Alina's Revenge

by Greg Van Arsdale

  “We’ll see about that.” The menace in his voice was unmistakable.

  The driver’s separator window slid down. Alina glanced back to see a man looking at her.

  “I want you to look at this,” Itsakovic said, holding out Oric’s phone.

  Alina’s attention focused on the phone. That is when something hit her hard in the head and everything went dark.

  Chapter 21

  When Alina awoke, her wrists were tied over a meat hook. She hung suspended above a concrete floor, a floor covered with old blood. She looked around. Meat hooks lined the wall on the left. A long butcher’s table filled the middle of the sparse room. On the table were Oric’s phone and her gun. Two doors adorned the walls, one on either side.

  She heard footsteps outside. She dropped her head and closed her eyes, listening for the slightest detail.

  A door opened. The footsteps came closer. A hand grabbed her hair and raised her head. It was all she could do not to flinch.

  “She’s still out.” It was Itsakovic. “You hit her too hard.”

  “Sorry, Boss. But I never knocked out a woman before.”

  “It’s okay. At least now you know for the next time.”

  Retreating footsteps.

  “Call me when she wakes up.”

  The door closed.

  The lone remaining footsteps approached her. He grabbed her hair as Itsakovic did, but this time Alina sprang into action.

  She raised her legs and wrapped them around the man’s throat, locking them in a deadly scissor hold. Using his neck as leverage, she raised her hands high enough to slip her bonds over the hook. With the choking weight now around his neck, the startled guard fell backward. Alina hit on her back with a thud. She winced, but she did not let go. She frantically began chewing the knot binding her wrists.

  The man, now seeming to regain his wits, tried to pry her legs from around his throat, but he underestimated the strength in Alina’s legs. The more he pulled, the more she fought to squeeze even harder—all the while biting the knot with her teeth.

  The guard flopped wildly, trying to throw her off. He tried to rise, but her weight forced him back down. Desperately, he tried again and managed to gain his feet. Alina clubbed him with both hands.

  One knot was almost undone.

  He tried grabbing her shirt but Alina leaned back, straining on his throat with all her might. The man tried again, and again Alina eluded his grasp.

  Holding onto her legs, he turned and ran backward for the table. The impact on Alina’s back nearly made her lose control, but she managed to hang on. Again, he tried to dislodge her, but Alina refused to let go. He stepped forward. Alina knew he was going to make a full charge at the table this time. She braced herself for the impact.

  Then slowly, the guard began to succumb to the lack of oxygen. His flails at her legs became weaker. He took one step toward the table but then dropped to his knees, grabbing at her. He managed to grasp her shirt, ripping it slightly, but it was too little too late. No sooner did he have a hold on her than his eyes rolled and he pitched forward.

  Alina held on a while longer to ensure he was dead. Finally, she let go. Now, she had time to get the final knot undone. She had to hurry. No telling when someone else might come into the room.

  She went to the door. Footsteps, coming closer. She backed off just as the door swung inward. Her eyes went wide.

  It was Itsakovic.

  She grabbed his lapels and dragged him into the room, kicking the door closed behind them. Alina swung a right cross to the chin. This was followed by a left. She then turned in a helicopter spin kick to the side of the head, rocking him on his heels. Alina tried another spin kick, but this time Itsakovic ducked beneath it.

  He stepped forward and punched Alina in the face. Her head roaring, she stepped back. He followed her, swinging an uppercut right to the stomach followed by a haymaker to the head.

  Alina took the body punch but ducked the knockout blow. She dropped to one knee to lance her fist to his groin. Itsakovic doubled over. She stood, powering an open palm through the point of his chin. Again, he toppled back only to regain his footing at the last second.

  Alina did not let up. She kicked up high to the chin again. This knocked Itsakovic on the table.

  He rolled off to the other side. As he tried to rise, Alina vaulted across. With one hand on the table, she kicked him with both feet.

  This time, he went down.

  She was on him in a second, maneuvering around to get him in a chokehold.

  He fought the move, but he was too slow. Alina had already locked her hand to her elbow and was not about to let go.

  Someone grabbed her from behind, placing her in his own chokehold. He pulled hard, ripping her away from Itsakovic’s throat. She kicked at Itsakovic, hitting him once more in the face. He rolled away coughing, too weak to do anything else.

  Alina threw a solid elbow into her attacker’s ribs. The man grunted. She threw another, then another, but the chokehold remained.

  Frantically, she reached behind her, trying to grab something solid to flip him with, but he was too big. She ran for the table, turning to smash the small of his back onto the edge. Still, the hold remained.

  The world started to turn dim.

  Spotting the wall filled with meat hooks, she came off the table and ran his back against the wall. She missed the hook but the blow weakened his grip, allowing her to get a much needed gasp of air. Then the choking arm was around her throat again.

  She once again stepped forward, dragging her assailant to the table. Then, placing one foot on the table, she kicked and ran backward as hard as she could. The impact drove the hook through the man’s back and out the front, scraping Alina’s side.

  The dead man released his grip.

