by Hodge, Sibel
I seriously doubted it, but I smiled to humour him.
‘Take this one, for example: “Dear Kelly,”’ he peered over the magazine. ‘That’s the agony aunt.’ He glanced back again, running his finger under the page as he read. ‘“I’m a thirty-something mother, and I’m concerned that my five-year old child is being taught bad habits in the classroom. When the nursery teacher reads Postman Pat, I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to mention the black and white cat. It’s very racist”. For God’s sake, the world’s gone mad!’ Deniz raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Right, here is what my reply would be: Dear Mother, get a grip! If you’re not allowed to be sexist, racist, or animalist these days, then a simple children’s book like Postman Pat and His Black and White Cat will turn into Postperson Pat and Its Spectrum Species! And then we come to the children’s game of hangman. Are we not allowed to say that anymore because we might upset people on death row? To hell with political correctness!’
I didn’t think Deniz would be getting an agony aunt’s job any time soon.
****
At one-thirty, after carefully applying my disguise, Charlie and I were at the hotel, ready and waiting for our plan to begin. Charlie wanted to come along as backup, although I wasn’t too sure exactly what that would entail. At the moment, he had my camera around his neck to make him look more like my assistant. Kalem was waiting in the car – head down, with a baseball cap on, the peak pulled low over his face, just in case the evil Erol Hussein spotted him.
The place was already wall-to-wall bodies: reporters, guests, and hundreds of staff putting the finishing touches to the outside stage – ferrying drinks around, and setting up the seating arrangement for the concert. And somewhere amidst all of it were Ferret Face and Missing Link.
‘You actually look quite nice in that getup. Very fifties film-starish,’ Charlie said to me.
I glanced at myself in a boutique window as we descended down the central stairs and walked towards the spa. Actually, I did look pretty good. I had a black and gold scarf covering my hair, tied in a stylish side-knot at the back of my neck, and a huge pair of dark sunglasses. All topped off with a stylish beige lipstick called Nearly Nude. A complete contrast from the other evening I’d been here.
‘Hello!’ I breezed into the spa area, giving a huge smile to the spa manager behind the desk. ‘Do you remember me?’
She furrowed her eyebrows for a minute.
Hmm, this was good. She didn’t recognize me either. I lifted up my dark glasses and a spark of recognition ignited on her face.
She clapped her hands together again. ‘Of course! Just for Women magazine! Have you come to do some more research for the article?’
I leaned my elbows on the reception desk, giving her a little conspiratorial smile. ‘Well, actually, there’s been a slight mix-up, I’m afraid. Just for Women magazine doesn’t appear to be on the list for the private interviews with Ibrahim Kaya that start at three.’
She gasped. ‘No? That’s terrible. Right, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you get your interview for the magazine. We can’t have a little administrative malfunction affecting our spa story, can we?’ She rushed around to my side of the desk. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and get your pass and make sure you’re number one on the interviewing list.’ She waved a hand at the comfy looking gold sofas. ‘Have a seat or help yourself to a drink at the juice bar while you’re waiting. I won’t be a moment.’ And she’d gone. Out the door as fast as her little white spa flip-flops would allow.
‘So far, so good,’ I whispered to Charlie. ‘You’ve got the sleeping tablets, haven’t you?’
He patted the cigar tin in his pocket. ‘Check. All ground up and ready to go if the opportunity arises.’
I felt in my black trouser pocket for my tin for the hundredth time and patted it as well. ‘Me too. Whoever gets the opportunity first will stick it in Kaya’s drink. Two should be plenty to knock him out for at least sixteen hours, but I’ve added an extra one just in case.’
‘Check.’
‘And then that should be it. We’ll just hang around to make sure he doesn’t show up at the concert, and then the opportunity to assassinate him and steal the statue will be over.’
‘Check.’
‘Stop saying that!’ I hissed.
‘Ch…OK. If you’re not alive for me tell you later, I think you’re very brave.’ He patted my hand.
‘Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better. Not!’ Any bravery I did have had suddenly packed its bags and deserted me at the very mention of its name.
