A Place Far Away

by Vahan Zanoyan

  “We want to live in peace,” said Avo, “and we cannot do that as long as Ayvazian is around. I have to protect my family, whatever it takes.”

  “We all agree with you there, Avo,” said Gagik, even though he was not one-hundred percent sure where Laurian stood on this issue. “But there’s more to it than that; otherwise, not everyone who is here today would have been involved. Ayvazian isn’t a direct threat to my family or to Edik’s. So why are we here?”

  The room fell silent again. Saro appeared caught in some inner conflict and was visibly uncomfortable. Agassi, not being prepared for so much serious soul searching, was caught by surprise and did not have much to contribute. Laurian was glad that the issue was on the table, but understood the need to get past it quickly.

  “Let me put it differently,” continued Gagik, when no one else said anything. “Whose enemy is Ayvazian? Avo’s, for all that he’s done to the Galians? Agassi’s, because he kidnapped Hayk? Saro’s, because he set up shop in the upper villages?” Gagik looked at everyone for a minute and added: “I wouldn’t even think of killing him if it was just those things, and even if he was my sworn personal enemy on top of all that. I wouldn’t think of killing him for a pure personal vendetta either.”

  Avo and Varujan looked at Gagik, confused. Gagik was the most active in planning the killings with them, and had not even batted an eyelash at the thought that the guards would have to be eliminated too, even if they were innocent of the big crimes committed by Ayvazian. He was the one who insisted that the operation should leave no loose ends.

  “We are dealing with something much bigger than any of us,” weighed in Laurian at last. “I agree with Gago. I wouldn’t think of killing anyone because they have harmed one of us. The problem with Ayvazian is not that he is our enemy or that he’s wronged one of us. The problem with Ayvazian is that he is the enemy of this nation, of its freedom, of its independence, and it just so happens that we’ve stumbled into him here and in Saralandj. Unfortunately, neither law enforcement nor the courts here can deal with him yet, as Saro keeps reminding us. One day they will. Until that day, I see this as a necessary mission of retribution because it is bigger than all of us.”

  By hearing Saro’s questions out loud and thinking about his own hesitation, Laurian had already overcome his doubts. But Saro did not look convinced. He had agreed with Laurian all along that the point of their involvement would not be to solve the country’s problems, that they would not launch a crusade against Ayvazian, and that they would not start something that they could not win. Laurian and Gagik were now broadening the agenda in ways that made their involvement way past their legitimate realm of responsibilities.

  “What gives us the right to assign that mission to ourselves?” he asked.

  “Remember, Saro, we did not choose Ayvazian,” said Laurian. “He chose us. He chose Lara, then Samvel, then Sevajayr.”

  “Saro,” said Gagik, “I too am worried about killing innocent people today. But how many innocent people have been killed by him, and how many more will die if we don’t act? You all have seen the pictures in Sevajayr. If we act today, we will kill Ayvazian and his men. If we don’t act, we will cause the deaths of many more innocent victims that fall into his hands. The way I see it, we have no other choice. What do you think?”

  “Can everyone in this room honestly tell me they are willing to have the deaths of these people on their conscience without a problem?” asked Saro.

  Gagik checked his watch. Ayvazian and Viktor probably were in Yeghegnadzor by now, giving them at most an hour to finalize the plan and take their positions. He noticed Laurian was getting ready to say something, and raised his hand to stop him.

  “Have you heard of ‘Project Nemesis?’” he asked, looking straight at Saro. The intensity in Gagik’s gaze disarmed Saro, and reminded Laurian of the old Khev Gago of fifteen years ago.

  Saro shook his head.

  “How about Soghomon Tehlirian?” asked, Gagik, not moving his eyes off Saro. “Have you heard of him?”

