The Refugee

by S A Tameez

  “Please let me go!” he shouted, even though he knew that Ahmed was not there. He began to make a rocking motion to move the chair, more out of frustration than anything else. “Let me go, or just kill me! I can’t take it anymore!” Tears formed in his eyes, ran down his face, choking him. Nausea invaded his gullet caused by the smell of his urine-soaked trousers. The worst thing about the situation was being left to die by his crazed kidnapper, in a slow, long drawn out manner. He’d balked at the idea of being murdered like this, but that would have been preferable to being left to rot in his own piss and eventually starve to death.

  “You’re a coward!” His voice echoed through the factory. “Kill me! Don’t just leave me here like this.” He rocked the chair aggressively. It tipped sideways, and he crashed to the floor. The pain was intense and he wanted to scream, but the sight of his phone sliding out of his inside jacket pocket to the ground next to him, distracted him. He looked around, making sure the guy wasn’t there and tried to reach it by moving his restrained body closer to the phone. His entire body ached, and blood began to soak the bandage on his hand as he wriggled him himself forward. The phone was on its back with the screen facing him, which was perfect. He used his chin to unlock the phone. Thankfully, he had removed the password protection just this morning, when he had decided that he would never cheat on his wife again. No more secrets. Nothing to hide anymore.

  His daughter had taught him how to use the smartphone, and it had a voice command feature. She would often activate it, and ask it silly questions, laughing at the responses. It was hours of entertainment for her.

  He used his chin again, this time to hold down the home button until the voice command feature activated.

  “Yes!” he cried.

  He had to be careful who he rang, he couldn’t call the police, they would ask too many questions and if Boreas found out, he may not care whether he’d said anything or not. Family was out of the question. His wife had no idea about all the things he was involved in.

  “Call office,” he commanded the phone, knowing that he could only rely on his security guard to come to his aid.

  “Do you want me to call office?” the computerised voice spoke from the phone.

  “Yes… yes,” he responded, amazed that it actually worked.

  “Calling office…”

  “Yes… yes! Thank you,” he said, almost ecstatically, grateful for the chance to save himself.

  ****

  The cyber café’s shutters were rolling up as the staff opened for the day. That’s a good place to do a little bit of homework, Ahmed thought to himself. He walked in and booked an hour on the computer, trying to keep his head down and not make any eye contact with anyone. He walked to the computer, desperately hoping that no one would recognise him. He knew by now, that he had become notorious; a terrorist, and an outlaw. He was certainly dangerous; he had killed two people. If this wasn’t the definition of a terrorist, then what was?

  He looked through the list of buildings and found the location of the next building on the list. It’s a container and shipping company. The man said that they were shipping the kids out… I’m guessing that this where they’ve taken them, ready for getting them out of the country. They must be shoving them in containers like cattle.

  A simple Google search found him a map of the area. He noticed that the shipping company was very close to the refugee camp, small world...

  Dimitris... the man mentioned the name Dimitris... he typed in Dimitris in Chios and wasn’t long before he found information about him. He was also a business man. The rivalry between Boreas and Dimitris was famous around Chios. Someone had even gone to the trouble of creating a well-researched Wikipedia page about them both. The internet... it can be such a convenient tool, sometimes, he thought. He read about Boreas’ business empire and how he had chosen to call it Boreas Bros, in dedication of his brother for saving his life. The anonymous author of the page wasn’t shy on expressing how much Boreas’ brother meant to him, even the fact that Carolos was retarded. Boreas, evidently, had given him a snooker joint as his place of business. Boreas didn’t make any money from it and Boreas never used it to cover any of his not-so Kosher, businesses. Ahmed also read about Dimitris. He had three sons. The oldest, Nick, also known as Notorious Nick, was a nasty piece of work. He was well connected, and had a celebrity status among the drug and arms trade community. He’d been charged with murder, rape, kidnapping, smuggling. The list was so long that it would be easier to discuss what he hadn’t been charged with, yet he’d never seen the inside of a prison cell for any of the crimes he’d committed.