I heard a scurrying flippy floppy sound behind me, and the spa manager appeared, looking flustered.
‘Here you are.’ She handed us a couple of press tags with Just for Women on them. ‘The interviews will be in the cocktail lounge. Mr. Kaya prefers an informal setting. If you go there just before three, you’ll be first on the list.’
The cocktail bar! All the better for drugging people’s drinks in.
‘Thank you so much. I’ll make sure your spa gets a two-page centre spread.’ I gave her a grateful smile, and we hustled out the door.
‘What’s the time now?’ Charlie asked.
‘Two. We’ve got an hour. Let’s go down to the stage and see if they’ve got the statue in place yet.’
We weaved our way through the crowds and down the corridor to the outside pool area. As we walked along the side of it, I had the skin-crawling feeling that somewhere, in one of the bedrooms overlooking, Ferret Face’s ferrety little eyes could see us.
I shivered, even though the relentless summer sun was high in the sky. No, I couldn’t let myself think about him.
We descended the steps at the end of the pool area, down to the restaurants and bars overlooking the stage. The stage bar to the right was doing a roaring trade with all the reporters, photographers, and guests, but I wasn’t interested in them.
In front of the stage, an area was cordoned off. The only people inside the cordon were four hefty looking private security guards, all with handguns strapped to their sides. They were arranged in a square, and in the centre of them was a display case, draped in a deep purple velvet cover.
‘Hmm. They look manly.’ Charlie raised an appreciative eyebrow.
My eyes focused on the port behind the stage. Eight speedboats, five yachts, and three sailboats. One of them would be used as the getaway boat, and I was guessing it was one of the speedboats.
‘We could tamper with the speedboats, do something to their engines, or something, so they can’t escape afterwards,’ I suggested.
‘Do you know anything about boat engines?’
‘No, I don’t even know anything about car engines. Do you?’
‘Nope. Wouldn’t have a clue how to tamper with the engine. And anyway, someone would see us. The place is crawling with people.’
‘So probably not an option. We’ll have to go with our original plan then and…’ I had a sudden brain wave, remembering something in the article from the plane about Kaya that might actually help us. I headed towards the bar. ‘Come on, I need a stiff drink before we interview Kaya.’
‘Coffee, or something stronger?’ Charlie asked.
‘Coffee with something stronger in it.’ I ordered a double Irish coffee and stared at the guards, desperately hoping the whisky would stop my hands from trembling.
****
An efficient looking woman with an earpiece and a clipboard stood guard outside the entrance to the dimly lit cocktail bar. She perused the list and glanced up at the queue of salivating journalists. ‘Just for Women magazine, please.’
Oh, shit. This was it. It was now or never. But, oh, this was hopeless. I didn’t have a clue how a journalist was supposed to act. Visions flashed into my mind of newsreaders on the BBC with ramrod straight backs and posh, plummy accents. Should I put on a posh accent and look like I had a poker up my arse, or should I be myself? Would he be able to guess I was a fake?
OK, God, I know I don’t pray
very often – well, only when I want something really badly, but this isn’t really for me, so maybe you can just see it in you to do one tiny little miracle for me. Please, please, please, God, couldn’t you just arrange for Ibrahim Kaya to be struck down by a sudden stomach bug. Or better still, make Ferret Face and Co. have simultaneous heart attacks or something? Please? Can you hear me? Can you work a miracle for me?
‘Just for Women magazine? Are you here?’ Miss Clipboard raised her voice again.
Damn. No miracle in sight.
‘Here!’ I shouted, making my way up to the entrance.
‘Right. You only have a fifteen minute slot,’ she said to me, then looked at Charlie. ‘Are you the photographer?’
Charlie waved his camera at her. ‘Yes, darling.’
Fucky fuck. Only fifteen minutes. We had to do this right. A squeezing pressure clamped itself around my skull and wouldn’t let go.
She moved aside to let us through.
Ibrahim Kaya sat on a deep black sofa, arm sprawled along the back, legs crossed. He wore a dark grey suit, pale pink shirt, and a purple tie. In front of him was a hand-carved wooden table with an empty Turkish coffee cup and a full glass of water on it.