  Saro looked confused. He had heard of Tehlirian, but did not understand why Gagik was bringing him up now. Laurian worried about Gagik going off on one his long story-telling jags, thus losing a lot of time. But Gagik had a different strategy in mind.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said, “so I’ll summarize it for you. He was the young man who, in broad daylight, in front of many witnesses, shot and killed Talaat Pasha, the Grand Vizir of the Ottoman Turks, and one of the main architects of the genocide, in Berlin, Germany. He did not deny what he had done. A German court tried him and acquitted him. He was found ‘not guilty,’ Saro jan. By a German court! I will not go into the details of the defense, but let me tell you this: Tehlirian was not only ‘not guilty,’ but he lived with the clearest conscience of all for the rest of his life. He had eliminated a mass murderer, an atrocious war criminal, a man who had the blood of over a million innocent women and children on his hands, and an enemy of his nation. Yes, he shot him in cold blood in broad daylight, but that was a mission of ‘necessary retribution’ too, like Edik said earlier.”

  “That was some eighty-five years ago,” mumbled Saro, “and he killed an Ottoman Turk, not one of his own.”

  “That may be, but sometimes our most dangerous enemies are right here among us, my friend. And Talaat’s assassination was part of a broader operation that targeted Armenian traitors as well. The enemies who are ‘one of us’ are much worse; make no mistake about that. They are much more dangerous than foreign enemies. Just to be clear,” continued Gagik, tapping his hand on the coffee table for emphasis, “I am not comparing what we’re about to do with that operation. We’re nowhere near that. But the moral justification for what we’re about to do is equally strong. A lot of good came from the Berlin shooting. You really should study that one day. And a lot of good will come from what we’re planning to do. So, to answer your two questions: Yes, I can live with these deaths on my conscience, and yes, we are better than Ayvazian.”

  The road to Sevajayr was in serious disrepair. There were sections that had practically disappeared, with all traces of asphalt wiped out over the years. In some parts even the foundation pavement had been destroyed, with large pieces of stone broken loose and scattered around. The villagers rightly assumed that the drivers bringing Ayvazian and Viktor knew the road pretty well by now, including which sections to avoid. Maneuvering around the potholes and the rocky obstacles forced a driver to follow a very specific course, often getting dangerously close to the edge overlooking a drop of several hundred meters.

  They had word that the car with the unoccupied front passenger seat was in the lead, and the one with a passenger in the front seat was following closely. So Viktor, who was reported to be asleep in the back seat, was in the first car.

  Saro went back to Vardahovit village, and held a meeting with some of the villagers in the municipality office; he had no specific agenda. He just needed to establish a strong alibi that he had been in his office that afternoon.

  Agassi went down to check the beehives in the valley. Varujan and Avo were waiting behind the huge boulders on the side of the road, right across from where they expected the accident to occur.

  They heard the cars before seeing them; a few minutes later the first car appeared around the curve, with the second one following a few meters behind. The driver did in fact seem to know the road well. There were occasional landslides and rock slides from the slopes above, and it was not unusual to run into large rocks newly fallen into the middle of the road. Once he had had to move a few heavy rocks to the side in order to pass. So he was not surprised when he came upon two new rocks on the right side of the road. He swung to the left, coming to about a foot from the edge of the road, without slowing down much. The passage looked clear once he bypassed the rocks; but he did not notice the sharp wedge of an old rusty pipe stuck into the ground, protruding at an angle directly in front of his left wheel. The tire blew with a loud thud and the car swung to
the left; the driver pushed hard on the brakes but the car had already started its headfirst plunge into the ravine below.

  The second car came to a screeching halt inches from the edge. Ayvazian and the driver, who had rolled up their windows to avoid the dust left by the first car, rolled them down again, and were about to get out when out of nowhere two faces appeared on Ayvazian’s side of the car. They looked like villagers but each of them was holding a revolver. Varujan’s gun was pointed at the driver.

  “Do not make a move,” said Varujan looking past Ayvazian and straight at the driver.

  “Paron Ayvazian,” said Avo, holding his revolver an inch away from Ayvazian’s eye, “I am Avetis Samveli Galian. I heard you were looking for me in Aparan, and I decided to pay you a visit.”

  Both were speechless, frozen in their seats. The crashing noise of the car rolling down the ravine stopped. Varujan climbed into the back seat and, moving behind the driver, reached over and took his handgun from his waist.

