Firefly

by Henry Porter

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Extrinsic motivation is when we are motivated by external rewards – money, praise, group acceptance et cetera, et cetera.’

  ‘And Naji’s reward will be to bring his family to safety because he loves them very deeply.’

  ‘Yes, plus his dead father’s praise – that’s very important to him.’

  ‘We had someone visit the family in Turkey. She said that Naji doesn’t accept his father’s death.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you that? Actually I spoke to the woman. She called me.’

  ‘Yes, Sonia Fell,’ said Samson. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Of her? I didn’t like her at all – too pushy – so I didn’t tell her much. But let’s rewind: I believe Naji is subconsciously waiting to recognise the huge fact of his father’s death until he has achieved what he set out to do, which is to bring his family to a safe country. Then maybe he will allow himself to give in to the grief and come to terms with his loss.’

  ‘That sounds like it will be a huge problem for him.’

  ‘Yes, but for now he has made a kind of pact with himself to concentrate on surviving on his own out there. The secret that he’s keeping from himself won’t stay hidden forever.’ She stopped and looked at the lights of Skopje disappearing to their left. ‘I believe he may have taken on the responsibility for everything that happened to his family, especially his father’s death.’

  ‘But how could he do that? He didn’t cause his father’s arrest and torture, or his father’s blindness.’

  ‘Yes, but he brought that IS man into their home, which eventually forced them to leave for Turkey and may have caused his father’s stroke. I got all that from your friend Sonia, including the name of the man – Al-munajil.’ She paused. He turned to her and saw her smile in the glow of the dashboard. ‘I got more out of her than she did from me.’

  ‘Naturally – you’re a shrink.’

  ‘I won’t dignify that with a reaction,’ she said, shaking her head with exasperation.

  She switched on the interior light and put the back of her hand up to the wound on Samson’s cheek where Simcek had hit him. ‘By the way, you need a bandage on this – it’s actually quite a nasty cut. Did you know you have a lump of dried blood on your cheek? How did you do that?’

  ‘Not sure,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ she said sceptically. ‘I’ll take a look when we get there.’

  It was remarkable how at ease they were. There was no tension, and neither felt the need to fill the silence that ensued for the next half hour. Anastasia checked her phone and listened to music.

  At length she pulled out her earbuds and asked, ‘How do you plan to find him?’

  ‘His sister Munira is the only hope we have. I’m sure Naji will try to call her. I hope he calls me. Maybe he already has. I wish Vuk had thought of sending the phone in the car with you.’

  ‘He was asleep.’

  ‘Yeah, he made a night of it.’ He looked at her again. ‘I will be relying on you, if we find him. He trusts you and I’m not sure I’ll be good at talking to a boy of his age.’

  ‘You said that before. It’s nonsense: you were a war refugee when you were a boy; you lost your father when you were young; and you’ve been to Syria and you know the hell that boy has escaped from. There’s no one better qualified. Relax, Naji is more grown up than most adults – at least he takes responsibility.’

  The satnav led them up a winding road that seemed to go on forever. When eventually the illuminated monastery that now served as a hotel came into sight, high on a cliff above the road, she said, ‘Denis has taken over the whole hotel, which I guess pleased the manager because there are no other guests. It’s a magical place. He said he likes it so much he might even buy it.’

  ‘When you’re as rich as Denis, I guess the trick is to know when not to buy something.’

  ‘That’s a wise thing for a gambler to say.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘That you gamble? Sonia told me. She implied you lost your job because of it.’ Anastasia patted him on the leg. ‘But I didn’t believe her. I mean, I didn’t believe that it was a problem.’

  ‘It isn’t – I have the occasional bet.’

  ‘Sizeable, was the word she used, or vast.’

  ‘Okay, I have the occasional sizeable bet, and I make money.’

  ‘She doesn’t like you, Paul. Did you try to get her into bed?’

  ‘Did I try? No.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why.’

  They crossed a narrow bridge and entered a dimly lit, cobbled courtyard. The beam from the headlights swung over a portico of four arches, each topped with a cupola. Samson pulled up by the other vehicles, noticing his hire car among them. Then he saw Vuk hurrying from the main door, a phone in his hand.

  Sixteen

  Naji woke up in an old armchair in front of a wood burner. Ifkar had been placed on a rickety chaise longue that was covered in worn red velvet. The old couple were bent over him. The woman held his arm while the man examined his wounds, spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Ifkar’s eyes were closed but he let out the occasional moan, so Naji knew he was conscious. The couple consulted each other, then the old man went to a little table under a light and picked up the phone and dialled, checking each digit against a number written on a list on the wall. He started to speak rapidly, looking up at the ceiling and gesticulating. Occasionally he glanced at his wife for reassurance and she nodded eagerly, sometimes repeating the things he said. Naji prayed they weren’t talking to the police or anyone in authority who would ask who they were and why Ifkar had a bullet wound, but he didn’t know how to make his fears understood and so he just looked on as the old guy ended the phone call and went back to feel Ifkar’s brow and pulse.

