by Rik Stone
They picked up the group from the seed barn and Anna rode shotgun in the truck while Pavel followed in the Fiat.
“I’ve arranged to leave the girls at a village in a bay in the district of Orhaniye on the opposite side of the peninsular to Icmeler,” she told Jez. “There is a band of Kurds I’ve used before. They will look after them for two days and then return them to Icmeler. There is no way anyone will hear of this assault in the next twenty-four hours.”
“What and the Kurds keep the truck as payment?”
She laughed. “No, they don’t come that cheaply.”
It was late, very late, but the Kurds were alert and waiting. Anna passed keys and money to their spokesman and without further discourse the three soldiers were in the Fiat and driving back to Marmaris Marina.
Chapter 32
Istanbul, Turkey
“God, that was some run of luck,” Adam said, as they were driven along the main trunk road from Ankara to Istanbul, “and all bad.”
Hassan cocked his head to one side and agreed without saying anything.
Like a game of skittles, Adam’s pins had fallen together: the drug they used on Yuri had failed and then a telex to the barn warned them their second-in-command in Ankara was attempting a takeover bid, and finally, their legitimate partners in Istanbul were turning the screws. They’d been stretched in every direction – and it wasn’t yet over.
“I know,” Hassan said, “but we’ve sorted worse.”
Adam turned his attention to the driver in the seat directly in front of him: Batur Hasim. But then a thud struck the back of the seat and jolted him. He had almost forgotten about that. “What’s the matter? Not comfortable enough for you back there?” he shouted to the Ankara second-in-command he’d brought along after defeating his ambitions. No response.
A quiet half-hour drive and Batur pulled the Pontiac in next to the sidewalk outside a three storey office block on a coast road in European Istanbul.
“It’s too busy here. We can’t leave our passenger in the back of the car. If he keeps kicking the panels, the car will shake and someone might respond,” Adam said. “These legitimate partners can be more ruthless than some of our underworld people; this meeting could hold us up for a while … Batur, take the car to the big parking lot. Get something to eat, but eat it in the car. I don’t know how long this will take, but be sure to stay there and wait for us.”
“Yes, Mister Mannesh,” Batur said humbly and pulled away.
Adam watched the car turn the corner towards the parking lot and went into the office with Hassan.
*
The view from Adam’s high-floor office overlooked the Bosporus and on across to Asia. Some said it was a vista to die for, and some did. A self-satisfied feeling took him as he slumped into a huge, comfortable chair and buried himself into the billowing cushions. But then recent events jumped back to mind and his face stiffened. Hassan had picked up a steaming coffee jug from the bar counter in the corner of the room and poured two cups. He pushed one in front of Adam and sat in a comfortable chair opposite.
“Drink that,” he said. “I can tell by your face you’re letting these little bits of flyblow get to you. Calm down.”
Adam nodded without answering and felt his body trying to relax; it had been a long day after all. He sipped at the coffee and his Greek secretary sprung to mind. Alala, more of a Greek goddess than a secretary, he thought. He had her answering telephones and taking messages. Maybe she was capable of more, but he never gave her too much to do. If she fucked up, he’d have to fire her and he wasn’t sure he could do that – he hadn’t screwed her yet. The door opened and Alala entered as if spirited in by thought. He felt his loins spike: the way things moved on that girl. But she looked confused, her practiced walk rushed; he stiffened again – and not in the ideal way.
“Mister Mannesh, I didn’t see you come in and much as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to get hold of you.” Her olive skin glistened and a lock of hair hung loose over hazel eyes. Agitatedly, she blew a cooling breath up her face and brushed the hair aside.
“Well I’m here now, so what’s happened?” Adam said, trying to remain composed.
“Yesterday, a call came in from a Sergeant Amoun in Marmaris. He said he had business dealings with you that needed immediate attention, said you should call him as soon as possible, that it could be a life or death thing. I just didn’t know what to do.”
