“She’s much more resourceful than I had anticipated,” he said, licking his lips. “And the little girl?”
“She’s still in the same location. Nothing has changed.” Ivanovich chewed on his bottom lip before speaking again. “This assassin will start looking. This is a problem, no?”
The Wolf nodded in agreement. “She doesn’t worry me.”
“And the little girl? I should get rid of her?” Ivanovich asked.
The Wolf drew a deep breath and straightened his legs under the table. He had known Ivanovich long enough to understand the question was rhetorical. The little girl had served her purpose, but the Wolf underestimated the hold she would have over Sei. He hadn’t thought the assassin would blindly follow her emotions for a child she had never met. But she had, and that was an impression that stuck with the Wolf.
Ivanovich arched his left eyebrow as he anticipated an answer he already knew. He had hoped for an easier path forward, but that was never the case if one worked for such a man. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Bring the little one to me. Alive.”
64
Nearly three days had passed since I’d said goodbye to Kostas—the amount of time it took me to make my way to the building on Rue de Buci in Paris. It was early in the morning, around three a.m. The weather that night was cool, and a wispy fog moved gently through the city, dimming the moonlight.
I stood alone on the sidewalk, staring at the balcony on the fourth floor. About an hour earlier, I had sat on a bench thirty yards away, waiting for foot traffic in the area to cease. I had no key to enter through the building entrance, but that was a problem reserved for people who can’t climb.
It wasn’t difficult to see the path I would take. The building’s architecture was typical French nouveau. Every window had a decorative railing, and the façade had numerous reliefs I could use as hand and foot holds. The artisanal cheese shop on the ground floor had a large picture window enclosed in the masonry of the building that provided wide framing—the perfect starting point. It took minutes to make my way to the balcony, and even a shorter amount of time to make my way to the bedroom of Dr. Delacroix.
I stood at the foot of the queen-sized bed and watched the doctor’s chest rise and fall while he lay on his back, his hands clasped and resting contently on his stomach. He wore a sky blue cotton pajama top; a charcoal grey duvet covered him from the chest down. His sleep looked peaceful and relaxed, as if he had no worries. It wasn’t difficult to understand why. Delacroix lived a luxurious life, one I suspected he had acquired at the expense of others and certainly didn’t deserve.
He slept soundly and didn’t feel the weight of my body when I sat on the edge of the bed near his side. I rectified that when I clamped my hand tightly over his mouth. Wide eyes followed by a muffled scream were all Delacroix could manage as the situation unfolded before him.
“Shhhh,” I said as I pressed a lone finger against my lips.
The intensity in his eyes faded a bit, and I removed my hand.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted. “I told you everything.”
“I ask the questions. You provide answers and nothing more. Are we clear?”
“But I—”
“Was I not clear a second ago?” I asked with a firmer tone.
Delacroix lay quietly with shifty eyes that never settled on me longer than a few seconds.
“I’m not convinced that you’ve told me everything you know.”
“I have. I swear.”
“That answer did nothing to lessen my conviction.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Would you have me spin a tall tale?”
I withdrew my knife and pressed it firmly against the side of his neck. Delacroix flinched as I kept the blade in place, and a trickle of blood appeared. “Sarcasm is not your friend right now.”
“But I’ve told you everything.”
I looked around his bedroom, “It would be a shame to see all of this disappear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you won’t collect a salary because you’ll be unable to show up for work at the hospital, thus being unable to pay for all of this, and it will disappear.”
“That’s preposterous. I always show up for work on the days that I’m scheduled. I have an impeccable attendance record.”
“If you’re not breathing you won’t.”
“Huh?”
“You do agree if you’re not breathing, there simply is no way you will make it to work, let alone out of this apartment or even this bed.”
Delacroix’s jaw fell slack, and his face grew white.
“Don’t worry. That’s all hypothetical. I based my conclusion on the off chance you would continue to say you know nothing.” I placed two fingers under Delacroix’s chin and closed his mouth. “Let’s start again. I need more information on the man who contacted you. Think. You spoke with him. You’ve met him.”
“Yes, but he always hid himself from me. I never saw his face.”
“There must be something about his voice or his mannerisms.”
“I suppose he sounded young in age, certainly not as old as I am. He didn’t have an accent like the men who showed up at the clinic, and his word choice suggested that he is well educated.”
“Was he short, tall, fat, skinny?”
Delacroix’s eyes shot up and to the left as he pursed his lips. “He was a little shorter than I. Maybe five foot ten inches. Seemed to be in good physical shape—an athlete, I would venture.”
“What makes you think that?”
“His shoulders were broad. And he moved easily, fluidly.”
“Any idea how he entered your apartment?”
“That I don’t know. Maybe he picked the lock, or perhaps the same way you managed to get inside.”
“Unlikely. Do you think it’s someone you met in the past? Any enemies?”
Delacroix shook his head. “None that I know of. And if you think I’ve done this on more than one occasion, well, you’re wrong. I’m not the monster you believe me to be. That man tricked me.”