  He searched the room for Moon. She turned out to be lying beside his chair, staring between her paws at the fire, though every so often she raised her head to check on Ifkar. The woman noticed Naji was awake and came over and smiled down at him. She ruffled his hair before leaving the room and soon he heard noises from the kitchen, which instantly took him back to his childhood home and the sound of his mother preparing meals with his two older sisters. Little Yasmin had been too young to help then and had sat in the corner of the kitchen in a baby chair with wheels, which the three other Touma children had all used before her. He thought of her fleetingly and then pushed his entire family from his mind, even poor, dead Yasmin, and concentrated on Ifkar, who suddenly opened his eyes with a startled look. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.

  ‘With friends,’ said Naji.

  Naji got up and wandered around the room, looking at old black and white photographs of men in national costume and a picture of a warrior on a white horse, a sword carving the air above his head. He peered at the many ornaments and wondered why anyone would think such junk worth keeping.

  With the old couple’s eyes following him, he reached a shelf on which stood two photographs of a young man. In one he was sitting astride a red motorbike, leaning over the handlebars with a big grin; in the other he was in uniform, standing to attention with a hat held under his arm. Propped against the wall between the two photographs were a religious icon and a silver Orthodox cross; in front of these were a wristwatch and an engraved vase containing a few of the dark red flowers Naji had seen still blooming on the mountainside. He turned to the couple. The woman placed her hands over her heart and said, ‘Našiot sin, našiot sin – Dimitrij.’ Naji realised that Dimitrij was their son and that he was dead. He nodded solemnly to show that he understood and studied the photographs again, not knowing what he should do next. Eventually they turned their attention back to Ifkar and Naji returned to the chair.

  The old guy kept glancing at the clock that ticked loudly in the corner of the room; he seemed anxious and, maybe to distract himself, he went and fet
ched the two baskets of mushrooms from the kitchen and started cleaning each one with a brush and a damp cloth. When he caught Naji’s look of amazement, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to indicate that the mushrooms would earn him plenty of money. Naji knew that Europeans ate many unclean things, but the idea that anyone would pay good money for fungus that grew in the forest was baffling to him.

  When the old woman handed him a bowl of lamb and vegetable stew and rice, he poked around, looking for evidence of fungus, but found none and ended up enjoying the stew very much. From his chair he called over to Ifkar and told him he should eat as much as possible. But there was usually never a problem with Ifkar’s appetite, even now when he was half delirious with pain. He consumed two bowls of stew, the man holding his head up while the woman spooned it into him.

  The clock had just struck nine when they heard the noise of a vehicle outside. When the old guy opened the door and switched on a light in the yard, Naji got up and peered out from behind him. A hooded figure climbed off a quad bike, unstrapped a bag from the rear rack and waved, before trudging up a dozen or more steps into the light. Naji was surprised to see a woman’s face under the hood. The old guy patted her on the back and she squeezed past him into the living room, where she removed her anorak and fleece. She was tall and had a wide face and dark hair, which she shook out as she removed the hat she’d worn under the hood. Her name was Jasna and she was a brisk and practical woman with little time for pleasantries. She dropped the bag beside Ifkar, examined the bandages that Naji had stolen from the medical centre, and asked over her shoulder if he spoke English. When he replied that he did, she said she wanted to know exactly what had happened to them. Naji opted for a highly edited version of the events under the walnut tree, which had them being mugged for the phone he was carrying.

  She gave Ifkar a couple of shots in his bottom, having rolled him onto his side, and then began to clean the wounds with the hot water the old lady brought in a plastic bowl. There was no serious infection, she said, and that meant she could stitch him up, but first he’d need a local anaesthetic. While she waited for it to take effect, she asked Naji how long they’d been travelling together, where they’d come from and how they had managed for so long out in the open, for she could see that they were both exhausted and needed a shower. Jasna did not mince her words, and when Naji gave a rather hazy account of the last few weeks, implying that Ifkar and he were related, she flung him a sceptical look just to make sure he didn’t think she was a fool. But without making any comment she translated for the man and his wife, who nodded with interest and said they were pleased to help any young folk – wherever they came from – now that Dimitrij had been taken from them.

  As she sewed up Ifkar, she said, ‘Your friend has a chest infection – that’s why he’s feverish. I have given him anti­biotics. The wound will heal but he must treat it with respect because the stitches could tear.’ While the old man held him in a sitting position, she dressed his wounds and bandaged his arm to his chest so that he couldn’t move it. They let him back gently onto a cushion and the farmer’s wife threw a rug over him.

  Jasna peeled off her gloves. ‘You’re lucky that you’ve been rescued by the kindest people in the valley. I treat all their animals.’

  Naji thought he’d misunderstood her. ‘Animals?’

  ‘Yes, I am a veterinarian – trained in the United States. There’s really no difference between treating a gunshot wound in a human and an animal. It’s the same mess, the same shock and the same risk of infection. Your friend will be okay in a day or two. Then you can dress the wound, as I have done, and bandage him up again. Use plenty of that iodine. Now, let me look at your beautiful friend here,’ she said, moving to Moon’s side. ‘My goodness, what a fine specimen she is!’

  *

  ‘Sister of boy is calling,’ Vuk said, thrusting the phone into his hand.

