[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  I did my best to keep a fast pace, but that particular lane boasted food vendors. The flow of shoppers slowed to a crawl as they pondered their options. I zigged. I zagged. I ducked. I threaded. I did all I could not to draw attention while moving through the crowd.

  To make matters worse, I spotted the officer from the car park. He was ten feet away and closing in. His furrowed brow and shifting eyes magnified his determination. The area was thick with people munching on Turkish snacks, and the vendors were packed in tight. I couldn’t find a space that would allow even someone as tiny as me to slip through.

  I pulled my headscarf tighter and stuck close to a family of five munching on falafel. At a glance I probably looked like a fourth child, but I wasn’t about to pat myself on the back and champion my quick thinking just yet.

  As my ad hoc family moved closer to the officer, it appeared that in every direction the flow of traffic moved us closer to the man hunting me. I removed my knife from its sheath and held it upside down, hiding it from view of others. It was a last resort, but one I wouldn’t shy from. I continued looking for an escape route between stalls, but there was none. We were now about ten steps away from him. I lowered my head, clung to the outer left side of the family, attempting to use them as a buffer between the officer and me. He switched over to my side at the last minute and put himself on a collision course with me.

  My eyes shifted left, right, and left again as I looked for a way out, but the crowd had closed in on us. Where’s that driver? When I looked back at the officer, his eyes locked onto my face. His brow arched, and his head tilted. Had my disguised failed me? I tightened my grip on the blade handle. We were only a few feet apart. He seemed to be purposely moving toward me. Did he know?

  Three steps. There was no avoiding each other. Two steps. This won’t go well for one of us. One step.

  36

  The scream occurred much later than I had anticipated. I ignored it and the others that followed. A quick horizontal movement across the officer’s neck, a deft sidestep, and I was on my way. I ditched the oversized and recognizable sunglasses just in case.

  The dying officer drew the crowd toward him. Shouts for help rang out. I carried on. I didn’t waver one bit, keeping a steady pace until I reached the car park. I had to get out of Siverek before the roads out of town were locked down.

  Right away I noticed the goat herders’ truck had disappeared. I weaved between the cars, searching for any indication that my contact had arrived but nothing seemed to signal that. I feared Kashani’s driver had changed his mind. The longer I hung around Siverek, the harder it would be for me to leave.

  I entered a narrow path between a rusted pick-up truck and a white cargo van. Before I could pop out on the other side, a man appeared, blocking the exit. Another dead body wouldn’t help my situation. I lowered my head and spun on my feet to make a hasty retreat. I took two steps before I felt a hand grip my shoulder.

  With my knife still in my right hand, I turned, raising my arm, but his hand clamped down on my forearm, stopping me from swinging the blade at him. I had to admit, that move caught me off guard.

  “Stop. Kashani sent me,” he said in a hushed tone and still held my arm firmly in his grasp.

  “Let go of me,” I said, looking around. “You’ll draw attention. I left a body in the market. We have to get out of here now.”

  “Follow me.”

  We moved quickly around a few more vehicles. “Over there,” he said, pointing.

  Up ahead I saw a newer model, navy blue Lexus. It looked comfortable, but I had to wonder if it would draw attention. I reached for the door handle on the passenger side.

  “Wrong car,” he quickly said. “This one’s mine.”

  Parked next to the Lexus was what I could only describe as a rusted hunk of metal on four worn tires. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Shall I give it a push?”

  “Complain all you want, but it runs.”

  The worry I’d had moments earlier about the Lexus attracting attention had subsided. My concern now was simply being able to get from point A to point B. I had no idea the make of the car, only that it was European in design and looked a million years old.

  I tugged on the door handle, but it didn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

  “It doesn’t lock. Pull harder.”

  Great. A low creaking noise emitted from the door as I yanked it open. It was equally hard to close.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll loosen up,” the driver said as he sat in his seat. “By the way, my name is Kostas.” He held out his right hand.

  I gripped it. “I know. Mine is Sei.”

  “Yeah, I already knew your name but thought we might as well make a proper introduction. This will be fun,” he said, flashing me a smile.

  “You mind starting the car and driving?”

  He turned the ignition and gave the gas pedal a few pumps. After two whining revs, the car backfired and then settled into a low hum.

  “Yes,” Kostas said under his breath.

  I looked at him. “You say that as if each turn of the ignition is akin to playing the lottery.”

  “It is. Sometimes I win.”

  “And if we lose?”

  “You get out and push.”

  With that said, Kostas hit the gas and off we went, barely.

  37

  Kostas drove slouched with one hand resting on top of the steering wheel. He appeared to know the roads well enough to avoid driving into a checkpoint, making our flight from Siverek free of complications.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “We’ll stick to highways along the southern side of Turkey. They’re smaller, less traveled. We’ll have a better chance at avoiding the people who want you.”

  “And timing?”

  Kostas shrugged. “About twenty hours if all goes well. We’ll have to hunker down for one night, somewhere near the city of Konya. You know it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s pretty big, seventh most populous in Turkey. You know Hercules’ sarcophagus is located there–Konya Archeological Museum. It’s also where etli ekmek originated.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “It means bread with meat. It’s the Turkish version of pizza. I’ve never tried it myself, but I hear—”

  “Shouldn’t we avoid large cities?”

  “We’ll stay outside the city, but I was thinking we could jettison into Konya for an hour or—”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest and continued to stare out the window at the countryside.

  Kostas had done most of the talking since we left Siverek. I did my best to keep the conversation to a minimum by either ignoring his questions or replying with one-word answers. After a while, he stopped asking questions and just talked, about everything: the cars we passed, the farms on either side of the highway, mostly things about Turkey in general. For a Greek, his knowledge of the country was strange and extraordinary. Sadly, it was enough to pique my interest.

  “How is it you know so much about Turkey? Aren’t you from Greece? And why is it that you speak English with no noticeable accent?”

  “I have family in the U.S. and spent almost all my summers there while growing up. I also attended an American university, but to answer your first question, I’m a history nut and I like to travel. I also easily pick up stuff. I kill at all those trivia game shows on television. I wish I could get on Jeopardy! Have you heard of that show? Anyway, Turkey is right next door to Greece. People travel back and forth all the time. The border crossing near Istanbul is easy, as is ferrying across the Aegean Sea.”

  For the next hour, Kostas continued to answer those questions. I was sorry to have asked them in the first place.

  A thin mixture of blood and saliva seeped from the Ismet’s mouth, stretching toward the cold concrete floor of the jail cell. He swayed on his knees using his hands to prevent himself from toppling. Next to him, lay his friend, unconscious, perhaps dead.

  Shortly after t
he Turkish police questioned Ismet and the other goat herder, Kashani’s contact had arrived. Ismet told the driver about the checkpoint, the police who questioned him, and that Sei had disappeared in the market. Anxious to get out of town, Ismet simply pointed at the market before making a hasty escape out of Siverek. Unfortunately, Demir’s men stopped them shortly after they left the car park.

  “I’m going to ask you once more,” Demir said. “Where’s the girl?”

  Ismet looked over at his motionless friend, then up at Demir. He knew his fate. If he didn’t speak, he would die in that jail cell. If he did give up information, and somehow got out of there alive, Kashani would hunt him down for his disloyalty. Neither option showed more promise. It was a matter of how he wanted to die. He feared a death by Kashani more. That is until a blowtorch appeared.

  It didn’t take long for Demir to extract the information he needed. They were looking for a silver Peugeot, heading west. Ismet swore he didn’t know what coastal town Sei was heading to, only that she planned to cross over into Greece. Unfortunately, that answer did nothing to save his life.

  38

  About nine hours into our journey west, the engine emitted a high-pitched whine. With the exception of Kostas’ excessive gabbing, everything since I’d been with him appeared to be proceeding as planned.

  “Tell me that noise isn’t the car dying a slow death.”

  Kostas pulled over to the side of the road. When he killed the engine, the lights went with it. With scattered clouds hiding the moon and miles of farmland surrounding us, it was nearly pitch black. The upside was we had the cover of darkness. The downside was I had a feeling Demir’s men wouldn’t be too far behind us. It wouldn’t take much to determine I would continue heading west.

  Kostas interrupted my thoughts when he reached over in front of me and felt around inside of the glove compartment. “Ah, got it.”

  A beat later the beam of a small flashlight appeared. Kostas popped the hood and exited the vehicle.

  As I waited for the official verdict, I began to seriously question Kashani’s judgment. Even the goat herders were a better choice than this man and his poor excuse for transport. I would have gladly traded my front seat for the foul smelling, hard steel flooring of the flatbed. At least the engine in the truck ran well.

  A few minutes later, Kostas returned. “I think we need a new serpentine belt. There’s a small town not too far from here, we should be able to get the part we need there.”

  “Will the car get us there?”

  Kostas shrugged. “Let’s hope so.”

  “How far from Konya are we?”

  “Not far. We’re not in danger of losing time, if that’s your concern. We would have stopped for the night at one of the upcoming towns anyway.”

  According to Kostas, Ismil was the closet town. From there, it was another fifty miles to the outskirts of Konya. At least his judgment of distance appeared to be trustworthy.

  It was nearly nine at night when we reached Ismil. The town wasn’t very large; it seemed to center around a sleepy main street dotted with small businesses. We drove around until we located a gas station with an auto mechanic shop attached. That’s where the serpentine belt eventually gave way, officially stranding us in Ismil.

  My hopes for a quick fix and an early morning departure the next day were quickly dashed when the mechanic informed us he didn’t have the part on hand. He would have to send one his men to Konya first thing in the morning. He estimated he could have us back on the road by noon.

  “That’s not too bad,” Kostas said as we walked away from the gas station. “Could have been worse.”

  A million replies aggregated in my head, none of them helpful to the situation.

  “I think I can make up the time. You can trust me,” he continued, this time looking at me.

  Timing wasn’t my big concern; Demir’s men were. There was one positive that came to mind: Demir didn’t know my whereabouts. Though if I continued to leave a trail of bodies, I could toss that advantage out the window.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, knowing that wasn’t the reply he expected.

  We walked to a nearby café that surprisingly had burgers and fries on the menu, along with the traditional assortment of Turkish fast food: kebaps, döner, pide, and köfte, to mention a few. It was nearly ten at night, and we were lucky enough to put our orders in before the kitchen closed. When our burgers arrived, Kostas rested his mouth and we focused on eating. I welcomed the quiet. Sadly, it didn’t last long.

  Kostas put his burger down and cleared his throat. “So, spill the beans.”

  “Spill?”

  “You know, why are you on the run?”

  I took my time chewing and then swallowed. “What makes you think I’m on the run?”

  “Look, I know what sort of business Basir Kashani is in. The fact that he hired me to drive you to Cesme isn’t because you’re interested in seeing the countryside.” He picked up his burger and took another large bite.

  While watching him chew, it dawned on me then that I had never actually looked at him for an extended period of time. I mean, I knew what he looked like generally but not like one would if they were getting to know someone, which I hadn’t planned on.

  Kostas had large brown eyes with a brow that was noticeable enough to give him a devilish model appearance. There were no hard lines, scars, or acne to mar his smooth olive complexion, giving him a youthful look. I didn’t know his age, but if I had to wager, I would say mid-thirties.

  When he smiled, large dimples appeared at each corner of his mouth, which softened his masculine jawline. It made him look friendly as opposed to militant. He wore a simple button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which showed off his broad shoulders. The back of his hands sported thick veins that crawled up his forearms. All in all, Kostas was a good-looking man with a decent personality. Sure, he talked a lot, but I was an anomaly when it came to conversation. With that said, I still didn’t see a reason to tell Kostas why I needed to get out of Turkey. If Kashani didn’t feel the need to inform him, I certainly wasn’t about to offer up that information. “Are you always this nosy?”

  “Look, I’m not trying to pry into your business, and I don’t have a hidden agenda. But seeing that we’ll be spending a decent amount of time together, I figured why not get to know each other? How long can we keep up non-committal small talk?”

  Forever. “You’re better off not knowing the details. Leave it at that.”

  Kostas swallowed the remaining food in his mouth. “No problem. Just being friendly, that’s all. But if there’s a chance that I might get caught up in whatever you’re trying to avoid, that’s information I’d like to know.”

  “Your friendliness is duly noted, and I’ll be sure to pass that along to Basir should he ever contemplate your services once again. As for you getting involved—you’re a driver who’s been hired by an illegal arms dealer. You should already have known there would be risk involved.”

  39

  We finished the rest of our meal in silence, and were about to set off in search of a hotel when the waitress inquired whether we were looking for a place to stay.

  “My family owns the café,” she said with a friendly smile that was only heightened by her sea-green eyes. “We have three rooms on the second floor that we rent out. They’re simple, clean, and have hot water. We charge twenty dollars, American, by the night. By the way, my name is Ayla.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ayla,” Kostas quickly replied. “My name is Spiro, and this is Anise.”

  I nodded and appreciated the fact that Kostas didn’t give up our real names. Before Ayla could speak another word, a little boy ran up behind her and threw both arms around her left thigh. He wore Spider Man pajamas and looked to be about six years old.

  “This is my little brother.” She ruffled his curly brown hair. “He’s learning English and always wants to talk to native speakers.”

  He giggled and continued to hide behind A
yla’s leg.

  “Say hello to our guests,” she prompted.

  “My name is Baki,” he said before extending his hand to me. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  I bent down and took his hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too.”

  Kostas gave the young boy’s hand a hearty shake, which fueled Baki’s laughter.

  “If you want, I can show you the rooms, and you can decide if you want to stay,” Ayla said.

  The rooms sounded fine to me, and from the look on Kostas’ face, I didn’t get the impression he cared much about where he laid his head that night. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Clean rooms sold us.”

  “Okay. Will you be staying longer than one night?” she asked as she led us up a flight of stairs in the back of the café with Baki tailing us.

  “Just the night,” I said.

  She smiled. “We have one room with a double bed that’s big enough for two people—”

  “We’ll take two rooms,” I quickly interrupted.

  “Oh, okay. Wait here.” Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Come, Baki. It’s bedtime.” They both entered the single door near the stairwell, the entrance to her family’s residence.

  Only a few minutes had passed before Ayla reappeared. She had fresh bath towels tucked under one arm and, in her other hand, held two large key rings.

  She unlocked the door that had a brass “A” adhered to it. “This will be your room,” she said opening the door and extending her arm, allowing me to enter first.

  The room was tiny, maybe no bigger than fifteen square meters. It had a single bed pushed up against the wall with a bedside table next to it. A two-drawer dresser sat opposite it. The walls were bare, but the room had a small curtained window that overlooked the front of the café. I had a clear view in both directions of the main road in and out of town.