by Oliver Tidy
Acer had been looking for an excuse to remove the files from the box, to empty it so that no one else would need to touch it, to lift the lid and then maybe realise that even with its crudely fixed foam padding it was rather heavy. He leant down, took the lid off, laid that on the floor, picked up the files and placed them on the desktop. He then replaced the lid of the box. He said, ‘There you go.’
Oktay treated Acer to a rather unfriendly, disdainful look. ‘Where did you get it all?’
Zeynep said, ‘Syria.’
He looked between them to see if she was joking. ‘You travelled to Syria?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where in Syria?’
‘Aleppo.’
‘Aleppo? That must have been very dangerous?’
‘It was. But worth it. I think you’ll see that for yourself.’
‘You found her, then?’
‘Yes,’ lied Zeynep. ‘And she gave us everything.’
‘I suppose I should congratulate you. You seem to have, what is it you English say, Mr Sansom, pulled it off?’
Zeynep said, ‘What you could do is hurry up and look at this stuff so that we can leave with our loved ones.’
‘Let me just be clear on something: your demands. You have this documentation that you believe will destroy me and the family if it becomes known. Correct?’ Zeynep nodded. ‘And the deal you are offering me is that if I let our sister and all the children go and then make assurances never to bother any of you ever again, you will keep my secrets?’
‘Yes,’ said Zeynep. ‘It’s that simple. We just want to be left alone. Anything happens to either or both of us, a third party will release to the world’s media every piece of evidence we have that implicates you in deep state and the activities you have been directly involved in. You might be able to silence the Turkish press, but you wouldn’t be able to silence the British press.’
Oktay looked serious. ‘I see. Thank you for making it so clear. In the meantime, why don’t you make yourselves at home? This is still your family home after all, sister. And you, Mr Sansom, despite my sadness at your betrayal of my trust, must consider yourself our guest.’
Acer bit back the comment that he had never trusted Oktay, that he couldn’t on principle trust a man who kidnapped and held for ransom another man’s child until that man had murdered his sister for him.
Oktay said, ‘Barış will look after you.’ He pulled the files across the desk and opened the top one.
Zeynep stood. Acer picked up the box and stood next to her. Oktay looked up and directly at the box. ‘What have you got in there, Mr Sansom?’
‘A toy. For my daughter.’
Oktay laughed. There was something mocking in it. He spoke in Turkish to Barış. Barış answered. Oktay said, ‘Let me see it.’
Acer put the box back down on the floor, out of view, lifted the lid and laid it on the floor, top side up, picked out the cuddly toy and handed it across. Oktay squeezed it and turned it around in his soft hands. He handed it back. Acer put it in the box, picked the box up again and followed the other two out of the room. He felt the sweat sticking the shirt to his back.
The men were standing quietly in the corridor. As a group they continued along it until they reached another handsome door. Barış did not knock. He opened it and stood back to allow Zeynep and Acer to go in first. He stepped in after them, closed the door and stood in front of it.
***
55
It was a big, comfortable lounge. Light from sea-facing picture windows flooded the room, which, on first glance, was characterised by informality. It was a room that looked to be enjoyed regularly as a family space. There was colour, comfort and controlled chaos.
Mrs Botha was sitting on the floor with Pearl. They were doing a chunky wooden jigsaw. Mrs Botha turned at their entrance and her face lit up with pleasure. She scrambled to her feet and rushed across the expanse of Ottoman rug to embrace her sister. As they clung to each other, weeping noisily and talking over each other in Turkish, Acer looked down at his daughter. She was staring at where her mother was hugging a strange woman. Then she switched her attention to Acer. He saw recognition in her face and her eyes. For a fleeting moment he saw something of his dead wife there, too.
