by Oliver Tidy
***
49
Acer did not go into the building. He slumped down to sit on the earth, his back against the front wheel of the Jeep. The early morning silence was broken only by the sounds of Zeynep grieving and the vehicles ticking cool.
Eventually, because it had to be done some time, he stood up, dressed and went in.
Donovan was dead in a chair. Mo was dead in one of the cots. Acer hoped she’d been asleep when Carswell had struck.
He made strong coffee for something to do and because he needed the caffeine. He took a mug over to where Zeynep sat on the floor beside her dead partner. He put it down next to her. She was still crying but she was no longer hysterical.
Acer risked talking. ‘We can’t take her with us, Zeynep. I know you’ll want to but we can’t. I’ll bury her here. We can come back for her together when all this is over.’
He waited a long moment for her reaction. When she said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge his presence, he turned and walked outside with his coffee to look for a shovel.
The sun was a couple of hours higher, several degrees warmer and considerably brighter when Zeynep came out of the building to join him. Acer was shirtless, the sweat of his exertions from digging in the dry, hard and rocky ground coated his lean and muscular body with a sheen of sweat. He stopped digging and rested on the shovel as she came closer. He was already a couple of feet down, thinking that the shallow grave would be enough to preserve Mo from scavengers and keep her presence hidden from the investigators who would follow.
Acer said, ‘I’m so sorry, Zeynep.’
She exhaled heavily. She looked like she’d shrunk physically. She hadn’t dressed but she had put on a coat she’d found. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, hugging herself.
‘What are we going to do with the others?’ she said.
‘Leave them. Carswell was right about one thing – we leave it to look like a terrorist act. It’s plausible. We can’t afford to become involved in an investigation down here. And we’d lose our box.’
‘I don’t care about it now,’ she said.
‘I understand, Zeynep. But I do. And you will, given time. You still have a sister and her children who need rescuing from your family. And they have my daughter.’
‘Do you think Carswell was acting alone, or do you think he was following orders?’
‘I sincerely hope the former because if it’s the latter we’re still in deep trouble. I’ll be hoping for the best but looking over my shoulder for the worst. It’s another reason why we can’t hang around here long. Not now.’
The sense of it seemed to resonate with her. She said, ‘I’ll help you carry her out.’
They wrapped Mo in a sheet, like a shroud. One at each end, they carried her out into the sun and the dusty section of ground a little away from the house. They lowered her gently into the pit Acer had dug. Acer asked if Zeynep wanted to say anything. She shook her head, didn’t speak. Fresh tears streaked her dirty and distraught face. She turned and went back to the vehicle they had driven from Istanbul in. She took out her suitcase and hauled it inside. As Acer shovelled the earth over the dead woman he heard water running.
When Acer had finished to his satisfaction that the grave would not be easily found, he too retrieved his suitcase and went in search of running water for a shower.
He emerged from the bathroom clean and in clean clothes to the smell of frying food.
When he walked into the shared living area, Zeynep said, ‘You need to eat.’
He said, ‘So do you, Zeynep.’
Acer had covered Donovan with a sheet. They shut the front door, hiding the carnage lying just outside it. Then they tried to imagine that everything was normal and forced themselves to eat. Neither finished the meal. But the coffee in both their mugs went. Together it was enough.
When it looked like neither of them would be able to stomach another forkful, Acer said, ‘Let’s go.’
Zeynep nodded. She said, ‘What about all this stuff?’
‘Leave it. Leave everything the way it is.’
He removed the sheet from Donovan’s body, balled it and shoved it under one of the beds. Acer found a box of ammunition for Tanner’s Sig Sauer and put both that and the gun in their vehicle.
Outside, Acer took a long quiet moment to stand over the bodies of the three men who had probably saved his life in Aleppo by risking their own without complaint. He felt bad about just leaving them there. The birds – he’d seen crows and magpies lurking on the rooftops of the buildings – and the stray dogs that wandered the Turkish countryside would likely not take long in setting about the dead men when the place was once again deserted by the living. But to move them, to cover them, to try to conceal them would not ring true with the version of events he wanted to be believed when the time came.
They sat in the four-wheel drive vehicle with the windows down and talked about the best way to return to Istanbul. If things had turned out differently, they might have left the car at the nearest airport – Gaziantep – and flown back. But that would leave an identifiable trail and was something Acer argued they should avoid. The only alternative was to drive. That’s what they did.
Zeynep asked for the first stint behind the wheel. She said she needed the distraction of having something to do. As soon as they were on the main road, Acer checked the time, took off two hours and phoned one of only three people he trusted in the world – Crouch in England. He had to know.
***
50
They followed the same route they had used to drive down there. The only difference was that they were driving in the daylight. While Zeynep drove, Acer slept. At around halfway, they stopped for a meal in a typically Turkish roadside eatery. The food was good and hot and filling authentic Turkish cuisine. But they were able to take little pleasure in it.
As they ate, they talked. Zeynep kept her dark glasses on to hide her puffy and inflamed eyes. She said, ‘Any ideas how we should go about things when we get back?’
