The Refugee

by S A Tameez

  Tasos rang a number and handed him his phone. “Lambros!” Boreas shouted down the phone just as it was answered. There was a pause before Lambros answered.

  “Boreas,” came the reply.

  “You idiot! The morons that you used were only supposed to take the orphans! Not ones that would have people looking for them!”

  “Boreas, my men only took the orphan kids, no one else. I swear!” Lambros’ voice sounded shaky.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, certain.”

  “Then why was one of your men found dead at the camp, the same camp this refugee that’s been running around destroying my business, is from?”

  Lambros fell silent.

  “You better clean this mess up!” Boreas continued. “I want him found, preferably alive, but I will accept dead. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Y-yes, p-perfectly… sir.”

  “Good, make it happen,” Boreas said. “You have one day — just one day — or it will be you that will be dead.”

  13

  “So, what have we got?” Stavros asked Lambros, as the they stood outside the textile factory.

  “It’s our guy, some whack-job that calls himself Goldstein,” Lambros replied, clutching his phone nervously.

  “Have we got CCTV footage?” Haris asked.

  “Yes, but only of the outside of the building.”

  “How convenient.” Stavros handed him a handkerchief. Lambros looked at him, confused.

  “For your head,” Stavros smiled. “You’re sweating.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Lambros took the white handkerchief and wiped his head vigorously. Stavros noticed that there was a lot of sweat even for warm weather, and it was far from warm.

  “Oh, and you dropped this…” Stavros handed him his little black book.

  Lambros reached for it with wide eyes, and Stavros pulled it back, just enough for it to be out of Lambros’ reach.

  “In my experience, truth has a way of surfacing even when hidden under the biggest pile of lies. It’s just the way it works. He allowed Lambros to take the book.

  “And you can keep the handkerchief, I’m sure you’ll need it again.”

  Stavros chuckled to himself. Lambros looked like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

  “Erm… thanks,” Lambros responded, wiping his neck with the handkerchief.

  Stavros and Harris went inside the building. Lambros remained outside, frozen with a look of fear. The walls were blackened from the flames. The pungent smell of burnt paper and wood was stifling. Clouds of black dust roamed the air, settling on everything in sight. The room where the fire started was stripped bare like a skeleton.

  “It looks pretty clean,” Stavros remarked, looking around, inspecting the floor.

  “What do you mean?” Harris asked with his usual perplexed look pasted on his face.

  “Well, you would think that with a fire like this, there would be a lot more ash around, but there isn’t much at all. There are even some signs of brushing,” Stavros knelt down, “look, bristle marks. Looks like someone’s cleaned up very well.”

  “But… why?”

  “Because they probably didn’t want us to see what was here.” Suddenly, Stavros sprang into action. “Let’s go!”

  “But shouldn’t we check the place out properly? Look for clues?”

  “We should, but we won’t find anything… it’s been cleared up, well cleared up.”

  “What exactly has been cleared up?” Harris said. “It’s textile factory!”

  “Yes, a peculiar one… one with no materials or textile machinery in sight.”

  “Perhaps it is not in use?”

  “Perhaps…” Stavros hurried out of the factory. He smiled at Lambros as he rushed by.

  “Wait, slow down,” Harris said, huffing as he tried to keep up. “Where are you going?”

  “Hurry up, get in,” Stavros ordered as he got into the car and revved the engine.

  Stavros drove like a man insane. “Slow down, Stavros!” Harris shouted, holding on for dear life. But Stavros was not listening. When he had something on his mind, he listened to no one.

  “So… erm… are you gonna let me know where we’re going? Or…”

  “Lambros is dirty, I know it,” Stavros said as he yanked the handbrake and drifted around the corner, just missing oncoming traffic.

  “In the book, he had the address of a law firm registered to Stelios.”

  “Stelios?”

  “I did some digging around and both factories are linked to Stelios. Stelios signed all the paperwork and sorts all the legalities. And it was Stelios’ car that crashed into the factory.”