  Nick also ran a local betting shop, one that turned over millions every year from extra activities. And, although most people knew that he lived in his father’s shadow, he had committed such atrocities that people both feared and hated him. Interestingly, he hadn’t earned the respect of the old-school mob. They thought him a lose canon, and his killing sprees were often senseless and sadistic. Everyone knew that if it hadn’t been for Dimitris, Nick would have been killed years ago, but who would dare cross Dimitris?

  Ahmed printed out the entire page, along with an aerial map of the shipping company and put the printouts into his bag. He must have been in the café for some time, for a pink glow had settled over the town indicating it was sundown and his stomach was grumbling. He knew his luck wouldn’t keep him alive for much longer. He was no match for Boreas and he was certain that the shipping company would be well protected. Suddenly, Ahmed stopped to listen to an idea formulating in his head, an idea so outrageous and evil, it made him feel crazy. I can’t do this, he thought to himself, but it may be the only way that I can get Malik back. To do it, he would have lower himself even further into the dark pits of wickedness than he had already gone.

  What did it matter now anyway? He had done things that he could never reverse. He had travelled to places he could never return from. He’d read it in books, seen it in films, but he’d never thought it would happen to him. If only he could have turned the time back to when he’d had a wife, a son, and a home in Syria. If he’d known what fleeing would do to them, he would never have taken the risk, but would they have been any safer in Syria? He shook his head. He’d become a murderer and a monster. It had all panned out the way these things happened, one lie would always lead to another, just like one murder would inevitably lead to another… it was a decline that people rarely came back from.

  “I need to get here,” he said to the taxi driver, as he jumped into the taxi, giving him the address written on a bit of torn paper. It was for the snooker club, run by Boreas’ brother Carolos. “But before we get there I need to stop at a pharmacy.” The driver nodded and drove off.

  The pharmacy visit didn’t take long, he grabbed some Temazepam, strong sleeping pills and headed towards the snooker club.

  The building was on long winding road that faded into the distance. The smart looking club sat in the middle of a small area of land with bushes and overgrown grass surrounding it. The words “The Snooker Club” flickered in neon at the face of the building.

  Ahmed noticed a car parked just outside with three men sitting inside.

  It looked as though Boreas had upped his security, since his brother, from what Ahmed had read, couldn’t defend himself. He looked around to see if there were any other cars or anyone else around, but couldn’t see anyone. To execute his plan, he had to get into the snooker club without them knowing who he was, and get Carolos alone. This was proving to be difficult. What now? I can’t just walk in through the front door, they’ll gun me down in seconds!

  Ahmed noticed the low fence leading to the back of the dry cleaners next door. It was a long shot but there weren’t many other options —he certainly couldn’t drive into the building, not for what he had in mind this time.

  He climbed over the wooden fence and got down on his front. He briefly poked his head up and looked around to make sure no one was observing him. He then shuffled through the overgrow
n grass like a soldier until he made it round the back of the snooker club. It was a risky move, so stupid in fact, that it had to work, and it did. From how it appeared, he got around the back completely undetected.

  He stood to his feet, and peered in through a window. Inside it looked empty, and the entire area around the club appeared to be quiet.

  “Erm... c... can I... I help you? A voice that sounded simple, emerged next to him, making Ahmed jump, “W... w... we’re not open yet.”

  “I know...” Ahmed responded confidently, turning away from the window. He was surprised that the man, wearing a grey baseball cap, didn’t question what he was doing there around the back of the building, peering in through the window.

  This must be Carolos. Ahmed spoke the first thing that came to his mind. “Yes... I am here from environmental health. I’m here to investigate your building.”

  “Environmental health?” The man that Ahmed believed was Carolos, scratched his head. “Oh, I... I... don’t know anything about en-environmental h-health... I’m – er – going to have to call my b-brother, he d-deals with all of this stuff.”

