by Rik Stone
The woman slid the glass panel and came in. Dressed from head to foot in black, the glare she gave Anna matched the mood of the clothing, dark. She lifted a Fatima cigarette to her lips and drew on it, caving her cheeks inward. The smoke wafted across her face and her eyes slatted. She blew a straight blue line upward and the room filled with the smell of roasted tobacco: not unpleasant.
The smoke cleared, her eyes grew wider and her hard, unforgiving expression changed. She smiled pleasantly and shook Anna’s hand; it felt thin, cold and unwelcoming.
“Hello, Anna, I’m Gizem, Beyrek’s wife. I’ve not long made iced tea. Perhaps you’ll join us?”
“I’ve only got five minutes, but I’m sure I can drink cold tea before being asked to leave.”
Gizem simpered, nodded appreciatively.
Anna thought of her as attractive, around fifty, but unlike a lot of Turkish women of that age, she hadn’t yet gone to seed. Her eyes caught Anna’s attention; they looked as cold as shards of ice. How she might fit into this picture was difficult to determine.
Gizem motioned a hand towards one of the club chairs. A nod and Anna sat across from where Beyrek had parked himself. She messed with the bow in her hair and made sure she looked bothered as she tried straightening it. Gizem poured tea for them all and placed two cups on the coffee table between Anna and Beyrek.
He sipped at his while staring at Anna over the top of the cup. “I fail to see how we can be of mutual benefit, but I’ve agreed to give you five minutes, so try me,” he said, replacing the cup gently on the table.
“I came to warn you. You must move your girls from The Turkish Delight. Your whole operation is in danger.”
“What, and that’s it? Hmph, then I’m sorry, there are no benefits. The club has already been destroyed… Was there anything else before you go?”
Anna made herself squirm. “Clearly, I didn’t know that, but I wouldn’t mind betting it was a man called Yuri Aleksii who was responsible.”
Beyrek looked taken aback. “How could you know that? Unless you are involved with him?”
She relaxed her shoulders and smiled. “Not at all; he works for Russian Intelligence. They’re eliminating everything to do with the trafficking, right across the Soviet Union. Otto Mitrokhin has been assassinated on the steps of KGB headquarters and your latest connection, Nabokovski, was killed along with his bodyguards in a hotel room in Moscow. None of this has yet been made official. Soviet forces have blanketed the route used for the transfer of the girls. The trafficking is dead.”
Beyrek’s face turned ashen and he looked to Gizem.
Gizem asked, “If it isn’t official, how can it be you know so much about it, Anna?”
Beyrek wasn’t quick enough to think up the question. Gizem was a major cog in the overall scheme of things here.
“Because Otto was my business partner and we both worked in security forces. I wasn’t a minion as you seemed to think; we worked together. That’s why he asked me to pick up the Bernstein girls in the first place. It is also why I was short-tempered. I hadn’t wanted to do it. But they were important to our business in Russia so it had to be done by someone we could both trust. He was being watched, so that left me.”
Gizem’s expression changed to one of satisfaction, but Beyrek was still to be convinced.
“What you say is all very interesting, but I still don’t see how any of it will keep my wallet healthy. In fact, the contrary seems to be true,” he said.
“Like I told you, Beyrek, Otto was my partner. The trafficking deal in Russia had already been sold on, but we kept our other operations going. We operate all over Africa and the Middle East, in fact, all over the world. With Otto dead, I need new connections, a trusted base outside of Russia, and you’ve already proved you’re that. You see, I have to get out of the Soviet Union. They’ve put the pieces together and are already looking for me.”
“What kind of trades in Africa?” Gizem asked.
“In Africa – diamonds,” Anna replied.
“Diamonds… Okay,” Gizem said, pondering. “Beyrek, there are possibilities here. Anna, would you like more iced tea?”
Gizem had taken the bait. All Anna had to do now was keep them occupied until the others turned up.
