by Rik Stone
Michel sighed in exasperation. “You will be needed on the coast when the next part of the operation begins, but … well, we do have time to spare. You should be joining the unit for preparation, but I suppose a few days won’t hurt. If you aren’t getting anywhere by the beginning of next week, this thing is over.”
“Yes, General.”
At the General’s request, the embassy fit Mehmet out with patent leather shoes, a black business suit, a white shirt, and black tie. He looked at himself in a long mirror; his hair was in a short ponytail and his beard was cut close to his face. If he couldn’t pass for a white-collar worker, he would certainly get the green light as a pimp.
He took himself off to Adam’s office block on Kennedy Cadessi. After watching for a few minutes, he crossed from the coastal side and went into the foyer. As Adam owned the building, it seemed reasonable to suppose his office would be on the top floor, so he went straight up there. The corridor had five doors. Mehmet walked slowly past each and came back to where he had started. It was the nearest door to the stairs and it was emitting a strong smell of perfume. He pushed the door open and stepped into an office that was no more than a small cubicle. A startled young woman sitting at a typewriter jumped to her feet.
Mehmet held out his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in like that; for some reason I thought it would be a large office full of people,” he said, giving her his most disarming smile.
She smoothed her skirt and pulled a lock of hair away from her face, which fell back into the same position the second she let go. “You did give me a turn. It’s unusual for anyone to turn up without an appointment. How can I help you?” she asked.
She was ruffled; his smile hadn’t quite done the trick. While thinking of his next move, he let his eyes absorb her and the view stirred him. What a body, and such a face; he felt a pang of guilt, he had commitments … but this was work. Her tight, gray skirt hugged contours that no artist could paint and a blue satin blouse caressed the upper half of an hourglass. The shirt strained, revealing a cleavage he could happily get lost in. This was a beautiful woman and even her voice carried a lilt – possibly Greek. Additional thoughts made him swallow hard.
“Oh, yes, I’m looking for Adam Mannesh. We have business. I would’ve made an appointment but I need to speak with him urgently.”
“As far as I know, Mister Mannesh is in Icmeler, but I have no way of contacting him.”
“Why do you say, as far as you know?” Mehmet asked softly and crinkled his eyes flirtatiously.
Her demeanor flipped and her answer was almost collaborative. “He doesn’t like anybody being able to pin him down. I don’t know why; I mean import-export. Not as if he’s the Godfather,” she giggled.
Mehmet laughed and leaned in towards her. “Ah, si, cara mia, the Godfather is a very recent movie. You like the films?”
“Of course,” she said, again shifting the long lock of hair, but she also arched her spine slightly with the move, and discreetly pushed her breasts taut against the blue satin.
“Listen, I’m not a man who runs around after women but …”
“Really? You look like you might be.”
She giggled and he smiled appreciatively. “Well, I’m not. If Mannesh is out of town … Look, whatever you might think, I really am out of my comfort zone here. I … Oh, just get on with it, Mehmet. Will you have dinner with me …?”
“Alala,” she answered coyly.
“Alala,” he said, as if reciting a poem. “Alala, I have to get information to Mister Mannesh. Even if I succeed in getting this message to him, I think my job with the company is at risk. You are such a beautiful girl; if you were to have dinner with me it would be the sweetest exit I could wish for.”
She shook her head – he’d overdone it – but no. “Well, if you need to contact him that badly maybe I can get a message through. He does everything so cloak and dagger it’s ridiculous.”
Mehmet’s heart rate increased. “A message? How can you do that if you don’t know where he is?”
“I don’t really know the answer to that. He has some sort of system and has shown me how to use it. I put a telegraph out and it goes off to a teleprinter somewhere. I don’t know how it all works, but wherever he is in the country, he gets the message.”
“And you’re willing to do that for me? Alala, what can I say? Tonight we dine at the finest restaurant in Istanbul, but not before we’ve been to the movies.”
Chapter 44
Akasya Hotel, Marmaris, Turkey
Adam had held the phone to his ear and overheard Sergeant Amoun being terminated by the Russian bitch. He had then dropped the phone back onto its cradle as if it were on fire and moved everything he might need into the suite across the hall. The two penthouse apartments took the complete top floor of the hotel; Adam owned both of them, but had one in a false name and kept it as a safe house. Only he and Hassan knew of it and though only meters away, it was far enough that he could disappear. Who would believe he’d move somewhere so close?