Pearl studied him intensely for a long moment. He smiled at her. It was not returned. She turned her attention back to the puzzle. Sensing an opportunity, Acer put down the box and went across to sit on the rug next to her. She ignored him, pointedly it seemed. He handed her a piece of the puzzle and she took it without looking at him or saying anything. He watched her pudgy little hands fumble with fitting the piece into place. He saw the determination on her face. He caught the smell of her. Again he felt his eyes well with tears of pride, of joy, of hope and love.
He noticed that the women were quiet. He turned his face to them. They were holding hands and looking at him on the carpet with his daughter, being a dad. He saw his emotion reflected in their expressions.
Acer began to stand and Mrs Botha waved him to stay where he was. She and Zeynep sunk into a wide and deep sofa.
Mrs Botha said, ‘She remembers you, Mr Sansom. And she likes you.’
‘Call me Acer and how do you know?’
‘Because she’s not complaining.’
Acer said, ‘I bought her something. He leaned over and pulled the box towards him. He took out the giraffe and waggled it in front of the girl. It got her attention. She reached for it. He gave it to her. She studied it and said, ‘Zurafa.’
Mrs Botha clapped and praised her. Then she spoke seriously to the girl. Pearl looked at Acer’s face and said, ‘Thank you.’
He swallowed, smiled and said, ‘You’re welcome.’
Pearl stood the toy on its legs next to her and went back to the jigsaw.
Acer put the lid back on the box and pushed it under a chair.
Mrs Botha said, ‘Do you really think he’ll let us all go?’
Zeynep said, ‘We have to hope he will.’
Mrs Botha was shaking her head. ‘He never loses. Ever. He never gives in to threats. His way is to fight back. Always.’
Acer said, ‘Then why would he have us come here to negotiate?’
The look on Mrs Botha’s face answered that.
Zeynep said, ‘You don’t know what we found. We’ve put measures in place. If he still wants to kill us he’ll be killing himself, destroying everything. Only a fool would risk that, suffer that when the alternative is so simple and painless.’
Acer said, ‘You know my philosophy, Zeynep: hope for the best. . .’
‘Plan for the worst,’ she said.
‘Right.’
Without looking at Barış, Acer said, ‘Does he understand any English?
Mrs Botha said, ‘No. Nothing.’
To both of them, Acer said, ‘The underside of the lid of the box. There is a foam panel. Behind the duct tape stretched across it is a cut-out in the foam. In the cut-out is the gun I took from the policeman in Istanbul. Know that it’s there. We might need it.’
‘You can’t think that you could shoot your way out of here,’ said Mrs Botha.
‘We haven’t come all this way, been through all we’ve been through, not to succeed. That sounds dramatic, I know, but having met my daughter again, I’ll try anything, risk everything, to be back in her life. For me, the alternative to that doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Even if the alternative is death?’
‘Let’s be honest. As soon as we stepped foot back on this island, with or without a gun, that scenario became a real option for us. So what we have to do is fight with everything we have to avoid it.’
They would have continued their conversation but there was a tap at the door. Barış opened it, spoke to someone and then spoke to the room in Turkish.
Zeynep said, ‘He wants to see us again.’
***
56
They were back in the same chairs in Oktay’s study. Barış stood just inside the door. His p
osition in life, it seemed.
Acer was anxious: sweating, pulse-rate up, breathing shallow and fast. He stole a look at Zeynep. She was staring with undisguised antipathy at the top of her brother’s head as he bent over the document he was studying.
Oktay looked up, sat back, sighed heavily and linked his hands once more on the desktop. His face was a mask of serious contemplation. He was not looking at them. He seemed almost unaware of their presence as he stared out of the window that looked out over the well-kept garden.
The silence was broken by a knock at the door. Barış answered it, had a brief conversation, then closed the door and nodded once to Oktay.
Kaan Oktay brightened visibly, adding to Acer’s concerns. He said, ‘I must compliment you both on your endeavours. This is indeed damning and irrefutable evidence, more than enough to ruin me and many, many other highly influential people. I should thank you for getting it and bringing it to me. In the wrong hands. . .’ He blew his cheeks out.
