Deep State (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 4)
Page 27
He took his time. There was no rush. Hours of darkness stretched out ahead of him. The waiting of his afternoon had prepared him for this. His physical exhaustion and mental weariness had been banished with the intake of food and water and the surge of adrenalin that action had brought. He felt good. In control. More than capable. Fit for purpose, again. He always did when push came to shove. Something changed in him to make him supremely confident, to endow him with a sense of invincibility. It was a feeling he welcomed. A kind of high.
He tried some windows, but they were all shut tight. He went around to the front of the house. He tried the front door. Locked. Again, he thought of who could be home. Barış or Oktay could be inside. Perhaps both. Or they could both be off the island. Perhaps he could throw stones at the upstairs windows without fear until a friendly face peered out at him. But what then?
During his waiting, Acer had the opportunity to think of many things. Foremost in his mind was what he was there for now. Not what, who? Kaan Oktay. And what would he do with him when he found him. Reason with him? Deal with him? He’d tried that and failed and in doing so the experience had taught him one valuable lesson – Kaan Oktay did not deal with the likes of Acer. That left Acer little choice. If Kaan Oktay could not be trusted to deal then Kaan Oktay would have to be removed. Permanently. That was where they were now. This was where things had escalated to.
Acer cocked his head at a rising sound alien to the tranquil evening. He recognised the drone of the speedboat. He hurried across the drive to try to get a glimpse of it. The trees blocked his view. So he stood and listened. The note of the engine dropped to a throaty gurgle. Acer was in no doubt that someone was returning home. He looked around for a dark place to hide. A place where he could ambush the occupants of the car when they arrived home.
The part of the moon that was visible was clear and bright. The air was chilly and still. The night sky was clear, not a hint of cloud to obscure the multitude of flickering stars. Security lights illuminated the front of the building and the driveway. They would help Acer when the time came.
He heard the car coming slowly up the hill and he flexed his grip on the pistol. He could feel that his palms were sweaty. He breathed deeply and watched. The car’s headlights, weak at first and then bright, filtered through the trees, creating a stroboscopic effect. The car came onto the driveway and stopped. The engine was killed and the lights extinguished. It was parked away from the building. Acer could see only one occupant and that was Kaan Oktay. Oktay spent several long moments on his mobile phone – Acer could see the dull glow of the device against the man’s face.
He knew then what he was going to do with Oktay. The car was there. The boat was there. The sea was still there. There would be a poetic justice in it. The man had to disappear. There was no viable alternative. Sometimes bad things must be done to bad people in order that bad things can stop happening to good people. It was an extreme but sometimes necessary perspective.
Oktay finished his call, got out and shut the door. He began walking towards the house. His shoes were loud in the stillness. Acer let him get halfway and then showed himself. He walked out of the shadows of the portico with his right arm extended, the gun pointed at Oktay’s head. Kaan Oktay stopped walking. Acer had a clear view of his expression. The man was fighting his disbelief. He stared at Acer’s dirty face. Oktay’s eyes took in Acer’s clothes. Acer could see the realisation dawn for the man that this was real.
Oktay said, ‘How? I watched you go into the water.’ He did not seem frightened, just perplexed, confused.
For reply, Acer threw the craft knife down at Oktay’s feet.
The simple explanation provided Oktay instant understanding. He shook his head ruefully and let a little sound of appreciation escape him. It appeared genuine.
‘It seems that we underestimated you, Mr Sansom.’
‘You’re not the first.’
‘What do you think you’re going to do now?’
‘I think I’m going to give you the fate you offered me.’
‘No deals?’
‘I tried that.’
‘Pity. Still, as you wish, Mr Sansom. I can promise you one thing though – have it for free.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘Next time we’ll search you more thoroughly.’
‘Next time?’
Behind Acer there was the unmistakable sound of a weapon being cocked. A loud noise in the context of the evening.
Oktay said, ‘And now it seems that you underestimated me, Mr Sansom. Before you do anything hasty, might I suggest you turn your head a little to the right? Very slowly.’
Acer looked over his shoulder. Barış stood on the grass. He was pointing his pistol at Acer’s head. Acer looked at the barrel and it did not waver. His own gun arm continued to point at Oktay.
Oktay said, ‘Now you’re thinking how did he know? We always phone ahead, Mr Sansom. Just to check. Being sensible. I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t think of that for yourself.’
Acer turned his face back to Oktay and said, ‘I can still shoot you.’
‘You might be able to. And then again, you might not. Is it a chance you want to take? Bearing in mind what it will cost you?’
‘Compared with the alternative, which I didn’t much care for first time round, maybe I’ll take my chances. He won’t shoot without a signal from you. You do that and it’ll be the last thing you do. Before he pulls the trigger, you’ll be dead.’
