Retribution

by Nicholas Gill

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  Galata District, Istanbul, September 27th.

  Walking slowly through the crowded streets lit by the hissing pressure lamps of stallholders, George Liani made his way back towards the Galata Bridge; his mind was occupied with a new set of problems. The new job would be difficult to arrange, but the extra funds and some extra explosives would make the effort worthwhile. Who could he use? On an impulse he changed direction and headed for the apartment of Suleiman Yavas, his helper on his last job. It was in a block of apartments, less luxurious than his but respectable. He had his own key to the outer door; it made coming and going less conspicuous. He walked quietly up the stairs, ignoring the lift to avoid noise, making his visit less obvious to hidden ears.

  Reaching the door, he was about to knock when he heard a woman’s shrill voice from within. He put his ear to the door and listened. A row was under way. Some minutes later looking very thoughtful, he left as quietly as he had come. He ’phoned his helper the next morning ordering him to come to his address, and, as soon as he arrived, he confronted him.

  ‘What was that row going on at your place last night?’

  Suleiman was caught off guard, he tried to feign ignorance, but George Liani was not to be put off. Eventually the truth came out. Against Liani’s rules his helper had taken a girlfriend, and they had fallen out.

  ‘What was the row about?’

  ‘She’s pregnant, and she wants me to marry her.’

  ‘How much does she know about you?’

  ‘Next to nothing; and most of that is lies.’

  ‘Does she know where your parents live?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Know anything about your family at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good, good; do you want rid of her?’

  ‘Yes, for sure, the silly bitch has become an embarrassment.’

  To Suleiman’s surprise, George Liani began to smile; this was the answer to a prayer.

  ‘This is what you do. Take this money and buy her a ring. Take her for a meal. Tell her you want to marry her and take her to the United States with you. Tell her all your family is in America, and that you are nearly through with your studies here.’ George Liani explained the details of the new job he had to complete. As he spoke his helper began to see the way out of his difficulties.

  Manston Airfield Kent, September 27th.

  ‘Okay, consider yourself hired, welcome to the firm.’ Andy clapped Jim on the shoulder and shook his hand. Everything checked out, and we are delighted to have you on board. Next time Mike Edge is down here I’ll buy him a drink.’

  ‘He uses this airfield does he?’

  ‘Yes, when he was stationed over here he used to come down every weekend; we must have made a hundred drops together.’

  Jim nodded, he was anxious to know what rates of pay applied in this new job. The lovely Dawn Saint-Pierre was never far from Jim’s thoughts these days.

  Andy read his mind. ‘Come on, let’s find a quiet corner in the bar and I’ll tell you about the firm, what we do, what kind of work you are likely to be doing and what you can expect to earn.’

  An hour later when Jim left to go back to London he was elated. Andy had told him how much he could expect to earn per day, what his expenses would be, how much he could expect to get in bonus payments from grateful clients, and that the company policy was to keep paying top rates for top quality.

  ‘That way we keep our best people,’ he said, ‘very often clients make the guys offers to go and work for them full-time. Obviously we don’t want that to happen so we pay well and expect our guys to stay loyal.’

  That made sense to Jim. Feeling better than he had for a long time, he hurried back to Bayswater, eager now to see Dawn who, more and more, was occupying his thoughts.

  Athens, September 27th.

  Lieutenant Georgiou stood and stretched in his cramped office. His shoulders ached from hunching over the keyboard, but his report was finished. He printed a copy for his boss and then copied the file to a disc.

  Taking the printed copy with him he walked to his boss’s office to talk him through it, he wanted a second opinion on his own reasoning.

  To his surprise and annoyance his boss threw the report casually in the tray on his desk marked filing, without even looking at it.

  ‘I’d like to go through the report with you, sir.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘What? Why not? It’s a major...’

