Dark Water

by Parker Bilal

  He turned his mind to the new element introduced by the ‘Bosnians’ he had met earlier in the evening. The voices he had heard in the long room as he was making his escape had not been speaking Arabic, but Hebrew. And that confirmed another serious complication.

  As it started to get light he joined the crowds making their way to work. The streets were busy but oddly quiet, as if people were wary of disturbing the early morning tranquillity. Sunlight filtered between the grey buildings. Makana had begun to question everything, no longer sure of the ground on which he was standing. What did he actually know about Marcus Winslow? Accents could be faked, as could passports and identity cards. He had no real idea who he was working for.

  Makana spotted Fateema Brown as she was approaching the gates of the British Consulate just before nine o’clock. He fell in beside her and walked in silence until she realised she had a companion. She ignored him at first, shifting her course to take her away from him. The guards outside the consulate were already within sight. There was a small gathering of staff around the entrance, preparing to go through the barriers and into the guardroom, already shrugging off their coats in preparation for the obligatory security scan. When finally she turned to look at him she stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Keep walking,’ said Makana. ‘We need to talk.’

  From the look on her face Fateema Brown’s first impulse was to scream for help or break into a run, or perhaps both. The guards would surely come to her aid if she managed to attract their attention.

  ‘All I’m asking for is five minutes,’ he said softly. ‘That’s all.’

  Makana knew he was taking a risk. He wondered how long he would have if she raised the alarm instead of talking to him. At this hour of the morning most people on the streets were still half asleep, or perhaps preoccupied with what lay ahead of them, what they had to do today, letting go of their private lives in order to step into their roles as professionals.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, gesturing towards a sidestreet off to the left. ‘Five minutes, that’s all.’ He could see her struggling. She was conventional by nature, not comfortable breaking the rules. When she finally made a move towards the sidestreet it surprised him.

  The alleyway was a row of shuttered shopfronts. A few shopkeepers were starting to open up, looking for keys, wrestling with padlocks. Makana led the way past all of these.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Fateema Brown’s voice cracked as she spoke.

  ‘I don’t mean you any harm.’

  They had reached a small square. Makana indicated a small place on a corner. It had two entrances, one on each side, and was empty save for a grey-haired man sweeping the floor.

  ‘I’ll be missed if I don’t turn up for work,’ she said, sitting on a stool at the bar and clutching her briefcase against her chest.

  ‘Marty Shaw,’ Makana began. She didn’t let him get further.

  ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked, looking him in the eye. It struck him that she wasn’t actually as scared as she pretended to be.

  ‘He was in my room at the hotel when I got there.’

  ‘The police are looking for you. Our people are looking for you.’

  She took a deep breath, as if trying to decide whether to trust him. ‘I can’t do anything for you. You must contact the consulate during working hours.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s really an option right now.’

  Fateema Brown hesitated. ‘He told me that he thought you were working for Winslow. Are you?’

  ‘Winslow asked me to help him to locate someone.’

  ‘Ayman Nizari.’

  Over her shoulder, Makana watched the man put aside the broom. As he approached, Makana ordered coffee for both of them. He didn’t bother asking how she wanted hers, he suspected they weren’t going to be there long enough to drink it.

  ‘You’re the intelligence agent who spoke to Ayman Nizari when he called the consulate asking for help.’ Makana paused before pressing on. ‘Shaw wasn’t available.’

  Fateema Brown took a deep breath and looked down at her hands.

  ‘Shaw was away. He has, had, a mistress in Beirut.’

  ‘And when he’s away you run the intelligence side of things?’

  From her accent Makana guessed that she was British, or at least she had grown up there, perhaps with Turkish parents. There was something self-conscious about her manner. The awkwardness of trying to belong, but knowing that she didn’t quite fit. Despite her clothes, the headscarf, she was more Western than Eastern.

  ‘This is your first posting?’

  ‘I was in Ankara for a year, but yes, this is the most responsibility I’ve had,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘I’m just trying to work out how all of the pieces fit together.’

  The fact that it was her first posting explained why she was so unsure of herself. She still had to prove, to herself as well perhaps, that she wasn’t just some fancy dress the British were putting on to impress their Turkish hosts. The coffee arrived and she spooned sugar carefully into the little cup. ‘Shaw took over when Winslow was suspended,’ she began.

  ‘Marty Shaw was a good man. He had to tread carefully. Winslow has a reputation. You don’t go up against a man like that unless you know what you are doing.’

  ‘How did Winslow find out about Nizari, if he was suspended?’

  ‘Nizari insisted on it.’ Fateema Brown shook her head. ‘Winslow was the only person he would negotiate with.’

  ‘Did they know each other?’

  ‘Not as far as we could tell.’ She frowned and sipped her coffee. ‘Winslow was supposed to coordinate everything with Marty. He never did. The first we knew that the operation was actually going ahead was when you came into the picture.’

  ‘Winslow told me that he didn’t trust anyone, that there was a risk of a leak.’

  ‘Well, he would have to explain why you were on your own, I suppose.’

