by Rik Stone
Mehmet pulled to release his arm, but Yuri held on.
“I know that,” Mehmet said. “Please, Yuri, I just need to be on my own for a while to sort my head out.”
Yuri let go and Mehmet left the house. Hurrying down to Salacak quayside, he slowed his pace to a stroll and then stopped altogether, struggling to grasp how he could be so angry. Yuri had been the father he never really had, so it wasn’t him that was causing this furore within. No, he was bitter for the life he’d been plunged into. Living in poverty with his mother was one thing, plenty of people are poor, but being cast into a den of thieves and treated like shit, that was unacceptable – and someone was to blame for it.
He began to plan; somehow he would get his own back, avenge the wrong doing. He’d find out who it was and… But then his thoughts suddenly dissolved into a black cloud and his brain shuddered. Something had hit his head and he was going into freefall. A second blow sunk into his side, curving his body inward. He hit the ground with a thud. Two uniformed police officers leaned over him while returning riot sticks to their sheaths. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. He had no fight in him and they easily dragged him to the water’s edge.
“Watch your step now,” one said as they threw him from the jetty. The deck of a police launch brought his fall to an end and he was reminded of the old wound in his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want your pretty little face damaged.” They laughed.
The younger of the two policemen got on the launch and fired up the engine, and they both pushed the boat away from the jetty. Pistol shots rang out from deep in the streets of Uskudar.
“That’ll be the end of your friends,” the older of the two said.
The gunfire quietened and the boat’s engine droned on in an evening otherwise dominated by silence. Then a burst of automatic shots echoed out – an Uzi; Mehmet couldn’t shoot straight, but he could recognise the sounds of guns well enough. Whoever had started the firefight used pistols and that would have been the police, which meant Yuri was still alive.
The older officer kicked Mehmet in the ribs. “You can take that stupid smile off your face,” he said. “The whole area is blanketed with my men; he won’t last long.”
The boat moored up at the Sirkeci jetty and more shots could be heard – this time from revolvers. An explosion and then an orange glow lit up over Uskudar. The policemen held onto Mehmet while watching the inferno build.
“Fucking idiots,” the older officer said. “There’ll be hell to pay if they’ve burned down any of those old Ottoman houses.”
And with that, Mehmet was dragged off towards the old city.
Chapter 23
Mehmet was taken to the police station where Captain Iskander had questioned Nina. They had dragged him from the van that brought him from the quayside, frog-marched him to an underground section without registering him as a prisoner and put him in a cell without windows or false lighting. Now, dropping to his hands and knees, he ignored the pain in his shoulder and felt his way around the floor – concrete, maybe natural sandstone; whatever, it was grimy and stunk of urine. He found the toilet and recoiled; it was a sink hole in the corner and he’d dipped his hand into it. He traced fingers where the floor met the wall, came to a water trough and washed the offended hand; it came away smelling worse than it had gone in. He carried on and came to a stone bed with a curved section for his head. He sat, leaned back against the wall and let the endless hours pass.
Hours turned to days that might well have spilled over into weeks. During that time a steel panel opened at the base of the door and something that passed for food was pushed through. Sad really, but he began looking forward to hearing the guard and seeing the glimmer of light that accompanied him.
It would have been nice to have been able to say what part of day it was when a particular serving of couscous slime was pushed through the flap, but he really had no idea. However, a routine emerged; he ate the food with his fingers, left the wooden board it had been served on next to the flap and sat on the bed.
One day, he allowed his thoughts to drift and Nina and Yuri came to mind, but he was quick to pull back and cast his feelings aside. Only his own survival mattered now; he’d learned this much living under the jetty. But then … a disturbance. Someone had unlocked the door, not the panel, the door – that had never happened before.