*
The taxi Anna had used to go to Beyrek’s flashed around the base of the bluff and thundered on in the direction of Icmeler village, the driver clearly a man on a mission. Mehmet was in the front of a small Fiat next to Alik, and Yuri sat in the back. They had parked in a lay-by waiting for the cab. Now, after letting it get out of sight, they pulled out and drove up the winding road towards the cliff top.
“I don’t see why Anna had to go ahead. Surely she’s putting herself in unnecessary danger,” Mehmet said.
“It’s entirely necessary. I was unable to determine the security inside the house,” Alik replied. “If they spot us when we take the grounds, they might be able to lock down and wait for backup. With Anna inside, she can keep their interest away from the windows and she might be in a position to prevent them shutting up shop.”
Reaching the summit, Alik pulled into Ozel’s driveway, sideways to the gate. Yuri had crouched down on the floor in the back while Mehmet sat running his fingers through the long blond wig Alik had given him. A girl again – Russians!
Alik got out of the car and faced a guard who stood at the gate as if he were some sort of titan. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, he was of similar build to Yuri. He carried an Uzi, but the stock was folded and he held it as a handgun when pointing it into Alik’s face.
“Stop where you are,” he demanded, halting Alik a metre from the gate. “What’s your business here?”
“Yes, ehm, hava der meeting Kemal Ataturk,” he said, breaking his speech into poor Turkish.
Even from the passenger seat, Mehmet could see the guard scrunching his brow. “Kemal Ataturk…? Are you trying to fuck me over?”
“No. You no do understand.” Alik took a step closer. “Doing of the business with Turkish saleman… err, Kemal Ataturk. He sell me half of property you stand in. He tell me and wife come tonight, sign deal.” He made a half-turn and Mehmet played with his hair when Alik pointed at him.
Snot spat from the guard’s nose as he burst out laughing. “It’s not just your body that’s small, is it?” he said. “That brain of yours isn’t far behind. Did you pay your salesman anything up front?”
“Yah, half money…”
The answer sent the sentry into convulsions. He threw his head back in amusement, but before he could spit more insults, Alik whipped a Makarov silent pistol from his waistband and shot him under the chin – a muffled burst and blood flowered like a mushroom from the guard’s neck. His body lurched as his hands clawed upwards, and Alik shot him in the face.
Mehmet ripped off the wig, climbed from the car and pivoted the front seat forward to make room for Yuri to get out. Alik had already climbed over the gate and gone into a small hut. The gate opened electronically and Mehmet slipped silently into the grounds with Yuri, the gates closing behind them. Yuri dragged the body behind the sentry box, took up the Uzi and stood in the guard’s stead. Alik then tugged Mehmet’s sleeve and they dissolved into the darkness of the olive grove, Alik warning him to stay close so they wouldn’t end up shooting each other. They edged forward, crept low and moved in half-circles to make certain there were no guards in their wake. Alik had been watching this place for some time before they arrived and had told Mehmet that there were definitely only four guards – including the one on the gate, which meant three to find.
In the darkness, Mehmet was following a metre behind Alik when he saw a halting hand. Alik came back and pointed. Mehmet strained his eyes. Nothing. But then a red glow lit up a hand and the bottom half of a man’s face, which soon dimmed and the vision melted back into the darkness. Quietly, Alik indicated they should get down on their bellies, lie still and wait as voices rumbled on the other side of the compound. The smoking man responded by t
aking a last drag on his smoke before stubbing it out on a tree trunk. He was on the move. Red embers showered, some burning out before hitting the ground.
Had the man moved off? Mehmet wondered, but Alik made no such deliberation. He’d made a calculated assessment and reacted quickly. Three silenced shots flashed from the muzzle of his Makarov.
A groan, a thud and Mehmet followed Alik on hands and knees. They reached the part of the grove where the man had stood and Mehmet was amazed. The guard was lying face up, staring to where he could see the sky – if he hadn’t been dead. Three holes centre chest. Shots in the dark and Alik had made a perfect hit with each.
Staying still for several more minutes in case the other guards were alerted, they listened. Voices kicked off but there was no alarm in them and the sounds were coming from more or less the same place as earlier. Alik moved off again. Mehmet followed.