  “Stelios was reported missing…” Harris said. “So… we’re going to find him?”

  “Well, that might prove to be a challenge.” Stavros stopped talking while he swerved into the lane with oncoming traffic, barely missing the cars soaring towards him and turned sharply into the High Street. “As you pointed out, he’s been reported missing.”

  “Was that really necessary?” Harris said.

  Stavros glanced at his partner just long enough to see that he had gone a sickly shade of green.

  “Absolutely!”

  Soon as the car came to a halt, they leapt out of the car and marched towards the law firm and Stavros banged on the door. After thirty-seconds, he tried again. Still no answer.

  “He was reported missing you know…” Harris said, wheezing.

  Stavros looked around and then walked around the back of the building. He peered in through a window, but couldn’t see anyone. He pulled the handle on the back door, but it was locked.

  He stood back and removed the metal tin from his pocket and put the cigarette in his mouth.

  “We need to get inside.” The cigarette, between his lips moved up and down as he spoke.

  “We need a warrant.”

  “You’re right… but luckily for us,” he said whist using a paperclip to pick the lock, “the door was open and we were just curious.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “Yup… I know.” Stavros pushed the door open and walked inside. Harris cautiously followed.

  “What are we looking for exactly? I thought we were trying to apprehend this Ahmed guy… you know, the terrorist guy!”

  “He’s going to be hard to find. It may be easier for us to find what he is looking for. And maybe get to it before he does.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stavros was about to respond when a phone rang. Stavros stood frozen and put an arm across Harris’ midriff to stop him from rushing to answer it. There were six echoing rings before the phone went to answerphone.

  “Hello… Hello…” a breathless voice emerged, “this is Stelios, listen to me… I have been kidnapped and am tied up in an abandoned furniture factory in the old industrial estate. Please, I need to you to get me out of here before this guy comes back. I am in the old furniture factory, you can’t miss it. Please hurry — and no police!” The phone cut off.

  Stavros felt smug. “It’s like I always say, the truth always surfaces in the end, whether people like it or not.”

  “Coincidence?” Harris’ eyes grew.

  “Yes, perhaps, but perfectly timed, never-the-less.” Stavros headed for the back door from where they entered. “Let’s go.”

  “Erm, shouldn’t we call this in?”

  “You heard the man… no police.”

  Harris tilted his head and looked at Stavros like he was mad. “I don’t think he is going to be happy to see us either,” Harris said.

  “Nah, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Now let’s go.” They hurried out of the building and into the car. Stavros’ drove even faster this time, chuckling to himself as once again Harris hung on to his seat, panicking whenever it looked like they were going to crash. They finally skidded to a halt outside an abandoned factory. Harris practically fell out of the car.

  Stavros removed his gun and ran towards the
front doors of the building whilst Harris bent over as if he was going to be sick. Stavros, too anxious to wait for his overweight partner, went Inside, he looked around cautiously, two hands pointing his weapon in front of him, ready to pull the trigger in an instance.

  In the gloom, he noticed some metal stairs and seeing no sign of anyone on the ground floor, shot up them. On the next level, he saw a man tied to a chair that had fallen sideways onto the floor. Stavros looked around before approaching him with his gun still ready.

  "Police!" Stavros said. "Is there anyone else in the building?" he asked the man.

  "Thank God..." the man said, regaining consciousness. "No, he is gone... there is no one here. Please… help me."

  Stavros nearly gagged. An overwhelming stench of urine emanated from the man on the floor and he looked as though he’d had a good beating.

  "You Stelios?” Stavros asked. The man nodded. “Who did this?" Stavros lifted the man upright.

  "This crazy man, looking for his son... please, you have to understand — I had nothing to do with the kids, I swear."

  Kids? Stavros thought. What was he talking about?

  He removed a photo of Ahmed from his jacket, the same photo that was now on every news channel and every newspaper, with the title: Goldstein The Terrorist.