The access swung open and Mehmet’s eyes were attacked by blinding light before the silhouette of a large man filled the entrance, casting him back into the shadows. The figure stood for an age and then before Mehmet could work out what was going on, the man moved forward, grabbed his arms roughly and spun him to face the wall. Mehmet’s wrists screamed in pain as handcuffs were snapped onto them. Jostled from the cell, he was pushed along a corridor. They stopped at a door on the same level and he was pulled onto his tiptoes by the roots of his hair and frog-marched through … where? A cell? An interview room? No, this was a torture chamber.
A gruesome chair made of rusted metal had wrist and ankle irons attached to the arms and legs, and a steel helmet fixed to the back. If this was a campaign to break his spirit, it was already working. And what else could it be? First they confuse him by leaving him in a cell for … forever, and then they bring him to a torture chamber. Yuri had told him about such places and he also said if you should end up in one, then it was because someone wanted information – but who? What?
The guard forced Mehmet to sit in the chair and removing the cuffs, snapped the restraints around his wrists and ankles. His head was pulled back and the helmet locked onto his skull. Mehmet rolled his eyes upward and saw a dim yellow bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling. It emitted a buzzing sound more powerful than the light itself. The material on the twisted braiding above it had worn through and exposed the copper within. He concentrated on the bulb and tried to take his mind to a different level.
A soft voice spoke without emotion. “That will be all.”
The guard left and a different uniformed policeman came to stand before him. It was no surprise to see that it was one of those who had arrested him at the quayside. Mehmet squinted and recognition sent further shock coursing through his veins. It was the same policeman who had been with Zeki on the day he and Senturk were shot.
“So, Mehmet – or at least that’s who the locals in Uskudar told me lived with Yuri.”
He waited a beat. Mehmet didn’t answer.
“Whatever,” he said patiently. “We’ll come to that. First let me introduce myself. I’m Captain Ahmet. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of me, but you can believe it when I say you’ll not be quick to forget me.”
He sniggered and Mehmet’s anxiety rattled in opposition. If he had been standing at that moment, his legs would surely have given way. Yuri had warned him time and again over the years: “If ever you come over to the old city, take care to avoid the policeman called Ahmet.”
Footsteps shuffled into the room behind Mehmet and then a second set of steps followed that. One of the new visitors joined Ahmet, and Mehmet found himself staring into the face of a woman, a dwarf. She bent over him and her eyes appeared massive through the pebble-lenses of the glasses she wore. Her face warped when she smiled the ugliest yellow-toothed smile he’d ever seen. Even in dim light her skin appeared jaundiced and her hair looked thin and wispy. She shuffled to a corner and placed a steel briefcase on a small table. That was when Mehmet noticed that she hadn’t been bent over him. She was crippled by a hunched back. The whole routine was macabre and he wondered if she had been employed for her sinister looks.
Captain Ahmet spoke. “Right, let’s get back to your name. I believe your first name is Mehmet, so tell me the other part.”
Whoever had walked in with the hunchback had stayed out of sight, so it must have been that person dragging the chair across the floor behind where Mehmet was secured.
“Pasha, his second name is Pasha,” a voice said behind him; a man.
“Oh, you know him…” Ahmet said.
&nb
sp; “Yes, so don’t worry about his name. Proceed to the next step.”
“Of course, sir – yes. Yagmur, you can begin,” Ahmet told the hunchback.
In Turkish, Yagmur means rain, which seemed more than appropriate for the moment; Mehmet just knew she was about to rain on his parade. He watched her take a rubber block from the case and return to hold it near his face. It was in two parts, held together by a scissor-like screw device. He shuddered thinking how she might use it.
Ahmet moved behind the chair, cupped one hand under Mehmet’s chin and pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger with the other. Mehmet couldn’t breathe, so opened his mouth to catch his breath. Ahmet forced his chin down further while Yagmur forced the rubber blocks between his teeth. She turned the screw and the blocks forced Mehmet’s jaws as wide as they would go. Panic stiffened him.
“There are a few things I want you to think about, Mehmet,” Ahmet said. “First, I want you to tell me what happened to Zeki. We know he couldn’t have had anything to do with Volkan’s death, so don’t go telling stories along those lines. Also, we retrieved part of a list from the fire at the Ottoman wooden house. There are six names on it.” He held up a piece of paper.