Zeynep said, ‘So? You are prepared to deal? To meet our demands for our silence?’
Oktay held up one finger and frowned slightly. ‘All in good time, sister. Before we talk about that, let’s go back to talking about how stupid you are.’ He nodded at Barış. Barış opened the door and the gorilla walked in. He was carrying two plastic boxes: one green, one yellow. They matched perfectly the blue box Acer had left in the room down the hall. The man walked around and put the boxes on the desktop. He stayed in the room, taking up a position behind Acer.
Acer closed his eyes briefly. He felt his stomach lurch, his mouth turn dry and his palms become clammy.
Oktay smiled. ‘I see that you both recognise these. That’ll save some awkward explanations. Awkward for you. Apparently, you would be stupid enough to lodge the originals with the family bank, wouldn’t you? And then, lacking a certain care and imagination, if you don’t mind my being critical, you drive down the road and deposit the only other copies for delivery to the UK. I repeat: careless and unimaginative, given my connections. You think the bank wouldn’t call me the moment you showed up there? You think I wouldn’t have you followed everywhere you went after that?’ Oktay shook his head and looked disappointed. ‘All you have done, you stupid people, is to risk your lives to bring me something I am very grateful to have in my possession. Something I have feared falling into the hands of others. Something I can now use in the same way that you wanted to use it against me. Thank you.’ Oktay could not, it seemed, prevent the humour he saw in the situation from erupting out of him in a little snigger.
Oktay nodded at Barış. Behind them, Barış took out his pistol and pointed it at them. He opened the door and two other men came in. Both Acer and Zeynep were gripped by strong hands. Their arms were forced behind them; cable ties were snapped around their wrists and pulled painfully tight.
Oktay said, ‘Mr Sansom, I seem to remember promising you a certain fishy fate if you disappointed me. And you have. Very much so. On top of everything, Kemal was family. I think I told you about how we deal with people who rob us of a valued family member. I always deliver on my promises.’ He turned to Zeynep and said, ‘As for you, sister . . . ’ he spat the word out, ‘ . . . you have cost me time and money and men and embarrassment. Expect no favours.’ He spoke in Turkish to Barış.
Zeynep said, ‘You think these are the only copies we made?’ She forced herself to laugh at him. ‘Who’s guilty of stupid thinking now, brother. Have you never heard of electronic files? The computer age? Scanning documents and saving them onto a memory stick, something the size of your little finger that can be mailed anywhere in the world. Call it extra insurance.’
Oktay stared hard at her for several quiet seconds. He said, ‘I think you are lying. But I am in no particular rush to get rid of you. You’ll tell me the truth. Eventually. You’ll tell me anything I want to know. And, perhaps, a quick drowning would be too good for all the trouble you’ve caused me, the shame you’ve brought on our family and the anguish you’ve caused our father.’
He nodded again to Barış. Acer and Zeynep were dragged roughly to their feet and marched out of the room.
***
57
The gorilla and the driver walked on either side of Acer holding an arm each. He looked over his shoulder to see Zeynep being taken in the opposite direction. He was led out of the house, down the steps and across the paved driveway to the car. They put him in the back and slammed the door. Barış spoke briefly with the two men and then turned back to the house without a glance at Acer. The two men got in the front.
They drove down the hill to the sea without speaking. Acer fumbled with slowly numbing fingers at the inside of his belt where it touched his spine. He felt the creased duct tape and the lump of the disposable craft knife behind it. As he picked at the sticky tape trying to find an edge, he was thinking of Oktay’s comment about a quick drowning. Oktay had made no secret of the fact that his family shared the Italian Mafia’s fondness for sending its enemies to the bottom of the sea. There were few better and easier ways to dispose of a body, dead or alive, without fuss or mess or likelihood of it ever being discovered. If it was effectively weighted when it went over the side.
