The Turkish Trap: A tense and intriguing action thriller.

by Jack Dylan

  “That’s Lavinia again. Her knack of spotting the talent in people and encouraging them really is quite something. Wish she’d spot some talent in me and encourage it,” muttered James wistfully.

  “Must have done. She thinks out everything she does you know. She wouldn’t have invited you without a reason.”

  “Felt sorry for me I think,” tested James, hoping that William would deny it.

  “Well I know she felt sorry for me. All that business with her sister and Pat. God, I still break out in a sweat when I think of that party.”

  “That must have been tough. Can’t imagine how I’d feel if it happened to me.”

  “Talking of which, any new relationships on the go?”

  “No such luck,” lied James, who had actually met the same person twice and was starting to hope that things were changing. For the first time the smile on his lips was genuine, and for the first time the eyes joined in, as he let himself indulge in a secret little reverie about his next date with the only person who seemed not to mind that he was poor, jobless, and a bit of a twit. Had William been at all observant he would have noticed the faraway look, the relaxing of the face, and the unaccustomed faint air of optimism in his friend’s face.

  Chapter 23

  London: November 2005

  Alex gets a warning

  The Golf spun out of control and slammed backwards into the solid brick wall. The old woman with her limping spaniel watched as the headlights spun towards her then away. Finally they lit her face, wide-eyed and with her free hand involuntarily raised to her mouth, as she flinched at the solid impact. The sound of broken glass tinkling on the pavement seemed to continue for an unreasonable length of time, as, hand still raised to her open mouth, she saw the car settle at an angle across old Mrs Goldberg’s new brick wall. The headlights continued to shine and dazzled her view. She couldn’t see past the lights to see the interior of the car.

  Mrs Byrne tip-toed hesitantly towards the car, talking to the dog all the time apparently to reassure it, but in reality to calm and reassure herself. As long as she kept comforting the dog she could ignore her fluttering heart-beat and the tremor in the hand still raised in front of her now active mouth.

  “There, there, Teddy. Don’t you worry, we’ll be alright. Let’s just have a look to see if he’s hurt. There, there, Teddy. Just stay beside me and you’ll be alright.”

  The silence in the street seemed shocking and unreal after the noise of the crash. The distant drum of the traffic a few minutes away on Hampstead Hill seemed muted. She was aware of the ticking noise of metal cooling, and jumped slightly as a final piece of glass fell noisily to the pavement.

  “Come on Teddy. Daddy would have known what to do wouldn’t he. He’d have a look and then get Mrs Goldberg to phone the police.” So she kept tip-toeing closer to the front of the Golf, finally edging round out of the glare of the lights to see the interior of the car.

  Just as she reached the driver’s door, she heard the delayed reaction of the neighbourhood, as doors opened and people started calling questions to one-another about the violent disruption of their peaceful television-watching. The first more curious neighbours arrived at the scene just as Mrs Byrne crumpled to the ground beside the whining spaniel.

  “Take your time Mrs Byrne. Have another sip of tea and tell me what happened.” It was a young policewoman, sitting, notebook ready, on a chair beside the A&E bed.

  “What happened to Teddy?” the old lady urgently wanted to know.

  “Don’t worry about Teddy. One of your neighbours is looking after him till you get back.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “They think you just had a little faint with the shock of the accident, and you bumped your head when you fell. You’ll be a bit sore but I’m sure you’ll be home tonight.”

  Mrs Byrne lay back on the pillows and took a deep breath.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No. He’s very lucky. He just has some bruising and shock. But we need to find out what happened.”

  “Oh he looked like a corpse when I saw him. He was white as a sheet – and that blood running down his face. And he was just staring. Those eyes – that’s why I thought he was dead. Just sitting there still strapped in. Eyes open. Not moving. White. And all the blood.”

  “Don’t get yourself agitated Mrs Byrne. He’s fine now. They’ll keep him in for observation but let him home tomorrow probably. Now you tell me what you saw and heard.”

  “I was just walking Teddy, that’s my dog, oh and I hope he’s alright. And there was a crash. That young man’s car was spinning across the road. And then the bang. I was sure he’d be dead.”

  “He was lucky that the impact was at the rear, so the seat and headrest protected him. But did you see him before he started spinning – was he going very quickly?”

  “Oh they all go too quickly down that road. But I don’t really remember seeing him before he was skidding.”

  “Now I want you to think very carefully about this. Did you hear a bang or a crash before you saw him skidding, and did you see another car at all?”

  Mrs Byrne closed her eyes and tried hard to remember what she had seen and heard. The trouble was she was usually so wrapped up in her thoughts and memories as she walked with Teddy that she often arrived back home without noticing anything that went on around her.

  “I might have heard something. I looked up before the crash I know. But I don’t know if was the sound of him skidding or just the lights spinning. Oh – do you think someone else hit him? Is it one of those hit-and-run accidents?”