  The captain put a finger to his lips, and getting up quietly closed the door. He pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down.’ He looked at Lieutenant Georgiou and made a decision; he had known the lieutenant for a long time. ‘I’ve been a police officer for twenty years; I’ve always done my duty as best I could. I’ve always tried to be fair and maintain the rule of law, regardless of which government was in power. Under this government things are different. Now I’m given orders from above, orders I have to implement; orders which stick in my throat.’ He paused for a moment, a sour look on his face, and then went on bitterly, ‘I have to order you to drop the case.’

  He had difficulty meeting lieutenant Georgiou’s astonished gaze.

  ‘Why? We’re making real progress; it’s a big case. It’s attracting international press interest because of the hijack connection; we’ve got some good leads, I...’

  ‘Drop the case, on the explicit instruction of the second in command of the Ministry of Public Order,’ the captain cut in harshly.

  The lieutenant got the message; he sat, silent and bitter like the captain. It was common knowledge in Greece that the second in command of the Ministry of Public Order, the ministry that controlled the Greek National Police Force was a P.A.S.O.K. party member who had been nominated by the Greek President himself. It was common knowledge that this second in command of the Ministry of Public Order had been arrested in 1976 and sentenced to seven months imprisonment for smuggling forty Kalashnikov AK47 assault rifles into Greece. It was also common knowledge that in spite of the court ruling he had never served a day of his sentence and that the following year he was made a member of the Greek Parliament.

  ‘Democracy,’ the Captain spat the word out, ‘we Greeks invented it. We gave it to the world. How have we allowed men such as these to take it from us?’

  The lieutenant had no answer.

  ‘I’ll tell you how it happened, a certain Arab leader gave P.A.S.O.K. four million US Dollars to finance their election campaign, that’s how, and rumor has it that he has pumped in another sixteen million to date. Twenty million US dollars in all, not much really, it must be the cheapest real estate deal in history.’

  The lieutenant nodded his understanding. ‘Yeah, he bought Greece.’

  San Francisco, September 27th.

  Washington held no attraction for Mike, he did not know the city, he had no friends there, and he had painful personal things to deal with. He rang the reservations desk at the airport, and booked himself on the evening flight to San Francisco. Then he went down to reception. The girl there made him a reservation in the Sheraton at Fisherman’s Wharf, a sister hotel; that done, he went back to his room and packed.

  Next morning, after an all too brief nap snatched on the night flight to the West Coast, Mike checked in at Fisherman’s Wharf. From his room he rang the office of the family law practice and made an appointment for that afternoon to see Mister Aaron Bloom the senior partner. His short notice trip to Washington was expanding beyond the original plan and his overnight bag couldn’t cope, even with the recent additions.

  He would need a suit for the funeral, a black tie, some shirts and various other items. His hotel was only a few blocks away from the shops and tailoring workshops in the side streets off Grant Avenue. He set off on foot to buy the things he had listed, and didn’t take long to make his purchases. He was back at his hotel in time to enjoy a club sandwich for lunch. Then he set off at a leisurely pace to keep his appointment with Mister Bloom. The address had not changed, the practice
was still in the heart of San Francisco’s business district, but it had obviously grown. From the board in the foyer of the modern office building Mike noted that the practice now occupied five floors.

  He arrived at reception five minutes before his appointment time, but was not asked to wait. He was escorted directly to Aaron Bloom’s spacious office with wide views out over the city to the Pacific Ocean beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. Aaron Bloom came out from behind his desk to greet him. He shook Mike’s hand vigorously. ‘Mike it’s been too long.’ Aaron Bloom was a stout jovial man, bald but with masses of grey curly hair above his ears. Gold rimmed half-moon reading glasses sat on a prominent nose. Two shrewd black eyes twinkled away above them. ‘Come over here and sit down. You know Mike, your parents were among my very first clients and became good friends to my wife and I. Alan became one of my biggest clients, and a valued friend. I’m most distressed about his death: so unnecessary.’

