About twenty seconds later, I heard a voice outside my cell. He spoke in Turkish. I kept yelling Demir’s name. The door opened, and a guard I had not seen before stood before me. I could barely make him out because he was backlit by what little light there was in the hall.
“I have to speak to Demir. It’s very important. I have the information he wants.”
The guard shook his head. “Morning. You wait.”
“Where is he?”
The guard said nothing but still stood in the doorway. I needed him to come closer if I wanted any shot at getting my hands on that key ring. I sat propped up on my elbows, leaning back. The shorts I had on were loose and revealing. A smile formed on my face as I parted my legs, inviting him. The guard looked up and down the hall before stepping inside my cell. He shut the door behind him.
“Hurry.” I opened my legs wider.
He leaned his weapon against the wall before fumbling with his belt buckle. He pushed his pants down to his thighs and moved closer. He grabbed his erect penis in one hand as he got down on his knees.
That’s it. Come closer.
He positioned himself between my legs, his eyes never once leaving my crotch. In an instant, I wrapped my legs around his neck, clamped tightly, and twisted my body to the side. A dull crack emanated from his neck. He wasn’t dead, but I’d immobilized him. I maneuvered my body until my thigh pressed into his windpipe and squeezed until he stopped breathing. I searched his pockets and found the large key ring. Seconds later, I had my shackles off. I grabbed the knife the guard had attached to his waist. I considered the rifle, but firing shots would only draw attention. Stealth always paid bigger dividends.
I poked my head out of my cell. The hallway was empty and quiet. Since the guards had always led me to the right for my interrogations, I headed left, hugging the wall. I spotted the first camera, where the hallway turned left again. I didn’t have time to think about how to get by without being seen. I hugged the shadows of the wall and pushed forward. My grip on the knife handle tightened as I anticipated the sound of an alarm.
I passed another camera before I rounded a corner and saw a door up ahead. As I approached, I could see a large window along the right wall. An office, I assumed. I slowed my pace and peeked inside. Sitting in front of a bank of monitors were two guards. They were more interested in their tea and backgammon game than keeping watch over an empty prison barrack.
At that point, I wasn’t sure if the door was unlocked or if opening it would trigger an alarm. If there was one, I hoped it shared the same condition as most of the building: old and not in operation. I gripped the doorknob to the office door and twisted it slightly. It was unlocked. I quickly moved into the office and toward the guard sitting with his back to me. The eyes of the guard facing me widened in disbelief as I dispatched the first guard by slicing his neck. The second guard reached down for his rifle on the floor, and I leaned over and jammed my knife into his thigh. He barely got a yell out before I slammed my palm onto his mouth and then stuck the knife into his neck.
While he gagged and kicked on the floor, I familiarized myself with the gray control panel near the monitors. The knobs and switches were worn and dusty; some were chipped, others cracked in half. I wondered if any of them controlled the exit door. Nothing jumped out at me, and I didn’t have time to dawdle.
The door leading out of the building had no windows, so I pressed my ear against the cool steel and listened. All I could hear was a faint hum, and I couldn’t be sure if I would hear the delivery truck through the door. Before I could make any more assessments, the phone in the office rang.
Its low gargling tone echoed in the hall, amplifying its presence. Each ring was a call for a guard. I had no choice but to open the door and risk setting off an alarm. It’s been twenty minutes. That truck should be here any second, right? The muscles in my body tensed. I grabbed the handle, but before I could turn it, the ringing stopped. I wasn’t sure if I should breathe a sigh of relief or expect company. Then the drumming of distance footsteps in the hall told me what to do.
29
The delivery truck came to a halt at the prison’s front gate. With paperwork in hand, the driver rolled his window down and waited. A few seconds later, a guard appeared from the small office attached to the entrance. He exchanged a few words with the driver and looked at the paperwork briefly before walking toward the back of the truck. Along the way, he poked the barrel of his rifle through the metal railing at a cardboard box. When he reached the rear, he peered inside the flatbed with a flashlight, studying the load against the back of the truck’s cabin.
“What’s in the boxes?” he called out to the driver.
“Vegetables. For another delivery,” the driver answered.
The guard took a pull on his cigarette as he eyed the inventory.
“Everything okay?” the driver called out. “I’m late.”
Satisfied everything seemed in order, the guard called out for the gate to be opened. The gate creaked and slowly slid open. The driver forced a gear into place and pressed on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward and then stalled out.
“What’s the matter? You forget how to drive?” The guard laughed as he approached the driver’s window. The driver started the engine but struggled to get it in gear. The guard was about to make another remark when a commotion from the building behind him gained his attention. Three guards were running straight for the door of the building kitty-corner to the prison entrance with rifles in hand.
“What’s happening over there?” the driver asked, curiously as he peered into his side mirror
“Go, get out of here,” the guard motioned with his hand as he began walking toward the building.
The driver squinted, hoping to see something. The guard turned back. “What did I say?” he shouted.