There were no signs of the sky clearing, but the visibility in the grove suddenly improved. They were at the rear half of the property, in the orange grove. The smell of orange was strong and Mehmet knew from his time in Synopi that they were ripe for picking. He let the odour clean his nostrils and for a second, relived memories of the relative safety of the prison: even the worst times have positives. They stopped a few metres from the house and saw two men leant up against the side wall.
Alik’s whisper sounded near non-existent when he said, “I’m told you’re not much of a shooter, but we have to take them both at once for the sake of silence. If we get to that tree” – he pointed – “will you be accurate with your knife?”
Mehmet weighed it up. The guards wouldn’t be able to see him. If he could throw the dagger with full force… Yes, in that case he could be accurate at twice the distance. He nodded.
“Good. Go for the one on the left. When we’re in position, I’ll let you know I’m ready and then I’ll follow your lead. Okay?”
Mehmet nodded again.
He crawled to the tree and stood straight. Alik stayed on his knees and pulled Mehmet’s trouser leg to let him know he was ready. Mehmet took his knife from the sheath, wiped the blade on his trousers and then did the same with the palm of his hand. It was sweaty. He was nervous he might miss.
As quietly as possible, he took a deep breath and then, without further ado, threw the knife as forcefully as accuracy would allow. The knife was in the air and hadn’t quite reached the target when Alik fired his pistol twice. Bullets thudded into his man’s neck and chest and before Mehmet’s target could register the assault, the blade had sunk up to the hilt in his throat. Both men hit the ground together.
That should have been the guards accounted for, but Alik wasn’t satisfied with the assumption. “We have to be sure,” he said. “Let us confirm that the guards are dead first and then we’ll purge the area back to the gates.”
Mehmet retrieved his knife and they canvassed the grounds as far back as the boundary where Yuri marched back and forward at the gate.
Alik reached the juncture at the same time. “It was clear my side,” Mehmet said.
Alik nodded in agreement and then said to Yuri, “The grounds are clear.”
“Then let’s do it,” Yuri answered. “Fan out, and make another check of the grounds back to the house.”
For a moment, Mehmet couldn’t understand the overkill, but then realised he had been using the same self-preservation tactics since he’d been a boy.
They opened the main door into the house and entered the hall. The light was blinding and as meticulous as Alik might have been about procedure, it was he who knocked into a small table. A vase crashed to the floor.
Chapter 51
A smash echoed from the downstairs hall.
“What the…?” Beyrek called, getting to his feet.
Anna moved forward in the club chair and lifted both hands to the bow in her hair.
“Beyrek, sit down,” Gizem scolded.
He sat without question.
She turned to Anna. “Since The Turkish Delight was lost, my husband gets jittery all too easily, don’t you, Beyrek? Our son, Ilkin, is downstairs in the office. He’s always banging about with something.”
She had spoken to Beyrek like a chastising mother. And his brow had furrowed a bit like a chastised son. Anna shook her head slightly; the most powerful gangster in Istanbul?
She had held them with stories of scams in the Middle East and told them of the diamond smuggling operations on the West African coast. The cases were real enough; she just failed to mention that her job had been to bring the operations to a close. But now more than an hour had gone by since Gizem first welcomed her with the iced tea and she had begun wondering just how much more she could dredge up from the past. Maybe she wouldn’t have to for much longer; the ‘banging about’, as Gizem had put it, hadn’t been Ilkin. That much she knew.
But Ilkin being in the house did pose a new problem; he hadn’t been included in the calculation. Anna was there to distract; she wasn’t sanctioned to act without provocation. But now she was thinking she should be stepping up to the situation. She got halfway to her feet, about to make a move, but then Yuri, Mehmet and Alik burst into the room toting guns. She sat back.
“Keep your hands out in front of you where I can see them!” Alik shouted.
Alik’s gun was pointed at Gizem, Yuri’s at Ozel and Mehmet’s at Anna.