  Makana lit a cigarette. His picture of Winslow was beginning to grow slightly clearer, although he still wasn’t sure exactly what he was up to. Did he really just want Nizari, or was there some other target in sight?

  ‘Okay, what about Abu Hilal?’

  ‘He’s the real mystery man.’ Fateema gave a shake of the head. ‘I mean, the man is literally a ghost.’

  ‘Why does Winslow want him so badly?’

  She looked directly at him. ‘Winslow was responsible for the attack in Yemen when they tried to take out Abu Hilal. The information was flawed.’

  This tied in with what Shaw had said about Winslow wanting to bring in Abu Hilal single-handedly.

  ‘Winslow is old school, he probably thinks he has to restore his honour or something. Hilal’s family was killed in the attack.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘Do you know who killed Shaw?’

  It was Makana’s turn to shake his head. ‘He was dead before I got to my room.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know what he was doing there. Either he was waiting for me, or …’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Or he was checking up on me. In either case, someone else was there. Perhaps he surprised them, or the other way around. Whoever it was killed him and left him in my room to pin it on me.’ He didn’t mention the woman Haluk had told him about. Or the fact that this might have been the same woman he had glimpsed in Nadir Sulayman’s office. Some protective instinct made him keep that information to himself. But protective of whom: of himself, or of the woman who might or might not have been his daughter? Could she be the one who had killed Shaw? Makana recalled the blurred shadow he had seen reflected in Nadir Sulayman’s window. He didn’t like where his thoughts were leading him.

  ‘Now Shaw is dead. After Nadir Sulayman was killed, he was my ticket out of here. I’m stuck.’ Makana looked at her. ‘I can’t trust Winslow. I don’t know what he wants, or what he plans for me.’

  Fateema Brown shifted awkwardly. ‘I understan
d your position, really I do, but I can’t help you. Officially, the British government is not involved.’ She drummed on the bar counter with her fingertips.

  ‘We can’t risk getting involved at this stage. You’re wanted by the police on suspicion of two counts of murder. Just being seen with you compromises both my personal integrity and that of the British government.’

  Makana shifted in his chair and winced as he felt pain shooting up his back. ‘There’s something else,’ he said, quickly sketching out the events of the previous evening.

  ‘You think they were Israeli agents?’

  ‘They lost Nizari. They want him back more than anything.’

  She reached for a paper napkin from a dispenser on the counter.

  ‘Do you think you can find Nizari?’

  ‘I think I’m close.’

  She produced a pen from her bag. ‘You need to stay away from the Israelis. You bring Nizari to us and maybe there’s a chance we can help you. But you must break all ties with Winslow.’ Her gaze fixed on him. ‘I can’t help you unless you make it clear whose side you’re on. We can’t afford to take any chances when it comes to Winslow.’ She was holding out the paper napkin. ‘Call me in twenty-four hours. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Makana looked at the telephone number and wondered where he’d be in twenty-four hours.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Nikos Godunov, or Boris, as he was otherwise known, operated out of a string of garages spread across the city. Kara Deniz led Makana down to the waterfront and on a ferry across to Kardaköy. It might be unwise to be seen openly with her so soon after his warning from Inspector Serkan, but Makana didn’t feel he had much choice. He would get nowhere by hiding and he had no time to waste.

  His conversation with Fateema Brown had confirmed to him that he was on his own. With Shaw dead she was not going to go out of her way to help him. On the contrary, if it came to a choice between loyalty to her government and helping an outsider, it was clear which way she was going to jump. As for Winslow, it bothered Makana that the Englishman had assumed he could use him as a pawn in achieving his own complex aims. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was determined to see it through, but finding Nizari was no longer simply about helping the Iraqi scientist to safety. It was personal. Now he saw Nizari as the first step on a path that led the way back into the maze of his own life. The reason he needed to find Nizari was not for Winslow or for anyone else, but for himself.

  Which brought him back to why he was here with Kara Deniz. Right now, his most immediate concern was getting out of this city without being caught. With or without Nizari, he needed a back-door exit, one that no one else, not even Winslow, had a key to. At best, there was a leak somewhere in Winslow’s little network. At worst, Winslow himself was playing a double game.

  Makana, expecting a run-down garage that reeked of diesel, was mildly surprised to find himself being led along an avenue of fashionable boutiques and cafés to a brightly lit showroom stocked with shiny BMWs. Nikos Godunov dressed like a disco king from the 1970s, complete with flared trousers and a crushed velvet jacket. The only thing out of place was his hair, which was shorn to bristles. He snapped a silver lighter into flame and waggled his ringed fingers at a tall blonde in a microdress so tight it looked as though it might rip if she sneezed. She sat inside a glass-walled office, tapping her fingernails on a mobile phone. Although it was still early afternoon, she was pouring what looked like neat vodka into a tiny glass that she tipped down her throat with alarming regularity. The sound of music escaped through the closed door.

  ‘So, what’s this all about?’ Boris puffed smoke from a slim cigar. He was speaking English for Makana’s benefit. It lent the conversation an air of theatricality.

