’t accept my answer and continued to push for information on the other team. He also wanted to know how we knew another convoy was being used.

  “Who is this stink dog? What disgraceful person has committed this act of treason toward Turkey?”

  Demir had already made up his mind that an insider had leaked information. For all I knew, he had already started to interrogate his own guards.

  I thought of giving Kashani up to Demir but didn’t because of the note. If Kashani had nothing to do with my capture, he was my ticket out of the prison and out of the country. No need to dive further into the cesspool. I decided to play along with Demir’s assumptions of an internal leak.

  “Grenem? Does that mean anything to you?” I gave him the name I saw sewn on the fatigues of the guard who took my clothing, except I pronounced it wrong on purpose. I had to buy myself enough time to make it to Thursday morning.

  “Ghanem? Was it Ghanem?”

  “Maybe. I can’t be one hundred percent sure. I wasn’t privy to that information. It’s just a name I overheard during a discussion that took place around me, and I can’t be sure about the role he played.” I knew Demir would bite, so I kept at that story and didn’t detour.

  As for the team that hit the convoy, I told Demir my employer and his team had always worn black balaclavas around me. “But I would recognize his voice,” I added.

  I couldn’t be sure if the information I had given Demir was enough to keep me alive or enough for him to decide he no longer needed me. I was sure of one thing. My time was running out.

  28

  Wednesday morning brought me a beating by one of the guards. It’s not as bad as it sounds. A few slaps to the face, a punch to the stomach—all of it easily hidden from Demir during my next interrogation. He hadn’t laid a hand on me nor had he ordered another guard to do so. I could only suspect I was off limits. At least that’s the way I saw it.

  The guard who took his frustrations out on me entered my cell visibly upset. He kept our interaction
purely physical and as quiet as possible, not speaking to me at all except to repeat “Ghanem” over and over. Demir must have gotten to the guard I gave up. I kept my mouth shut and took the beating.

  I spent the remainder of the day undisturbed. At sundown, no one delivered dinner or refilled my water pitcher. My VIP privileges had been revoked. I didn’t care. Thursday morning would arrive soon, and my attention remained focused on my escape.

  Every so often I would hear footsteps outside my door. From what I could tell, they appeared randomly but at least it confirmed I wasn’t alone in the building. I wasn’t sure if it was a guard, but who else could it really be? My only real course of action was to attract attention to my cell. The odds weren’t favorable, but in my line of work, they usually never were.

  I lay quietly on my mattress most of the night, occasionally getting up and listening near the window. Accidentally falling asleep wasn’t a problem. I was determined not to let my opportunity for freedom pass me by. I didn’t think I would make it to the next scheduled delivery the following Tuesday.

  The night was quiet, though I heard footsteps outside my cell twice and voices outside my window. The thought that the Thursday morning delivery might not happen did cross my mind, but I discarded that notion. The prison needed supplies.

  Eventually the sound of the familiar diesel engine caught my attention. I quickly got up and stood next to the window. I could hear the vehicle approaching. It was time.

  I called out for Demir, shouting his name over and over in hopes of attracting attention. I continued yelling and clanking my water pitcher against the wall. The delivery truck had passed by my window, and the countdown had begun.