Osman’s mum’s coffee cup predictions sprang into my mind again. I shook my head, trying to clear the visions away.
He gave us a relaxed smile as we headed towards him before standing to greet us. ‘Hello. Please sit.’ He shook our hands and indicated I should sit next to him.
Charlie sat on the other side of me, fiddling with the camera. I silently prayed that he could pull this off with me.
‘Lovely to meet you, Mr. Kaya. I’m Helen from Just for Women magazine.’ I decided to go for a slightly posh accent and my best newsreader-style smile, trying to ignore the dull, throbbing ache that banged away behind my right eye. ‘I must apologize for not taking off my sunglasses, but I’ve got a terrible eye infection at the moment, and they’re a bit sensitive to the light.’
‘Well, OK, fire away then.’ He reached over and took a sip of water.
I wanted to grab hold of him and shake him. Tell him what was really going on and try one last time to make him listen to me. Should I tell him about the plot? Yes, of course I should. But then I had a flashback of getting arrested again. It wasn’t likely he would believe anything I had to say. It hadn’t exactly worked out the first time, and since I was one of the few people who knew what was really going on, getting arrested wouldn’t help anything. My ramrod back slumped slightly. No, there was nothing else for it. I’d just have to go with plan B.
The terrifying image of me in a barren prison cell spurred me on and I recovered my composure, straightening my spine and keeping my gaze steady ‘It must be very thirsty work organizing an opening night of this calibre.’ I nodded towards his water glass.
‘Absolutely. It’s taken five years to bring this hotel to fruition. A lot of hard work, but a lot of fun as well. This is the twenty-first hotel I’ve built, and it still gives me an enormous thrill to complete a new project.’ He smiled proudly at me.
‘Charlie, could you just get a photo of Mr. Kaya, please, before we start.’ I turned my head away from Mr. Kaya and urged Charlie on with my eyes.
Charlie flew out of the seat like I’d just pushed an ejector button. He crouched down in front of the coffee table, pretending to get the best photographic position. He twisted to the right, then the left.
‘The light’s not very good in here.’ He thrust the camera further towards Ibrahim Kaya and knocked over his glass of water on the coffee table with his elbow. ‘Oops. I’m so sorry. Let me get you another one. Back in a jiffy.’ Charlie dashed over to the bar before he could protest.
‘Please accept my sincere apologies about that. He’s new.’ I gave him a knowing smile. ‘You just can’t get good staff these days. But then I expect you must know all about that.’
He waved the apology away. ‘No problem at all. Yes, all my staff are very carefully vetted. We want customers to experience the ultimate in pampering at the Plaza.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the back of Charlie at the bar. Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down. Put the powder in the water. Go on, hurry up.
‘Well, congratulations on the hotel. It’s absolutely wonderful. Is this all your creation, or do you have business partners who are also involved?’ I said, fishing for more information as to why Mr. P wanted him dead.
‘No, I don’t have any business partners. This is all my creation.’
‘Here we go.’ Charlie reappeared and placed the glass of water in front of him.
Now all I had to do was get him to drink it.
‘Did I mention that we’re also doing a special feature at Just for Women magazine on water?’ I gave him an encouraging smile.
‘Water?’ He looked slightly amused.
‘Yes…you know – all these healthy lifestyle issues are really interesting to our readers. We’re all supposed to drink at least five glasses of water a day. Of course our magazine wants to encourage health issues, so we’re featuring a centre spread of famous and influential people drinking water. In my recent research about you, I discovered that you’re a health fanatic, and I thought you might be interested in this piece. Not only will we do a feature about you and your hotel, but we can also get you in on the water feature as well.’ I leaned a little closer. ‘It will be much more exposure for the Plaza.’
‘I see. So you want a photo of me drinking water?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, that would be fantastic.’ I turned to Charlie before he could change his mind. ‘Yes, Charlie, if you could take one for me. And no spillages this time.’ I sent him silent do it, do it signals.
Ibrahim Kaya slowly reached forward and picked up the glass of water. He brought it to his lips and posed.