  “Give me your cell phone,” he told the driver, who turned and looked over at Ayvazian.

  “Give me your cell phone,” repeated Varujan, pushing the nozzle of his gun hard against the driver’s neck.

  The driver handed over his cell phone.

  “Ayvazian,” ordered Varujan, “give me your gun and cell phone, now!” Avo, still standing by the window, dug his gun into Ayvazian’s cheek. Ayvazian slowly handed over his gun and cell phone, and Avo quickly climbed into the back seat.

  “Wait for a moment,” said Varujan.

  Fifty meters up the slope on the right side of the road, Laurian was watching from the scope of his rifle; its crosshairs were centered on the driver. Gagik was lying next to him and watching with his binoculars.

  A few minutes later Agassi called him. “The two that went over the cliff are both dead,” he said.

  “Touch nothing,” said Varujan. “See you later.” He turned to Avo, nodded, then sent Laurian a text message—done here, on to the next task.

  “Drive,” Varujan told the driver. “Back up a little first, then make a sharp right, and a sharp left to bypass those rocks. After that the road is clear all the way to the house.”

  Laurian and Gagik left their post and went to Gagik’s car, which they had parked on a dirt side road behind a huge boulder. They had taken his car because Laurian’s car could be more easily recognized. They waited in the car for further news from Varujan.

  As they drove, Ayvazian seemed to come out of his stupor.

  “Do you kids know what you’re doing?” he asked in the driest tone he could muster.

  “I suggest you stay quiet,” said Avo calmly, “it is too early to discover your tongue. I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

  The element of surprise was effective in so many ways that Ayvazian fell quiet again. The fate of the first car, with his nephew most probably dead, hadn’t been fully processed by him yet; the confidence and arrogance of these poor villagers was unbelievable and yet very real at the same time; this type of challenge to him and his authority, in his own region, was inconceivable and unprecedented, even from other oligarchs, let alone from these peasants.

  “Who’s in the house?” Varujan asked the driver, who turned and looked at Ayvazian again. This time Varujan did not push his gun against his neck; he just cocked it and pushed it into Ayvazian’s cheek.

  “Any one of these potholes could force my finger to accidentally squeeze the trigger,” he told Ayvazian.

  “Tell him,” Ayvazian said.

  “I don’t know exactly myself. Edgard, who was driving the other car, was here earlier this morning. He knows who’s in the house.”

  “Well, I’m afraid Edgard cannot talk any longer,” said Varujan with such cold-hearted indifference that it sent a chill down the driver’s spine. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Hamo,” said the driver.

  “So you’re Hamo,” said Varujan, without giving any explanation of what he meant. “Talk, Hamo. Who’s in the house?”

  “We have Abkar and Serge,” said Hamo, “and a few guests.”

  “Abkar and Serge. Are they armed drivers like you?”

  Hamo looked at Ayvazian again. He nodded.

  “Yes,” said Hamo.

  “And these guests,” said Varujan, “they don’t happen to be two lovely ladies and a kid, do they?”

  If they hadn’t already, both men now realized beyond any doubt that none of what was happening was an accident or a coincidence. These peasants knew too much. Ayvazian thought that they would have only one chance to stop them, and that would be when they arrived at the house and the others noticed that something was amiss. He knew that alerting them was impossible, which meant that he had to count on the wits of Abkar and Serge. For the first time since the accident, Ayvazian began to perspire heavily.

  They saw the house behind a row of poplars. It was early afternoon, and the sun hit the windows facing the road, while the front door was in the shade.

  “Park next to the Lexus, away from the door,” said Varujan, and then he called Sago.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Ha. Nothing has happened. Hayk is still inside.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute. Stay hidden.”

  The Lexus SUV was parked perpendicular to the façade of house, next to the front door. They parked to the left of it, so that the Lexus was between them and the main door. Varujan told them not to move or Avo would not hesitate to shoot; then he got out quickly and knocked on the door. He had Hamo’s pistol in his hand.