I had to admit that I believed Delacroix wasn’t involved in a human trafficking ring, but I didn’t believe that he was the good doctor he presented himself to be. His lifestyle was too lavish. I might not have questioned it if he had his own practice and specialized in cosmetic surgery, but he was just one of many obstetricians in the city. A worker bee.
“What else can you tell me about his appearance?”
“It was dark in the apartment, but I presume he had black hair or, at the very least, dark brown. What little of his skin’s pigmentation I saw looked slightly darker than the average white person. I would guess his ethnicity to be mixed—Caucasian and something else, at the very least.”
“Anything else? Did he have any equipment or a bag with him?”
“No, but he was wearing gloves, surgical gloves. He’s obviously a skilled hoodlum.”
“You said he had pictures of your family? Did you ask them if they saw a man or came into contact with someone fitting his description?”
“That’s not exactly a topic of conversation one brings up around the dinner table. Besides, the pictures all looked as if they were taken from a distance using a long lens camera.”
“Do you still have them here?”
“He took them when he left,” Delacroix said, shaking his head.
“What about the envelope he left the money in?”
“Generic.”
“The staff that assisted you that day at the clinic, you mentioned that some of them had accents, Arabic. Are you sure of that?”
Delacroix’s bottom lip pushed up into a pout as he thought about my question. “Well, they had olive complexions, like someone from the Middle East. I simply assumed they were Arabic.”
Was the Wolf’s compound somewhere in that region? It was a large area to cover. I would have to at least narrow it down to a country.
“But the leader of the group, he had no acce
nt,” Delacroix said.
“Any chance their leader was the same person who had been in contact with you?”
Delacroix again pondered. “Maybe. It’s plausible, except I received a phone call from him after the procedure to confirm that everything had gone as instructed. Why call if he had been there? It’s all a blur at this point. He kept our conversation to the point, never more than what was needed. But there was something about the way he spoke. He had a lisp.”
“That’s something big to overlook.”
“Maybe a lisp is the wrong way to describe it. He pronounced a word funny and I noticed it because he said it over and over. He kept telling me that he could always find me. His exact wording was, ‘I will find you,’ except you sounded more like chew.”
65
For the second time, I allowed a man who had wronged me to live. Delacroix had proven useful that night, and it seemed with every visit his memory sharpened. I couldn’t rule out the need to jog it once more.
The following day, I returned to my cottage. It felt good to be back in a familiar setting. I half expected to find my place ransacked, but everything remained exactly as I had left it. I also walked the entire property and found no signs of trespassing. Long was the only one I could confirm who knew where I lived, but even his presence would not have gone undetected had he a reason to return.
I spent the day sleeping, but it wasn’t without reservation. I didn’t know what had become of Demir or if he would continue to hunt me outside of Turkey. Another concern I had was the Wolf. Surely he hadn’t planned on me escaping, and he had to know that I would target him. I wasn’t sure if he saw me as a threat, but considering we shared the same profession, I had to also prepare for him going on the offensive and coming after me.
As much as I didn’t want to, locating my daughter meant returning to my old line of work and utilizing every contact I had to help with my search. I couldn’t do it alone. I was even prepared to take on contracts in exchange for information. Besides Tark, Delacroix, and the Wolf, who else knew about my daughter? What about the staff that showed up at the clinic to help with the birth? Did they have loose mouths? Could I get to one of them?
I went ahead and left a post on the Board that I was available for hire. I had decided right then I would follow up on every lead and not judge the contract itself, but whether the employer could provide information.
Offers for work came fast, but none of the people offering them knew anything of Tark, the Wolf, or had even heard of Delacroix. I even pushed for information on human trafficking rings specializing in children, but so far, nothing emerged. This didn’t deter me. I needed to play a numbers game. The more people I talked to, the greater my chances.
Later that evening, I received a message from a previous employer, a KGB ex-official. He had orchestrated a hostile takeover of an ore-producing plant in Kazakhstan right after the fall of the Soviet Union and became the CEO of the company and, in turn, a very wealthy man. Along with his success came enemies. He often hired me to get rid of problems created by his competition, mainly the competitors themselves, but on some occasions, it was a government official he had a falling-out with.
He had dealt with the Wolf in the past and might be able to provide information on his whereabouts, but it would come at price, one he didn’t want to waste on his current problem. He said he needed time to check on this information but made no promise that it would be relevant to my needs.
It was Friday night, and things usually quieted down on the Board at the start of the weekend. The underworld has a social life, believe it or not. I was content to stay put, maybe enjoy a warm bath. My socialite days were well past me, not for age, but more out of disinterest. Unless a job required it, I didn’t feel the need to squeeze into another black dress and strut around in heels.
Around nine, I got an unexpected ping on the Board from Feza, Kashani’s driver. Apparently he and Kashani had gotten separated before Demir’s men caught up with them. I gave him the number to a prepaid mobile phone I had picked up a few days earlier.
“Sei, it’s good that you made it out,” he said.
“I’m sorry about Basir,” I said. “I wish we could say the same for him.”