  "Yes... that’s the guy."

  "Do you know where he was going when he left here?”

  "I don’t know exactly, he’s after his son. But I don’t think he’ll find him. There were rumours that they shipped the kids out already, and..."

  A gun shot. Stelios' head exploded, splattering blood and bits of brain over Stavros. It speckled his face. For a moment, Stavros felt completely paralysed then, as he looked around him for the shooter, he saw Harris dragging his puffing, overweight body towards him, his gun pointing straight at him.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Stavros shouted.

  "What a mess," Harris said. "You couldn’t just leave it could you, you had to be the hero!"

  "Harris? No… I really didn’t expect this."

  "Well, that's the thing… you always think you know it all. You're this amazing, crime-solving super-agent. Well, I’m not like you.” Harris took a few steps forward. “Another few weeks and I would’ve had enough to take my wife and kids out of this dump and retire. But you had to go and mess things up!"

  "Harris, get a hold of yourself, man! What would Marie think of you if she knew that you were involved in this? And your kids, I'm sure they'd be so proud, right?"

  "Shut up! Shut—the—hell—up! Don’t you dare lecture me on morals, besides, at least I have a wife and kids. Have you never wondered why you can’t have a relationship with anyone? It’s because you're married to this job... and for what? A lousy pay-cheque that hardly pays the bills, risking our lives just to get told you mess things up. Well, I wasn’t having it anymore..." He moved closer, "I really didn’t want it to come to this. Believe me, I didn’t!"

  "Harris, don’t do..." Harris fired his gun, shooting Stavros in the chest, and propelling him to the ground.

  "Damn it!" Harris shouted, then got on his phone, "Get me Lambros, now!" he yelled and walked as fast as he could down the stairs. His chest was burning and the urge to throw up wasn’t going away.

  "Lambros, get some people and get to the shipping company now... he's heading there — and don’t screw this up!"

  ****

  Ahmed waited until he could no longer hear any gun fire, no car engines, and no people shouting or screaming. He struggled to his feet and walked around to the front of the building. There was no one in sight, and the street had become a ghost town. He looked back at the snooker club, knowing that poor Carolos was lying there, dead, because of him. Just another sin to add to his collection that made him hate himself even more.

  The club door, covered with bullet holes, suddenly opened. Ahmed's heart began to race. He’d thought that everyone had left, maybe it was Carolos' ghost coming after him to seek revenge.

  A man walked out, holding a large black bin-liner in his hand. He looked over at Ahmed and they made eye contact. I’m done for, Ahmed thought. But to Ahmed's surprise the man calmly walked to the van and put the bag inside, then walked back into the club as if Ahmed wasn’t even there. Glad to still be alive, Ahmed walked from the club, slowly at first, then picking up the pace. He wanted to get as far away from that place as he could.

  Ahmed’s arm was still throbbing as he approached a busy road and flagged down a taxi. He got in the car and removed the paper with the addresses from his bag.

  "Can you take me to this place?" He pointed to the address of the shipping company.

  "Sure," the driver said, "it’s going to be 100 euros." Ahmed removed 500 Euros and handed it to him.

  "Erm...” the man said staring at the money. That’s quite a lot over a 100 Euros!"

  "I know, keep it. Just get me where I need to go fast!"

  "Ok thanks," the driver said, and once he had pocketed the money, drove off.

  The journey was long and Ahmed noticed that the driver looked in the rear-view mirror a few times. He seemed to be looking at something on the seat next to him. Was it a newspaper, he wondered? It was obvious that the driver had figured out who he was. His eyes gave it away.

  Suddenly, the driver slammed on his brakes. “I knew I recognised you... you're that terrorist that they’re looking for!”

  Ahmed had already got his hand on the gun in his bag. He pointed it at the driver. "Just keep driving — now! And I am not a terrorist."

  "Really?" The man said peering back at the gun.