“That goes for you, too,” Mehmet said and gave her a little wink.
Anna pulled a worried face and placed her hands neatly on her knees.
*
“On your feet,” Yuri shouted. “Beyrek, remove your pistol with your thumb and forefinger and drop it to the floor.”
Beyrek complied and was surprised when Yuri said the same to Gizem. How did he know she was armed? But after taking her gun, he shouted the same thing at Anna and when she said she didn’t have a weapon he took her word for it. Gizem had slipped up. She should have said the same.
Beyrek weighed up the three men. One was a tiny little thing, blond hair, cold eyes, overdressed; he had never seen him before.
Yuri, on the other hand, he had known for many years. True, he hadn’t known he was a Russian spy until Anna had told him, but he felt a bit more at ease in his presence than the others’. He knew Yuri had been shit-scared the night Levent was dealt with. He felt Yuri could be beaten.
The third man was clean shaven with thick, wavy hair, rumpled as if he’d just taken a hat off. He was tall and lean but his face looked baby smooth and his good looks were a bit girlish. Of course, all Turks didn’t have those attributes, but there was something about the man suggesting that’s what he was – a Turk. In fact, he looked like how he remembered Mehmet, but that wasn’t possible. Mehmet was still in Synopi Prison. He had checked with Selim.
“Is there anyone else in this house?” Yuri asked.
The question struck Beyrek as odd. Well, maybe the question wasn’t so odd, but why had he directed it at Anna?
“No, there are only the people in this room,” she answered and Beyrek felt a moment of calm.
Anna could have betrayed Ilkin, but she had said nothing. However, her loyalty became academic when Ilkin burst into the room with an Uzi slung down by his side, pointing it up into the faces of the captors.
“Ilkin … thank goodness,” Beyrek exclaimed. His son veered his eyes while training the gun on Anna. “Not her; she’s with us.”
Ilkin nodded and said to the others, “Okay, drop your weapons and take a step back.”
Gizem picked up her gun while Yuri’s people dropped theirs, and was suddenly irritated. “Anna, stop playing with your hair like a child and move their guns out of reach,” she said with more than a hint of impatience.
Anna dropped her hands as instructed, but she’d pulled a short throwing knife from under the bow and threw it with force. Beyrek was picking up his gun, but his mind went into slow motion as he watched the blade fly through the air and sink deep into Gizem’s chest. Gizem’s mouth opened in silent scream, she dropp
ed the gun, clutched at the knife’s handle and staggered against the wall. Her eyes opened wide. She gagged and what looked like clots of thick blood spit consumptively from her mouth. Fear absorbed her face as the blood gurgled freely, saturating her dress. She slid down the wall and the light of life dimmed in her eyes.
All the while, Ilkin had stared blankly at his mother, mouth framed into an ‘o’, unaware that the one who looked like a Turk had also slipped out a knife and thrown it in his direction. The blade found the gap between his lips and disappeared up to the hilt in his mouth. Ilkin’s body jumped spasmodically like a marionette in the hands of a child. He fell to his knees and slumped forward with his face in his hands, looking like a Muslim at prayer.
Anger was Beyrek’s first reaction. He whipped up his Browning pistol, but too late; the little man fired a shot and a silenced round puffed from the chamber of his gun. The bullet thudded into Beyrek and excruciating pain seared through his shoulder. A crescent of blood haloed from the wound. He was about to die.
He had to get out.
At first he intended shooting Yuri, but the injury had spun him sideways. He fired off two shots that boomed out like thunder. Another silenced shot, but Beyrek had no time to investigate where that one went; it hadn't hit him and that was all that mattered for now. He raced for the door, remaining bent over to make himself a smaller target and saw where his two shots had gone; the little man was crumpled against the glass wall, blood seeping from his lips.
Beyrek had to step over Gizem; his poor, sweet Gizem. She was dead. Her hands were clutched at the small dagger sticking from her chest, but it was the hole blown through her ribcage that had separated her from life: the silenced shot after he was hit. But he had to carry on, he had to get away.