Giving up, the driver finally forced the gearshift into place, and the engine grinded as he applied pressure to the pedal. The truck moved forward, but the engine died just as the truck almost cleared the gate. A loud bell rang out in the compound. More guards appeared. The floodlights around the walls came on. Men could be heard shouting. Whistles were being blown.
The driver leaned out of his window this time, still eager to see what the commotion was about.
Another guard appeared from the office. “Move your truck,” he shouted. “I need to close the gate.”
The driver turned the key in the ignition and shoved the gearshift back into place, his eyes still glued to the side mirror.
“Move!” the guard shouted, this time raising his rifle and aiming it at the cabin of the truck.
30
About fifty yards away from the prison, the truck stopped at an intersection and gave me the opportunity to drop down from the chassis of the vehicle and roll to the side of the road. I thought the driver would never get the truck clear of the prison gates. I got to my feet and ran for the shadow of a nearby building. The sound of the prison sirens pierced the quiet night. Anyone sleeping would surely be woken and poke his head out of a door or window.
A search would be initiated soon. I wasn’t out of trouble, just out of the prison. There was no way to disguise my prison uniform, and stripping it off wasn’t an option. I had to keep moving. I hurried toward a small opening between two buildings, hoping it led to another street. I held the blade I’d lifted off of the guard tight against my thigh, ready to dispatch anyone who dared to signal my presence.
I entered the narrow space between the buildings and immediately met a moving shadow. Just as I raised the blade, I heard a familiar voice.
“Sei-sei, wait. It’s me.”
My left hand still had a firm grasp on Kashani’s neck when I lowered the knife. “I almost killed you.”
“It’s good you didn’t. I’m your only hope out of here.” Kashani threw a large coat over me. “Come this way. We must hurry.”
We moved quietly but quickly between the buildings to where it opened to a small street. “There.” Kashani
pointed to a small car.
We got inside the vehicle and within seconds were on the move. “Stay down. We’re not safe yet.”
“Where are we heading?” I asked.
Kashani shifted gears. “Back to the shop.”
“Shouldn’t we be heading out of the city, not farther into it?’
“The main roads are being secured as we speak.” Kashani pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. “Don’t worry. I have a plan in place to get you out of the city.”
Even though Kashani had helped me escape the prison, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he might have been involved in some way with my capture. Demir had readily admitted that they were tipped off. How could I not have reservations about Kashani’s intentions? As I mulled my predicament, Kashani must have sensed my concerns.
“You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”
I shrugged. “You knew the details of my plan. You helped me execute it.”
“I got you out of that hell hole. If not for me, you would still be there. Or dead.”
“Demir knew an attack on the convoy had been planned. Someone set me up.”
“Sei-sei. Who helped you get to Diyarbakir? Who supplied you with weapons? Who is helping you right now?” Kashani shook his head. I could see in his eyes the hurt my accusation had caused. Seeing that side of him was a bit odd for me, considering our relationship was more along the line of business associates. Though I must admit, I’d known he had a crush on me from the moment we met and might have played up to that slightly.
“I’m sorry. Please understand where I’m coming from. I have to rule out those who knew about my plan to intercept the Wolf.”
“If I had set you up, would I be here now?” Kashani said with small huff. “You should know you can trust me.”
“I do.” I gave his thigh a gently squeeze. “I just needed to be sure. Thank you.”
I spent the remaining time of our drive telling Kashani everything else I learned through my conversations with Demir.
“So nobody knows where this Wolf is?”
“As of yesterday, no. But Demir suspects whoever took him headed toward Syria. It’s the closest border.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be heading in the opposite direction. It’s a longer route out of the country, but it’ll be safer.”
“Is there any advantage to staying put until this blows over?”
“This won’t blow over. You have to try and get out now. We both have to get out now.”
“You? I thought you had friends in high places.”
“I do, but once Demir confirms the Wolf made it out of the country, he’ll press even harder to find those responsible for leaking information about the second convoy. They’ll want to talk to people like me, but they won’t use words.”
We ditched the car just outside the gates to the old city and continued on foot. “So how do you intend to get me out of city?”
“Farmers.”
31
Kashani had arranged for two farmers to transport me to a small town west of Diyarbakir. He assured me they knew what roads to take to avoid checkpoints. I just needed to get over the twenty-foot wall that surrounded the old city. Not a problem.
I leapt from the rooftop of Kashani’s store and landed on the adjacent building. I knew he was watching me, but I never looked back. There really wasn’t time for a goodbye. I had to make it over the wall before sunrise. Kashani had provided me with money and surprisingly, clothing my size. “Take this tesettür,” he said, handing me the headscarf. “It’ll help you blend.”
The buildings in the old city were practically built on top of one another, making moving along the rooftops fairly easy. I leapt over five-foot-wide gaps and hand-vaulted over brick knee walls, all while focused on the massive exterior wall up ahead.
