Smoke and Mirrors (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 3)

by Oliver Tidy

She noticed the change in his expression and said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘He’s dead. I don’t know all the details, but VEVAK executed him and put the video on YouTube. I saw it.’

  ‘So they must know about you?’

  ‘They must know something. You said you intend to make as much noise about this as you can.’

  ‘Of course. Wouldn’t you? Won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What can you mean?’

  ‘Look, I know it would be the right thing for international justice. I know it’s what Hassan and Niki want. It’s why they’re doing this, but you’ve seen what VEVAK is capable of. I’ve seen what they are capable of. You think that they would just sit back and let you tell your story to the world? I think we can expect them to do everything possible to find you and silence you, even if that means in the UK. If you seek publicity you’ll be giving yourself to them on a plate.’

  ‘Surely, you’re not suggesting that I say nothing? Let them get away with it, with murder?’

  Acer sighed. ‘I don’t have the answers, Dominique. Really, I don’t. But if I were you, I would think long and hard about what I would be risking if I went public with my revelations. You’ve already lost one child and a husband.’

  A tap at the door spared them further uncomfortable discussion. Acer crossed to the door and grunted.

  ‘It’s me.’

  Acer slid back the bolt, opened the door and stood aside to let Niki in.

  ‘Anything from Hassan?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  That was bad and they all knew it.

  ‘We need to focus on our day, then,’ said Acer. ‘What time is it?’

  She checked her watch. ‘Seven.’

  ‘We need food and drink. Can you organise it to come here?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What time are we due at Bandar Abbas?’

  ‘Around noon.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I will meet my contact and see you onto the boat.’

  ‘When does it leave?’

  ‘Tonight. Nine, ten. It depends.’

  ‘How long is the crossing?’

  ‘Several hours.’

  ‘What are we supposed to do when we get to Dubai?’

  ‘Go straight to the British Embassy and identify yourselves, of course.’

  ‘And what will you do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Niki, you have to consider the possibility that Hassan has been detained. If he has, that could have implications for you.’

  She treated him to her stock angry look and said, ‘I will organise your breakfast.’ She stood and let herself out without another word.

  Acer exhaled his frustration.

  ‘What did you expect her to do?’ said Dominique.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He scratched at his scalp. ‘She’s got to think about it though.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s thinking of little else.’

  He smiled at her for that. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  Under Niki’s supervision, breakfast was delivered as far as the door. Dominique roused Zoe. Acer put up the small table and they ate together. Niki did not join them.

  The time, like the progress of the train, passed slowly. There was little for any of them to do except sit about and rest, wonder and worry.

  When the breakfast things had been cleared away, Dominique spent most of the morning with her daughter on her lap at the window, just making the most of the time they had together.

  Niki did not visit again until they were half an hour away from their destination. She came to let them know and to prepare them for what they could expect.

  ‘We must not become separated,’ she said. ‘Once we’re clear of the station we will take a taxi to meet my contact. Any questions?’

  There were none that either Dominique or Acer felt like voicing.

  ***

  23

  They rolled into Bandar Abbas a little after noon, all dressed in their costumes and on their feet, waiting anxiously for the train to stop. Niki was keen they should join the rest of the disembarking passengers and pass through the station in the throng. She was off the train quickly and organising a railway porter for their luggage.

  Acer had Zoe back in his arms as though she were still asleep. He descended the few steps onto the platform, alert for the presence of men who might be looking for them. This would be where they would be picked up if Hassan had been taken and questioned, and capitulated, or if questions had been asked at Tehran station.

  They followed their luggage and the porter out of the shade of the station to be hit by a blast of furnace-strength heat. Acer felt the perspiration pushed out through his pores. They moved to the next taxi waiting in the rank. Their things were quickly stowed. There were no angry shouts. Nobody pointed guns at them. They were not approached. They got in. The taxi pulled away. Acer cast a look out of the back window. Nothing but other taxis. He looked down to find Zoe staring up at him from where she was sitting on her mother’s lap. He smiled at her. It was not returned.

  The driver listened to Niki’s rush of instructions, nodded once and said nothing more.

  The view had not changed much – dry, barren land everywhere interspersed with concrete buildings and concrete walls. Acer believed it must be like living on the moon with an atmosphere.

  It was not a long drive into the main residential area of the town, which they had to pass through to get to the port. The outlook changed only in so far as there was now more concrete in evidence than sand. There were even some trees, although few of them looked as though they were thriving in the climate.

  The glittering expanse of the Strait of Hormuz at the end of the road was a sudden and welcome sight, something to lift the spirit of the ex-soldier who had come to cherish the sea, any sea, as much as he valued anything in his empty life. He nudged Dominique and the smile crinkled her eyes behind the niqab. She turned Zoe to see. Acer watched her closely for a reaction, momentarily worried whether the water that stretched out before them might trigger some horrible memory for the girl, some locked down, repressed horror, but there was nothing – she remained impassive although her stare was nailed to the view.