  ‘Thank you for your sympathy Mister Bloom,’ Mike said simply, ‘you are very kind.’

  ‘Not at all, a terrible business; terrible; and please, call me Aaron, the rest of your family always have. Well now, let’s not brood over it, I expect you need some information.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you would be the best person to come to.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ Aaron Bloom said heavily. ‘Alan’s firm contacted us as soon as they received the bad news. We got in touch with the proper authorities and made the arrangements for his body to be brought to San Francisco.’ He took a business card from a drawer in his desk. ‘This is the firm of morticians we use for these unhappy events. Unfortunately some clients die each year, and with families scattered the way they are these days we often have to step in and make the immediate arrangements.’

  Mike nodded his understanding. ‘What arrangements have you made for the funeral?’

  ‘All the official business is over and done with, post-mortems and such. We have official permission for the burial to take place, and I have made arrangements for Alan to be placed in the family plot next to your parents.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s what he would have wanted.’

  ‘When will the funeral be held?’

  ‘Tomorrow at three; at Grace Cathedral.’

  ‘I expect there will be a number of people attending from Alan’s company. Have they been catered for?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Aaron Bloom assured him, ‘and I have taken the liberty of setting up a meeting with Alan’s business partner.’

  ‘What for?’

  Mr. Bloom looked at him over his glasses. ‘You are both major beneficiaries of Alan’s estate; the will has to be read.’

  Mike sat feeling stupid; that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

  Technology Today Incorporated, Silicon Valley, September 28th.

  Anna phoned Aaron Bloom an hour after Mike had left his office. Aaron was relieved. ‘Anna, at last, where have you been? I’ve been trying to contact you for days.’

  ‘I’ve been traveling. I made an important stop in London and then flew here. I came here to the office directly from the airport.’

  ‘Well thank goodness you’re back; there are a number of things which need your attention. Some papers to sign and some decisions which you need to make. You will be going to Alan’s funeral, and later there is the reading of his will to be attended. Together with his brother you are one of the main beneficiaries.’

  ‘I hadn’t got that far in my thinking, I called you to find out about the funeral arrangements.’

  ‘The funeral is tomorrow afternoon at three, at Grace Cathedral. I shall attend as an old friend of the family.’

  ‘Thanks, so I’ll see you there. Until we can settle matters legally, can I assume executive responsibility for all Technology Today decisions?’

  ‘Yes, but it should be formally recorded,’ Aaron Bloom replied, ‘one of the matters requiring your immediate attention is the signing of the necessary papers. They are on your desk. They will need to be properly witnessed.’

  ‘All right, I’ll get that done, and I’ll clear up the outstanding decisions. I’ll have someone hand-carry the signed papers over to your office as soon as possible.’

  She put down the phone, and walked over to the large picture window which formed one complete wall of her office. She had not yet considered her position within the company. Aaron Bloom’s words, “Together with his brother you are one of the main beneficiaries,” effectively meant that someone she knew next to nothing about was going to gain a large share-holding in Technology Today in the immediate future.

  What if she didn’t like him? What if she couldn’t work with him? What if...? What if...?

  Impatient with herself for indulging in useless speculation, Anna turned away from the window. ‘Think positive,’ she said out loud to herself. The first thing to do was to get the papers signed, which gave her executive control. Then she could run the business during the interim period. After the funeral she would meet this brother of Alan’s and could assess him. Shortly afterwards Alan’s Will would be read and she would be present. She would know the worst then.

  Bayswater, September 28th.

  Jim lay back in Dawn’s big double bed, yawned and thought back over the last couple of days. Dawn had met his changed mood with unrestrained joy. Jim’s apology for his earlier attitude, over a candle lit dinner, had led to a better mutual understanding. Promises had been made, and short term plans for the immediate future. Jim had never felt happier. Reluctantly he left the warm hollow made by Dawn’s body, got up and checked his bag, carefully packed for a trip of about eight days, then went into the bathroom. A naked and wet Dawn was just stepping out of the shower. Jim wrapped her in a large fluffy bath towel, hot from the heated rail, and handed her a smaller towel to go round her hair. Dawn put it on turban style and gave him a wet kiss of thanks.