  "Shut up! And keep your eyes on the road." Ahmed felt his arm throb harder and squeezed it, hoping that it would help alleviate his pain. It didn’t, if anything, it made it worse. With so many taxis driving around, he had to pick the one that read newspapers. He knew his luck would run out eventually.

  As he stared out of the car window, many things ran through his head, like how heavily the place would be guarded. And even if Boreas had left just only a few men to guard the shipping company, how would he defeat highly trained security guards? Mind, he had been doing a good job against them so far.

  But what if Malik had already been shipped out? he wondered. No, he refused to accept it. Malik would be there, he knew it. He had to be. He hadn’t come this far for him to not be.

  The roads were familiar. He was traveling back the same route on the back of that Toyota truck. It made sense as the refugee camp was close to the shipping company. They had made the setup very convenient for themselves, he thought. Anxiously worrying about getting to the shipping warehouse, without a plan, he began thinking of one.

  "We're making a detour," Ahmed said, "take the next right." The driver, sensibly, did as he said.

  ****

  Boreas and his entourage pulled up in front of his family home. A twelve-bedroomed mansion with two swimming pools, protected by a large, shiny stone wall.

  It had three floors that towered the other houses close by. A mammoth water fountain constructed from marble sat in the front garden, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges.

  The attached garage housed twenty rare sports cars, another love of his life. Although he had some of the most extravagant cars known to man, he never drove them — he couldn’t take any risks, consequently he always went out in an armoured car. So, his beautiful cars — were just sitting there to be admired from time to time.

  He was escorted up the stone path by seven armed men and into the house, while another twenty or so kept guard outside.

  "Get your things together, I need you all somewhere safe, away from here," Boreas said.

  "What's going on?" His wife asked, handing him a glass of water. She had never seen him so distressed.

  "It's Dimitris, he is out to destroy me and I just need to get you and the kids safe." He looked at one of the men and ordered, "Get the car."

  "Why?" she asked, looking puzzled, "Why now? After so many years?"

  "There was an i
ncident with Carolos and..." Boreas fell silent as he thought about his dead brother.

  "Well, I have always said that Carolos was an—" Boreas grabbed her by the neck before she could say anything else.

  "Listen to me!" he said, with his eyes glowing. "You better watch your tongue, especially when you talk about my brother." He flung her on to the sofa. She lay there for a moment, holding her neck, gasping for air.

  "Now, get your things, and the kids, and get—"

  The sound of a loud explosion interrupted him. The widows shook in their frames and the large chandelier rocked dangerously. The backdraft blew smoke and dust into the house.

  His men dashed out of the house, their guns at the ready. Boreas looked out of the window. His eyes widening as they met the sight of the car that he had just requested, blazing in red hot flames, felt from inside the house.

  He ran outside and looked around.

  “Dimitris, you bastard!” he cried, spittle flicking from his mouth.

  Dimitris didn’t care who was in the car. Whether it was Boreas, or his family. To Dimitris, it simply didn’t matter. Like he had promised, he was out to destroy him. This didn’t mean just killing him, but everyone he loved along with him.

  Boreas took off his coat and threw it on the floor.

  "I’m right here!" he shouted with his arms out-stretched. "Come and get me! Come on you coward! Let’s settle this like men! You and me!"

  Tasos approached Boreas and whispered into his ear. “We’ve got the footage from the betting shop that you requested.”

  “Kostas, take my car and get my family out of here.” He couldn’t risk keeping them here and he wasn’t prepared to shoot them like he had Carolos. Kostas nodded. Boreas trusted Kostas. The man didn’t talk much, in fact he hardly spoke at all, but he was loyal, good at following instructions and always got the job done.

  Boreas waited until he saw the car, with his family and Kostas inside, pull off. He knew that having Kostas was like having four or five men. He was a trained killer.

  “Show me the footage,” Boreas said to Tasos as they went back into the house. He wanted to get some idea as to what really happened at the betting shop.