by S A Tameez
Earlier, he had noticed the faint sound of police sirens. They would be here soon. He realised he was finished. It was hopeless. He was never going to see Malik again.
Despondently, like a man defeated, he took the rucksack off his back and threw it onto the ground. He slid down the wall to the floor and lay the gun down next to him. He had done it again. He had made yet another promise to Maryam and failed. The thought of grabbing the gun and blowing his brains out crossed his mind as did many other irrational and insane thoughts. Setting this place on fire as well except this time, remaining inside while it burned to the ground was another possibility. But he fought off his suicidal thoughts.
The sirens were getting louder. He stood up and walked towards the door with his shoulders slumped. Perhaps he would get the opportunity to meet Malik in the next life and ask his forgiveness, not that he felt deserving of forgiveness. Nor did he hope that Malik would end up where he was most likely to end up in the after-life, considering all that he had done. He headed for the entrance of the building — he was ready to give himself up. There was no fight left in him, his body had given up and his mind was out of ideas. He would walk out in the hope that the police would do him the courtesy of putting him out of his misery.
As he walked toward the exit, he stumbled and as he looked down, he saw that he had kicked a raised floor tile. Bending down, he looked intently at the tile and noticed that it was a slightly different shade than the rest of the floor.
He fell to his knees and yanked at the tile and it began to lift off. His heart pounded with the thought that he might have unearthed something important. There was a large slab of metal with a small handle underneath. There were no signs of a lock. Ahmed looked up at the entrance, hoping that he had enough time to discover what was inside. He pulled the handle as hard as he could but it was too heavy, he used both of his hands and tried again. After wrestling with it for a few moments, he finally got it open. He shone his trusted phone torch down into the ground and his eyes witnessed the most disturbing scene. Young children were crammed together like sardines. It looked like a small chamber with just enough room for them to stand in. They were silent, completely silent as if they were afraid. They looked up at Ahmed, covering their eyes from the light of his torch. Lord only knew how long they had been down there, stood in silence and in pitch black. The sort of darkness that emerged from that room was the sort that nightmares were made from.
Ahmed wanted to call out Malik’s name but every child in there deserved to get out. So, he put out his arm and forced a smile. “It’s ok, come on, take my hand.” The children made no move. Wary eyes looked up at him and he could see that there were more of them further into the darkness of the hold. They must be frightened to death, he thought. “Come, children, I am here to rescue you, not harm you.”
Still they stared at him with uncertainty until one of the younger boys reached up and grabbed his hand just as Ahmed could hear the sirens sounding almost as if they were outside.
The hands of the children were ice-cold. Another few hours trapped down there, they would have surely frozen to death. Not that anyone would have cared. Certainly, not their abductors. Sure, they may be disappointed, like any business would be if their stock got wasted, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. They were, conveniently, right next to the sea — their small, dead bodies would just be lobbed out and the sea would carry them away.
He counted twenty children that he took out. Their faces were covered in dirt and most of them were still covering their eyes, adjusting to the light.
“Malik!” Ahmed called.
Ahmed’s heart began to pound as he anticipated Malik might be amongst those still in the hold. He was nearing the end of them and his eyes looked desperately at every face that came out, moving their hands away from their faces if they were covering them so he could see them better. Suddenly his stomach rolled as he pulled a boy out of the hole that looked almost like Malik… wait — is it him?
The boy was covering his face from the light, but Ahmed didn’t need to see his face, he knew it was him. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he grabbed him and fell to his knees.
“Malik!” Ahmed sobbed.
“Dad…”
“I am so sorry son… I am so sorry,” Ahmed repeated over and over. He held his son close to him and felt how thin he was.
Malik latched onto his father, he, too, was crying. This was it, the moment that Ahmed had been waiting for, dreaming about. The moment that he would find Malik and have him in his arms again. There were no words that could express what he was feeling. The feeling of holding warm, human life in his arms, was something he had almost forgotten amongst the relief and the butterflies that were invading his stomach.
“I knew you would come! I knew it!” Malik said wiping his tears, and then hugging on even tighter.
“I love you, Malik… I love you so much!”
“I love you too, Dad!”
Ahmed released his son and looked him up and down, “are you ok? I mean — are you hurt?”
Malik shook his head. “No, I’m fine… well, I am now!”
Some of the older boys were pulling the last of the kids from the hole, and some were asking Malik if this was really his father come to rescue him.
The sound of car doors slamming made Ahmed look round. He didn’t want to let go of Malik. He just wanted to hold him for ever, but he couldn’t.
“Quickly!” he told all the children. “Come this way!” The children reacted straight way and followed him as he headed to the back of the building. Ahmed glanced at his phone to check the time, then mumbled, “I really hope they’re early.”
At the front of the building Lambros was out of his police car and was examining the man laying outside. Harris, who was in the car behind, got out and joined him.
Harris said, “These guys are useless! They’re getting killed by some refugee that has probably never held a gun in his life!”
“Don’t underestimate this guy,” Lambros said, and then removed his gun. “Everyone who said that so far, has ended up dead.”
“Well, I guess it’s time we tipped the scales,” Harris remarked. “I want this guy sent back to where ever the hell he came from in a body bag!”