  Alina dropped to her knees, gulping huge drafts of air. Forcing herself to her feet, she staggered for the table. She grabbed her gun and phone. She had just turned the gun on Itsakovic when two men came in the room and opened fire. Alina reversed her turn and wheeled about, the gun bucking in her hand.

  One man went down.

  Bullets zipped by her ear and smacked the cinder block wall behind her. She ducked and rolled, shooting as she went. She hit the other man in the knee. He yelped, dropping his gun hand to his damaged leg. It was a fatal mistake. Alina now aimed. With one shot, the man crumbled to the ground.

  Two more men appeared at the inner door and quickly fired. Alina returned fire and backed toward the other door. Maintaining her rate of fire, she kept them at bay until she could open it.

  She rushed through and slammed the door shut. Now outside, to her right she noticed a row of SUVs. She ran for the car in back. She looked in the driver’s side window and saw the keys were in the ignition.

  Bullets punctured the door. Alina turned and snapped off two quick rounds. The men dodged back inside.

  She got in the SUV and revved the engine. Throwing it into reverse, she spun the wheels backing up the long driveway. In front of her, Itsakovic staggered out the door and pointed at her, yelling at the two men. They sprinted for the other SUV. They reversed at high speed after her.

  Alina hit the street and slung the big car sideways. Jamming it into drive, she peeled down the avenue. Houses and parked cars lined either side. Otherwise, the street was empty of traffic.

  She looked in the mirror. The men were right behind her. She slammed on the brakes and put it in reverse.

  Their SUV crashed into the back of hers, snapping her head back.

  Putting her car into drive, she headed down the street once more. She looked at their damaged car in the mirror. Steam rose from the crumpled front end. The driver was slow to respond. She opened up a fifty-meter gap.

  Turning a fast right at the corner, the back end fishtailed and yawed left. She fought the wheel, side swiping a parked car. Then she righted and sped away.

  The chase car did the same thing, only slamming the car harder. Once again, the driver was slower to r
espond. She opened a hundred-meter gap.

  Alina sped down the street. Soon, she was in city traffic. She dodged and weaved around the slow moving cars. She passed a police car doing ninety.

  The police car turned in pursuit, only to be hit on the right side by the following SUV. The squad car stalled as the black car scraped by.

  Alina’s lead grew wider. Despite the gap, she knew that with all the traffic, something bad was bound to happen. Her biggest concern was an innocent driver being injured or killed. She decided to put an end to the chase.

  Pulling the emergency brake, she locked up all four wheels and skidded the car into a 180-degree spin. Cars swerved out of the way. She glanced at the passenger seat, feeling for her gun. Then she accelerated, coming straight at them.

  The black SUV came at her at break-neck speed. Steam still billowed out of the crumpled front end.

  Alina stuck her gun out the window and fired. The driver retaliated. Bullets splattered her windshield. As they neared, she swerved right at the last second, firing at point blank range. She missed the driver but hit the passenger in the chest. Then they were gone, jamming on the brakes.

  Sirens began to wail.

  The driver maneuvered a fast three-point turn.

  Alina pulled the emergency brake again, spinning another one-eighty. Again, she sped toward the oncoming SUV. Two modern-day knights jousting each other.

  As they neared, the driver anticipated her right turn. He swerved to ram her but she dodged left and jammed the brakes. She fired three quick shots through her passenger side window. The bullets punched holes in their windshield and hit the driver—once each in the chest and head.

  The sirens were almost on her now.

  Alina’s full attention had been on that last volley. She did not notice the oncoming car until it was too late. Pulling the seatbelt around her, she braced for the collision.

  The impact nearly threw her into the dashboard. The air bags deployed, saving her life. Groggy from the impact, she struggled to get up. She had to get away.

  She tried to restart the engine. The belt squealed. The fan made an awful grating noise. She looked up to see the other car practically embedded in her front end.

  Alina tried opening the door, but it was stuck. She was about to crawl over to the rear seat when six police cars surrounded her, their blue lights pulsing.

  The officers got out, their guns drawn and aimed straight at her. They repeatedly yelled something in Turkish.

  Alina finished crawling to the back seat and slowly opened the rear door.

  The officers continued yelling and pointed to the ground. Alina obeyed. The lead officer put his knee in her back and wrapped her arms behind her.

  Handcuffed and on the ground, she rested her throbbing forehead against the pavement.

  A half an hour later at the police station, Alina sat in the interrogation room. Her hands still cuffed behind her, she slumped in the metal seat. Two empty chairs sat across the table from her. Then there was the inevitable mirror.

  The door opened and a man dressed in khaki shirt and pants walked into the room. He had a clipped, pencil-thin mustache, and his black hair neatly parted on the side. In one hand was Oric’s phone. In the other, her passport.

  “Hello, Alina,” he said. “I’m Colonel Demir of the Turkish National Police.” He sat in one of the chairs and casually placed the phone on the table between them. “You have some explaining to do, starting with two dead men in my street.”

  “They kidnapped me. I was trying to escape.”

  “They kidnapped you?” His eyes went mockingly wide. “Why would they do that?”

  She nodded to the phone. “Because of that. I got it from General Oric of the Serbian Army.”

  “He gave it to you?”

  “He didn’t need it anymore.”