‘I suggest that we stop short of Istanbul. Get a hotel for the night. I need a proper night’s rest, Zeynep. Sleeping in a car doesn’t really work for me. I’m exhausted and tomorrow we both need to be rested and alert.’
Zeynep agreed. ‘And what about tomorrow?’
‘The first thing we do is find a place where we can copy the documents. Then we find a bank with a safety deposit box facility. We leave the originals there. I’ll organise for my journalist friend to be a signatory. Then we make an appointment with your brother.’
‘Where?’
‘Why not Heybeliada? If he’s going to have us killed it’s as good a place as any. And perhaps I’ll get to see my daughter again before I die.’
‘A family reunion. How wonderful.’ She didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. ‘You really think he might still kill us?’
‘You said he isn’t stupid. My daughter, your sister and her kids, our freedom – they can’t mean anything to him, not when compared to what he would stand to lose by being exposed. No, I don’t think he’s going to try to kill us. Not if we play it right.’
As they were getting in the car, Zeynep saw a place in the little complex of shops advertising copying services. After a quick discussion, they drove over to it and set about monopolising the machine to make two copies of every document in the box. It cost them a couple of hours and a couple of hundred Turkish lira. They added to their bill with some folders and plastic sleeves and three sturdy plastic boxes: one blue, one green, one yellow.
Then they drove. Acer’s turn behind the wheel. Zeynep was not in the mood for sleeping or talking. She stared out of the window deep in thought regarding their plight, or lost in her memories of Mo, for most of the way to their destination and Acer didn’t bother her.
Twelve hours after setting out from Gaziantep, they stopped at a nondescript settlement called Gebze, a few miles short of Istanbul.
They found a hotel. They took in their bags, the photocopie
d and original documents, the files, the plastic sleeves and the plastic boxes. They shared a room with twin beds because they had things to do.
They ordered room service and got to work. Three sets of replica files needed to be organised. Acer spent a long phone call to Susan in England convincing her to be a signatory to a three-way-access security deposit box. Naturally, she also wanted to know where he’d been, what he’d been doing, why he hadn’t been in touch and how it was going with regard to getting his daughter back.
By two o’clock in the morning they were done. The three plastic boxes sat against a wall. Each one contained folders filled with identical documents. Then they slept.
***
Day 7
51
Six hours of solid and deep sleep can be enough to recharge the batteries of most people. In that respect, Acer and Zeynep were most people. They took turns in the shower, dressed and, for the change of scenery, went downstairs to breakfast in the hotel dining room.
The Turkish-style breakfast was a meal that Acer felt he could get used to on a regular basis. In England, the idea of including diced cucumber, sliced peppers, green and black olives with cooked sausage, boiled eggs and assorted cheeses for breakfast would not have appealed to him. He had quickly developed a taste for it when he had been with Eda in Bodrum. It was an appreciation that had endured.
When breakfast had been washed down with small glasses of black tea, they went back upstairs, packed their belongings, collected the boxes and checked out. By ten o’clock they were on the road to Istanbul for the two-hour drive that remained of their journey.
Zeynep said, ‘When should we talk to him?’
‘As soon as we’ve lodged the originals safely with a bank. Let’s not let him know we’re back in Istanbul until we’ve got our security in place.’
Because they were going to be participating in Turkish city traffic, Zeynep drove them. Acer said he’d rather cross the divide between east and west Aleppo again than drive in Istanbul. He said it would be safer.
They arrived on the outskirts of the city in good time and drove along the coast road. Acer stared out at the Princes’ Islands and tried to work out how long ago it was that he’d first seen them on his flight into Istanbul. He realised he didn’t even know what the date was and the long flights on consecutive days to the other side of the world and back confused his calculations. He believed it was six or seven calendar days. It seemed like longer. He mentioned it to Zeynep.
She said, ‘Of course it does. We’ve been busy. We’ve had more trouble in a week than most people will ever see in their lives.’
‘Sometimes I wish I could be most people.’
‘If everything goes well we can both be.’
Acer wanted to broach the subject of Mo’s death with her but didn’t know how. While Zeynep was still communicative, he sensed that part of her had shut down; something in her emotions was being denied and he worried for her. It was as though she was functioning on some kind of autopilot.
The weather in Istanbul appeared not to have changed at all since the day he’d arrived a week before. The sun still shone down quite warmly, quite brilliantly for the time of year. They both needed sunglasses for the glare and it was only mid-morning. The air was cool and fresh and still; not a breath of wind stirred the dried, browned and shrivelled leaves that still clung to the branches of the scores of trees that lined the roads.
They drove through Bostancı and passed by the Princes’ Islands ferry terminal. The road veered right inland so that they no longer hugged the coast road but a road running parallel to it. At this point, the road went from being flanked by residential apartment buildings to a selection of restaurants and then quickly to a three-lane, single-direction road that was tightly hemmed in on either side by the upmarket high street brand-name retail stores of the Western world. Every label, it seemed, was represented.
‘What’s this place?’ said Acer.