But before they went inside, they heard a helicopter. And it was heading in their direction, flying low. Harris recognised it immediately.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Harris said, blood rushed to his face. “Go inside and finish this now. Get rid of all the evidence and I mean all! And I will deal with these guys.”
“What about the kids?” Lambros asked.
“Get rid of all the evidence!”
Lambros nodded and went inside while Harris walked towards the approaching helicopter, waving his arms as if he was flagging them down. The military helicopter hovered for a moment and two men slid speedily down zip wires. They ran towards Harris with machine guns in their hands. They stood in front of him and waited for the helicopter to land and three other masked men leapt out.
“Great! You guys are here! Now, the perpetrator is in that building and—”
“Shut up!” Alexander ordered as he took off his mask, “you’ve done enough.”
“Hello Harris…” a familiar voice emerged.
“It can’t be…” Harris suddenly felt the heat rise in his head as he saw Stavros walking slowly towards them from the helicopter. “But you’re—”
“Dead?” Stavros grinned and removed the old cigarette tin with the bullet still wedged inside.
“You got to be kidding me!”
“It’s like I always say Harris, the truth always has a way of surfacing… even if it has to bring people back from the dead to do so.”
Inside the building, Ahmed and the children had made it to the loading bay. The door leading out was, as he had expected, bolted shut.
“Move back.” Ahmed instructed the children as he struck the padlock with his gun a few times to try to break it. He took a brief break and then went at it
again, but it was no use, the padlock was too strong. He bent over resting his palms on his knees, trying to get his breath back.
Malik approached his father and held his hand.
“Shoot it,” Malik whispered into his ear, “shoot the lock, Daddy.”
Ahmed looked at Malik in the eyes and smiled, “OK, move back with the other boys, in fact, all of you,” he now raised his voice, addressing all the children, “move back behind those boxes and cover your faces.” Ahmed braced himself, hating the thought of firing this contraption of evil once again. He pointed it at the padlock and then fired. The bang was loud and the spark bright. Ahmed hoped it was enough to get the padlock open. He reached out, careful in not burning his hands with the heat radiating from it. He yanked it and it to his delight, it released. “Yes!” he hissed.
Behind this door he was hoping to find Antonio and Jane. Although he would be disappointed if they didn’t come, he would understand. Not that he had a plan B. He was solely relying on them turning up to take the children. And as he had hoped and prayed for, the beautiful faces of Antonio and Jane met him as he pulled open the door.
“Thank Allah!” Ahmed gasped. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry for dragging you both into this – but I had no one else I could trust.”
Jane was tearfully hugging Malik and as many boys as she could gather in her arms.
Antonio stretched out his hand. “No Ahmed, thank you, for showing us what was going on. And rescuing these children! We had no idea that this was happening until you came.” Ahmed took Antonio’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Now, we need to get you guys out of here.”
“You guys go and take the kids, get them to safety,” Ahmed said.
“What about you?” Jane asked, barely able to speak.
Malik squeezed Ahmed’s hand tightly. “Dad, please—”
“I… I can’t come with you.”
“What? No, you have to!” Malik protested.
“What are you talking about?” Antonio asked.
Ahmed got down on his knees. He removed his bag from his back and took out Quww. “Here, take Quww, he will be with you and will keep you safe.”
Malik didn’t reach for his action figure. He hugged onto Ahmed and whispered, “I don’t need Quww, he never protected me, you did!”
“Malik, listen to me, as long as I am with you, you will not be safe. We have nowhere left to run.” He stood up and took a deep breath. “Too much has happened that I am responsible for… too many things. I can’t run away from that, it wouldn’t be right. There are consequences for all that I have done, and I must face those consequences, irrespective of the outcome.” He looked over at the frightened children and said to Antonio, “They are the future — they deserve to be free. Now go!”
Antonio nodded and Ahmed handed Malik to Antonio. “Please take care of him. I trust that you will.”
“Of course,” Antonio said, holding onto Malik. Ahmed and Malik’s eyes stayed locked until he joined the other children. And every time he tried to run back to Ahmed, Antonio held him back, respecting Ahmed’s wishes.
“Get off me!” Malik shouted, “Dad! No, please…”
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” Ahmed said, quietly and then painfully turned away from him.
He looked at Jane. She had handfuls of kids holding onto her as she took them towards the minibus that they used to bring the volunteers to the camp.
As if she knew he was watching her, she turned to look at him and then walked back to him, leaving the kids with Antonio. “If you stay, they will kill you, and the chances are that they will do DNA matches and find out that Malik is your son. It will be impossible for us to keep him hidden. You are a wanted terrorist, Goldstein!” She tried to smile. “Just come with us… we’ll find a way.”
Ahmed smiled, “I am not scared of dying. I believe that Allah answered my prayers by keeping me alive long enough to rescue my son. I believe that you were also part of His plan.” His eyes began to well. “I know that you will keep him safe. You and Antonio are a representation of what good is left in this evil world. And in terms of Malik, well, they will never match our DNA… ever… because it doesn’t match.”
Jane looked puzzled, “but he is your son.”