  “It might be Mrs Byrne, in which case it isn’t an accident. But we won’t know until the car is properly examined.” PC Devenish didn’t think it was correct procedure to share with the only witness the claim from the Golf driver. He was down the corridor in a similarly curtained booth. His staring eyes and shaking hands weren’t just because of the shock of the accident. She had seen frightened people before and she knew that the driver of the Golf was very, very frightened. She was taking seriously his claim that something big had rammed the rear corner of his car. He was maintaining that it must have been a simple hit-and-run, but that didn’t explain why he was so frightened. Mr Fox looked to her as if he had something to hide, but she couldn’t put that in her report. She had suffered enough taunts about ‘feminine intuition’ in her short career with the Met, and she was going to play this very straight. Unless the witness could remember something significant or the engineers could see some obvious evidence of ramming, she would just have to record it as an unsubstantiated claim from the driver. A case like this wouldn’t justify the tv-style forensic examination that could prove or disprove his story. She hated those CSI programmes that left people expecting amazing results from forensic evidence. They didn’t realise how hard it was to justify the expense of even the simplest forensic tests.

  If Alex Fox’s story was true, there should be evidence of a first impact somewhere about 50m before the final crash. The trouble was that her Sergeant had already been on the radio urgently asking her to get back to the station to help with yet another ‘domestic’. Unless she had more than the driver’s word her story would be treated with laughter, and her credibility would take another dent. Unless Mrs Byrne could volunteer an eye-witness statement that pointed to a double-impact she would be best to adopt the usual cynical attitude of her male colleagues. She would have to report that the driver claimed he had been forced off the road, but in the absence of corroborating evidence the likelihood was that he had made an error and crashed on the greasy bend. ‘Excessive Speed’ was the going to be the usual cover-all box to tick in these circumstances.

  .

  Chapter 24

  Alex and Katharos: Nov 2005

  Threat? What threat?

  “Calm yourself Mr Fox. I should be angry that you make such foolish accusation. But I know you have big shock. Why would I do such a thing? You are my valued associate. We do good business. Just a little
more business from you then we are both happy. It would only make sense for me to do this terrible thing if you were not my associate. But that is not so, is it Mr Fox?”

  Alex was sitting again in Katharos’ plush back room. The Greek was spreading his hands in a calming gesture, and denying all knowledge of the incident. Yet Alex could hear the threat in the denial. The words and the syntax seemed on the surface to be saying one thing, but the implication beneath the words conveyed a threat that he didn’t feel like ignoring.

  “Look I’m sorry if I’m being unreasonable, but I want this business to end. I’m not able to cope with the stress of it. I’ve promised Maggie that there will be no more, and you promised me that October was the last.”

  “What can I say Mr Fox. My other associates are very pressing. There is a last little series of deliveries in the coming year and then I promise you it will be my wish as well as your wish that we bring our business to an end. What is the American phrase?”

  “Quit while you’re ahead?” suggested Alex.

  “Precisely Mr Fox. That is what we shall do. Don’t forget that this year you are ‘ahead’ with twenty thousand pounds, with no tax record, no bank transactions, and no way of tracing it. At least not if you are fair with me Mr Fox.”

  The threat again. The man had Alex over a barrel ever since the first encounter, and Alex knew that the scheming manipulator would have laid a trail that ensured Alex was trapped, enmeshed, and unable to disobey the continuing series of ‘requests’ for deliveries as he quaintly termed them.

  “So let us drink a little toast Mr Fox. Take some of this excellent Metaxa that my cousin sends me and drink to one more year of mutually profitable association.”

  “To the end of this whole business,” toasted Alex grimly as he wondered how he would tell Maggie he had failed again to bring an end to the enslavement.

  “Come come Mr Fox, I think you will enjoy the cash again next year. It means after all that you continue to live a life that most people envy.”

  “If only they knew,” muttered Alex, “If only they knew.”

  Katharos beamed and enjoyed another rich combination of Cuban tobacco and Greek seven star brandy.

  The Golf was judged a write-off by the insurance company, so it was Maggie’s even older Polo that was transporting Alex from Hampstead to Clapham. He reviewed the last week that had brought him to visit Katharos for the second time. After arriving back in London at the end of October, Alex made the usual phone-call to Katharos and visited the Greek that night. The package was, as instructed, concealed in the well of the boot, in the centre of the spare wheel. Not a very sophisticated hiding place, but enough to keep it safe from prying eyes. Alex had placed it as usual in a Tesco plastic bag, as the package itself, bound in duct tape, seemed to shout its illegal status. Carrying it from house to car was less conspicuous in the ubiquitous bag.

  Alex had parked as usual in the brightly lit driveway and handed the keys to Iannis Junior as he followed the older man into the recesses of the Hampstead house. Their conversation had been more brittle, more difficult that usual, as Alex had arrived fully primed by Maggie to refuse point blank to carry out any more “deliveries”. (“Smuggling, Alex, that what it’s called. That’s what they’ll charge you with,” still rang in his ears.)

  Katharos had as usual taken his refusal to co-operate in much the same way as a parent listens to a toddler’s announcement that they are never going to bed again. It was as if the Greek didn’t need to waste his time and energy arguing. He knew the next steps in the dance and he could predict the outcome.

