Payback
A Friend in need….
Mark David Abbott
Copyright © 2020 by Mark David Abbott
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all the faceless victims of Man’s greed
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Epilogue
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
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Prologue
Hatay Province, Turkey, 2015
The girl thrust her hands deeper into her pockets in an effort to keep warm and hugged her arms closer to her body.
She looked up at the vast expanse of stars above her. It was a beautiful clear night, not a cloud in the sky, and the light from the moon bathed everything in a silvery glow.
It could have been magical, but for what lay ahead.
She tuned back into the murmured conversations around her—a mixture of languages, German, French, and English—but the volume was too low for her to make out anything, and besides, English was the only language in which she was fluent.
The man who called himself Abu Bakr came around the front of the SUV and stood in front of them. He was fat with a long straggly beard and a severely receding hairline. He spoke English with a thick accent she couldn’t place. He pointed down the dirt track that ran along the fence line.
“Walk down that way for about five-hundred meters. There will be someone there. He will show you how to get through.” He turned back to face them, looking at each of their faces one by one, his eyes resting on her for a moment longer than necessary. “Do you all understand?”
A low chorus of agreement and nods went through the group.
“Don’t touch the fence except for where he tells you. It’s electrified.” He looked at them again to make sure they all understood before continuing. “Once you get through, run. Run as far as you can.”
One of the men, a French speaker, spoke up, “Ow do we know where to go.”
Abu Bakr grinned, his mouth opening to display a row of crooked teeth. “Don’t worry. You will know. Someone will meet you. It’s all arranged.”
The girl gave a nervous smile to her companion and shifted her weight. She thought again about what she was doing. Was it the right thing? She had never been away from home like this before. She was scared, but... also excited. Another world was out there, waiting for her. A new promised land, a land where people could live as they were supposed to as it was written in the great book. And who better to go there with but the young man she loved, the man who had swept her off her feet back in the courtyards of the university, what seemed like just a short time ago. It had been a whirlwind, but everything she had imagined romance to be. He smiled back at her and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. She nodded and looked back at Abu Bakr, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. He looked away, his lip curling in a sneer, and addressed the group again.
“Ma salaam. Good journey. Allahu Akbar!”
“Allahu akbar,” the group repeated, a couple of men slapping each other on the back.
Abu Bakr gestured toward the track, “Now go.”
The five men and one girl started walking in the direction he had shown. A high, chain-link fence lined the track on their left while to their right, fields of olive trees stretched off into the darkness. The group walked in nervous silence, the only sound from scuffed feet and pebbles rolling away.
The girl looked back over her shoulder, but Abu Bakr and his vehicle had already gone. There was no-one around. They were alone... at least that’s what they thought.
A figure materialized out of the darkness, gesturing for them to hurry, and pointed toward the fence. As they neared, they saw someone had cut the fence, and the two sides were peeled back to make a hole just big enough for a body to pass through.
“Through there,” the man hissed. “Hurry.”
“The power?” asked one of the men in the group.
The man grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s cut. Now go.”
One by one, the group eased themselves through the fence and waited for the others. The girl was last. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes—it was now or never. She opened them and saw her companion kn
eeling on the other side of the fence, his hand reaching through the hole in the fence.
She nodded, crouched down, took his hand, and scrambled through the hole.
“Yalla, yalla. Run!”
“Which way?”
The man pointed into the darkness. “That way. Allahu akbar!”
“Allahu Akbar!”
1
John screwed up his face in distaste and glanced over his shoulder toward the cafe window. Just as he thought, it was the new guy.
He put the cup back down on the table and dabbed at his lips with a napkin before settling back in his chair. The coffee was over-extracted and bitter. He gazed across the street toward the tree-filled Jardim de Príncipe Real and sighed. There was no point in complaining on the guy’s first day. He would learn.
John nodded at the elderly man walking past. “Bom Dia.”
“Bom Dia,” the man replied, his face creasing in a smile, the lines on his forehead and around his eyes, filled with stories from a long, well-lived life.
The sun burst through the clouds, bringing warm rays of light. John loosened the scarf around his neck, dropping it on the seat beside him. He sucked in a lungful of crisp spring air and reached for his coffee again. Apart from the coffee, life was wonderful.
He and Adriana had a nice apartment in the Príncipe Real district, a lovely neighborhood with cobblestoned streets, trees, and cafes and restaurants within easy walking distance. He glanced over at the car parked at the curb, a recent treat for himself. A 1970 Porsche 911 S in Bahia Red, the car he had dreamed about since he was a kid. She was beautiful and gave him a lot of pleasure, racing around the streets.
After the traumatic experiences in Oman and India, life was enjoyable again. Adriana loved her work and was enjoying being back in the country of her birth, close to her parents. John had settled in easily, was picking up Portuguese, and had been enjoying exploring Lisbon, seeking out great places to eat and drink. Their circle of friends had grown slowly, and the city was beginning to feel like home.
John was fortunate he didn’t have to work, his shareholding in the Hong Kong listed Pegasus Land more than sufficient to provide him and Adriana with an extremely comfortable life. With all the time John had at his disposal, he had become fitter than ever before, lean and strong, full of energy and well-being. He was sleeping well. The occasional nightmares filled with repressed memories from the past were fewer and further between.