  ‘You heard the news about Nadir?’

  ‘Of course.’ Boris gave the grunt of a man who has trouble expressing his emotions.

  ‘You were friends, I understand,’ said Makana. Boris surveyed him closely, as if searching for something he might have missed.

  ‘Business partners,’ Boris confirmed, glancing back at the office. The blonde was now dancing with her eyes closed, every move challenging the dress to stay in one piece.

  ‘He was strangled, with one of those plastic things, you know?’ Kara Deniz mimed.

  ‘Interesting,’ Boris grunted again. Makana wondered how much of this was for his benefit.

  ‘This is the man who found him,’ Kara explained. Boris looked at Makana with renewed interest.

  ‘You called the police?’

  ‘No,’ said Makana. ‘I was hit on the head before I could do anything.’

  Boris frowned. ‘You saw the man who killed him?’

  ‘I saw someone.’

  ‘Someone?’ A crash came from the office. The blonde had disappeared from sight, apparently having fallen over. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Makana asked Kara as Boris marched away.

  ‘He’s your best bet, believe me.’

  They watched Boris as he entered the office and hauled the girl to her feet. She rubbed her head as he sat her on a chair and yelled at her, some of it audible through the glass walls and closed door. The girl rubbed her elbow and tossed her hair back defiantly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Boris apologised when he returned. ‘She thinks she knows how to drink. She doesn’t.’ Impatient now, he snapped his fingers. ‘What was Nadir doing for you?’

  ‘He was arranging transport,’ Kara said. ‘Overland to Sofia.’

  ‘What is it, you don’t like to fly?’ Boris grinned, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket.

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looked from Makana to Kara and back again. ‘How many people?’

  ‘Myself and one more.’

  ‘Normally, anyone comes to me with this kind of proposition, I don’t know him from Adam, I show him the door. If he’s lucky.’ Boris looked pained. ‘But since you come to me with a friend, and because Nadir was my partner, then I do this for you. We can talk about money later.’

  ‘A price was agreed.’

  ‘Yes, but Nadir is no longer available.’ Boris smiled like a man who holds all the best cards. The girl appeared unsteadily in the doorway behind him, clinging to the doorframe.

  ‘Boriiiss!’ she called, staggering and nearly falling again. Boris swore under his breath. ‘I have to take care of this.’ He held out his hand. ‘We have a deal, then?’

  ‘We have a deal.’

  ‘Good, I make the arrangements and then we can talk.’

  The two men shook hands. Boris kissed Kara on the cheek and laughed.

  ‘Now this is a woman who can drink! If only there were more like her.’ He rolled his eyes and marched off in the direction of his office.

  ‘Do you trust him?’ Makana asked when they were on the deck of the ferry again. The noise and clamour of the Asian side of the city was already fading, disappearing beneath their wake.

  ‘Boris cares about money. As long as you pay him he is loyal.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem like Nadir’s type somehow. They must have made an odd couple as business partners.’

  Kara turned her back to the railings and cupped a hand to light a cigarette. ‘Years ago Nadir would never have had anything to do with someone like Boris, but he changed.’

  ‘After he came out of prison?’

  ‘Contacts on the inside.’ She exhaled smoke as the deck shuddered beneath them, the engines churning the water. ‘Prison changes people. You find parts of you that you never knew existed.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  ‘I wrote an article and was accused of supporting the Kurdish militants. You know the old saying, one man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist. They gave me three years, suspended. I served six months. It was enough to make me hate them.’

  Makana’s mind was elsewhere. He studied the water below and recalled staring down from the bridge and seeing his car sinking slowly out of sight. How was he to
make sense of the fact that this city seemed to be pulling him back into his former life?

  ‘Nadir may have been killed for what he was doing for me.’

  ‘This person you are taking out of the country, who is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to know.’

  ‘Hah,’ she laughed. ‘That’s another way of saying you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Two people are already dead.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ Makana pointed into the distance. ‘Are those the Princes Islands?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Heybeliada.’ She turned to look out. They fell silent for a time, the engine grinding far below, the sea churning off the bow.

  ‘When Nadir came out of prison he would have had a grudge against the government.’

  ‘Everyone with half a brain has a grudge against the government.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Something like that might drive a person to form strange alliances.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles.’

  ‘Could Nadir have been working for the Israelis?’

  That brought a laugh like a cough. ‘That’s insane,’ she said, as she tossed her cigarette butt down into the water.

  Insane sounded about right, as a description of Makana’s present state of mind.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  They parted company on the quayside and Makana walked in a slow circle up and down the winding streets, going through his usual routine, perhaps a little more carefully than usual, until he arrived back at the ferry port where he had started.

  It was now just gone midday and the terminal was fairly quiet. He bought a ticket and made his way back through the turnstiles and onto the upper deck of the island ferry. Almost before he got there he felt the vessel judder beneath him as the engines started up and they began to slide away from the quay. Seagulls swirled around them, screeching at their own hysteria.