  Where the highway almost met the sea the taxi turned right. A couple of hundred metres and Niki issued another instruction. The taxi turned right again, into a street lined on either side with houses. They pulled up outside one of them and Niki indicated they should get out.

  As they did this a middle-aged woman hurried out from the nearest house to greet them. Niki embraced the woman warmly. They spoke seriously for a minute and Acer guessed that Niki was explaining why there was no Hassan.

  ‘We will wait here until it is time to board your boat,’ she said.

  Dominique took Zoe. Acer and Niki carried the luggage. They followed the woman up the short path and into her home. This was more humble than the grand villa they had stopped at in Tehran. It was also more homely, more lived in, more comfortable.

  There did not appear to be anyone else in the house. Dominique and Acer smiled and mumbled their thanks to the woman. Niki did not introduce them to their host and this did not seem rude to anyone. The woman immediately provided a tray of cold drinks, glasses of lemon-flavoured water with dozens of tiny grey seeds floating in it, and such was its refreshing and delicious quality that all, except Zoe, accepted refills.

  Niki said, ‘I am going to find my contact. You will wait for me here. She is preparing you food.’

  ‘What time will we be leaving?’ said Acer.

  ‘A few hours.’

  When she’d left the room Acer turned to Dominique. Frustration and exasperation were etched into his features. He blew out his cheeks and slumped down into a vacant chair, ‘Best make ourselves comfortable, then.’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ said Dominique.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Petulant. It doesn’t suit you.’ She smiled at him.

 
He snorted. ‘I just wish she’d be a bit more open about things, especially as we’re here. What harm can it do now to be straight with us about what’s to come?’

  ‘It’s the way she is, the way she has to be. And don’t forget her brother is still unaccounted for.’

  ‘I know.’ He rubbed at his unshaven face. ‘It’s all this sitting around, hanging about. Drives me mad.’

  ‘So you’re not a man of inaction then?’

  Despite his irritation, he let a noise of amusement escape him. ‘No, I suppose I’m not.’

  ‘Well I, for one, am glad that there has been no action. And I will be very happy if it remains that way until we are banging on the gates of the British Embassy in Dubai.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Far better for us that things are going well than the opposite.’

  Acer found himself looking at Zoe. She was staring fiercely straight back at him. He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

  Nothing.

  He felt a bit stupid for it. If her mother hadn’t been there he might have allowed himself to be more ridiculous in his desire to provoke a reaction from her.

  ‘Where did you live in the UK?’ he said.

  ‘London. We have a house in Ealing. Or will that now be ‘had’?’

  ‘Did you own it?’

  She shook her head. ‘Mortgage.’

  ‘Prepare yourself for the worst then. When I got back everything had gone through probate. There was nothing left except a box of sentimental treasures my father-in-law had rescued when the vultures moved in. They thought we were all dead. Life goes on for everyone else. Have you got family?’

  ‘My mother and father are still alive. They live in Provence.’

  ‘Old?’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Be careful how you break the news of your resurrection.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I will. I’ve been thinking that Zoe and I might go and live there.’

  ‘A good idea. In the meantime, you’re both welcome to stay with me for as long as you like. I’ve got a big old place in London now that I rattle around in. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but it’s a roof and there’s hot water.’

  Dominique’s eyes moistened. She pressed her lips together tightly before saying, ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’

  The food was brought through to them on two trays accompanied by small glasses of black tea. Again it was a small feast of delicious, filling traditional cuisine. As with their previous meals, Dominique and Acer ate enthusiastically while Zoe grazed.

  To pass the time Dominique asked him about Jackson Island, about how he survived and how he filled his time. He’d already told it more times than he cared to but he noticed Zoe on her mother’s lap, staring at him intently and so he told it again – the PG version.

  ***

  24

  ‘We have arrived,’ said Niki.

  ‘You are at the house?’ said Hassan.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Be careful, my sister. You are leaving the protection of Iran. We have friends but they are not the law in these places.’

  ‘I understand, Hassan. I know what is to be done.’

  ‘They accepted my disappearance?’

  ‘They do not suspect. They are too wrapped up in themselves. I told them what we discussed. They worry only for themselves. They will not be a problem for us.’

  ‘It is up to you now. If you cannot convince him to take you with him it will all have been for nothing.’

  ‘The woman will be my ally. She will speak up for me. For all we have done for her and her child she will not let him leave me behind. These people are sentimental. It is part of their inferiority.’

  ‘Things are set across the water. They are ready for you. Remember, Niki. These are our friends. No casualties.’

  ‘I only hit what I aim for.’

  ***

  25

  By the time Niki returned, dusk was well advanced. She came into the room looking tired and drawn. From her bearing, Acer expected she brought bad news.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I had a phone call. Hassan has disappeared.’

  Acer wanted to ask about their boat out of Iran but bit his tongue.

  As if reading his thoughts, she said, ‘The boat is ready. When it is dark we will leave. I need to speak with you. Alone.’