Oktay became serious. ‘Put the gun down, Mr Sansom. Put it down and I give you my word your daughter will not suffer for your actions.’
‘How will she suffer if you’re dead? She suffers because you are alive.’
Another noise disturbed the night. The front door opened. Mrs Botha stepped out. She was wearing a silk dressing gown, hurriedly tied at her waist, nothing on her feet and a look of cold, purposeful determination on her face. She held a pistol in two hands. It was the pistol from the box Acer had brought to the island. It was pointed at Barış.
She spoke to Barış in Turkish in calm and measured tones. Barış kept his gun on Acer but his head twitched between Mrs Botha and Oktay. The uncertainty and conflict in his eyes was total. Oktay said something. There was urgency and fear in his voice. Mrs Botha spoke again. Acer could hear the tension in her. Oktay’s eyes had become wide and frightened, his show of self-confidence evaporated. Acer understood he was looking at a man who knew this was it. He became a man with everything to lose – a man who knew it.
Oktay turned and opened his mouth to scream at Barış.
Three shots fired in chorus, shattering the night’s stillness to echo out across the bay. Three little clouds of gas from the barrels of three handguns lingered in the artificial light, like three released souls. The aroma of three detonations hung in the air. Three men lay still and silent on the ground.
***
Day 8
66
First came the awareness that he was alive. Then that he could see. Then that he could hear. Then that he could smell. Then that he could feel.
Slowly he became aware of his surroundings – a large room, high ceilings, ornate cornices, neutral colours, an unusual light fitting, a ceiling-mounted fan. Fresh air blew in at the open window, billowing the thin curtains like sails. He was transported with an immediate and lucid memory back to an Army hospital ward in southern England where he had lain recovering after being gut-shot through a desk at close range.
He was aware that he was in a bed. The sheets felt cool and clean against his skin. He inhaled deeply and the stabbing pain made him wince and flinch. He exhaled and tried again more slowly. There was tightness around his chest. He lifted his hands to see if he was hooked up to anything. There were no tubes.
Something was different with his head. He touched it. Bandaging. Tight and secure. He dropped his hand onto the covers.
Movement to the side. Someone approaching. He turned his head and it hurt him. He squinted an
d focussed. Mrs Botha was at his bedside. She was staring down at him with a look of cautious optimism. ‘How do you feel? Do you know me?’
‘I know your name. You’re Mrs Botha.’
She smiled then. It was a smile tinged with relief. She said, ‘Perhaps it is time you started calling me by my first name, Acer – Elif.’
‘What happened, Elif?’
‘Don’t you remember?’ The concern was back. Her anxiety lined her face.
‘I remember everything. Up to when the world went bang and then black.’
She relaxed again and was nodding. ‘That’s understandable. Barış shot you. You fired at the same time. My brother died instantly. You were lucky, Acer.’
Crouch of MI6 called him lucky – lucky Acer.
‘How was I lucky? The pain in my chest and my head don’t feel lucky.’
‘Both could be worse. Barış shot you in the chest. The bullet hit the grip of the pistol you were wearing under your jacket. You have bruising. You may have cracked some ribs.’
Acer nodded, at his luck and her assessment of that injury. Damaged ribs is how it felt. ‘And my head?’
‘The blast knocked you off your feet, against one of the columns of the entrance. You hit your head on the corner of the granite base when you fell.’
‘What happened to Barış?’
‘Barış is dead.’
‘You shot him?’
‘He knew what he was doing and what would happen. He was loyal to my brother.’
‘I should thank you then.’
She shook her head. ‘Please don’t. I took a life. For me that is not something to celebrate. I will have to live with that knowledge until the day I die. Maybe beyond.’
‘You saved a life. Mine. Can’t I thank you for that?’
Again she shook her head. ‘My families have cost you dearly.’ She brightened a little. ‘But that is all over now.’
‘Where are the bodies? Are the police involved?’
She shook her head again. ‘It is one of the reasons you are not in a hospital bed. We Oktays have always been able to look after ourselves. Even the women. That is something my father made sure of when we were growing up.’
‘So where are they?’
‘Where do you think?’
Acer understood. He let a noise of amusement escape him. ‘Why not? It seems fitting in the circumstances – his very own deep state. Won’t your brother be missed?’
‘We will have to see what happens. For now, Zeynep and I are in charge here.’
‘Your father?’
‘Is an old and decrepit man. He has suffered with senility for years. We will look after him.’ She smiled down at Acer. To the damaged man lying in the bed, it felt like potent medicine. She said, ‘And we will look after you, too, until you feel you want to leave.’
Acer said, ‘And what if that feeling doesn’t come? I seem to remember something about a daughter.’
Mrs Botha had a hard-to-fathom look on her face. She laid a soft, cool hand on Acer’s and said, ‘Then there is plenty here to keep you occupied and entertained. I can promise you that.’
The End
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