“Where we are?” Natalia quickly reached for her gun.
Instead of answering, the man tossed her duffel, clothes and hat out onto a dirt shoulder. “Go!” he shouted.
Natalia climbed out and the door slammed closed behind her. A few seconds later the van took off in a cloud of dust, leaving Natalia standing alone. Her wet clothes were covered with dirt but she put them inside the duffel and then zipped it closed. A few dusty shops lined the road. Behind these were large, brick apartment blocks. Fifty meters down to her left she saw a train station with a small crowd of commuters waiting on the platform. In the distance beyond was the sprawl of Istanbul. She was back. Rita was somewhere in this city. Natalia hoisted the bag on her shoulder and headed toward the station.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aksaray was the last stop on the line. Natalia joined a crowd moving through a tunnel and then up a crumbling stairway. At the top she emerged into daylight and was engulfed by the chaos of the city. People scurried in all directions across a cracked concrete square. Cars, trucks and buses flowed over arched bridges and roadways on all sides, honking their horns and spewing exhaust. Towering gray buildings hemmed in all of the action. Natalia threaded her way off the square and across one of the pulsing thoroughfares. After a few blocks, she turned down a narrow side street, past vendors selling fruit, spices, fish and fried meats. “Sultana Hotel,” read a faded sign hanging from a non-descript three-story building. Two stars. She pushed the door open and moved inside to find a cluttered desk crammed in beside a stairway. A bored-looking clerk glanced up from his newspaper.
“One room,” Natalia said. “With bath.”
“How many nights?”
“Two.”
“Eighty Lira. Pay in advance.” He turned a register toward her. “Sign here. I’ll need to see a passport.”
Natalia handed over her forged Russian passport and signed the name, Alexandra Petrova. She gave the man a hundred euro note and he pulled out a calculator to determine the exchange rate before handing back her change in Turkish lira. Next, he took a room key from a row of boxes on the wall and pointed up the stairs. “Third floor. Breakfast begins at 8:30 on the terrace. It is included.” The clerk handed her the key. “Do you need help with your luggage?”
“No, thank you, but I’d like to have some clothes cleaned if that is possible.”
“Of course.”
She left her wet and filthy overcoat, jeans and shirt behind before heading up the stairs with her bag on one shoulder. The room was small but clean, with a full-sized bed, a small desk in one corner, and a window facing the street. She locked the door behind her, tossed her duffel on the bed and went to look out the window. Directly beneath her was a faded red awning. Perfect if she needed to make a quick escape. A hop out the window and she could roll right onto the sidewalk, as long as the awning held. Natalia pulled the curtains closed and moved back to the bed. She reached over to flip on a light switch and then looked inside the duffel, pulling out the Kalashnikov AKS-74U submachine gun with attached GP-5 grenade launcher. She unfolded the stock and held the weapon in her hands. It felt comfortable after weeks of practice. She looked at herself in a full-length mirror holding the gun, the innocence of her life on the farm so very far away. Natalia knew firsthand the evil that lurked in the hearts of men. She also knew what an AKS-74U submachine gun was and how to use it. Even more importantly, she was prepared to do so.
Natalia folded the stock and put the gun away, her thoughts turning to her sister, here in this same city, terrified, her own naiveté being violently stolen away. Gregor’s words ran through her mind. Don’t rush things, he’d said. This was hard advice to follow. She wanted to head straight to the brothel and bust down the door. It was the kind of foolhardy impulse that could get her into trouble. Natalia was hungry and exhausted. By all rights she should be collapsing on the bed, but it was adrenaline that kept her going. When that adrenaline ran out, she knew she could crash. That would mean impaired decision making, a loss of focus and slowed reflexes. In short, quite possibly the difference between success and failure. It was better to eat something, to rest, and to formulate a plan. She should wait until the following dawn, when business was slow and the guards were sleepy. She hated leaving Rita there for a minute more than she had to, but Natalia would play it smart. She took the Glock from the small of her back and placed it on the desk. Slowly she took off all of her clothes and made her way into the bathroom where she turned on the shower, waited for the water to heat up and then climbed in, the warm, soothing stream banishing the chills from her cold, wet journey.
