He followed the arrow down a small alleyway between Gucci and Dior and out to a large café with a terrace overlooking the marina. After ordering a Turkish coffee, served with a saucer of milk, a glass of water, and a tray of bonbons, Vincent took a seat along the railing and turned to face his target. He put on his sunglasses in case Ivan walked by and opened a book on his phone. Experience taught him always to be prepared to sit and wait.
Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his mind on his book. Was the stolen artwork still on board? He had to assume so until he had reason to believe otherwise. He still didn’t know what Ivan was planning to do with it, but he was positive the art dealer was running away from him in Venice. If it wasn’t because he was transporting stolen art, why would Ivan have taken off like that? All he could do was wait for Ivan to make his next move. With a little luck, Luka or Marko Antic would show up, as well.
After three hours of waiting, nothing had happened. No one had exited or boarded the yacht or any others on that pier. Apparently, their rich owners were living it up in town while the punishing heat kept the crews indoors. The café was also pretty quiet with most tourists not knowing it existed.
“Hey, man, we’re closing now,” Robert, the café’s young owner, said.
Vincent had ordered several drinks, snacks, and a large lunch to justify his presence, tipping well every time. He preferred to pay as he went in case he needed to leave in a hurry. It turned out to be the perfect place to stake out the yacht. Unfortunately, the café was focused on the breakfast and lunch crowd.
“No problem. I’ll get out of your way. I might see you again soon,” Vincent said, smiling at the wait staff as he left. If Ivan were still in town tomorrow, he would be back to Robert’s café. There were almost no places he could hang around without drawing the marina guard’s attention, especially now that they thought he worked on the Good Times.
After a last look at Ivan’s yacht, Vincent headed back toward Marmaris. A pedestrian bridge was the only link to town. A father and son were fishing off it, and Vincent watched as the older man lovingly helped his offspring cast his line, smiling with pride when the young boy did it correctly. As much as he loved his father and cherished the good times they had, Vincent was glad he and Theresa felt the same way about children. He’d rather be chasing down leads than changing diapers any day.
Vincent charged ahead, walking down the wide boulevard that ran between the waterfront and the strip of bars and dance clubs geared toward the rich and affluent. Most had large terraces in front, and all offered cocktails and water pipes. And more, Vincent thought, confident that hard drugs would also be available in most. Large fountains and statues of tourists playing in the water interspersed the walkway. He stepped closer to one and let the spray cool him down while he watched paragliders and speedboats race across the open bay. Close to the marina’s entrance was a lighthouse attached to land by a rocky jetty currently inhabited by fishermen. It would give him great views of Ivan’s yacht, he figured. All he needed was a pole. Vincent checked the map on his phone for a nearby fishing supply store when he noticed Zelda had sent a message with the address of their hotel. It was straight up the hill—Zelda had chosen well.
A few minutes later, when he knocked on Zelda’s hotel room door, she practically pounced on him. “Did you find the yacht?”
“Yep, it’s in the marina, but I didn’t see Ivan. I still can’t imagine he would be making a heroin deal. Luka or Marko Antic must be involved. I can’t wait to see which one shows up.”
“Why are you so convinced the Antics are involved? Why couldn’t Ivan sell the stolen art to someone?”
Vincent looked at her in puzzlement.
“I mean, Marko is desperately searching for Gabriella, who is represented by Ivan Novak. And from what you told me earlier, Luka may be responsible for Ivan’s daughter’s death. I doubt they are working together. What if Ivan is double-crossing the Antics somehow?”
Vincent wanted to slam his palm into his forehead. Being so fixated on Marko and Luka Antic, he had ignored an obvious alternative scenario. His Croatian associates assured him that Luka was getting into the heroin business, and in a big way. What if his contacts were wrong, and it was Ivan who was about to make a drug deal, not Luka?
“Zelda, you’re right. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t consider that possibility. I really need to get back down to the marina and keep an eye on that boat.”
How he wished he could ask her to help him with his stakeout. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to her.