Mehmet’s heart skipped – the code. Yuri had devised the plan before they hit Volkan. He said if Mehmet was caught and he wasn’t, Yuri would make sure a list of names would be found. Mehmet was to confess to his captors that the six people on it were part of the gang who forced him into taking part in Volkan’s killing. In truth, the men listed were paedophiles Yuri had uncovered. He hated them and said they would be of no loss to society, and they just might get him off the hook. But the list meant Yuri must still be alive, no one else knew of the plan.
Ahmet continued. “I want to know what their involvement was. I also want you to tell me where Yuri would hide if he’d escaped. And I want to know who you were both working for. Yuri is Russian. If the Russians are responsible, I want you to tell me why they wanted Volkan dead. I would advise against being brave. Time will reveal all, whatever your resolve. We’ll let Yagmur take over now. She’ll give you something to help you think about how you might want to answer those questions later.”
“Hgnn,” Mehmet grunted, long and pleadingly, trying to nod his head in acknowledgment. He was willing to give Ahmet most of the information without Yagmur’s help, but the blocks stopped him from saying anything.
The legs on the chair behind scraped the floor and Ahmet left with whoever had sat there. That meant Mehmet and Yagmur were alone. She smiled that smile and he shuddered.
“Oh, before we begin, Mehmet, I think it’s fitting you should know…” She leaned her face into his and let her breath chastise him. “Nina, a friend of yours, I believe? She is the one who betrayed you. After chatting with Iskander, she was released and came straight to Captain Ahmet. Everything is about money with that one – the bitch sold you out.”
If the dwarf had punched him in the face it couldn’t have hurt any more. And her words were true. How else could they have found the Ottoman house?
Yagmur concealed her mouth with a mask and Mehmet supposed that her face being covered was a step in the right direction. But she took a drilling machine from the briefcase and his flippancy took a back seat. Terror revisited his soul. She fit a tiny drill-bit into the chuck and plugged the machine into a wall socket. Unravelling the long lead, she rested an arm on his chest, but something wasn’t working for her. She clicked her tongue, put the drill aside and moved behind him. Tilting the chair back, she somehow rested it at an angle and with contentment written in her eyes, she got back to work. Her head was almost on his chest as she angled her view in line with the machine and looked up into his mouth.
“An almost perfect set of teeth, Mehmet. You should make a good subject,” she said, grunting with satisfaction.
The machine whirred into life. Yagmur placed the drill bit on a tooth and pushed her weight behind it. She was drilling a hole in his upper back molar. At first it was only the discomfort of his head being jarred, but then the tool neared the nerve and pain penetrated his skull.
“Ugh, ugh!” he cried, pushing the noise from his throat. He screamed. And then he screamed some more.
She pressed on and pieces of tooth flew. Mehmet’s mouth filled with fluid. Her hand slipped a couple of times and she cursed while Mehmet’s inner core recoiled in pain. He gagged as he tried to suck in through his nose and the spark of life flickered. At that moment, he would have happily died.
“Tsk,” she complained, “such a baby. I’ve hardly started.”
She dropped the chair back onto four legs and Mehmet was sure something worse was about to happen. His body stiffened, readying for more of the same. But instead she offered up a cup of water. It was awkward because of the rubber blocks, but Mehmet was grateful to wash the tooth fragments and blood from his mouth. The act had seemed almost kind but it wasn’t: the water was freezing. It took a moment to make an impact, but when it did…
She chuckled as she leaned him back again. Mehmet couldn’t let go of the final mouthful and had to hold the liquid in his mouth, or choke. Cold water filled the cavity. His sockets widened and his eyeballs tried climbing out of his face to escape the anguish. Agonising throbbing engulfed his body and sweat popped on his brow and ran down his face. How could anyone endure such pain and remain conscious? She stopped, the pain subsided and a warm glow washed over him. For a moment, he wallowed in the relief, exited the water by pushing air from his throat. But it wasn’t over. Again, the drill whirred and she renewed the pressure. The tooth gave, the nerve was breached and in his mind he prayed to be returned to his cell until Ahmet returned for the answers. But no, Yagmur was only changing the drill bit.