When she’d emerged once more from the shower and dried herself, Natalia slid her jeans back on and found her last dry shirt. She took her hat and rinsed it clean in the bathroom sink before hanging it to dry. Back in the bedroom she pushed the duffle to one side and lay down on the bed to rest. The clock on the table read 9:15 a.m. Twenty-one hours until dawn. Twenty-one hours to wait and to worry while Rita was at their mercy. She tried to clear her mind. She tried to sleep, rolling over from one side to another. After ten minutes, Natalia realized that despite her best intentions, she simply didn’t have the patience to stay put in this room. Somewhere Rita was waiting. The time had come to find her.
Natalia rose again, considering which weapons to bring along. The machine gun seemed too bulky and obvious for this job. In close quarters the pistol would be sufficient. She lifted the Glock from the desk and released the magazine, checking it over before sliding it back into place. This time she tucked it into her waist at the front, pulling on a sweatshirt to hide the bulge. She retrieved a silencer from the duffel, slid it into her front pocket and then walked out of the room and down the stairs.
Outside on the street, Natalia blended into the crowd, pulling the hood from her sweatshirt up over her head as she started on her way, back to where her nightmare began. Zigic himself was unlikely to be there. That was a problem she’d have to solve later. Right now, finding Rita was all that mattered. She tried to channel her fear, picturing in her mind what needed to be done; forcing herself into the apartment, killing the guards if she had to, getting in and out as quickly as she could. By the time she rounded the corner onto that fateful street, Natalia was fueled by nervous energy. Any worries about a post-adrenaline crash were long gone, but she hoped she wasn’t overlooking anything obvious. She thought of Gregor, trying to divine some additional wisdom he might have shared, knowing that once it began, everything would come down to instincts. “All right, you bastard,” she muttered under her breath. “I hope you trained me well.”
When she arrived at the building, Natalia stood staring at the buzzer on the door. Just a door like any other. Just a buzzer. But if she pushed it they might call down on the intercom. They might ask who it was. Before she considered this for long, the door opened and two young men stumbled out, laughing. They turned to Natalia in surprise and said a few words in Turkish. Natalia ignored them, brushing past as she moved inside. She closed the door quietly and moved on up the stairs, gun in hand. By the time she reached the second floor, she smelled cigarette smoke. Was it the guard? Sitting just outside the brothel door? If so, this might be his very last cigarette. She pulled the silencer from her pocket and screwed it into place.
When Natalia reached the fourth floor, she stopped. The guard would be just above her. There could be no hesitation. She preferred not to shoot him if she didn’t have to, but if he went for his gun there would be no choice. She was ready. Up the stairs she went, bursting around the corner with her pistol pointed straight ahead. The landing was empty.
Natalia took a deep breath and knocked loudly on the door three times, holding a thumb over the peephole. If they didn’t open up, she’d shoot her way in.
“Orada kim?!” came an unfamiliar woman’s voice.
“Zigic sent me!” Natalia answered. There was a pause, and then a reply.
“Ne istiyorsun?” the woman said.
“Zigic!” Natalia repeated firm
ly. “He sent me to see you!” The bolt slid open. As soon as the door began to move Natalia stepped back and kicked hard with her right foot before pushing her way through to find the elderly woman sprawled on the floor. She was short and round, with long grey hair. Nobody else was in sight. No guards, no girls. No couches even. Natalia moved down the hallway, flinging open the door to Tanya’s room. It was empty, both of people and furniture. She continued from room to room, finding the same each time. Aside from the one old woman, the place seemed to be deserted. Cleaned out. In Ludmilla’s room, she finally found some furniture, along with an old man peering up at her from the bed. He was alone. “Where is Zigic?!” Natalia shouted. “Zigic!”