The suite had been fitted out as a command center similar to the seed barn and during his confinement he had kept an overview of the state of his businesses. Beyrek Ozel’s drug empire had gone out of reach for the moment, but his other enterprises were back in his domain. The Ankara coup, which had been lost and regained, had since been lost and regained again. And another takeover attempted by his legit partners in Istanbul had been quelled by Hassan. In many ways they were back where they had started before taking on the drug cartel. No, that wasn’t quite true or why would he be in hiding in the hotel and why would he be reading this telegraph time and again? Alala had put out a message on the network. He had set her up with one of the keys because his communications were too sophisticated to be tracked. Truth was they were simple enough but, like spaghetti, hard to unravel.
A man by the name of Temel, who lived in a remote village near Izmir, made daily checks on a teleprinter; his sole purpose was to provide a central nucleus for Adam. The village where Temel lived had been provided with electricity far in advance of government roll-out plans, thanks to Adam. In return, he got a loyal servant. Adam had printers scattered all over Turkey: main cities, coastal resorts, anywhere there might be business opportunity. Whenever Temel received a message flag he would send out a coded script to every printer in the system. Adam would send a password back from whichever printer he was at, and Temel sent him the message – simple.
Again, he read the telex initiated by Hassan:
In the safety net off the banks of the Golden Horn. Business in Icmeler is giving me problems. If I don’t receive help urgently I lose. Alala, on behalf of staff member.
Hassan had never written such a cryptic message, but neither had they worked separately for so long. And he’d used Alala to send the telegraph from the Istanbul office? How much had gone wrong that he couldn’t send it himself? Or ring him directly come to that? The text was worded so Alala wouldn’t know what it was about, but it was a plea for help. Somehow the Russians must have cornered him. Adam sighed. Their backs hadn’t been against the wall like this since fighting their way up from the streets. But Hassan, what could he do about Hassan? He could phone, but if he was in such big trouble he wouldn’t answer for fear of giving away his whereabouts. Oh, shit! Surely he could cope for a few days in the apartment by himself. But he was his brother – he was having life-threatening trouble with the Russians. He needed him.
He raised himself to his feet as if coming to attention. “No, fuck it!” he said. “I have to go to Istanbul.”
Chapter 45
Eminonu, Istanbul, Turkey
Mehmet went to Hassan’s apartment after Alala had sent the message – well, almost; he knew Adam couldn’t respond that very day, so he wined and dined Alala first. As was usual for him, his nether regions got the better of him and he didn’t actually arrive until the following morning. Alala had convinced him that Adam would receive the telex, but after three days in the apartment he began to doubt it. And if
he didn’t make a show soon, it would be over and he would be pulled back to the embassy. To make things worse, Hassan’s rigor had been and gone and the smell around the apartment was rife.
Mehmet had balanced a couple of glasses on top of each other at the base of the entrance door. If Adam came in unexpectedly the glasses would topple and Mehmet would be forewarned; Hassan was supposed to be in hiding, so Adam wouldn’t think anything odd about that. But the idea had shortcomings. Once inside, it would be a bit of a stretch for him to believe Hassan had put the glasses there. The scenario would leave Mehmet having to rush things and that could lead to mistakes.
The evening of the fourth day grew old and Mehmet settled down for the night. Thinking of Alala, guilt jabbed at his sense of decency, or lack of it. He shouldn’t have slept with her. And using the excuse that it was for the sake of the task was … lame. But even now guilt shifted and he was stirred by thoughts of her beauty. How could he be acting like this when he was involved with Nina? He tossed and turned on the hard wooden flooring, but then the elevator cage shuddered into life, and he became alert; the lift hadn’t been used this late since he’d been there. The cage rattled to a stop and Mehmet raced to the door, removed the telltale glasses, and cleared all signs of him having been in the apartment. Easing through the beaded curtains without allowing them to sway, he tucked away inside the cupboard in the lounge. The space between the beads was wide enough for him to see into the room, while obscuring him from view.