Feza grunted on the phone. He wasn’t the chatty type, but he did want to know if I had any plans on extracting revenge on Demir. I suspected Feza was really the one who wanted revenge. I had no desire to walk back into that hornet’s nest.
“Not at the moment.”
Feza grunted. “We are connected by this man. I will keep you posted.”
I sat in my office strategizing next steps. On numerous instances, I thought to contact Tark on the Board but had initially resisted. At that time, I hadn’t quite decided if it was advantageous to remain quiet. If he didn’t already know that I escaped from Diyarbakir, my postings to the Board were a giveaway. There was no surprise element playing in my favor, and waiting for Kostas to come through with information was a poor wager at best. Silence was no longer golden. It had become a roadblock.
I used the TOR browser to navigate to the Deep Web and left a note for Tark on the Board. I passed the time by drinking an entire kettle of tea and eating half a box of gingerbread snaps. It took Tark almost two hours to ping me with an invite to join him in a private room.
Tark: You should be locked up or dead.
Sei: Funny. I envisioned a similar fate for you, minus the bit about being locked up.
Tark: What do you want besides to make empty threats?
Sei: The Wolf is safely out of Turkey. Where’s my payment?
Tark: You can’t be serious?
Sei: Oh, but I am. Is the Wolf not alive and out of the country? Were those not the specifications you demanded in order for the contract to be fulfilled?
Tark didn’t expect that I would come calling for payment. Neither had I, but while waiting for him to contact me, I realized the contract had actually been fulfilled, and therefore, I was due what he had promised—the whereabouts of my daughter.
Tark: Sorry, but that won’t be happening.
Sei: You do realize there is only one outcome for non-payment.
Tark: I do, but you’ll never find me. And anyway what makes you so sure that I’m an easy target? Have you ever considered that the tables might be turned, that I am no match for you?
Sei: I don’t have a time limit on finding you. Consider that a done deal. And when I do find you, death will not be quick. It will not be painless. And it certainly will not be with mercy. I will extract the information I need from you. Be sure of that.
Tark: I admire your confidence. Sadly, it’s a wasted effort. Yes, your daughter is alive. That wasn’t a lie, but you should forget about her. You’ll never find her. I’m not even sure she’s still breathing, actually. She was when we first spoke, but things have a way of quickly taking a turn for the worse. You, of all people, should know that. Ha, ha.
My left leg bounced relentlessly as a fiery rage grew hot under my skin. Tark had repeatedly pushed the same button. He seemed to be enjoying himself, as if this were all a game to him. There was no question in my mind that I would find him, he would give me the information I needed, and then I would kill him.
I didn’t derive this confidence from my unique skill set or from my stubborn tenacity. No, it had nothing to do with the obvious. I was confident because I had finally concluded who Tark really was.
66
Lajos Sadik stood in front of the mirror that hung on the wall of his office and took his time adjusting the beret on top of his bald head. It was his official first day on the job as the new warden of Diyarbakir Prison, and he, of course, wanted to impart the right impression on his men. He brushed his mustache with a tiny comb, cleaned his nostrils with tissue, and spit-groomed his eyebrows into place before doing an about-face and exiting his office.
He walked calmly down a semi-lit hall. The scraping of his heels against the concrete floor echoed throughout the corridor of Building D, the one reserved for
special guests. That’s where the Wolf and the assassin Sei had been jailed previously, before making their daring escapes, not only out of what the Turkish government claimed to be an inescapable prison, but out of the country as well.
News of that never made it to the media, and only those who absolutely had to know were made aware. It was an embarrassment that was easily contained, which minimized the political fallout for many in the government. Large amounts of money had to be paid to the Russians in exchange for their cooperation in keeping this debacle a private manner. The Turkish government promised they would not stop looking for the Wolf. The Russians knew their efforts would be minimal, at best, but the hush money was a large enough sum to appease them. Sadik had assured the men who championed him as the replacement for the disgraced Demir that he would restore the prison’s reputation.
Sadik stopped in front of the closed steel door and straightened his uniform once more. His first official duty was to welcome Diyarbakir’s most recent prisoner, one special enough to be housed in Building D. The heavy door squealed as Sadik pushed it opened, revealing a room occupied by four guards and a prisoner.
“Sir, it’s good you could be here for this,” said one of the guards.
On his hands and knees was a man, bloodied and beaten. His head hung low, and his breathing was hoarse.
“What is wrong with him?” Sadik asked.
“Bruised ribs,” the same guard replied. He then reached down and grabbed the prisoner by his hair and yanked his head up, revealing his battered and puffy face. Even so, Sadik easily recognized Demir. It was the first time he had laid eyes on the man since his arrest earlier in the week. While Demir wasn’t guilty of aiding the escapees, he was ultimately responsible. All might have been forgiven had he captured Sei and the Black Wolf. Technically, Demir wasn’t a prisoner at Diyarbakir. His file simply stated he had been relieved of his current duties but was to retain his assignment at the prison with the new warden determining and outlining the description of his new position. A generous amount of leeway had been given.
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