‘It’s called Bağdat Caddesi, which roughly translates to Baghdad Avenue. It’s the Asian side of Istanbul’s equivalent of your Oxford Street in London. It’s a shopping magnet for those who live this side of the Bosphorus Channel.’
Acer said, ‘It looks like a good place to spend a few hours and a lot of money.’
‘It is both. And there are plenty of police around to keep the poor and the beggars and the needy off the street. The rich and famous don’t want to be confronted with Turkish reality when they’re shopping for their new wardrobes.’
As well as clothes and accessories shops, there were plenty of places to eat and, of course, every Turkish bank and some foreign ones were represented with branches.
Zeynep chose a branch that she still held an account with - a remnant of her life before she quit Istanbul. Because of who she was, she was seen privately and quickly by a high-ranking bank official. She explained what it was she wanted and was assured it would be no trouble to set up quickly. She told them to get on with it. Susan had faxed over a copy of her passport to Acer at the hotel. In her absence, she was added to the list of those entitled to access.
When the paperwork was finalised, the official led them to a room of private booths where they waited for one of the bank’s oversized safety deposit boxes to be delivered to them. Acer had carried the original files inside in the green box. When the bank’s deep metal box arrived they transferred the green plastic box with the original documentation into it and, at Zeynep’s request, accompanied it to the strong room under the building where they watched it safely slid into its place among the hundreds of other safety deposit boxes, all with their secrets, their wealth, their heirlooms and the owners’ good faith. They were given a key each, escorted to the front door and bid a good day.
Next stop was the UPS branch. They bought a sturdy cardboard carton into which they placed the yellow plastic box complete with files containing copies of the documents. Acer addressed the box to Susan’s home address in England with his name clearly printed in block capitals on the top – he felt confident she wouldn’t be opening it in his absence – and they paid a good sum for the quickest service.
As they waited for the paperwork of their transaction to be completed, Acer was given an idea from staring at the display of packaging resources available to purchase by anxious, unprepared customers with fragile shipments.
Zeynep flexed her eyebrows in his direction when he told her what he’d like her to buy for him. She said nothing then and ordered his materials.
When they stepped out of UPS, she said, ‘What’s that lot for?’
Acer said, ‘Just an idea I had. If I can make it work, I’ll tell you. If I can’t, I won’t embarrass myself. How’s that?’
Acer spotted a coffee shop across the road and along a bit. He said he’d like one and that they could call Kaan Oktay from there. Zeynep agreed and said, ‘Don’t be surprised if he already knows we’re back in the city.’ In answer to Acer’s puzzled expression, she said, ‘The bank is the family bank. It’s the only place I could be sure of quick and efficient service. But that doesn’t mean that someone there wouldn’t think to let my brother know his sister had been spotted.’
With genuine concern, Acer said, ‘The files are safe, aren’t they?’
Zeynep said. ‘As safe as any safety deposit box ever is, I suppose.’
With those sobering thoughts occupying him, they walked up the steps to the coffee shop.
Because the weather was so nice, they took their hot drinks outside to sit in the sun with the smokers. Acer enjoyed a couple of mouthfuls before he took out Kemal’s mobile phone and laid it on the table between them. They stared at each other from behind their sunglasses. Acer said, ‘Shall we?’
‘Might as well get it over with.’
He picked it up and dialled.
***
52
‘Mr Sansom? Or am I talking to my sister?’
‘We’re both here. Both listening,’ said Acer.
‘I thought maybe you’d forgotten
about me, about your daughter, Mr Sansom.’
‘I haven’t. I hope you haven’t forgotten about the deal?’
‘The deal?’
‘Yes. The deal. You let Mrs Botha and all the children go. We don’t go to the media with what we have on your family connection with deep state.’
Oktay did not sound particularly worried when he said, ‘Well, of course, I’d need to see any such evidence before I could allow such a thing, Mr Sansom. I’m sure you can understand that our level of trust is at something of a low at present.’
‘No problem for us. We can even come out to see you if it’ll speed things up.’
Oktay sounded genuinely pleased at the suggestion. ‘Both of you? Excellent. It’s been a long time, sister.’
‘Believe me, brother, I wish it could be longer.’
Oktay laughed. ‘When should I expect you?’
Acer said, ‘How about this afternoon?’
‘Perfect.’
‘I’d like to speak to Mrs Botha.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be around.’
‘Now.’
‘No. Goodbye.’
Oktay terminated the call.
Acer said, ‘He doesn’t sound particularly worried, does he?’
Zeynep was absently stirring her coffee and frowning behind her sunglasses. ‘No. But that’s often his way. When he sees what we’ve got, it’ll wipe the smarmy look off his face.’
Acer inhaled and exhaled deeply and sounded troubled when he said, ‘I do hope you’re right, Zeynep. Especially as we’re about to walk voluntarily into the lion’s den with no plan B.’
They finished their drinks and headed back to the car. Acer was thinking about his daughter. They passed a toyshop and something in the window display took his attention. He told Zeynep to wait for him and he went in. When he came out he was holding a small soft toy.