A cold shiver ran the length of his spine. Too many things going wrong. What could it be this time? “Don’t worry, Alala, he’s a friend of mine. A friend who sees every situation as life or death, but it will be nothing. I suppose you better contact him, put him through to my phone. I’ll sort him out before he has a coronary.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, clearly glad to be rid of the burden, and smiled. “I’ll do it right away, Mister Mannesh,” she said and left.
Adam looked at Hassan, screwing up his forehead. “What now?”
Stone-faced, Hassan poured another coffee and sunk it in one.
Adam pondered. Probably true what he’d said to Alala; Amoun was overreacting, something of nothing … so why feel flustered? He tapped his fingers without cadence – hurry up, for fuck’s sake – ring. Obligingly, the phone rang.
Adam snatched it from its cradle. “Amoun,” he said, too quickly to be smooth.
“Adam, yes, it’s me. Don’t ask how, but the seed barn has gone.”
“What do you mean gone? Barns don’t have legs,” he said. Of course, he knew what Amoun was saying; he just didn’t want to face up to it.
“It’s been blown up, leveled to the ground. The gunmen from Ankara are dead, too.”
“What, all of them?”
“No, just those at the barn.” No answer. “With these Russian gangs all over the place … I don’t know, I was wondering if we should cut and run, go back to the capital.”
Adam slumped back, sunk deeper into the cushions. Fuck! That meant Ata and Helga had lost Mehmet, too. The barn was demolished and the communications with it. But worse – his chance of getting the lists had gone.
The phone crackled. “Adam!”
“Yes, yes, I’m still here.” He paused a little longer. “You’re sure it was the Russians?”
“Well, I’m guessing, but who else could’ve done it?”
“Nobody, you’re right. But don’t even think of leaving; there’s too much at stake.”
“Of course, Adam, I know. It was just a thought.”
“Are the Russians still in the area?”
“As far as I can tell, they’ve packed up and gone.”
“Okay, then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
The line remained silent.
“We go ahead with the plan. We still have the delivery organized from our friendly Russians, so we get that and wait for the Hasidic to turn up with his goods and make the swap. I can’t be any more specific on the phone, but you do know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes, Adam, carry on as normal until the Hasid shows.”
“Yes, good. I have business to conclude here, but as soon as it’s done, I’ll be coming out with Hassan.”
Adam dropped the receiver onto the cradle. Hassan swallowed more coffee and said, “Sounds bad.”
“Pretty much,” Adam replied. “We’ll have to put this legal stuff on hold.” He paused. There were those in the import-export part of the business who had joined forces. They were vying for controlling interest in the company. Could it wait? he wondered. Takeovers aren’t something that happen overnight – are they?
“No, none of it can wait. Why should it?” he decided. “First we organize those pompous bastard lawyers who are paid an urn load of money and after they’ve sorted things out we go to Icmeler.”
*
Most of the afternoon had gone by the time Adam and Hassan left the building, and there was no sign of Batur.
“I’ll crucify that little fuck,” Adam said. “I specifically told him to w
ait here.”
“Calm down, you told him to stay in the parking lot because of what’s in the trunk.”
“Oh, that’s right. Come on then; we’ll go get him. He can take us to the apartment. I should have had a shower in the office, but I’m not going back up there; haven’t got the stomach for the place at the minute. You have a change of clothes at my place, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Hassan said, as they began the five-minute walk to the parking lot.
“Good, we’ll freshen up there and I’ll contact the lawyers, get them to sort this lot out.”
“I’ll be glad to get to Icmeler. These legitimate colleagues are the biggest thieves I’ve come across.”
Adam’s laughter turned sour when he saw no visible signs of Batur in the parking lot. He’d skipped – with the prisoner. He sighed, exasperation real. And then his facial muscles froze. “No, no, no! I don’t fucking believe it! Losing the prisoner means we’ll lose the capital … What the fuck is happening, Hassan? It’s beginning to look like the whole world is trying to shaft us at the same time.”
“Stay positive, Adam. We’ve handled worse,” Hassan said, but dullness dominated his eyes.