  The door opened and Abkar appeared at the threshold. He had recognized the approaching Mercedes SUV as Ayvazian’s; he had expected to greet the boss when Varujan pointed Hamo’s pistol at his chest and shot without a moment’s hesitation. The man collapsed. Varujan ran in and saw the second guard scrambling to get up from his chair.

  “Don’t move!” he ordered. He went up to him, took his gun and phone, and walked backwards to the front door, where Abkar lay dead in a pool of blood. Standing at the doorway, he shot Serge with Serge’s pistol in the left shoulder. Serge screamed with pain and sank into his chair. Then Varujan shot him again in the chest. Serge was dead too.

  He quickly surveyed the main room. There were two heavy armchairs, with Serge’s bleeding body slumped in one of them. There were three side chairs in the corner by the window placed around a small round table, and an old and extremely dirty sofa against one of the walls. There were two closed doors off the main room but he did not hear anyone stirring. Although he was impatient to go check the rooms, he did not want to leave Avo alone with Ayvazian and Hamo.

  He peeked outside and saw that everyone was still in the car. “Bring them in slowly,” he shouted. They marched in with their hands over their heads; Avo held his gun on them from behind.

  When Ayvazian saw the two bodies he jerked back only to find Varujan’s gun pointed straight at his face. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he said.

  “You have the wire?” Varujan asked Avo, ignoring Ayvazian.

  “Right here,” said Avo, pulling a roll of heavy nylon fishing wire from his pocket.

  “Good. Tie their hands behind them. Move to those chairs,” he ordered the men, pointing to the three side chairs. They put them at opposite ends of the room, with their backs to each other. Avo bound their hands together and then tied their torsos to the back of the chair. When both men were secure, Avo took a small roll of duct tape from his pocket and taped their mouths. Varujan went to check the other rooms.

  “You watch them,” he told Avo. “If anyone moves, shoot.”

  The fact was that the lack of any sound was bothering him, and he didn’t want Avo to go into any of the rooms before he checked what was in them. He opened the door to one of the rooms and saw Hayk gagged and tied to a chair. On a twin bed a woman lay on her side, hands tied behind her back and feet tied together. She appeared to be unconscious.

  Varujan went to his son, untied him and
removed the gag.

  “Papa,” whispered Hayk, “did you get them all?” He sounded tired and groggy, but seemed fine.

  “We got them, balés. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. They just hit me and tried to make me tell them how I got the camera, but I didn’t say anything, Pap, really, no matter how hard they hit me, I said nothing.”

  “Shhhh,” said Varujan, worried that Hayk may mention Laurian’s name. But his eyes were wet. He held his son tight for a moment, so proud of him that his chest hurt. “You did well, Hayk. No need to give any details now. Are you hurt?”

  “No, I don’t think so. My head was bleeding a little earlier, but it stopped.” Varujan checked where he was pointing on his head, and felt the clotted blood. Whatever it was, it had to wait.

  “I saw them give her an injection,” he said, pointing at the woman on the bed. Varujan untied her, felt her pulse, and then came out with Hayk. There was no telling how long it would take for the woman to wake up, but at least she was alive. He went straight to the other room.

  “What’s going on?” asked Avo when he saw him, impatient to find out if Lara was somewhere in the house.

  “Just one more minute, Avo jan, I beg you. Give me one more minute.” And Varujan opened the second door.

  Lara was lying on the bed, hands tied behind her, not fully unconscious but very groggy, and gagged. Varujan recognized the resemblance with Avo instantly.

  “Avo, I believe this one’s yours,” he said from the door. “You come here and free her.”

  Avo was already at the door by the time Varujan had finished his sentence. He ran to his sister, undid the gag and held her his chest. “Untie her,” said Varujan. Avo untied her and made her sit up in bed. She was limp, eyes bloodshot, her hair damp with perspiration, her face bruised and makeup smeared around her eyes. She was wearing jeans and a sweater; her bare feet were blue from the tight rope around her ankles.

  “Kurig jan,” whispered Avo in her ear, holding her tightly and running his hand through her hair. “Kurig jan…”