  Acer looked at Dominique, raised his eyebrows, then stood and followed Niki out of the room. They were in the little, dimly-lit kitchen. There was no sign of their hostess.

  ‘I want to come with you. Will your country let me in?’

  This was a shock. ‘I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘If they will not then I can’t risk coming. I would get deported straight back to Iran and straight into the hands of VEVAK.’

  ‘I mean why do you want to come to England? What’s happened, Niki?’

  ‘VEVAK are rounding people up. If I go back and they learn where I’ve been – maybe they already know – then I’m finished. I know things about this regime that your government would be very interested in – things about their uranium enrichment programme. I could be useful to them.’

  She was almost pleading and Acer felt distinctly uncomfortable. He stared hard at her. ‘I can’t guarantee it. I can’t promise that they’ll let you in. But I can promise you this: I will do everything I can to make it happen. I have a powerful friend and you have risked your life to help get British nationals out of Iran. I will speak up for you.’

  She sighed. ‘Then that will have to do. Thank you.’ She cast her eyes down.

  ‘I’m sorry for Hassan. I hope he will be all right.’

  She showed no emotion for her brother’s fate.

  ***

  26

  They were collected at the house under cover of darkness. A battered four-wheel-drive vehicle with dry brakes squealed to a halt, letting them know their lift had arrived. The woman of the house kept out of their way. They all piled in. The heavy, matching ‘luggage’ they had travelled from Tehran with stayed at the house. The woman provided a bag of food for their onward journey and Niki had her backpack.

  The inside of the vehicle’s cab stank of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. It was a short drive down to the main coast road and then a few hundred metres along into the port.

  There were floodlights. Acer feared that they might have to worm their way past security but there was nothing. He wanted to ask about it but felt it best to observe the no-speaking policy. It would keep.

  They continued along a single lane concrete strip. All along old wooden craft were moored side-on to the jetty, sometimes three across. Under the harsh overhead lights, Acer could see that each craft was different in design and construction, heavily personalised. Most were laden down with goods so that they seemed dangerously low in the water. They looked overburdened. They looked from a bygone era. The one thing they didn’t look was seaworthy.

  Their driver pulled up alongside a particularly aged looking vessel. Its paint was peeling, the small deck was a mass of cardboard boxes. There was laundry hanging on a makeshift line. He grunted something to Niki, got out of the vehicle and went aboard.

  ‘Tell me we’re not going to try and cross the Strait of Hormuz in one of these old tubs,’ said Acer, without a hint of humour.

  Without turning in her front seat to answer him, Niki said, ‘They do it all the time.’

  ‘What? Are you serious, Niki? These boats can’t hope to outrun anything.’

  ‘Why would they need to outrun anything?’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but are there not trade sanctions in place for Iran? Surely all water traffic between the UAE and Iran is stopped and investigated.’

  ‘How did you think we were getting across? Submarine?’

  ‘Passenger ferry, actually.’

  Niki l
et a small ironic laugh escape her. ‘We have good friends but that would need official documentation we cannot get at such short notice. Every day tens of these kashtis – ‘old tubs’ as you call them – cross the sea, back and forth bringing all sorts of goods from the UAE to Iran and back again. It is no secret and no one, other than the Americans, is doing anything to put a stop to it. Too many people make too much money out of it. Too many people rely on these boats to supply Iran with the goods, foods and medicines it needs.’

  ‘But surely there are customs and inspections. It can’t be that easy to smuggle people into the country. Won’t we need paperwork?’

  Niki unzipped the backpack on her lap, reached in and withdrew a thick wad of large denomination American currency, like someone revealing an unbeatable hand at a high-stakes poker game. ‘Our paperwork for this trip is universal and in order.’

  The man returned and gestured for them to follow him. He led them down a short ramp and over to the most decrepit craft in the row. Up close, Acer suddenly had a bigger worry than getting picked up by coastguard or Iranian patrols or UAE excise men. To Niki, he said, ‘Ask him where he keeps the life raft and life jackets.’

  She gave him her blank look and stepped over the railing onto the cluttered wooden deck.

  The four of them went aboard and were shown to the skipper’s cabin. It was a tight, stuffy, smelly little space lit by a single bare bulb fixed to a ceiling so low that Acer had to stoop. There was a grubby bed and one hard wooden chair. The little window was thrown wide open but it didn’t help much. They arranged themselves.

  Acer’s joy at being on the water was overshadowed by the cramped conditions of the rotting hulk. He said, ‘Let’s hope the weather’s kind to us.’

  Acer wanted to go on to the deck but Niki told him they should all stay in the cabin until they were well away from the shore.

  Dominique and her daughter ended up occupying the bed, Niki took the chair and Acer found a corner to wedge himself into.

  They did not have to wait long to feel the gutsy throb of the big diesel engine reverberating under them. Acer paid it close attention, listening for irregularity or stuttering. It ticked over with the precision of a concert pianist’s metronome. And then they were underway. The pitch and intensity of the engine rose in tune with the unmistakeable motion of a craft free of its moorings, ploughing through the sea and heading into open water.