Going back to the office, Adam arranged for another of his cars to pick them up and it wasn’t long before he saw his Ford Torino 500 being pulled into the sidewalk. He and Hassan left the building and found the driver with an arm sticking out of an open window and the fingers on the end of it tapping ash from a burning cigarette. The little shit was smoking in his Torino. What is this, public transport? His skin prickled.
He spread a large hand onto the roof and leaned over. “If I see you smoking in one of my cars again,” he said to the driver. “I’ll kill you.”
The driver’s response was nonchalant. After all, Adam was just another legitimate businessman. He flicked the butt past him and blew out the final drag inside the car. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled, without looking up.
Adam swung open the door, pulled the driver up from the vehicle, and smashed a fist into his temple. The man was going down, but Adam kept the punches going and when he hit the ground, he kicked him in the ribs and stomped on his head.
Hassan dragged him off. “Behave! Too many people about,” he said, holding his face threateningly close to Adam’s and then using the lapels of his jacket to turn him to face the people who’d stopped on the sidewalk to stare.
Adam nodded and straightened his clothing. “Before anything else turns to shit, we have to split up, Hassan. You stay in Istanbul and sort out the legit stuff. Do what it takes to stop them – whatever it takes. I’m going to the depots in Icmeler. I know I can only wait and watch, but I’m beginning to think if I don’t keep it under my personal control then I won’t have it under control at all.”
Chapter 33
Marmaris, Turkey
Anna took a sip of her black coffee while watching the police station from across the boulevard. But she had ignored the drink for too long; it was cold. She grimaced, pushed it to one side of the white, plastic table, and leaned back in her seat. The spot she had chosen was against the wall next to the café entrance. The locale was quiet enough and she saw no reason for concern, but her training was ingrained: cover your back, have an alternative line of escape – in this case, through the front of the café and exit the rear into the back alley. The afternoon had been pleasantly warm, but now the café was on the shaded side of the street and a wisp of a breeze had picked up; she shivered in response.
Her flaxen hair had been washed through with a red rinse, pulled back severely from her face, and swirled into a loose chignon. Her makeup was light and the gray business suit she wore was slightly creased, as if she’d spent a week behind a desk. A number of property leaflets were stacked on the table next to her purse. She had picked up the flyers from the office of a German property agent in the village. The ideal cover to get her up close.
Across from where she sat, Pavel leant against the cornerstones of the police station trying to lose himself in a local newssheet. Slightly less than tall, but weighing in at around a hundred kilos, insignificance failed him. Jez, on the other hand, looked like one of the locals. He hung around a bit further along the road and was heavy in conversation with a foreign girl: a blonde, German, American … whatever. They laughed and joked and Anna began wondering just how experienced this husband of hers was with women. She watched as his face crinkled into that ‘little boy’ grin she thought he kept for her alone and his eyes seemed to smile at will.
But then two officers came out of the police station and passed the time on the sunny side of the street. One was Nazar. The other was the young policeman Jez had described, Alexandros. A minute later and Savas joined them. The conversation was friendly banter that clearly made the young officer bashful. But then Nazar embraced Savas, left him standing, and walked along the promenade with Alexandros almost hanging onto him. Savas went in a direction that would take him into town.
Pavel rolled up his newspaper and followed the two policemen while Jez opened his palms to the girl, shrugged, and went after Savas.
Fifteen more minutes passed and Sergeant Amoun came out of police headquarters, raised his arms upward and outward, and then yawned before pulling his cap down slightly askew and lazily strolling off along the seafront. Anna picked up her purse, gathered the property sheets together, and followed him along the same route Nazar and Alexandros had taken. He went into a bar on the coast road. She walked to the back of the building to make sure he wasn’t trying to slip away unnoticed and chided herself; he was a cop, not a spy. She crossed to the seaside of the prom and waited. It wasn’t too long before he left and walked north through the town and a further kilometer beyond. He then stopped at a cottage near several other similar buildings, yet far enough away that a minor disturbance shouldn’t be heard, and disappeared inside.