‘We need you to actually drink the water. It has to look authentic,’ I said. ‘Our readers can tell when things look too artificial.’
Charlie walked a short distance in front of the table, trying to focus the camera. At least he was out of knocking over distance now.
I held my breath as he took a tiny sip. ‘Was that OK?’ he asked Charlie.
‘Sorry, I didn’t get that. Can we do it again? And just tilt your head back a little. That’s it. Perfect. And action!’
Ibrahim Kaya took another small sip. ‘OK?’
Drink it! Drink it! Come on.
‘Perhaps if you drink the whole glass, we could get you in mid-flow,’ I suggested. ‘We can have a set of three pictures. One of you holding the full glass, one when you’re half way through it, and one with a big smile at the end when you’ve finished it.’ I made a photo frame in front of his face with my hands. ‘Yes, that’s how I’m picturing it in my head.’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlie agreed.
‘And who else is featured in the article?’ Ibrahim Kaya enquired.
Oh. Damn. Hadn’t thought of that. Someone rich, famous, and healthy. ‘Well, so far, we’ve got Arnold Schwarzenegger, Elle MacPherson, and Spiderman. All their photos were mid-flow, and they looked perfect.’
‘Spiderman?’ Kaya looked puzzled.
Shit. Spiderman? Why did I say that? I waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, did I say Spiderman? I meant Barack Obama.’
‘Barack Obama? I’m impressed. He’s in Just for Women magazine’s water article?’ Ibrahim Kaya sounded pleased.
‘Oh, yes!’ My head went into nodding overdrive.
‘Well, if it’s good enough for Barack Obama, it’s good enough for me. ‘Sherefe!’ he said, Turkish for cheers, and he downed the whole glass of water as Charlie snapped a stream of pictures.
‘Fabulous. That’s a wrap!’ Charlie giggled.
‘Wonderful. So, back to the hotel.’ I heaved a silent sigh of relief. ‘You said you didn’t have any business partners, but I heard a rumour that someone else was involved in this hotel.’
‘You’re talking about Jacob Podsheister?’
I didn’t know who the hel
l I was talking about. I was just fishing for information. But his surname began with a P. Could he be the same Mr. P from the boat?
Ibrahim Kaya turned to me and something like hatred flashed across his eyes. ‘Jacob’s father was a very successful hotelier in Israel before he came to North Cyprus to start a chain of hotels here. He was a very honourable business man. His word was his bond. So when I came up with the idea for the Plaza, I was happy to go into partnership with Jacob’s father. He had the same professional and hard working ethics as me, and with two of the most successful businessmen working together, I envisioned the Plaza as being doubly successful.’ He crossed his legs and relaxed into the sofa. ‘But sadly, Jacob’s father died a year into the planning stages of this hotel, and Jacob inherited a chain of hotels from him. In the beginning, when I was putting this project together, things were still going well for Jacob Podsheister, and I hoped we could have the same mutually beneficial partnership that I would have had with his father. But in the last few years since his father died, Jacob’s love of fast cars, fast women, and his addiction to gambling, drink, and drugs have all steadily become worse. They’ve had a severe effect on his business decisions, which have suffered as a result. Jacob has run his hotels into the ground to pay for his addictions, and he’s now on the verge of bankruptcy. I can’t have somebody like that involved any of my hotels, so I terminated the partnership agreement.’
‘No, quite right.’ I agreed. ‘But do you think he carries some sort of a grudge against you for cancelling the partnership? I also read that there had been some accusations that you were involved in underhand business dealings. Do you think these accusations were made by Jacob?’
‘As far as I am concerned, Jacob has no one to blame but himself. It’s true that there have been other rumours that I’m involved in some kind of mafia underworld.’ He smiled. ‘But of course this is all nonsense put out by my rivals in order to try and sully my good reputation. Perhaps Jacob is just bitter because I bought a few of his floundering hotels to add to my own chain. Now, no more talk of Podsheister.’ Although his tone was polite, it was clear he didn’t want me to carry on this line of questioning.