  Samson nodded and walked a few paces away from the car, coming to a halt next to a parapet, beyond which there was a black void. ‘Munira, I am sorry I couldn’t take your call before now,’ he said in Arabic. ‘Have you spoken to Naji?’

  ‘Yes. But we must speak in English. I do not want my mother to understand what I am saying.’

  ‘Okay,’ Samson said, switching to English. ‘That’s good news. Where is he now?’ He nodded to Anastasia, who indicated she was going inside.

  ‘I do not know where he is. He will meet you in market. The city of Pudnik in morning tomorrow. He promise he will be there.’

  ‘That’s very good – well done. Does he have a phone?’

  ‘No, he make call with another person’s phone. A Syrian woman. She was in market with Naji today.’

  ‘He was in the market today!’ Samson grimaced to Anastasia a few feet away. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see him.’

  ‘Listen, please, sir. I told Naji some bad news – our sister Yasmin died. He is very . . .’ She struggled for the word.

  ‘Upset,’ said Samson.

  ‘Yes. He cried. Naji never cries.’

  ‘I am very sorry to hear about your sister.’

  ‘Naji, he is with friend. He is looking after friend who is sick.’

  ‘Did he say where he was?’

  ‘No, I do not know. I am sorry to forget to ask. We are in shock but we have each other and I have my good friend Rihanna helping us.’

  ‘That’s good, but be careful what you say about Naji. This is very important, Munira. Very important you don’t tell people anything.’

  ‘I trust Rihanna with my life.’

  ‘Good,’ said Samson. ‘The arrangement is that we meet in the marketplace in Pudnik tomorrow. I will have someone with me that Naji knows and trusts.’

  ‘Will you tell me when you find him?’

  ‘Of course, and you know to call this number if there is anything you need.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, before hanging up.

  Inside the monastery, there was no sign of anyone apart from the hotel staff. He was led to a room with white walls and traces of ancient religious murals. He showered and put on the clean clothes that Vuk had retrieved from the boot of the hire car. Before going in search of Denis Hisami he smoked a cigarette, drank a beer from the mini bar and thought about how he could watch the square without being spotted by Simcek’s people – the answer was that he’d have to rely on Vuk and Anastasia. He wondered if GCHQ were still monitoring his communications. If they were, it would mean his former colleagues in London would know he was still in Macedonia. But maybe they had their minds on the operation in Bosnia. He powered down both his phones and removed their batteries. Naji’s phone was already switched off, but he took the battery from that as well.

  He found Hisami alone in a panelled sitting room that was hung with ancient-looking tapestries depicting hunting scenes. He was going through a stack of legal documents on the table in front of him. He marked his place, squared the stack, rose and shook Samson’s hand. ‘Paul, it’s good to see you. Can I get you something?

  Samson shook his head and sat down in the chair indicated by Hisami.

  ‘Business waits for no man, I’m afraid. This all has to be read and signed and in New York in twenty-four hours’ time. It’s my biggest deal yet, and certainly the biggest risk yet. I am going into television.’

  ‘Old media?’ said Samson, noting that although Hisami smiled, he looked strained and seemed to have aged.

  ‘Old but reliable media,’ he said. ‘Owning content is all these days. Content is my north star.’ He slapped his hands on his thighs. ‘Oh yes, talking of risks, I put five thousand pounds on the horse Snow Hat with your man Judah, as you asked me to do, and I noticed the price came in immediately. Snow Hat is at 5–2.’

  ‘Thank you for that,’ said Samson. ‘I haven’t had a chance to look at the odds yet, but the race isn’t until the day after tomorrow, so there’s time enough
.’

  Hisami examined him. ‘Do you mind my asking how much you are going to put on?’

  Samson said he wasn’t sure, which was true. He wondered how much sleep Hisami had had recently.

  ‘And your horse? Have the odds moved out in the way you hoped?’

  ‘I haven’t looked yet,’ Samson replied.

  ‘I’ll be interested to see what happens.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be out of pocket,’ said Samson. ‘It’s between Snow Hat and the horse I favour.’

  ‘And you’re not going to say which horse that is?’ said Hisami, knitting his fingers around one knee and rocking slightly.

  Samson smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Well, perhaps when you’ve placed your bet . . .’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Samson.

  ‘You keep your cards close to your chest, Paul.’

  Samson smiled again. He could easily tell Hisami what he was planning, but he was innately secretive about this side of his life, because it allowed him to keep his options open and he was superstitious about telling people about it.

  Hisami moved his hands from his knees and folded them under his chin. ‘Now to less pleasant matters. I had a long talk with your friend Anastasia this afternoon, once we knew we’d found a way out of your problems with Mr Simcek.’

  ‘Thank you for that, by the way – it promised to be awkward for me.’

  ‘Actually, it was all Jim Tulliver’s idea. He knew the border police wouldn’t examine the passport he carried too thoroughly, and when he landed in Austria twenty minutes ago he simply used his American passport – immigration checks never match a passport with the name on the ticket, of course. It worked out fine – I just received a text from him. It helped that I got on well with Simcek and suggested he put you on that flight.’