by J C Ryan
Yilmiz goggled, swallowed, and after almost a minute of silence managed to reply with, “Mend, Send, and Mayon.”
Aisha grinned and said, “They who draw water from the desert.”
To which Yilmiz responded without hesitation, “And they who trade from the east to the west.” A smile broke across his face; his guests had passed the required security check.
Yilmiz invited them to follow him to a small room in the basement at the back of the building where they could have a private conversation.
An old worn-out carpet covered the floor; the walls were in desperate need of a coat of paint, and with no windows, the air was stale. Two weathered couches that had seen better days and a chest of drawers, equally dilapidated, against the wall made up the furniture in the room.
Aisha and Mayon sat down on one of the couches, and Yilmiz took a seat on the other, facing them.
He apologized for the humble surroundings but assured them at least it was safe to talk there.
Mayon explained what they required — new legends, passports, and travel documents. They would also need a laptop computer, two prepaid, unregistered cellphones, and clothes to match their adopted persona as citizens of France.
Yilmiz smiled — the dollar signs were flashing before his eyes. “That won’t be a problem at all, my friends. You have come to the right man.”
He didn’t ask for their real names, where they were coming from, why they were on the run, or any other details. In his line of work, the golden rule was the less you knew about your clients, the better your chances of staying alive.
“How much will it cost, and how long will it take?” Mayon asked.
Yilmiz kept a straight face. He knew he could get it all done in a few days for less than a $1,000, but he was not going to tell them that. They were in dire straits, and that was good for him. He had to make it look difficult. And that he did.
He held the index finger of his right hand up. “Please bear with me just one minute. