An Aegean April

by Jeffrey Siger

  That suited Aryan just fine. He sat in the back, grilling Tomislav for his views on the men likely to be at the site. He wasn’t interested in the twelve leaders; he’d received information on them from Malik. He wanted to know about the muscle that would be with them. Tomislav only knew some of the men, but of those he did, few were seasoned professionals. Most were relatives paid to look tough and deal with problems in packs.

  About twenty kilometers east of Bergama, they turned south off the highway onto a flat, treeless dirt road aimed straight at the distant mountains. Two kilometers later they turned east onto a rutted dirt road, toward a large open section of brown fallow farmland a kilometer ahead, bounded on the north and south by struggling olive groves. The other side had chosen wisely. Cluster bombs could go off here without attracting attention.

  Dust hung in the air above the road as Malik’s Range Rover closed in on the site. Aryan saw two SUVs ahead of them also heading east, and seven vehicles parked nose-to-butt in semi-circular fashion in front of the olive grove to the south.

  Aryan twisted to look out the rear window. Out of the approaching evening redness in the western sky, three black SUVs hurried along behind them. Good, he thought. Everyone wants to be on time.

  “When we get to the field, park inside the semi-circle with your nose pointed at the vehicle in the middle of the line.”

  “I don’t like this,” said Malik.

  “I didn’t expect you to,” said Aryan. “Just remember, do exactly as I told you, precisely when I told you to do it, and everything will work out fine. Otherwise you’ll die, if not by them, by me.”

  As they pulled off the road into the field, headed toward the line of vehicles, a group of men chatting next to one of the vehicles broke up and spread out along the line, each man’s eyes fixed on the Range Rover. None showed visible weapons, but each wore a long coat, likely concealing more than enough firepower to take out the Range Rover and everyone in it. Another row of men stood partially concealed behind the hoods of the vehicles. They, too, showed no visible weapons, but likely had automatic weapons, if not RPG launchers, at their feet.

  Once the Range Rover stopped, Aryan told Malik and Tomislav to prepare. He watched as the twelfth vehicle arrived and took up its place in the semi-circle.

  “Okay, Malik, you’re on.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “You should be. Now, just do as I told you.”

  “I can’t.”

  Aryan leaned forward.

  Malik braced as if expecting a sword across his throat.

  “Yes, you can.” Aryan patted him on the shoulder. “It’s your time to shine.”

  Malik looked as if he might hyperventilate.

  Aryan nodded to Tomislav, who leaned across the front seat and opened Malik’s door.

  The moment the door opened, some of the men standing in the front row swung open their coats and gripped AK-47s.

  The scent of manure drifted through the Range Rover. Tomislav pushed Malik out the door.

  Malik struggled to keep his footing on the uneven ground and raise his hands above his head at the same time. “I come in peace. I have no weapons.”

  “Walk toward me,” said a young, swarthy man in a red beret.

  “Not until everyone is out of their vehicles,” Malik answered.

  The man in the red beret raised his voice. “I said walk toward me.”

  Malik started, then stopped. Aryan had told him that if he didn’t stay where he was he was a dead man. “I can’t.”

  Red Beret lifted his rifle and sprayed a quick burst at Malik’s feet. Malik cringed, but did not move. “Is this how your bosses honor their commitments to meet in peace?”

  “Shut up and do as I say,” said Red Beret.

  “I cannot.”

  A door opened in the vehicle behind Red Beret and a portly, middle-aged man in a tailored business suit stepped out. “That will be enough of that,” he said to Red Beret. “Malik, I see you have gained some admirable courage.”

  “It comes with the confidence of my convictions that I did nothing wrong, and that you will agree once we have the chance to talk.”

  “Liar,” yelled Red Beret.

  “Silence,” said portly man. He turned to Malik. “I apologize for his temper, but he is the only son of your recently departed cousin who would come to listen. The other two refused.”

  Malik nodded. “Yes, it is understandable how they feel. I just hope that they are willing to listen to the truth.”

  “The truth! The truth is you murdered my father.” Red Beret again raised his rifle, but before he could train it on Malik, a man in army fatigues standing next to him tripped him to the ground and disarmed him.

  Portly Man shook his head. “I was afraid that might happen, so I took certain precautions to see that he be kept under control. I hope you’ll take that as a sign of our good faith.”

  Malik nodded. “Thank you.”

  Eleven other doors opened and soon twelve men stood together across from Malik.

  The passenger doors to the Range Rover opened and Aryan and Tomislav stepped out, each in car coats, with hands raised above their heads. They took up positions ten meters to either side of Malik, facing the vehicles.

  “You betrayed my father,” Red Beret yelled at Tomislav from the ground.

  “No,” said Malik. “That’s not what happened. Your father called a meeting in peace, but then tried to assassinate us. It was only after the attempt failed––”

  “Liar, you’re––”

  “I told you to be silent,” said Portly Man. He nodded at the man who’d disarmed Red Beret. “Put him in the backseat, and if he won’t shut up, gag him.” He drew in and let out a deep breath.

  “What is it you wish to tell us, Malik, that brings us out to this god-forsaken place? I trust you understand that although I disapprove of our young colleague’s lack of restraint, I share his desire to take revenge on you for the death of his father. All three of you will die here today if you cannot convince us why you should live. And you better do so quickly, for we’re all of one mind on that.”

  The other eleven men nodded.

  All stood silent. Not a bird, not a dog, not a cricket to be heard.

  Malik’s knees appeared to buckle.

  “Bravo, bravo,” said Aryan. “I love a man who tells the truth up front. It makes discussion all the more pertinent and to the point.”

  “And you, I assume, are the assassin Malik recruited for that bit of work on Lesvos.”

  “Actually, we’re partners. Right, Malik?”

  Malik bit at his lip. “Yes.”

  “Equal partners in all things,” said Aryan.

  Portly man smiled. “Then you shall be equal partners in death.”

  “You are so insightful,” said Aryan. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Well, mine are slightly different. I’d phrase it as, ‘If things don’t work out here today, we’ll all be equal partners in death.’”

  Portly Man smirked. “One word from me and the three of you will instantly die where you’re standing.” The men in front of the vehicles swung their automatic weapons up from beneath their coats and took aim at the three facing them. The men on the other side of the vehicles did the same.

  “Nicely choreographed move,” said Aryan. “But before you get any more carried away with the theatrics, permit me to suggest one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have your men frisk us. But please tell them to be careful. We wouldn’t want any accidents before we’ve at least had the chance to talk.”

  Portly Man hesitated for a moment, then nodded for three men to do as Aryan had suggested.

  Beneath their coats, Aryan, Malik, and Tomislav wore vests composed of C-4 and thousands of ball bearings, and each held a small triggering device in the palm of t
heir right hand.

  “As you may already know, they’re called suicide vests,” said Aryan to the group, “and what we’re each holding is a dead-man trigger. Meaning, if you should follow up on your threat, we’re all going off together.”

  Some men started to move away.

  “Uh-uh, don’t move or else I might just let go.” Aryan opened his hand to show the trigger. “And for those of you thinking I wouldn’t dare commit suicide, think again. You just told me we’re dead men. So my current motto is, the more the merrier.”

  Portly Man reached for a handkerchief and patted at his forehead. “Okay, what is it you want to tell us?”

  “First of all, have your men on the other side of the vehicles join us.”

  A few hesitated to leave the security of engine blocks between them and the suicide vests, but ultimately did as Aryan asked when ordered by Portly Man.

  “Now that we understand we’re all in this together, I assume no one objects to us lowering our arms.” He and the other two dropped their arms to their sides. “If you don’t mind, we’ll keep the vests on, even though they’re quite heavy.”

  He paused. “That was a joke.”

  Portly Man was perspiring freely now.

  “Okay, let’s start off with something that’s unconvertible about what happened this morning. We arrived at the meeting unarmed. If you won’t take Tomislav’s word on that, or somehow think your ex-boss wouldn’t have frisked us—especially considering what he had in mind for us––what can I say except, look how everything turned out?

  “I’m sure you know by now that your boss came into the meeting intent on killing Malik and me for that ‘bit of work on Lesvos’, as you put it,” he said, staring at Portly Man.

  “I should say for the record that I did that bit of work on Lesvos for him. We all know your boss gave the go-ahead for that job, yes?” Aryan waited until the men in the other group nodded. “No matter, he called the meeting because he was angry at a news story coming out of Lesvos where some NGO woman close to the man I eliminated on his orders, claimed that the head of refugee-smuggling operations lived in Izmir.

  “I told him she was guessing and had no name to tell. He wouldn’t listen to reason. He’d made up his mind that someone had screwed up, and his delicate ego couldn’t tolerate the possibility he might be wrong. He felt so offended by my insisting he had nothing to worry about, that he wouldn’t even give us the time to explain the idea Malik and I had for him.”

  “What idea?” said Portly Man.

  “A method for transforming your refugee trafficking from a business that has the world labeling you as perpetrators of crimes against humanity into one that brings honor to you. All without sacrificing profitability in any meaningful way.”

  Aryan paused. “But I digress. You want to know what happened in that office. Simply this. Your big boss made the same mistake so many have made. He thought he could treat me as he did anyone else who offended him, order someone to get rid of me. Surprise. I’m not like everyone else, and when he told two men to kill me, I used a weapon mounted on his own conference room wall to defend myself. I did precisely what any of you would have done. No more, no less.”

  “Okay,” said a slim man in a khaki suit who looked as if he’d be more comfortable in a military uniform. “Assuming we believe your self-defense story, what’s your grand plan for making us all heroes and rich at the same time?”

  “Ah, a man who gets right down to business. I like that.”

  Aryan began pacing as if in a theater-in-the-round. “All of you are involved in a business directly responsible for the death of masses of innocent people every day, many of them children. You supply them with boats, life jackets, and GPS equipment that fail and cost lives. You make martyrs of those who oppose you, even inspire talk of resurrecting the death sentence to punish your actions.