A key scraped in the lock and the door opened. “Hassan,” a sing-song voice called out. Movement stopped and Mehmet thought he could hear sniffing. “Hassan! What the fuck is that smell?”
The lounge door creaked fully open.
“Hassan!”
The air fell silent.
“Oh, dear God, no! What have they done to you?”
Mehmet heard a knife scrape from its scabbard and then Adam rushed to the body. “Oh, Hassan, my dear brother, how could the bastards leave you like this? No!”
Brother? Strange term, and they weren’t religious. And he was sobbing; they were closer than Mehmet had imagined.
Adam’s head jolted back and he moved stealthily around the room, slowly absorbing the surroundings. And then his shoulders slumped, the knife fell from his hand, and he staggered to the body. Falling to his knees, he scooped the stench-ridden cadaver up into his arms while crying uncontrollably. How could he do that? Mehmet thought. Hassan’s facial muscles had let go and skin slippage was evident. And the smell was disgusting. How could he do that? But Adam kept calling Hassan his brother and Mehmet suddenly realized it wasn’t a figure of speech; Hassan was his brother.
He clutched the silenced Makarov in his fist. Michel wanted Mannesh alive, so he needed a good wounding shot – as if that was possible. As Yuri kept telling him, he couldn’t hit a barn door. But he had to try. He aimed the gun through the curtain without disturbing the beading. He had a line, but then he shuffled his position and back-heeled a box. Adam stiffened, Mehmet’s aim wandered, and then he froze.
Adam stared at the beading and Mehmet pushed away and into the corner, kicking some piece of crock or other. The clatter drew instant response. Adam scurried across the floor towards the knife he’d dropped. Mehmet had to act quickly. He poked the pistol through the curtain and fired a shot. The bullet missed by a country mile, ricocheted off the floor, and whumped into Hassan’s dead body.
Adam reached a hand to his jacket. Mehmet clasped his pistol in both hands and steadied his aim as best he could. The muzzle roamed at will and then Mehmet thought of what Yuri was always telling him: center mass, shoot at the centre mass. He steadied and then gently squeezed the trigger. The barrel lifted and the bullet went through Adam’s blue fez, spinning him away before he crashed to the floor where he lay unmoving.
A bizarre shot and the lack of blood was even weirder. But Mehmet wasn’t about to question the outcome; he was only too happy to see this man dead, whether Michel would agree with him was another story. He came from the cupboard, moved in on his prey, and kicked the body. No response. He picked up the gun Adam had withdrawn and subsequently dropped, put it on the coffee table with his own gun, and took out his knife; he felt safer with a knife in his hand. To find out why there had been no blood, Mehmet pulled at the fez with his free hand, but it was clipped to Adam’s hair. He shifted the knife to the crook of his hand between thumb and forefinger, and used both hands to release the fasteners. But as he pulled the fez away, Adam sprang, rearing up like a raging bull, grabbed his arm, and threw him against a wall. Mehmet crashed to the floor and found himself gazing into a fez with a steel skullcap inside.
Adam was up on his knees, but still looked dazed. Then his eyes widened as he stared at the pistols on the coffee table. He scampered across the floor and grabbed one as Mehmet rolled in the direction of his knife. He grabbed it by the handle, but at the same time heard the gun’s hammer click back. He skittered across the floor, went into a roll, and then an imbalance shuddered the air as the pistol boomed out. The wall that took the bullet also stopped Mehmet’s progress when he crashed into it. He was an easy target as things stood, so he got halfway to his feet and threw himself across the floor, rolled up into a sitting position, and threw his dagger. The blade sunk into Adam’s chest and he cursed … but that was all he did. Mehmet was expert with a throwing knife and had hit the target exactly right, but it hadn’t been enough to stop his enemy. The hammer clicked again and Mehmet scrambled back on his hands and bottom, through the bead curtain and around to one side of the doorway. Another two rounds clunked into the wall next to where he sat. But then silence took over.
Mehmet stayed still for what seemed an eternity, but he knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in a cupboard and would have to take a chance at some point. At first he flapped the bead curtain to draw Adam’s fire, but still there was no reaction. Tentatively, he peered around the opening and saw Adam sitting back on bent legs. The gun was in his hand, but it seemed too heavy for him to lift. Mehmet came from the cupboard and Adam looked up lazily through hooded eyes that wandered drowsily. He struggled to raise the weapon, his arm wobbled, and then dropped by his side. The fight was gone.