Daylight dimmed and a breeze whispered over the sandy roads, drawing snakes in the shuddering dust. Amoun’s cottage was a single storey stucco with white walls under a red, clay-tiled roof, with security bars blinding the window openings. The white paintwork had grayed and like everything else about the place, looked sorely in need of attention. Anna felt confident her cover was ideal. Walking through a gateless gap between a brown, paint-peeled, rickety fence, she hesitated at the front door, took a deep breath, and calmly exhaled through pursed lips. She knocked. No answer. She knocked again. This time she heard shuffling. The door gave way to reveal Sergeant Amoun zipping up his trousers and fastening his belt buckle.
“Needed a drop,” he sniggered. “What can I do for you?”
She smiled shyly. “Hello, sir, I believe you are Sergeant Amoun.”
He nodded.
“My name is Anna and I work for a company in town – The Icmeler Property Consultants.” She pressed the leaflets to her chest and opened her large purse barely enough to get out a card that she handed to him. “I’m told you’re new in the area and because you’re in a let, my manager thought it appropriate to send me to see if you were interested in owning a property in the region.”
He looked her up and down, and peeled his lips back lecherously. “You’re foreign.”
“Yes, German,” she answered, making the words sound guttural.
“Ah, of course, the blue eyes, yes, come in,” he said, and stood back so Anna had to go in before him. Reluctantly, because she had her back to him, she stepped through the opening and walked up a narrow, uneven passageway. The corridor walls bloated and curved in and out. The space was dim and dank, and she felt crowded and uncomfortable. The front door clicked behind her and her shoulders tensed. Amoun caught up and followed so close she thought she could feel his clammy breath on her neck. Her skin crawled; he had turned the situation.
Amoun was huge, and he looked strong, too. If this was to be a physical clash and she couldn’t get to her pistol, she would need more space than there was in the passageway in order to beat him. Wait for the corridor to come to an end, she told herself, and get the job
done quickly. Relief came when the passage gave way to a large room. Her purse clip snapped open and she was about to turn, but an open-palmed hand spread across her back and pushed violently. She shot forward like a bullet, leaflets flying off in every direction.
“What … What are you doing?” she stammered, rolling over from her stomach, backing up against a worn, old sofa and pulling her purse along under her buttocks as she moved. Her blouse had popped buttons and she was showing more of her breasts than she cared to. But the leer on his face told her to take advantage and she made no attempt to cover up. If she could take her pistol from the purse without him noticing … but he beat her to it again and pointed his handgun at her.
“I watched you coming up the path and I must say Adam’s description was good.”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir. I am …”
“Save your breath! Adam is coming in from Istanbul and will settle it soon enough. I’ll call him now. If you’re not the Russian bitch … well, no harm done.” His eyes lowered to her breasts and the whites below his irises glistened blue. He rubbed a hand provocatively on his crotch. “I think maybe we could have a bit of fun while we’re waiting. Just sit still while I call Adam. No, second thoughts, you might as well start undressing.”
Anna didn’t move and Amoun sniggered while reaching for the old Bakelite receiver. He waved the pistol barrel up and down insistently, tucked the handset under his chin, and stuck a thick finger into the open-holed number dial. Anna wriggled her backside while slowly unfastening the last of the buttons on her blouse. He dialed the first two numbers, but his concentration wandered as he squinted to dial the third. Anna leaned over onto one buttock and slipped the Makarov from her purse, but Amoun looked up and signaled she should continue undressing. She left the pistol behind her and took off her blouse, unclipped her bra, and let it drop into her lap. Amoun’s eyes widened and his letch became … more lecherous. He looked at the handset as if it were spoiling his fun, unaware that his fun could well be coming to an end. Anna saw an opportunity, dropped onto her side, grabbing the pistol as she went, and fired off a shot, but it wasn’t accurate and only ripped into the fleshy part of Amoun’s upper arm. Amoun had been quick to respond to her movement and had got off the first shot, but his reaction was one of overreaction and he missed altogether.