  “You mean he’s dead,” he said, his face solemn.

  Alina looked at him.

  Silence permeated in the room.

  “Tell me about your kidnappers. Do you know who they were?”

  She nodded. “Itsakovic. Josuf Itsakovic. He’s running heroin through Istanbul, probably getting it out of Afghanistan by way of Iraq. General Oric was his middle man who picked up the drugs in Istanbul and ferried them across Bulgaria into Serbia and Bosnia.”

  “And how did you come by all of this information?”

  “People told me—mostly before they died.”

  “So you admit to killing people?”

  Alina looked at him.

  Again, silence reigned supreme.

  Finally, Colonel Demir said, “What can you tell me about a string of murders ranging from Bosnia, across Serbia and Bulgaria, and ending up on my streets here in Istanbul?”

  She did not say a word.

  “You can tell me because I already know. A man by the name of Maric stopped by today and told me the whole story. He told me how you beat him up and robbed him—and he had the bruises to prove it.”

  “Did he also tell you he was involved, that he shot and killed two innocent men in cold blood? Did he tell you he was running heroin for Itsakovic? Did he tell you the reason for our disagreement was that I burned his last shipment to the ground? Did he tell you that he was trying to blackmail Itsakovic into buying back the drugs we stole from him?”

  “No.” The colonel shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But I plan to ask him about that later.”

  “You mean he’s here?”

  “In the next room. I figure a man who shows up with ten million marks in a briefcase telling me fantastic tales of a woman assassin is begging for investigation. I didn’t know what to think. A woman assassin? That was hard to believe.” He leaned back in his chair and gestured toward her. “But now I see that it is all true. Here you are.” He leaned both elbows on the table. “So tell me, why did you do it? Why kill all those men?”

  “They deserved to die because of what they did to me and my family.” Deciding it was best to open up, she told the colonel of being raped and her family murdered. She told him of growing up, training ten long years and dreaming of the day when she could deal out justice to those who had escaped it for so long. She told him of Goran and how they became involved with Oric’s drug smuggling scheme through Maric. And finally, she told the story of meeting Itsakovic in the park, how he kidnapped her, and how she got away.

  “I see,” he said, leaning back in his chair again. “I can understand why you would want these men dead.”

  She nodded.

  “And you say this Maric has made the run before. He knows the pickup point?”

  She nodded again. “Almost everyone I’ve killed has been involved with this smuggling ring in one way or another.”

  “Almost?”

  “There was one man who tried to kill me.”

  “But everyone else was tied to this cartel?”

  Alina nodded.

  He slammed an open palm on the table. “But does that give you the right to kill two of them in my city?”

  “Yes.”

  The angry look of hostility morphed into a thin smile. He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Yes, she says.”

  “I suppose now you will lock me up in one of your famous prisons. I suppose that you will keep me there for as long as you want.”

  His smile broadened. “On the contrary, Alina. I want to congratulate you. We have been trying to crack that smuggling ring for years now. We’ve gotten nowhere. This...this Itsakovic is a ghost. A phantom. Every time we get near him, he disappears.”

  “Maybe you’re not looking close enough. Sometimes, the best place to hide is in your own backyard.”

  “Maybe...may be. At least now we have a clue. But what impresses me is that you managed to bust up half his operation almost single-handedly. I applaud you.” He clapped his hands.

  She shook her head. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I am willing to cut you a deal. Take me to Itsakovic and you can go free.”

  She shook her head.
“Can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they hit me unconscious. I woke up in some kind of meat factory. I can take you there, but that is not his headquarters, I assure you.”

  “Can you think of anyplace he might be?”

  “All I know is he has one of the biggest mansions overlooking the Marmara Sea.”

  The colonel shook his head. “That’s not enough. Maybe you would like to spend the rest of your life in one of my famous prisons, as you so adequately put it. And I will, unless you can give me more detail on how I can find Itsakovic.”

  “I can’t take you to him, but if you get a sketch artist I can describe him to you. Other than that,” Alina nodded to the phone, “his number’s in there. Call him.”

  He shook his head. “I looked it through. The phone has been reset. All the data in it has been erased.”

  “You mean with today’s technology you can’t break into a SIM chip? Look harder. Get some hackers on it. There’s got to be a ghost image somewhere on that thing.” She smiled. “And if that doesn’t work, I have his number memorized.”

  He smiled with her. “Why don’t you just give me the number? Save a lot of work.”

  “No problem. But you know he’s already ditched the phone.”

  “You would have made a wonderful investigator, Alina. And, as you said, I already do have some people working on the chip.” He leaned forward again. “Is there anything else that may change my mind?”

  Alina thought a minute, then said, “What if I can get you the rest of his organization? Go to the source and tear it apart, as you say. Stop the shipments at their source. With his pipeline out of commission, Itsakovic will be out of business. Would you be interested?”

  “And just how would you do that?”

  “I know of two names that were on that phone. Delic and Sokolovic. They are two of the men who raped me. Right now, they are stationed in Iraq. Let me go there. I get my revenge and also guarantee the shipments will stop.”

  “You guarantee it,” he repeated. “This is 2003. There is a war going on there, so just how do you expect to find these two men?”