Without compassion, Mehmet pulled the knife from Adam’s chest, causing blood to blub gently in its wake.
“Michel has ordered me to keep him alive for interrogation.” The thought troubled him.
“And when they are finished with me, I will kill you,” Adam cut in with a croak.
“What …? Oh, no, I was speaking to myself. After what you did to Yuri I’m not sure I could live with you negotiating your way to freedom.”
“You wouldn’t d–”
Mehmet felt no emotion as he plunged the dagger into Adam’s heart three times in quick succession. Adam’s features gaped and then he looked down to witness his own demise unfold. Mehmet watched for some moments, and then satisfaction came to bear. His nemesis was finished. He kicked the dead man over and left.
*
The Russian Embassy, Yenikapi, Istanbul
In a room on the top floor of the embassy building, six people sat swamped by an enormous conference table. Jez was with Anna, Pavel with Mehmet, and, unbelievably, Jez thought, Sergeant Afanasiy from the Lubyanka Smersh Unit was next to him. General Petrichova was at the head of the table and everyone, other than Afanasiy, had outlined their most recent escapades.
The general kicked off again. “Okay, we’re up to speed with each of your individual successes. I want to summarize what we’ve done as a group and discuss where we’re going from here.” He shuffled a pile of papers into some sort of meaningful order. “The line of command has been broken. From the time Jez investigated a flesh trafficking trade beginning in Moscow and terminating here in Turkey, we had an idea that General Irishka was heading illicit operations. As it turned out his sphere of activity was much broader than first anticipated. From your efforts we’ve broken his core and have him on the run. I’ve heard from all of you, b
ut I know you for one, Jez, will be wondering what our friend is doing here.” He opened a palm towards Afanasiy.
Jez said nothing, but anger somehow tightened the collar of his shirt.
“Lieutenant Afanasiy has played a major role in bringing Irishka down and has earned his place at this table.”
Jez raised his eyebrows towards Pavel – lieutenant? – while Michel outlined Afanasiy’s role in the operation.
Michel went on, “The follow-up news isn’t so good. By the time Afanasiy had brought in the evidence, someone had tipped off Irishka. He fled and his accomplices with him. To crown it, we have no leads as to where they might be.” He spoke the words without emotion. “Right, I want Pavel and Afanasiy to stay here. The rest of you have a couple of days to kill before you go back to the marina. It seems the only footprint we have now that might set us back on the trail of Irishka is the Hasid who delivers the heroin. Lieutenant Afanasiy has already made contact with him and made a Semtex exchange to keep the opportunities alive, so our next steps will be to capture the Hasid and see where that takes us.”
The meeting came to a natural conclusion, and Afanasiy and Pavel stayed in the embassy. Jez, Anna, and Mehmet left and walked to the seafront together.
“I won’t be able to show you around, I’m afraid. I have to square a few things with a girl I know,” Mehmet said, and Anna grinned in response. Mehmet nodded and walked off in the direction of Eminonu.
“Mehmet and his girlfriends,” Anna said. “They’ll be the death of him.”
Jez nodded. “So, now our tourist guide has deserted us, what can we possibly do with ourselves?” he said, trying to appear at a loss.
Linking both arms around one of his, she snuggled her face into his shoulder. “I think we should find a room,” she replied.
Epilogue
The Russian Embassy, Yenikapi, Istanbul
The window at the end of the corridor was wide and ran from floor to ceiling. Yuri sat in a comfortable chair there and let the warm sunbeams stream onto his face as he enjoyed the familiar views over the Sea of Marmara. His rescue from the seed barn had taken him to Istanbul, but an immediate airlift from there terminated in Moscow. Not sure if he had been a guinea pig or a patient, the medical staff pumped a host of drugs into his veins. But experiment or otherwise, rational thought returned and all he could think of was getting back to Istanbul, or more specifically, to Pinar Yeter. Now, he was in the embassy hospital wing in Yenikapi with the dark void of fear he had been subjected to tucked away to the back of his mind, hopefully for all time.