Nate needed to focus his efforts, and she was about to tell him how. ‘We’re going on to Hatay from Izmir. We need to know why Audrey went there. If it’s dangerous, I need to be there to help.’ She filled him in on Camp Apaydin. ‘I don’t think the people you’ve hired are going to have much luck at Souda. The people in the camp won’t know your investigators or have any reason to trust them. You, on the other hand, are less threatening.’ She signaled to Khattak that she was about to board. He waved back, unconcerned. ‘If you have a photograph of you and Audrey together, that’s what I would show around. Find a translator to help you.’
Nate accepted this, just as he accepted her withdrawal. Rachel wished he wouldn’t. She wished he would demand something or tell her where she stood, though she was no less impaired when it came to expressing herself. She turned the conversation back to Audrey.
‘I don’t mean to scare you, but you need to ask your people to check on last night’s raid. See if they can find out more about who organized the attack. Usually, there’s a ringleader. And he might not have been kindly disposed to Audrey or her work.’
Nate recoiled from her words, though he didn’t quarrel with her conclusions. He reached for her hand again, eager to make up for his behavior.
‘Thank you, Rachel,’ he said. ‘For telling me the truth when you know I don’t want to hear it.’
He turned up her palm and kissed it, an inherently romantic gesture. Rachel was too bemused by his tenderness to panic, or to fully accept it.
‘Don’t give up on me, Rachel. Don’t let this come between us. I wanted to show you – I want to show you… well, I think you know what I want.’
He tilted up her chin and kissed her mouth.
Rachel was still for a moment. Then, eagerly, she kissed him back. His technique was impressive. She tried to match it from her scant experience.
Raising his head, Nate said, ‘What about Esa? Is there something I shouldn’t get in the middle of?’ His tone was a little embarrassed. ‘We’ve been down that road before.’
‘Esa?’ she echoed in a daze, the name completely unfamiliar.
Nate smiled, his gold eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. That’s just what I was hoping.’
Rachel’s eyes widened. She’d never heard a man express himself in quite that way before. Nate’s warm smile was self-deprecating and sweet, but his use of the word hope… she felt a tremulous flutter of happiness. No one had ever hoped for anything from her.
‘You spend so much time with Esa,’ he said thoughtfully. He was studying Esa’s body language, his earnest conversation with Roux.
Rachel suppressed a smile. ‘That’s why I’m immune.’
When he kissed her again, he muttered his fears against her lips. ‘This trip away won’t change that?’
Rachel surprised herself by laughing out loud. ‘Just how irresistible do you find my boss?’
He laughed too, and suddenly everything between them was easy. He saw Rachel off to the ferry with a wave, a relaxed set to his shoulders that told her more than she’d hoped to learn.
Now all she had to do was try not to ruin something good.
27
Ferry crossing
Chios, Greece to Cesme, Turkey
The ferry crossing was so choppy that a sickly green color invaded Rachel’s skin. When Khattak expressed his concern, Amélie Roux suggested Rachel take up a spot where she couldn’t see the motion of the water. Rachel hastily agreed, so Khattak turned back to Roux. They were retracing Audrey’s steps as best as they could with the limited information at hand. Her activities in Turkey puzzled them: they raised questions that required immediate answers. How did Audrey’s activities connect her to Sami al-Nuri? And what was it about her trips to Izmir that might have placed her in danger? Retracing her steps, talking to the people she’d spoken to, might provide those answers. It might also give them more background on Sami.
Esa put a question to Roux. ‘What else can you tell me about Audrey’s activities?’ They had progressed to first names. Esa found much to admire in Amélie’s assessment of their operations. She’d kept an eye on their work, and her insights were invaluable.
She was serious about her work, committed to bringing Aude Bertin’s killer to justice. To further her cooperation, he told her about the life vests he’d found at Souda, and she offered a theory of her own.
‘This is about organized crime. I think this impressionable young woman thought she could push back against forces more powerful than she realized. Perhaps because that’s how things work in Canada. And in France, as well.’
‘You’re saying it’s different in Turkey?’
From Roux’s face, he could see he’d missed the significance of what she’d just told him. He was following a tangent, but it was one he thought was necessary.
They were facing the Turkish coast, its craggy outline looming up against waves crested with white tufts of foam. Esa couldn’t see any sign of the smugglers’ activities or of boats that had recently been launched. Some distance away, one of the Hellenic Rescue Team’s boats was in the water. A blond-haired woman on the deck was scouting the waves, radioing news of conditions on the water to volunteers on the islands. He wondered if the woman was Eleni Latsoudi. She was too far away to tell.
Rain began to fall, thick fat droplets spattering the deck, until the horizon disappeared in an iridescent silver streak. He and Amélie retreated to the lounge, where Rachel was huddled at a table, shivering as she sipped her watery tea. She’d bought a coat for herself on the island, but it wasn’t as warm as the one she’d brought from Canada.
He understood the impulse that had driven her to give hers away. It was the same impulse he was fighting: the desire to return to Moria and put his language skills to use. The needs of the Afghan children on the hill, contrasted with the prospects for their future, was something he couldn’t erase with a donation. He felt the stirring of an old calling, the sense there was more he could do – must do. He would ask for another meeting with the prime minister. But even that wouldn’t subdue the anguish of his thoughts.