The fortified walls of Diyarbakir were in various states of disrepair, and I was heading toward a section near a large column tower. Parts near the top had crumbled, lowering the height I had to scale to roughly fifteen feet. I knew from an earlier excursion that the interior wall in that area had numerous decorative reliefs that I could use as foot and hand holds. I had to assume the exterior side had the same decorative reliefs. If not, the drop down wouldn’t kill me.
It took me fifteen minutes to reach the wall and less time to scale it. I crossed over in the cover of darkness. There were reliefs on the other side, which made the climb down quick and easy.
According to Kashani, I was to head straight through the brush until I reached the field. He said two farmers would meet me there. Seemed pretty straightforward, only I saw no one when I cleared the brush. The sun was already nipping at the horizon, and I had began to question Kashani’s plan.
The field itself was more like a small hill that rose at a steady grade in front of me. I was blind to what was on the other side, so I made my way to the top for a better view. Perhaps the farmers were waiting in another area.
Bent at the waist, I moved forward. As I reach the crest, I heard the ringing of a small bell. I stopped. A beat later, a goat came into view and then more goats until finally a middle-aged man with a small build appeared. He had weathered lines that cut deep around his eyes, and he wore a full beard with a heavy brow to match. Sitting on his head was a taqiyah, a colorful woven skullcap, and wrapped loosely around his neck was a beige cotton scarf. The rest of his outfit comprised an off-white, linen button-down and charcoal gray pants.
Another man, similar in appearance and carrying a herding stick, came into view. We stared at one another briefly before one of the men tapped his chest lightly and said, “Ismet.” He didn’t bother to introduce his friend, and I didn’t press for a name.
Ismet led me down the other side of the hill to an old flatbed truck. It had wooden slats rising about ten-feet tall on both sides of the bed. A canvas stretched across the top of the slat walls offering shelter from rain and sun. They lowered a ramp and began guiding the goats into the back. Ismet motioned for me to get inside as well before heading to the driver’s side door.
There were about ten goats in all, enough to provide cover but leave me with breathing room. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when Kashani told me farmers would be helping me. I imagined being buried in a pile of hay or sitting amongst crates of freshly picked dates, not crammed in with a bunch of goats. I found a small piece of tarp and bunched it up to cushion my bottom. The smell of stale urine was strong, but my nose would become used to it after a few minutes. Ismet’s friend returned and handed me two bottles of water before we left.
The goat herders were responsible for the first leg of my escape from Turkey. Kashani said they would take me as far as the city of Siverek, a small town about an hour outside of Diyarbakir. There, they would hand me off to another driver who would be responsible for driving me across the country to the coastal town of Cesme. From there, it was a short boat ride to the island of Chios, Greece.
Kashani had arranged to get me as far as Greece, where I would then be on my own. Once in the European Union, I was confident I could move over land easily, even with no passport in hand.
We were about halfway toward our destination when I heard the gears downshift, and the vehicle begin to slow. Kashani had mentioned it would take about an hour to reach the city; by my estimate, only thirty minutes had passed.
From the back of the truck, I couldn’t see outside except through the opening at the rear. I had holed up along the right side, about midway in. The truck came to a stop, while still on the road, and I immediately heard other voices speaking Turkish. A checkpoint.
I gripped the handle of my knife tighter, and moved toward the cabin of the truck, tucking myself into the corner. It was the darkest there, and I had ten goats in front of me. While I couldn’t understand what was being said, I noted two separate voices conveying an authoritative tone. Are there more? I had to assume so. Two men at a checkpoint seemed low.
I listened to what seemed like an unusually long con
versation for the guards to be having with a couple of goat herders. I tried to determine if there was suspicion, but I couldn’t be sure. My arms were wrapped around my shins, holding my knees firmly against my chest. The heat rising off my body became more apparent as the seconds dragged on. And then the voice of the man near the driver’s side, the one doing most of the talking, the one with the condescending tone that would just about irritate anyone he spoke to, began moving toward the rear of the truck. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but it had.
32
The blade of my knife punctured the soldier’s throat the instant he stuck his head into the truck. I gripped his uniform tightly and pulled him firmly against the chained tailgate while twisting my hand. His dark brown eyes widened and shifted back and forth. He desperately fought to decipher how he had gone from commander of a checkpoint to slaughtered animal in a matter of seconds. I said nothing, and he was in no position to either.
A few whiffs of his remaining sour breath invaded my nose as my eyes traced the blackened pores dotting the tip of his bulbous nose. His eyelids grew heavy and so did his body. I felt nothing for this man as the life poured from his neck. He wouldn’t have hesitated to deprive me of mine.
I hopped over the tailgate and quietly lowered the lifeless body to the asphalt. I couldn’t tell if he was one of Demir’s men from the prison or if he was enlisted with the Turkish military. The prison guards all wore military fatigues.
From that position, looking under the vehicle, I could see there were two other men. One stood next to the passenger-side door, the other a few feet in front of the truck. A vehicle, theirs I assumed, was parked off to the side of the road. This wasn’t a proper checkpoint. These men were ordered here. For all I knew, they showed up minutes before we did.
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