  Jim showered and shaved whilst Dawn dried and brushed her hair, and then they both dressed. They had managed to book flights within two hours of each other. Dawn drove him to the Kensington office, waited whilst he got his briefing and tickets, and then drove them both out to Heathrow. The traffic out of West London wasn’t too bad, and they arrived in good time to park and get to the check-in. As they entered the concourse Dawn’s step faltered. Jim looked at her in concern. She had gone quite pale.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, placing a reassuring arm around her shoulders, ‘the odds against the same thing happening twice are millions to one.’

  ‘I know, it’s silly, but I got cold shivers up my spine when I saw the building.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll check you in first, and then me. We’ll go through to departures and I can see you off at the very last minute. I’ll stay with you until they call your flight.’

  Jim loaded the bags on to a convenient trolley. As they walked towards Dawn’s check-in desk Jim saw one of the armed police standing looking at them. Jim didn’t know him. The guard had an envious look on his face. With a start of surprise Jim realized that his own casual wish of a few weeks ago had come true.

  Zurich, September 28th.

  Najib Shawa had a corner room in the Hotel Zurich, on the East bank of the Limmat, with views out over the city. He looked down on the fast flowing waters of the Limmat as they left the Zurichsee, waters that would soon join the Rhine and journey to the North Sea. His room had a connecting door to an adjoining room, and he was about to invite a guest. He picked up the phone and dialed for an outside line, then dialed 00 - the Swiss international code; 972 - the Israel National code; 2 - Tel Aviv area code, and an ex-directory number. The ex-directory number belonged to Israeli intelligence and was allocated to Ben Levy’s office. The number was answered immediately.

  ‘Bat Yom Import-Export, can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to speak to Mister Benjamin please,’ Najib Shawa said in his high thin voice.

  ‘Who’s calling please?’

  ‘Mister Omar.’

  ‘One moment sir, I’ll see if he’s in.’<
br />
  Ben Levy was in and working hard. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Rachel said, ‘but I’ve got “Omar” on the line.’

  ‘I’ll take the call, put him on.’

  ‘Putting you through now, sir.’

  There was a click and Najib Shawa’s oily, high- pitched tones came on the line. ‘Good morning, my dear friend,’ - Ben pulled a face - ‘I have some goods for you to look at, excellent quality, I’m sure you will be most happy to purchase them, the price is very cheap.’

  ‘That depends, I may be interested, go on,’ Ben growled.

  ‘I’ve put the details in the post to you, but I expect you’ll want to inspect the goods before purchase as usual?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get an inspector to call in.’

  ‘Oh no, these are rather special items, you should see them for yourself.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow, if that’s convenient?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The warehouse details are in the post. I look forward to your visit, my friend, Goodbye.’ The phone went dead.

  Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, well, I wonder what Najib Shawa has for sale?

  San Francisco, September 29th.

  Standing in the deep shade outside Grace Cathedral, Anna Sutherland was wearing a smart black designer suit with a white silk blouse and a black silk scarf at the throat. A large black bow held her hair severely back from her face, and a black hat with a shoulder-length veil covered her face. She was there early. As a director of Technology Today she felt it incumbent on her to be there to greet the many employees attending the service. She had declared a day off with pay as a mark of respect, a day of mourning.

  As if in a surreal dream Anna went through the greetings and condolences until it was time to go inside and take her place on the front pew. She walked down the centre aisle. At the end of the front pew a man sitting in the first seat stood to let her pass. Anna stopped in shock. Her face, already pale in grief went a shade paler.

  It was the man from the plane. He put his hand out to her.

  ‘Hello I’m Michael Edge, Alan’s brother.’

  The organist struck a chord and the service started.