“Wait. I have a surprise for you.” Zelda grabbed the second set of keys and opened the room next to hers. As soon as she was inside, she raced over to a set of French doors. “Tada!” she said as she opened them.
The balcony looked directly down onto the marina. With a pair of binoculars, Vincent bet he could see Ivan’s boat from here. This was the perfect vantage point. “Well done.”
Zelda preened. “I thought you would be pleased.”
Vincent pulled his binoculars out of his satchel then positioned himself on the balcony. When he sat down, Zelda took the seat across from him.
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked.
“Enjoying the views.”
“Why don’t you do that somewhere else? We probably won’t be in Marmaris long. Have you smoked a hookah before?”
“Nope.”
“It’s worth trying once. Bar Street has plenty of options. Why don’t you check it out?”
Zelda chuckled. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Thanks.”
62 A Moment of Weakness
September 24, 2018
Ivan sat at the Back Street Café on Bar Street, next to the only bridge connecting the marina to town. He knew there was a chance Luka would arrive by taxi, but that entrance to the marina was heavily guarded. He had to hope that Luka would arrive by foot or boat.
After sweating away the afternoon, Ivan wished that waiting around for Luka to act wasn’t the only option. He briefly contemplated calling Luka and asking where he was at but knew it was too suspicious. Luka was already irritated by all of his questions about his Turkish dealer and the location of their final transaction.
He had no other option but to wait. He had to send his next message after the art was in the Turk’s hands but before Luka left with the heroin. Otherwise, Luka could escape, or the Turk could pretend there was no deal. No, as tempting as it was to act now, he had to wait for Luka to appear. As soon as he did, Ivan could set the final phase of his plan into action. But not a moment sooner.
Exhausted from another sleepless night, he ordered one strong Turkish coffee after another, but the caffeine did little except jangle his nerves even further. He would have to get up and stretch his legs soon if only to relieve his jitteriness. From Marmaris Castle, he should be able to see the marina and bay, he figured.
In a moment of weakness, he took out his wallet and flipped through the pictures of his little girl—Marjana as a baby, a toddler with her first tooth, riding her first bike, winning her first painting contest. Moments he cherished immensely. Tears stung his eyes, so he picked up a cloth napkin to wipe them away, jostling his wallet in the process. It fell open to a photo of Marjana and Gabriella, both dressed as princesses or maidens as they preferred to be called. At ten years old, the girls were obsessed with the Adventures of Robin Hood. Ivan read Marjana every folktale he could find featuring the fearless do-gooder and the love of his life, Maid Marian. He held the photo closer, his little Marjana, his beloved one. When the girls were little, he used to take them to Trakošćan Castle, outside of Zagreb in Northern Croatia. It was a fairy-tale structure surrounded by a thick forest and lake, perfect for evoking images of sheriffs, thieves, and kings. The girls loved to reenact his stories about knights and princesses when they were there. At Marjana’s insistence, he would play Robin Hood to their Maid Marjana and Maid Gabriella.
Ivan squeezed so hard on the pho
tograph that it wrapped around his thumb as a wave of regret and despair washed over him. His perfect little girl was so full of potential. Marjana could have done anything she set her mind to, and he led her right into the arms of Luka Antic, who caged her spirit and destroyed her destiny. If only his fatherly pride and Luka’s false promise hadn’t blinded him. He should have known better than to trust Luka. And when she needed him most, he wasn’t there for her. Ivan looked skyward as he pressed his fingernails into his palms until his skin bled, anything to keep his screams silent. He let out a long breath that calmed his soul. It was time to avenge his little princess, his perfect Maid Marjana.
63 Hookah for One
September 24, 2018
Zelda headed down the hill to Bar Street. She stopped at the first café offering an apple-flavored smoke and took a seat on the terrace under a parasol. The waiter brought over the enormous water pipe with a single tube attached to the side of its mouth. On top was a flat bowl wrapped in aluminum foil. The waiter used tongs to place five blocks of burning coal on top, then bowed slightly before departing. Unsure of what to do, she watched as other patrons picked up the tube and sucked on it. She followed suit and soon her mind was buzzing.