  “There’s no need,” Ahmed said, thinking fast. “I have already spoken to him and he said that he is very busy and that you would be able to deal with it... you are ... erm let me see,” Ahmed reached into his rucksack and took out the Wikipedia page he had printed pretending it was some type of official documentation. “Ah there it is... Carolos Boreas, right?”

  “Yes sir, I am.” Carolos said, standing straight like an officer being addressed by his commander. “I don’t know, m-maybe I sh-should call him a-anyway, I don’t want to do a... anything wrong.”

  “It’s up to you,” Ahmed said, “but he seemed really stressed and angry, and he didn’t want anyone to bother him.”

  Carolos stood silently for a moment as if he were thinking, and then said, “He had been quite stressed and bothered the last time I saw him… and I don’t want to bother him even more…” Carolos said, then turned and opened the back door. “Y-you’d better c-come in.”

  The snooker hall was huge inside. It housed seven bulky tables, each draping a light on a long stem over it. It created a very personal feel at every table and kept the rest of the room dimly lit.

  There was a bar at one end of the room, with sparkling spot lights reflecting off the glass, with a large mirror behind it.

  “This is a really nice place,” Ahmed remarked.

  “Than...thank you,” Carolos smiled, “d...do you want a d... drink?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Ahmed smiled, “I’ll have an orange juice please.”

  “C-coming up.”

  Orange juice or water were the only options at a bar for a man whom alcohol was forbidden. Ahmed wouldn’t drink it even if it wasn’t forbidden. He hated the thought of not being in control of his mind. Not that he felt in control of his mind recently.

  “Are you having anything?” Ahmed asked.

  “I sh... shouldn’t...”

  “Come on... I hate eating or drinking my own.” Ahmed smiled.

  “Ok... I’ll m-make myself an orange j-juice.”

  “Good man!”

  Whilst Carolos went behind the bar, Ahmed sat on the stool and took the opportunity to remove the sleeping pills from his bag and pour them into his glass of orange juice. He stared at the juice bubbling up, putting a hand over the rim, hoping that Carolos wouldn’t notice there was something in it.

  “That’s a nice picture.” Ahmed pointed to a painting on the wall, as Carolos returned with his orange and put it on the bar. When Carolos turned to look at the picture, Ahmed quickly switched glasses.

  “Y... yes, it is one o... of m...my favourites.”

  “Great. Let’s drink up,” Ahmed said. He picked up his glass and gulped down the cold orange juice, pleased to see out the corner of his eye that Carolos was copying him. Ahmed smacked his lips, and said, “That was so refreshing!” and then stood up and looked out of the window. The car with the three men was still there and it didn’t look like it was going anywhere soon.

  “I...is everything ok?”

  “It will be soon,” Ahmed said, noticing Carolos’ eyes start to droop. And after a few seconds, Carolos was slumped over the bar, out cold.

  “That was fast...” Ahmed said to himself and looked at the bottle, “I hope I didn’t put in too much.”

  He took a few deep breaths as he looked at the sleeping form of Carolos. He looked so innocent — like a child. He didn’t deserve to be involved in all of this. It was not his fault his brother was a villainous swine.

  Like the other things he’d had to deal with recently, Ahmed locked his conscience away in a remote part of his brain and threw away the key.

  He took Carolos’ cap and dark green jacket off and put them on himself. The jacket was a bit big for him, but he needed to believe he could pull it off. He had to believe he could pull it off. In the pocket of the jacket were car keys with a BMW key ring. He noticed that Carolos had a small tattoo of a star on his hand. It wasn’t anything too unique, just a basic star shape in a faded green ink.

  He rummaged through the bar area and in the small office in the back of the building. He finally found a permanent marker, like the green colour of the tattoo. He sat in front of Carolos and drew the exact star shape on his hand using the marker. Luckily it wasn’t a complex shape as drawing wasn’t one of Ahmed’s strengths, the tremble in his hands over the last few days wouldn’t have helped either, had it been more intricate.