  Alex realised again that the everyday rules of truth, lawful behaviour, and open meanings just didn’t apply. Why had Katharos not handed over the normal bundle of cash to pay him off? At the time the story about his “associates” wanting to examine the delivery first had seemed odd. It had never happened before. Alex felt so ambivalent about accepting the money that he hadn’t argued. He almost felt better not accepting it - so he didn’t think hard enough about it. But now, a week later, with his neck still aching from the crash, it all seemed obvious. It was frightening that Katharos must have had the non-fatal but salutary attack planned in advance. He knew how unhappy Alex was in his part in the smuggling chain, and had arranged a little reminder of the forces Alex was dealing with. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted the £5,000 cash to be found in the wrecked Golf – too many complications and questions. The implied threat was all that was necessary. Katharos didn’t have to be explicit about it, he could continue to act out the supposedly civilized little charade in his obscenely plush, falsely respectable Hampstead home. But he could rely on Alex perceiving the threat and continuing to play his part. He thumped the wheel of the Polo with the heel of his hand in frustrated impotence.

  Far from easing the problem as he had naively and romantically imagined back in Kapi Creek, Maggie’s involvement was becoming an extra pressure and anxiety. What could he tell her? If he came clean about the full extent of his suspicions and worries, that would only serve to exacerbate the pressure from Maggie to make an end to it all. But unless she understood the threat he felt, how could he explain his continued involvement in the coming year. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. He decided to leave it to Maggie to make the running. If she didn’t push it, he would let her stick with her preferred view that the accident had been a simple hit-and-run, the other driver probably having been drinking and therefore not willing to risk being involved. He would let her hope in the meantime that Katharos had accepted his declaration of no further collections. It was quite truthful to report that he had delivered his verbal ultimatum exactly as planned. If Maggie could delude herself into thinking that a serious accident fifteen minutes later was a coincidence then so be it. He would deal with the problem in May next year when the next request arrived from Katharos.

  In the meantime he needed to find a replacement car and to get his mind back into the world of business and consulting. The winter was going to be moderately busy by the look of things and Alex decided he would immerse himself in the old routines and forget Katharos till the man inevitably phoned him late in April to issue his next ‘request’.

  “Well? How did it go?” Maggie demanded as soon as he was home.

  “The usual supposedly civilised charade,” said Alex almost listlessly throwing the envelope on the coffee table. He didn’t look at it and didn’t want to touch it, but he knew that he would be using it the next day to supplement the expected insurance settlement for the Golf, and to form the reassuring little reserve of comfort-money that would tide them over the inevitable delays and gaps in payment for his consultancy work.

  “How did he react this time?” persisted Maggie.

  “Just the same. He didn’t argue. But it’s almost as if what I say is of no consequence. Believe me, I laid it on the line just as we had planned, but it feels like a damp squib. It’s like you dealing with one of my tantrums. You don’t quite believe it but you know it’s good for me to get it off my chest.”

  “He’d better believe it,” insisted Maggie, with a look of fierce determination and a blaze of righteous zeal in her eyes.

  Alex felt like the powerless pawn in a game of chess in which his wishes had no value, his preferences were irrelevant, and his room for manoeuvre non-existent. So he did what men all over the world do to end a discussion. He threw his arms round Maggie and whispered “I love you.”

  Chapter 25

  Dublin 2006

  James and Sinead

  When James was invited by Lavinia to join the group he was a little worried about spoiling the comfortable mood that he imagined already existed, but he knew that another couple of people would make it less vulnerable to occasional absences.

  However his first experience of the group was sufficiently stunning to leave him in a state of confusion and uncertainty about continuing. Lavinia’s idea of a social event had been so thoroughly exploded by Hermione’s arrival and Pat’s behaviour that James wasn’t sur
e he could cope with the aftermath.

  However Lavinia rang him, having sensed the probable panic, and persuaded him to excuse her catastrophe. He was taken by her argument that the kindest thing for William would be to carry on. If everyone deserted him after his extreme embarrassment it would be even worse. So James duly presented himself every second Thursday for Lavinia’s increasingly enjoyable sessions.

  Until he realised that Steve was gay, James had wondered with an unaccountable feeling of disappointment if Sinead and Steve were more than just friends. He picked up in conversation how Steve had been involved in helping Sinead with what the others called her ‘new image’ and her shopping. So far as James was concerned Sinead didn’t need any help. But he hadn’t seen the pre-Steve style, he reminded himself.

  It was with a mixture of excitement and panic after the first half-dozen meetings that James realised one of the main reasons for his enthusiasm for Lavinia’s group was that he would see Sinead. He was disappointed to quite an unexpected degree when she was absent. In fact it was this reaction that made him realise that at some level in his bachelor brain, ‘something was going on.’

  He thought she was amazingly attractive. Not in the scary way that the girls in the racing crowd were attractive. They and he had instant clarity about the mutual mis-match. Sinead was different. Her face was comfortably attractive. Not so brittle, artificial, and threatening as the others he used to meet. Her dark hair was always clean and shining, and he loved how she somehow wasn’t precious or self-conscious about it. She wasn’t really very slim, but somehow she suited that, and her clothes always looked fashionable but at the same time comfortable and practical.