  “All that grief you bring down upon yourselves, despite being in bed with some of the most influential political powers in governments all along your refugee routes. Why? Because your business plan is so abhorrent to their constituencies that even your protectors dare not risk being linked to you in any way. They are the first to find a sacrificial lamb among you when they think it necessary to prove that they are not allied with you. Who among you will be the next sacrifice?”

  “Okay, we get that,” said Portly Man. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  Aryan sighed. “It’s all so very simple that I’m afraid you’ll be reluctant to give me the credit I deserve for my brilliant idea. So, before I tell you, does anyone have any idea of what I’m about to suggest?”

  Silence.

  He stared up and down the line. “Oh, come on, you’re all in the same business and can’t even venture a guess on a better way to do things?”

  More silence.

  “Okay, here it is, but don’t any of you claim you already thought of it.” He cleared his throat. “Go legit.”

  “What?” said Portly Man.

  “Okay, not completely legitimate, but at least with a keen eye to what plays out best in public relations.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Aryan paced back and forth more quickly, looking at the ground and wildly waving the hand holding the trigger. Some men flinched. “What I mean is this. Stop sending the refugees out in death trap boats, stop selling them life jackets that sink, start handing them boxed lunches when you put them in a boat, even give them Dramamine if they want. You get the idea?”

  “Are you crazy?” said the slim man.

  “Like a fox,” said a well-dressed young man with dark hair. “The lunch costs us half a euro, the Dramamine less, and I’m sure we can work out something with the Greeks to get the better boats back to re-use. Same thing with the life vests. Europe uses the way we treat our inventory as its basis for convincing the world to shut us down. It’s not the fee-gouging or even stories about those who disappear along the way into sex and labor work that get serious attention anymore. The media’s numb to all that. What galvanizes people are pictures of dead children on beaches, overcrowded boats sinking in the water, and masses of floating bodies.”

  Aryan nodded for the young man to continue.

  “If we could pull off what he suggests, just make those few changes in the areas of greatest press attention, it could do wonders for our image. It might even gain us allies among some of those NGOs trying to get refugees out of Turkey and into Europe. I bet with the right image we could work out a deal to use our boats to get refugees from our launch points in Turkey transferred mid-sea to their boats for the rest of the trip, and still make our full fee off the refugees. We could ride on their claims that Europe is anti-refugee, and portray ourselves as good guys simply trying to help the suffering ones reach their promised land.”

  “You make some very good points,” said Aryan. “To which I’d like to add that the media is full of reports decrying how horribly Greece and the rest of the EU treat your clients once out of your control. They herd them into overcrowded concentration camp-like facilities, riddled with poor food and water, vermin, unusable toilets, a dearth of medical care, and angry men fighting among each other while doing far worse to the women they harass. Think of how little you would have to do to accommodate your clients on a two-hour boat ride—or less, if you work out that mid-sea transfer deal with NGOs—to make yourself look better than the Europeans for the cameras? I submit to you that the bar is very low for putting you on the side of the angels in this.”

  “We could force the independent smugglers to keep to our standards,” said the young man.

  “I like the political cover it gives us for a lot of the more profitable stuff that happens away from the cameras,” said another.

  “For very little cost, we could dramatically change our very negative public image,” said the young man, looking directly at Portly Man.

  “What
do you think?” Aryan asked.

  Portly Man looked at his colleagues.

  They nodded.

  He looked at Aryan. “I think you’ve come up with a reasonable proposal that deserves further consideration. I’m sorry our recently departed colleague did not see the wisdom in your ideas. At least to the extent of running it past us.”

  “To be honest, he didn’t give me the chance of presenting it to him.”

  “Even sadder. Perhaps he thought you were seeking to challenge his leadership.”

  Aryan shook his head. “Not a chance. We’re content being loyal lieutenants to whoever’s in charge.” He looked to Malik. “Right?”

  Malik nodded.

  “We only sought to suggest a way of bettering the business, nothing more. We came in peace, he wanted war, we gave him death.”

  Aryan’s eyes ran down the line of twelve men, catching each man’s gaze as he did. “I trust you agree living in peace is a wiser alternative.”

  Again the men looked at each other and back at Portly Man.

  Portly Man nodded at Aryan. “Agreed.” He extended his right hand.

  Aryan stepped forward, extending his left. “Sorry, the right one’s busy at the moment.” He waved the trigger in the air.

  A few men laughed. Most didn’t.

  The Range Rover stayed until the twelve other vehicles had left, all headed west. Aryan told Malik to head east. Malik said that way added an hour to the journey home. Aryan said one disgruntled of the twelve could be waiting up the road with an RPG. That would add a lot more than an hour to the trip.

  “But they gave their word. Even shook hands on it,” said Malik.

  Aryan stared at the back of Malik’s head. “I used my left hand. Some might see that as an out.”

  Malik drove east.

  l l l l l

  Maggie was just about to leave for home when her phone rang. “Chief Inspector Kaldis’ office.”

  She listened. “Yes, Inspector, I’ll put you right through.” She placed him on hold and yelled though the open doorway. “Looks like I win the bet. It’s your Turkish police inspector buddy.”