  He looked at his refection on the glossy worktop of the bar and realised that he was now a master of disguises. Either he was very good at impersonating other people, or the hired help were a bunch of dim-witted fools. Probably a bit of both, Ahmed suspected.

  The bodyguards outside would be on to him as soon as he walked out. He was unsure how he was going to pull this stunt without them knowing who he was, after all, even if he did manage to pull the wool over their eyes, their instructions would be to follow Carolos’ every move, to keep him safe. But he told himself that it would be okay. It had to be ok!

  Soon as he stepped outside he could feel their gaze. He kept his head down, and walked towards the sidewalk, continually pressing the open button on the remote, hoping that a car would open. There was a fair few BMWs on the cluttered street but after a few seconds, and to Ahmed’s relief, one unlocked. It was a new, gleaming BMW, a sparkling silver with large black alloy wheels. It looked like it belonged in a showroom or a magazine — only to be viewed and admired, never to be driven. He got inside and sunk into the comfortable leather seats. Seats that warmed up in seconds as soon as the ignition was turned on. The inside dash lit up like a spaceship. He noticed that the on-board computer screen had the satellite navigation system already booted. He typed in the address for the betting shop run by Dimitris’ son Nick and sped off. And as he had expected and hoped for, the car with Boreas’ men began to follow behind. Ahmed was extra cautious that they didn’t lose his tail.

  The betting shop was on the other side of town — the side that presumably Carolos was never meant to go. Ahmed sped up just in case the men following tried to stop him from driving further into town.

  As he approached his destination, he slowed down, checking his rear-view mirror to make sure the car was still in sight. The road was narrow and didn’t have many buildings, and the betting shop sat, looking deserted. The place looked run down and haunted. The sign was leaning as though it were about to fall off. The rendering on the walls was grotty to say the least. Empty cans, glass bottles and takeaway boxes, were scattered all around the entrance.

  Ahmed pulled up directly in front of the shop. He could see the men in the car looking at each other and talking, they must be wandering what Carolos was doing parking outside Notorious Nick’s betting shop.

  One of the men got out of the car. Ahmed started panicking. I must act now! If that man gets to me before I do this, I’m done for! There was no going back now. He reached into
the bag resting on the car passenger seat next to him, and removed the gun. His breathing was heavy, his body stiff, and a sharp pain pierced him in his stomach and lower back.

  He raised the gun out of the window of the car and immediately began to shoot at the betting shop. Ahmed felt as if the only sounds he could hear were the echoing gunshots and the fluttering wings of birds in nearby trees as they flew away in panic. A string of car alarms went off and glass from the betting shop windows smashed into thousands of shards onto the pavement outside.

  Carolos’ bodyguard walked towards him, crouched down and slunk back behind a car. Raising his eyes above the window, Ahmed saw him removing his gun from a pocket. In moments, a small group of men came rushing out of the betting shop and began firing at Carolos’ car. A burning sensation in his arm where a bullet had skimmed him made Ahmed duck down. He could hear the slugs hitting the body of the car, bouncing off with ease. It seemed that Boreas had made sure that all his cars were bullet proof, but the noise was much louder than Ahmed had ever imagined. The ear-splitting sounds gave him flash backs of Syria, so that all he needed now was the reverberation of drones and grenades, and it would be just like home.

  Carolos’ men in the car behind began returning fire. And within seconds, the situation escalated beyond control. The betting shop men had begun firing shots at Carolos’ bodyguards, and what Ahmed saw was horrific. Men were getting shot, from both sides, falling to the ground as blood splattered everywhere, over shop walls, over cars… It was a blood bath.

  Without raising his head, Ahmed reached for the acceleration pedal and slammed it as hard as he could. The wheels on the BMW began to spin wildly and the smell of burning rubber and smoke mushroomed out like a plague. Bullets pounded the car as he sped off. He didn’t look in the rear view, he couldn’t, he couldn’t bear the sight of what he had just caused. The loud ringing and his pounding pulse beating in his ears blocked out all other sounds. He no longer controlled his hands and the car swerved everywhere as he drove back to the snooker club.