“We don’t want one of these little beauties breaking, do we?” she said, curdling his blood with her gruesome laugh. She then dropped the mask and smiled that ugly smile. “Never know what trouble that could lead to.”
Somehow, her sarcasm relieved the pain. Hatred stepped in and Mehmet swore that this little hunchback bitch would die at his hands. As it stood, that would never be possible, but his spirit steeled. He made himself believe it could be so. He had carried bitterness ever since being abducted by Zeki and now she had given him someone new to focus it on.
Still behind him, she moved her forearm and leant it heavily on his brow, her withered breast brushing the top of his head as she did. “Now, don’t get all excited,” she cackled.
The drill whirred and she drilled the lower back molar, directly below the tooth she’d just butchered. Minutes passed like hours and finally the protection over the second nerve was overcome. This time she unplugged the drill, took it back to her case and put it away neatly. She came back with a wooden toothpick in her hand and measured it against his holed teeth. She snapped the stick, fitted it into the cavities and removed the rubber blocks. His tired jaw closed and he bit on the stick.
“So ends the first session, Mehmet. I still have some other little bits and pieces I want to introduce you to should this fail. I’ll be bringing you back for the hat. What’s that? you ask. Okay, the mesh helmet on your head has clips for electrodes; wiring it to the mains causes the temperature to increase gradually. As it gets hotter it sizzles through your hair and then your skin melts. After that, your excruciating battle for life ends as the helmet collapses through your skull cap. I’ve used it before… Interesting, I don’t know why, but I always get hungry near the end.” She cackled like the old witch she was and waited a beat for a response.
But how could he answer? The toothpick forbade it. And his mouth was full of potatoes, or that’s what the swelling made it feel like. “Ughnnnn” was all he could manage.
She exposed her yellow teeth with a smile. “Oh, well, maybe tomorrow,” she said and opened the door. “Take him back to his cell. My work is done – for now.”
Yagmur looked at Mehmet and a chuckle crackled in her throat. The guard came around front and detached the shackles from the chair, leaving
them attached to Mehmet’s wrists and ankles. He linked a chain through them, pulled it tight, secured it with a shackle and brought him to his feet. The chain was short and caused Mehmet’s body to arch backwards as the guard marched him from the room. Mehmet shuffled within his limited freedom, stumbling through corridors, terrified he might trip. If he did, he would surely bite on the toothpick. He kept his mouth as wide as he could and stumbled along, the guard occasionally stopping him from falling by grabbing onto the roots of his hair.
At the cell, the guard pushed him in and slammed the door shut, a key clicked in a lock. Tentatively, Mehmet navigated through the darkness until reaching the wall and lay on his side. With the stick where it was, there would be no way he could rest; it had to come out. He moved his jaw sideways, but that only served to hurt him the more. He had to get his hands in front and nearer to his face, break the stick with his fingers.
Moving his arms, he noticed the guard hadn’t pulled the chain as tight as he might have. Mehmet ignored the pain, wriggled and bent his back until his hands touched his heels. He squirmed. He twisted. He accidentally bit down on the stick but then at last the chain, and his hands, was in front of him. He doubled forward and pushed his fingers clumsily against the toothpick. It broke, the pieces dislodged and he was liberated. Mehmet worked his jaw, made sure it wasn’t about to lock up, spat out a mouthful of blood and laid his head on the greasy curve of the bed. In a snap, he’d slipped into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter 24
Another day, maybe the same day, Mehmet was woken by the clattering of the cell door. Without thinking, he stretched and yawned. His jaw had locked and the hinges creaked in unison with the pain. To round off his woes, he let his tongue clack on the roof of his mouth and activated the foulest of tastes. His shoulders sagged in submission; he wondered if his situation could get any worse, and knew it could.