Amélie Roux brought coffee in Styrofoam cups. They rejoined Rachel, whose pallor was beginning to fade.
‘Turkey is the most beautiful country I’ve visited. Its history is fascinating. Izmir – Smyrna – is famous for its association with Alexander the Great.’ Amélie returned to the question Khattak had asked. ‘But look at the neighbors, my friend. A dangerous neighborhood, as the Americans would say.’
Khattak was familiar with this characterization, though it wasn’t one he used. But if Amélie was speaking of the border, he could hardly disagree.
‘You were speaking of organized crime,’ he reminded her, trying to determine what he’d missed.
‘Already well established in Turkey. The refugee crisis has opened up new opportunities for profiteers.’
‘What kind of profiteers?’ Rachel raised her head from her cup. Amélie leaned forward confidentially. At the table behind her, Khattak caught sight of the same group of men who’d assembled in the café on Lesvos. A mix of Germans, Danes, Italians, and Greeks, joined by Peter Conroy. Despite the rain and the chilly ambience, their conversation was lively. They were headed to Izmir for a break from their work, dressed in civilian clothes.
‘Smuggling refugees across from the Anatolian coast to the islands of Greece has been profitable for organized crime. Someone gets the boats together, someone delivers them to the beaches, someone collects refugees from Izmir and drives them to the coast. Someone organizes the routes and keeps an eye on the weather. Well…’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t say that the smugglers are concerned about a safe passage; their job is to collect money – as much money as they can. That’s why they overcrowd the boats. The point is, all of this is a very big operation, a well-coordinated operation. Somebody is running it, someone’s making money.’
Rachel played devil’s advocate. ‘At least someone’s getting refugees across. They’re not having to do it themselves, and after all, don’t the people who want to cross have the option of remaining in Turkey?’
She wasn’t expecting Amélie’s fierce response. ‘That’s no more of an option than the Calais Jungle. There are no jobs for such a huge influx of people. Those who exploit them can take their pick, paying one-half, one-third of normal wages, sometimes not paying at all. It’s a machinery that thrives on desperation.’
Khattak didn’t know what Amélie Roux had seen, but he disagreed with some of her conclusions. ‘Do you think Greece should be expected to cope with the crisis on its own?’
Amélie crumpled up her cup and tossed it into a bin. ‘Absolutely not. How could they?’
‘It’s no easier on Turkey. Turkey hosts nearly three million refugees. It doesn’t have resources to sustain them.’
Amélie bristled at this. ‘That’s an easy way out, Esa. Turkey has responsibilities under the Convention.’
‘So does France,’ he rejoined.
‘Turkey is a near neighbor. More importantly, the people of Turkey and Syria have more in common.’
‘I don’t disagree. What I’m saying is that a disproportionate burden has fallen on Turkey.’ Khattak kept his voice low, conscious that the men at the next table had fallen silent to listen. ‘And let’s not forget, the European Union has just paid Turkey billions to shut down the flow into Europe. That’s led to people taking increasingly desperate chances on the sea.’
Amélie pulled out a cigarette and lighter. She kept her eyes on Khattak’s face as she lit her cigarette and inhaled.
‘Your eyes,’ she said to him. ‘They tell me a lot more than this very polite way you have of speaking. You hate this, I think. You hate everything about this.’ She took another draw of her cigarette, then said, ‘Yes, I agree. The record of France as a member of the European Union is terrible. It’s a dreadful thing that’s been happening with Le Pen and her neo-Nazi following. The force she represents is continuing to gain strength. Another Bataclan or Nice, who knows where we’ll end up?’
She was referring to the terror attacks that had devastated France. ‘This cycle we are in is ugly – the French do not want Muslims. They don’t want Arabs, they don’t care whether they are born in France or not. The same thing applies in Turkey. Refugees will go to their graves in these camps. The Turkish template, the Jordanian one at Zaatari – these are not solutions. Calais is even worse.’ She turned her head so the smoke would blow away from her companions. ‘These words… refugees, migrants… maybe they have some legal effect, they don’t mean anything to me. They didn’t mean anything to Aude. She thought of people as having rights, no matter who they were, and now she’s dead.’
Khattak was sorry he’d pushed her so hard. The shine of tears was in her eyes. Respectfully, he looked away, giving her a moment to gather her composure.
‘There’s plenty of blame to go around,’ he said. ‘Enough for France… Canada… Turkey. It takes our attention away from the man responsible for this.’
‘The lion in his den?’ Rachel asked, a little pale herself.
‘Assad,’ Khattak supplied. ‘Though I suspect debate on that subject would be just as heated.’
Amélie crushed out her cigarette. She took an envelope from inside her jacket pocket and placed it on the table. Rachel opened the envelope and slid its contents onto the table between them. Three pairs of eyes studied the photograph of Sami al-Nuri.
Every inch of his torso was mutilated.