She took another drag and watched the bubbling water. Zelda let a gigantic cloud of apple-scented smoke trail out of her mouth, watching abstractedly as it twirled and rose before dissipating in the warm air. It smelled delicious, like an apple orchard in bloom. Her buzz and the cool breeze were a pleasant relief from the punishing sun.
She was inhaling deeply as she took another puff when Ivan Novak walked right by her table. He was heading up the hill. In shock, Zelda chocked on the smoke, hacking terribly. A Turkish couple next to her frowned as the waiter brought her a glass of water. She gulped it back, finally recovering enough to say, “Sorry, this is my first time. I don’t think it’s for me.”
The Turkish couple and waiter laughed heartily and started chatting in Turkish, ignoring her completely.
Zelda pulled out her wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
The waiter and couple were so engaged in their conversation, obviously at Zelda’s expense, that he didn’t respond. The art dealer was almost to the end of Bar Street. The hill above was a maze of small streets and tiny alleyways, all leading up to the castle then back down to the Grand Bazaar on the other side. In a few minutes, he would be as good as gone.
“Please, how much?” she pressed. When he didn’t answer, Zelda took out fifty lire and shoved it into the waiter’s hand before pulling out her phone and sprinting off after Ivan. “Vincent!” she screamed into her phone the second he picked up.
“I told you not to…”
“He’s here! Ivan just walked by me. He’s heading up the hill toward our hotel.”
“Thanks,” Vincent said, then hung up.
Zelda’s sprint slowed to a crawl as she contemplated her next move. She knew that Vincent didn’t want her help in case the Antics were involved. But if Vincent didn’t catch up with him, and Ivan managed to slip away with the stolen artwork, she would never get her life back. No, she didn’t care what Vincent said. She was going to see this through to the end.
64 A Quick Visit to Marmaris Castle
September 24, 2018
Zelda raced up Bar Street, weaving her way through the fountains, large Turkish families strolling arm in arm, and Western tourists photographing everything in sight. Farther up the promenade, she could see Ivan’s white hair bobbing in the crowd. He was approaching the first of many crossroads, and she needed to keep him in sight, so forcing her legs to work harder, she ran at top speed until she was only a street away. Moments later, he stopped to buy a bottle of water. Afraid he might see her, she leaned heavily against a crumbling wall, grateful to catch her breath. When she dared to peek around the corner, Ivan was walking away, up the hill. Zelda followed as discretely as she could, doing her best to keep a street or two between them. The narrow roads wound around ancient homes, many with shops on the ground floor and hotels above. The crumbling structures seemed to be made of plastered wooden frames and most hadn’t been painted in years. It is a beauty in ruin, Zelda thought as she got lost in the sights, almost forgetting her prey.
She rounded the next corner and almost ran into Ivan, who was, luckily, more interested in a leather bag than the plethora of tourists milling about. Shoot! Zelda cursed to herself. If he saw her here, there was no way he would think it was coincidence. She doubled back to a shop specializing in scarves and picked up a dark blue swath of fabric. To the saleslady’s surprise, Zelda handed her the lire she asked for instead of negotiating for a lower price. Zelda used the woman’s small mirror to adjust the scarf so that it covered most of her face and shoulders. Once satisfied, she put on her sunglasses then dashed out of the shop.
Ivan was walking out of the leather shop with a new satchel over his shoulder. Zelda wove through the crowd, telling herself not to run. When he turned right at the next intersection, Zelda realized he was following the bright yellow signs pointing to the castle above.
Where is Vincent, she wondered, still at our hotel or in this maze of streets hoping to catch a glimpse of Ivan? Zelda pulled out her phone and called his number. He didn’t pick up. “He’s heading to the castle!” she whispered into his voicemail.