He reached for the coffee cup, then remembering the taste, changed his mind. He sighed. There was something wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it... He felt restless as if there was something lacking. It had been troubling him for a while, eating away at the back of his mind. It was why he had come out this morning and was drinking awful coffee, instead of one of his own at home. The walls of the apartment had felt as if they were closing in, and he needed to get out, to move around, to do... something. Perhaps he had too much time. It was ironic. When he had worked for a living, when he had been a wage slave, he had dreamed of free time, of being in control of every hour, not being bound by the clock and deadlines.
A presence beside him disturbed his thoughts.
“John bom dia, como você está?”
John smiled and reached out to shake the hand of Agostinho, the owner of the cafe.
“Bom dia Agostinho, estou bem, obrigado.” He then gestured toward his coffee cup and made a face.
Agostinho placed a hand on John’s shoulder and nodded, switching to English.
“I’ll make it myself.” He glanced toward the cafe and shrugged. “He’s still learning.”
John smiled. “It’s okay.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Obrigado.”
John sat back and continued his train of thought. People here were nice, friendly. His life was perfect, there was no reason to be dissatisfied, but if the truth be known, if he was completely honest with himself—he was bored.
2
The ground rocked with a heavy impact, and a fine mist of dust filled the air. Mahfuza pulled her daughter closer as they huddled under a blanket in the corner of the room. That was the closest one so far, the explosions getting closer and closer the past week. She looked down and placed a hand on her daughter’s forehead. She was hot, a low fever, but there was little she could do. They hadn’t eaten properly in months, and any medicines were solely for the use of the fighters. Mahfuza shivered and wrapped the loose end of her hijab across her face, covering her mouth and nose, and pulled the blanket tighter to keep warm. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, the motion the only comfort she could give her child.
It hadn’t always been like this. There had been happier times in another world—a world filled with love and abundance, where people smiled and laughed, where food was plentiful. It seemed so long ago, and the thought increased the heavy feeling of despair that enveloped her. She wouldn’t cry, there was no point. She had stopped crying a long time ago. She was here, and she must accept it.
Another explosion shook the building, and she winced, opening her eyes, and glancing down at the little girl in her arms as the sound of a jet fighter screamed overhead, but not a sound came from the child, her eyes open, staring blankly across the rubble-strewn floor, oblivious to her surroundings. Mahfuza leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head, continuing her rocking. She closed her eyes again, and her lips started moving.
“Bismillaah ar-Raḥmān ar-Raheem. Alhamdulilah rab il alameen, Ar-Raḥmān ar-Raheem......”
3
John felt a vibration in his pocket and shifted his position, so he could remove the phone as Agostinho returned with another cup of coffee.
“Obrigado, Agostinho.” John smiled and glanced at the screen. He raised his eyebrows, and his grin became wider. John nodded at the café owner, then answered the call.
“Steve.”
“John, mate, how’s it hanging?”
John chuckled. “I’m well, Steve. How are you?”
“Can’t complain, mate. People keep having affairs, so I’m always busy.”
“The glamorous and exciting life of a private eye.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t think that after sitting in a car for twelve hours, drinking cold coffee, and pissing in a bottle.”
John nodded, his thoughts going back to the times when he had done exactly that. He reached for his coffee and took a sip. Much better. He glanced across at Agostinho, who was clearing a nearby table and gave him the thumbs-up as Steve continued.
“How’s life treating you? Still in Lisbon?”
“Yes. It’s a great city. You should come and visit.”
“Hmmm, maybe I will.”
“You’re always welcome, Steve. Adriana would love to see you again.”
John liked Steve a lot. Despite meeting briefly, they had been through so much together, experiencing things that created a bond between them. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Steve and his intervention in Oman, stepping in when the mercenaries hired by Surya Patil had attacked their desert camp, John and Adriana might not be alive today.
“How’s she doing? Settled in with that newspaper? What’s it called?”
“Público.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s loving it. It was always her dream to do something like that.”
“Well, send her my love, mate.”
“I will.”
There was a pause in conversation, and John heard a sigh on the other end. He frowned.
“Is everything okay, Steve?”
“Yeah, mate, it’s just...”
“What?”
John listened to the silence. He almost thought the line had been cut when Steve spoke again.
“John, I need your help.”
4
John wiped his hands on the dishcloth and draped it over his shoulder as he glanced toward the table, checking everything was laid out correctly. Good. He reached for the glass on the kitchen benchtop, swirled the ice cubes around, then took a sip. H
is gin and tonic was almost finished. Glancing at his wristwatch, he calculated Adriana should be home any minute, just in time for him to make a fresh one.
He took one last look around the kitchen, wiped a spot of liquid from the benchtop, then picked up his glass, and walked toward the bar. He retrieved a second glass from the cabinet just as the front door opened.
“Hi, baby.”
John turned and smiled as Adriana removed her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her bag on the table by the door.
“Perfect timing.” John held up the empty glass and raised an eyebrow.
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 1