‘Assad will be at The Hague soon enough. There’s too much evidence to come to any other conclusion. If you think of Sami al-Nuri as an emblem of Assad’s Syria, his broken body is all the proof we need.’
Someone dragged a chair over to their table and sat down next to Rachel.
It was Ali Maydani: he was on his own, Aya nowhere to be seen. His curls were standing on end, as if he’d brushed them with some force.
‘Am I allowed to speak? I know my country better than you do. Better than Interpol, better than whatever it is you represent, Inspector.’
Khattak heard Rachel gasp. A fury as stark as the endless war was bottled up inside the boy.
He placed a hand on Ali’s shoulder. ‘You’re right, of course, forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
He noticed that Commander Benemerito at the neighboring table had risen from his seat, a frown of concern on his face. He gestured to reassure the other man. Benemerito nodded.
‘It’s nothing new,’ Ali said. ‘You all do it. The UN, the volunteers, the border agents, people on the news. You make choices that affect us, you decide what our lives will be, you decide what we should think about those choices. All you see is a problem.’ His voice became rough. ‘Even you, Inspector Khattak. You said we’re a burden to Turkey. We’re a burden to the islands, to every country we’ve fled to. We’re a burden within our own borders because we continue to exist.’
His eyes caught sight of the photograph on the table.
‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘Oh God, oh God. Is that Sami? Is that what he wouldn’t tell me?’ He buried his face in his arms.
Khattak’s instincts took over. He didn’t say anything, just rubbed the boy’s back with his hand, trying to give him comfort. It was clear now that Ali’s connection hadn’t been only to Audrey. He knew Sami al-Nuri, and judging from his grief, knew him well. He signaled Rachel to bring something for Ali to eat.
Benemerito was on his feet, undecided.
Amélie came to the rescue. She tucked the photograph away, lighting a cigarette she passed to the boy. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘You need this.’
He didn’t raise his head until he’d exhausted his tears. Then he looked up, half-defiant, half-ashamed, rubbing at his face with his sleeve. Khattak handed him a napkin.
Ali took the cigarette and smoked it, his face closed, his eyes shifting from theirs.
No one spoke until Rachel brought a cup of tea, accompanied by a roll stuffed with lamb. Ali finished his cigarette. He bolted down the roll.
The ferry was winding down its speed; at the Turkish coast Khattak’s phone gained service. It rang loudly in the silence. He frowned as he saw Sehr’s number. He shut off his phone to give Ali his full attention, blaming himself for his carelessness.
How stingingly accurate the boy’s denunciation was.
He’d said as much to himself many times while watching news of the Middle East or other parts of the world. What he saw on his screen invoked a familiar refrain: Iraq without Iraqis, Afghanistan without Afghans, Palestine without Palestinians, and now Syria without Syrians.
Commander Benemerito joined them at their table, bearing a second tray of coffees.
He glanced gravely at Khattak and Roux. ‘We don’t discuss politics in public, it’s painful to our Syrian friends. I’m sure you can understand why.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, though Khattak took his mild reproach to heart. ‘You want to come with me?’ Benemerito asked Ali. ‘I can drive you into Izmir to take a look around.’
Vincenzo had risen to his feet, murmuring something in Peter Conroy’s ear. Khattak began to appreciate how close the volunteers were. They worked together, they took time off in each other’s company. What he didn’t understand was the scowl on Vincenzo’s face.
‘No,’ Ali said at last. ‘I’m all right, Commander. It’s okay. I want to talk to the police.’ He couldn’t muster a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, thank you.’
Benemerito nodded his acceptance. ‘Fine. If you have any trouble with your papers, let me know.’
He left them to themselves. Khattak attempted a more thorough apology for his words. Ali listened to him, but he didn’t say anything at the end, and Khattak knew better than to insist on absolution. His comfort was irrelevant. He wanted Ali to know his though
ts to the extent it would offer the boy any solace from his pain.
Rachel gave them a reprieve by asking about Audrey’s package. ‘How do the life jackets fit into all of this?’
The ferry’s engines powered down as it began its docking procedures. Passengers began to empty out of the lounge, preparing to disembark. Khattak’s eyes followed Conroy and Vincenzo as they left the lounge, Benemerito behind them.
‘It’s part of the operation I was telling you about – it has to do with organized crime.’
‘They’ve jacked up prices for life jackets?’ Rachel guessed. ‘There must be a black market, given the need is so dire. I bet it’s hard for supply to catch up with demand.’ She said this carefully, keeping her eyes on Ali to see if she was giving offense.
Ali’s eyes were still red, but his breathing had evened out. He looked from Rachel to Amélie Roux. ‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Audrey Clare,’ Khattak explained. ‘She ordered Yamaha life jackets. I thought they were for you and Aya for the crossing.’ He kept his eyes on Ali’s. ‘I also thought it was possible that you and Audrey were bringing others across from Turkey.’
Roux interrupted before Ali could answer. ‘The smugglers have locked down the beaches. They would sink any boat that cut into their profit.’
Khattak was watching the boy. ‘You know something,’ he said. ‘Please tell us. The longer Audrey is missing, the less likely it is we’ll find her.’
No Place of Refuge Page 20
