John was proud of her and loved her more than anything else in the world. There was no way he would forget it, and now more than ever, he would value every moment he spent with her.
John looked up and across the rooftops of the city. The faces of all the people who had helped them flashed before his eyes—Ramesh, Craig, Hemin, Ferhad, and finally, the brave young Karam. There were good people in the world, and as long as he remembered that and did his best to be a good person, too, he could live with himself. Focusing on negativity was not a way to live a full and happy life.
Mehmet had been the biggest surprise and proof that a kernel of good lurked inside everyone, no matter how they filled their days. John’s initial impression of the man, who made his living smuggling people and weapons, had not been good and John had been convinced the man would double cross them.
His instincts weren’t often wrong, so in a quiet moment, while they waited for Adriana and Maadhavi to join them at the army base in Hatay, John had probed Mehmet on the motivation for his good deed.
Mehmet had remained silent for a while as if searching for the right words, and when he answered, he looked almost embarrassed.
“When I met you in the hotel, my aim was to make as much money as I could from your situation.” His mustache twitched, and he looked away as if ashamed. “It’s what I do, what I have always done.” He shrugged, then looked back at John.
“I lied to you. I have children, a boy and a girl. My daughter, Zehra,”—he smiled—“she is six. She means everything to me. When I left you that night after our meeting and went home, she was already asleep.” Mehmet looked away again and gazed out the window.
“I looked at her lying there and imagined how I would feel, what I would do to save her.” He looked back at John, his expression soft, the hardness gone from his eyes. “I could not stop thinking about it, John. Every time I looked at her face, I remembered you and your friends. That is why I helped you.”
A movement below interrupted John’s thoughts. He looked down to see Steve walking out of the house and across the gravel pathway onto the lawn. He took a swig from the beer in his hand, then crouched down and called out to Malak. The little girl squealed with delight and ran across the lawn into his arms. He hugged her and picked her up. Holding her in his arms, she giggled and wriggled to get free, so he lowered her down to the ground, and she ran back to the women sitting on the grass. Steve watched her run off, then, as if knowing he was being watched, turned, and looked up at the window. He saw John and smiled. Raising the beer bottle in a toast, he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Epilogue
The young man dabbed his face dry, then leaned closer to the mirror, angling his face to check each side. It had been a long time since he had seen himself without a beard, and it felt like someone else was looking back at him. Satisfied, he stepped back and moved to the shower cubicle. He pulled out a stool and sat down, turning on the tap.
“Bismillah,” he said, then started to wash his hands. He washed them three times, then with his right hand, scooped water into his mouth and gargled. He spat the water out and repeated the process twice more. He cleansed his nostrils, then washed his face, followed by his arms up to the elbows. He wiped his head front to back, then cleaned the inside of his ears with his index finger. Finally, he washed his feet and between his toes, then recited the dua.
His wudu completed, he stood and walked into the living room of the small ground-floor flat and stood at the foot of his prayer mat.
“Allahu akbar, allahu akbar...” he began to pray.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the hallway and pulled on his leather jacket. Facing the hall mirror, he adjusted it and turned from one side to the other to make sure the Glock tucked into his waistband remained hidden by the jacket. Satisfied, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, opened the door, and stepped outside. It was a typical crisp and cold London morning, and he turned up the collar of the jacket to protect his neck. Stepping off the front step, he winced as a twinge of pain shot up through his left leg. A memory flashed before his eyes, followed by a tiny hint of regret, but he shrugged it off. He had been chosen, and it would all be over soon. At the end of the path, he hesitated for a moment, then turning left, headed up the street and turned right on the main road, joining the crowds of commuters thronging toward the entrance to the Tube station.
# # END # #
Also by Mark David Abbott
Vengeance: John Hayes #1
A Million Reasons: John Hayes #2
A New Beginning: John Hayes #3
No Escape: John Hayes #4
Reprisal: John Hayes #5
Payback: John Hayes #6
The Guru: John Hayes #7
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Conflict: Hong Kong #2
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Once Upon A Time In Sri Lanka
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Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t have been written without the generous assistance of others and I would like to take the opportunity to thank them here.
Chris McGrath for his detailed insights on working in the region as a journalist. Without Chris, there would have been a lot of factual errors in the story, something I discovered only after forty thousand words, prompting a frantic re-write.
Anthony Wallace for his incredible array of contacts.
My Iraqi Habibis, Warka, Fay, and Shams who serve as my living translation app for the Arabic language as well as providing insight into the many different cultures in the Middle East.
David Gaughran, Fabiane Cidade, and Roberta Ferrias, for their assistance with the Portuguese scenes.
I also took advice from various ex-Police and Armed Forces personnel, who taught me about weapons and what it is like to be under fire. Ray DeVere, Ron Turner, James Rangno, thank you. Your input was invaluable.
My editor Sandy Ebel, who despite being handed a manuscript weeks late, still managed to edit and polish the story in time for release.
Of course none of this would have been possible without the support of my wife, K. This story was written during the COVID Lockdown, when we were confined to an apartment for nine weeks, a time when I struggled to be creative, and she struggled with having me moping around the house all day. Thank you, K.
About the Author
Mark can be found online at:
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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
Also by Mark David Abbott
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 24