The woman pushed her way into the room with a fist in the air, hollering undecipherable obscenities. Natalia lowered her gun and tilted her head back, a sense of defeat washing over her. This place was her only connection to Zigic, and thus to Rita. “Zigic?” she said again to the man, but she was met with a blank stare. Natalia opened the drawers to Ludmilla’s old desk one at a time. Save for a few paperclips and some blank envelopes they were empty. She turned to go, walking down the hall as the woman berated her all the way out the front door.
On the way back to the hotel, Natalia’s mind went in a thousand directions at once. If this old couple did know Zigic, they would certainly tell him what had happened. From this point on he’d be expecting her. But where was he? More importantly, where was Rita? She looked up at the apartment buildings rising above her in all directions. In a city of 18 million people, her sister could be almost anywhere at all.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Natalia wandered the streets, looking into the faces of all those she passed. Had any of these people laid their eyes on Rita? As she was shuttled from a car and into seclusion? Natalia felt lost and dejected. She’d come to the city with no plan beyond returning to her own site of confinement. Now she had nothing to go on. The best sources of information were bound to be the women on the street, so she continued to wander, looking for prospects. Somebody had to know where Zigic was, but who could she ask? Around and around she went, from one block to another until finally she found herself taking a path to Marina’s place.
From across the street, Natalia eyed the balcony where she’d spent those cold autumn evenings just six months before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. If anyone could help her, though, it was Marina. She knew the goings-on in this dark underworld as well as almost anybody. Natalia walked across and pushed the button beside the front door, waiting until a tired-sounding voice crackled over the intercom.
“Yes?” the voice said.
“Marina?”
“This is Marina. Who is this?”
“It’s me! Natalia Nicolaeva!”
“Natalia?! But how?...”
“Can’t I come in?” The buzzer sounded and Natalia pushed her way into the foyer. Her spirits lifted just a little bit with each step that she took toward the second floor. When she reached the apartment she found the door ajar, but Natalia knocked lightly anyway. “Hello?”
“Come in,” Marina replied.
Something was wrong. Natalia could sense it even before she went through the door. When she stepped inside, all of the curtains were drawn and a smell of sickness and spoiled food permeated the air. Marina sat on the edge of her bed, pale and thin, struggling in an effort to stand. She’d aged a year or more for each of the six months since they had parted.
“Oh, my,” Natalia gasped, hurrying to Marina’s side. She knelt down on one knee as she took her friend’s hand. “You should be in bed.”
“What are you doing here?! Natalia! This is quite a surprise.”
“You need to lie down, Marina!”
“I’d rather sit up and have some tea. Why don’t you put the water on and then you can tell me all about why you’ve come back.”
“Of course.” Natalia tried to hide her concern.
“Perhaps you could help me to the table?”
Natalia took Marina’s elbow and guided her across the room. “Are you warm enough?” Natalia lowered Marina into a chair.
“Yes, thank you,” Marina answered, but Natalia found a shawl in the bureau for her anyway. She draped it over Marina’s shoulders and then turned to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water. Cockroaches scurried across a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
“I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” Marina croaked. “If I’d known you were coming…”
“How long have you been this way?” Natalia placed the electric kettle in its cradle.
“Oh, not long.”
“How long is that, exactly?”
Marina didn’t want to answer. “Let’s not talk about me. Tell me why you’re here?! I can’t imagine you’ve come back to work again? Not my Natalia!”
“I think you know me better than that.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Marina avoided Natalia’s eyes.
“Don’t ignore my question, Marina. How long is not long? I want the truth.”
Marina sighed. “I don’t’ want you to worry about me.”
“I am worried. I have every right to be!”
“It’s just a flu, I’ll be over it in a few days.”
Natalia sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table. This was no flu. Anybody could see that. Marina’s gaunt features, the state of her apartment, the weight loss. Whatever it was, she’d been fighting it for weeks if not months. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“I don’t need a doctor!”
“What’s wrong with doctors?” Natalia took Marina’s hand in her own once more.
“Please, Natalia!” Marina pulled her hand away. “Tell me why you’re here. It isn’t to pester me, I’m sure of that.”