A few turns later, Ivan reached the castle’s entrance, and Vincent was nowhere to be seen.
Zelda froze, unsure of what to do next. She hadn’t been inside and didn’t know if there was another exit. Figuring Vincent would applaud her initiative, she waited until Ivan paid his entrance fee and disappeared before buying a ticket.
The castle was imposing and grand from the outside. From inside, it reminded Zelda of an inner-city garden collective. According to her ticket, this landmark also served as the region’s archeological museum. Enclosed inside the castle walls was a square of grass filled with palm trees and park benches, ancient pottery, and carved stone icons that had been excavated in this region. Next to each artifact was a small text board identifying where the piece was unearthed and explaining its cultural importance. Signs pointed to exhibition rooms built into each of the four corners. Zelda assumed they would be full of more pottery and artwork. She approached the closest but realized it was a tiny space. If Ivan were inside, they would run into each other.
Instead, she headed for a series of staircases and walkways, which lead up to the top of wide walls. It was hard work, climbing in this hot sun, but the high vantage point provided excellent views of the bay, mountains, and the city center far below. The views were stunning. The blue water sparkled in the sun as boats of all shapes and sizes crisscrossing over the bay. Looming above were the gray-green mountains rising out of the islands sheltering Marmaris from the Mediterranean Sea. Overwhelmed by the bay’s beauty, Zelda took out her camera and snapped several photos, momentarily forgetting Ivan. She walked along the wall, pausing to take pictures as she went when footsteps behind her made her freeze.
When Zelda dared to glance behind her, she was immensely relieved to see it wasn’t Ivan. She put her camera away and reminded herself why she was here. Even though she would love nothing more than to sit here and while the day away, she had to find Ivan. If he wasn’t in one of the rooms below, then there must be another exit, she realized. From here, she could see the entire inner square. Despite the punishing sun, she decided to wait a while and see if either Ivan emerged from one of the exhibition rooms or Vincent arrived to save the day. Just as she was about to give up on both men, Ivan emerged from the toilets, directly across from her.
Zelda didn’t know what to do. All Ivan had to do was look up, and he would see her. She turned to face the water, hoping he wouldn’t come up the staircase behind her. Unfortunately, Ivan did just that. He didn’t notice her until he was about to pass her on the wide ledge.
“You!” Ivan Novak yelled. He picked up one of the ancient vases and threw it at her. As it shattered at her feet, he raced across the courtyard and out of the ca
stle before Zelda could get down the stairs. When she finally reached the exit, she caught sight of her prey running down a steep street heading left toward the Grand Bazaar. Worried she would lose him in that maze, Zelda dialed Vincent as she set off in pursuit. He picked up this time.
“Zelda, where are you?”
“Ivan just left the castle. He’s heading toward the market, the Grand Bazaar!”
“On my way,” he yelled back.
Zelda could hear him through the phone and in person. “Vincent?” she called out.
He ran around the corner, straight into her. “Zelda! Which way did he go?”
She pointed straight-ahead, and he sprinted away. Zelda did her best to keep up, but he was too fast. The humidity and heat made it so hard to run.
A minute later, she saw Vincent standing at a crossroads in the market. “You go left, and I’ll go right,” he ordered. His face was flush with excitement.
She nodded, and he raced off again. Zelda scanned the mass of human bodies but didn’t see Ivan in front of her.
“Damn it! Where are you, Ivan?” Zelda knew he wouldn’t answer, but her frustration was boiling over. Her need to know what was going on was overwhelming. Where was the stolen artwork, and what was he planning to do with it? Were Luka or Marko Antic really involved or was this Ivan’s show?
Seconds later, she saw her prey sprint to the right. Zelda tore after him, racing past shops selling the same cheap crap as their neighbors. As she tripped over a display of scarves, she caught sight of Ivan two streets ahead before he disappeared into the shadowy maze of similar-looking shops. Zelda could hardly believe how fast he was going, especially for his age.
Marked for Revenge Page 23