The awareness of where he was heading gave him cause for valid panic – and despite his resolve, the closer they got to the water, the harder it was for him to remain calm. He focussed on his breathing, trying to get it deep and even and regular. Much as Acer loved the sea, there were things about it that had always terrified him. Chief among these was drowning.
Before they arrived at the shore Acer had teased a corner of the tape free. He had managed to peel it back so that he was able to feel the cheap plastic shaft of the craft knife. That was as far as he dared go, knowing that they would soon be stopping and that he would then almost certainly be led by the arms again to the little speedboat.
Acer cooperated. He offered no resistance as they took him out of the car and led him along the wooden jetty. He did not want to give them an excuse to hit him, perhaps knock him unconscious, dull his senses, or injure his body. With what was coming, he would need sharp wits, a clear mind and perfect physical health to stand only a slim chance of beating the odds that would be heavily stacked against him. He understood that his best chance of survival, of escape, was to give them no trouble in the hope that they would not feel the need to do anything more than follow orders.
He was helped over the side of the boat and pointed to a seat at the back. The two men boarded and came towards him. The gorilla took out his gun and pointed it at Acer’s knee. He was smiling. His meaning seemed clear. The other man got down and worked to secure a small anchor to Acer’s ankles. If they were concerned that he might be tempted to kick out, to thrash uncooperatively in blind panic, he disappointed them. While the man fumbled with the rope and a knot, Acer paid close attention. What he learned might save his life.
When it was done to the man’s satisfaction, the two of them went to the front of the boat. The gorilla took the wheel and started the engines while the driver settled himself in the front passenger seat. As soon as the engine started up, Acer got to work on removing the craft knife from inside his belt and then using it to cut through the cable tie that bound his wrists. Acer was through the thin plastic before they were out of the little harbour. He angled his body to drop the cable tie over the side.
He understood he had two choices. He could wait until they stopped at a place to put him over the side and then, when one or both of them came back to see to him, he could use the craft knife to slash at the nearest throat. He might get lucky with his first swing. He might not. He might not be close enough to the second man to get to him before he got to his gun, especially as Acer had a few kilograms of galvanised steel anchor tied to his ankles.
His only other option was to let them put him over the side and take his chances with the knife and the rope that bound his ankles.
If he chose to attack, to resist and to somehow defeat both of the men, then it w
ouldn’t be long before all those back on Heybeliada realised that his execution had not gone to plan. When the boat and the men did not return, it would lead those remaining to make decisions that would make his return to the island that much more difficult. And that is what he intended to do: live through this episode and return to Heybeliada, bringing the violence he had not wanted to happen.
Despite the risk and the terror of going into the sea with an anchor tied around his ankles – having no perfect understanding of how quickly he would sink and how soon the rapidly increasing depth of cold, dark water would impact on his body and his ability to free himself – he chose the latter course of action. As he prepared himself mentally and physically for it, his thoughts centred on the things that could go wrong: he could drop the knife, the knife could break, the speed of his sinking could dull his senses too quickly to enable him to cut himself free. He closed his eyes and concentrated on getting his breathing under control, imagining himself through the process of freeing himself in those first vital seconds of immersion.
*
The men’s instructions had been clear; take Acer far enough away from the island so that they couldn’t be seen by casual, inquisitive eyes from the shore, but not so far that anyone watching from the large lounge windows of the Oktay property couldn’t see what was happening. Kaan Oktay had Zeynep and Mrs Botha brought to where he stood at the window with a flute of champagne in his hand. The ice bucket with the bottle in it was close by. There were no glasses other than his. Zeynep’s wrists were still bound behind her. Oktay saw no reason to have Mrs Botha’s tied. In all the time she had been there, she had shown no inclination for a fight.
‘Just in time,’ he said. ‘A little reminder for you both, for different reasons, of course.’ He gestured with the champagne glass in the direction of the speedboat. ‘There goes your hero, your knight in shining armour. Another idiot who underestimated me and is about to pay the ultimate price.’