Natalia leaned back in her chair, stung by Marina’s rebuke. Why the secrecy? And how could Marina expect to get better if she wouldn’t even accept the concern of a friend? Maybe that was just it. Maybe she didn’t expect to get any better. Perhaps she’d simply given up; surrendered to whatever disease was stalking her. “I’m not trying to pester you,” Natalia said.
“Tell me some good news, then. Tell me you’re here on vacation this time. Or that you’ve met a man. Some wealthy business-type, taking you on a world tour.”
“No. I’m afraid it’s nothing of the sort. I’m here to find my sister.”
“Your sister?” Marina repeated the words. “Why your sister? You can’t mean, after all you went through…”
“Zigic came for me. Or some of his men did, anyway. I wasn’t home, so they took Rita instead.”
“Oh, Natalia!”
“I’ve come to get her back.”
“But…” Marina struggled to process this information.
“I went to the apartment but nobody was there,” Natalia continued. “Just an elderly couple. I couldn’t even speak to them.”
“Natalia, you know what they will do if they find you!”
At this mere suggestion, Natalia’s eyes burned with an intensity that only hatred could inspire. “Not this time. Things are different. They’re the ones who should be worried.”
“You got away with it once, but…” Marina was dumbfounded. “You’re talking about taking on an entire criminal gang, by yourself? Do you know how that sounds?”
“I’m not here to entertain doubts. I’d appreciate it you kept yours to yourself.” Natalia found took out some tea bags and put one in each of two mugs. When the water boiled, she lifted the kettle from its cradle.
“You’ve changed, Natalia. You’re not the same girl I knew before.”
“They killed my father. They stole my sister. They made me a pariah in my own home town. Even my fiancé turned against me. There is nothing I won’t do to make them pay for what they’ve done.” Natalia poured the water and then brought the mugs to the table. “I’d hoped you might be able to help me.”
“Of course,” said Marina. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Can you tell me where he is? Goran Zigic? H
ave you heard anything about him lately?”
Marina still couldn’t hide her concern. “You know he’s very well protected.”
“Please...”
“I’m sorry.” Marina put both hands on the table in front of her. “Hand me the city map, from the bookcase.”
Natalia moved across to a set of shelves cluttered with books and papers, stuffed animals and souvenirs. “Where is it?”
“Third shelf, left side.”
Natalia found the map and brought it over, unfolding it across the table.
“I heard he’s opened a club. It’s called The Blue Room. Some of his girls work there.” Marina pointed to a spot on the map. “We’re here,” she said. “The Blue Room is here, on Guvenlik Caddesi. You might find him there, but Natalia, I wouldn’t go. It’s not safe for you. Maybe the police will help you this time.”
“I have to go, Marina. I have to do this on my own. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The walk from Marina’s apartment to Guvenlik Caddesi wound through a labyrinth of narrow, winding streets, over crumbling sidewalks and past decaying five-story buildings. When Natalia finally found The Blue Room, the door was closed and locked. She took a few steps backwards and looked up at the apartment windows above. There were no signs of life. Zigic’s girls had to be close by, but figuring out where exactly would take some work. Even then, there was no guarantee that Rita would be among this group. If these girls did work for Zigic, though, they might know something. Natalia would come back later, when the club was open. Sleep still called out to her, but she couldn’t give in quite yet.
On the way back to Marina’s place, Natalia walked around the neighborhood several times, familiarizing herself with the layout. She stopped at a small market along the way and picked up some fruit, cans of soup and two loaves of bread. Marina was too sick to go to the market herself, and nearly out of food. She’d been surviving on a dwindling bag of rice and some canned vegetables. It seemed that Natalia had shown up just in time. She didn’t want to picture it, but the image of Marina starving to death all alone in that small apartment was hard to shake. When Natalia got back, she opened one of the cans and poured the soup into a pot on the stove. She turned on the burner and then set about cleaning the pile of dirty dishes.
Russia Girl Page 16