“That, he definitely is… but what I never told anyone, not even Malik, was that Maryam and I could never have children. We tried for many years but it didn’t happen. Malik was the child of Maryam’s friend, a widow, who died giving birth to Malik. With no one to take care of him, we adopted him as our own.” He looked over at Malik, who still had his eyes locked on him. “He was our blessing.”
Another stream of tears rolled down Jane’s face. “I can’t believe all that you’ve been through, Ahmed. You are an amazing man. And Malik, he is an amazing boy.”
“Please promise me that you will never tell him that I wasn’t his real father. Promise me.”
“I could never tell him you weren’t, because you are his father. Only a real father could do what you have done for your son.”
“Thank you…” His voice trailed off as his attention was stolen by the noise in the distance. Loud clunking footsteps.
“Take them now!” Ahmed whispered, giving one last long look at Malik and then, stepping back inside the warehouse, closing the door.
Ahmed walked back through the building, knowing that there was someone was inside. He heard someone calling something out, he couldn’t make out what was said but knew it was a man’s voice. Whoever it was, would probably kill him and catch up with children in no time. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed to give them a good enough head start.
A croaky voice emerged from the shadows, somewhere amongst large containers. “I know you’re in here, Refugee. We haven’t been formally introduced. Yet you’ve become a real pain for me — a real pain indeed.” There was brief silence and then he continued, his voice mocking. “I mean, I applaud your tenacity, I really do… but did you really think you could take on Boreas? I mean come on…” Ahmed hid in the shadows and followed the voice.
“I see that you found your son, then… and well, you found all the little children. I suppose you think you’re some kind of hero.” Ahmed could see a man walking, his gun poised in front of him. Ahmed didn’t know who this man was, but he was obviously one of Boreas’ men, perhaps he was one of those crooked policemen, paid to uphold the law, who has abused his powers to aid the kidnapping, slavery and trafficking of children. He didn’t deserve a trial, he didn’t deserve a legal representative. He deserved to die, right here in the dungeon that the children were kept in.
But, no… Ahmed thought. He had killed enough and although Ahmed had the gun pointing right at him, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t, however, let him follow the children either. He threw the gun on the floor and ran towards the man, hoping to tackle him to the ground.
The next thing Ahmed knew, a bullet hit him in the abdomen, but his adrenaline and resolve didn’t stop him from crashing into the guy and dragged him to the ground. The dirty child-snatcher was old and overweight and fell like a sack of potatoes.
“I am not a hero…” he shouted as his victim lay unconscious on the floor, “I am just a father!”
A little further from the shipping company, Boreas’ driver pulled to the side of the road when they noticed the police cars and helicopter outside the building. He knew that the helicopter wasn’t one of his and who ever these guys were, they definitely weren’t on his payroll. There were two things that Boreas knew inside out, the details of his financial accounts and absolutely everyone on his payroll, from police officers, lawyers, court judges to special agents and military officers.
He knew it was over. By now, they would have found the children, and with Stelios, inconveniently dead, they’d no doubt found all the evidence they needed to finish him. He knew that with the sort of life he lived, in the type of business he was in, this was inevitable. This — or being assassinated. He didn’t know which one he preferred. But none of this
hindered his uncontainable urge to kill Goldstein. For he was the cause if all of this. The innocent face of his dead brother was still haunting him, the fact that his family were dead and that he had to kill Dimitris, although killing Dimitris he didn’t mind so much.
This Goldstein must die.
Regardless of what happened next, the only thing Boreas wanted now, was Goldstein to die. He wanted him to die a horrible, painful death, the type that would make people feel sick at the thought of. But considering the circumstances, he would except just dead.
“Get me Tasos on the phone now!” he ordered the driver.
The driver did as he was told and Boreas heard the car phone on loudspeaker.
“Boss?” came Tasos’ voice.
“Tasos, where are you?”
“Minutes away from the shipping company.”
“Good, now you have been loyal to me for many years and I’ve been good to you in return. Have I not?”
“Yes, you have.”
“Good. I have one last request for you but it is the most important thing I have ever asked you to do. You will make this happen.” It was an order not a request.
“Yes, Boss. What is it?”
“The place is swarming with police — not our police — and Goldstein is in the building, I just know it. I want him dead by any means. He cannot leave that building alive. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Good. Make it happen.”
Three SUV vehicles surrounded his car as he ended the call with Tasos. The doors flung open and men with masks and guns stormed out.
“Get out of the vehicle with your hands up or we will shoot!” a masked man ordered, aiming his machine gun at the car. “This is your first and last warning!”
“Boss, we’re surrounded!” the driver said looking around in panic.
“Yes… I can see that.” He pulled the hammer back on his gun and smiled.
15
The adrenalin had worn off and Ahmed was beginning to feel the agony of the bullet that had penetrated his torso. He cried out as he rolled off the dirty policeman and onto the cold, stone floor. His body felt frozen, yet inside his stomach there was a furnace, and warm blood poured out of him in a gentle stream. He struggled to stop himself from passing out and managed to sit up took off his rucksack and propped himself against one of the giant containers. He removed his journal. Using a pen that he had wedged inside, he began writing.
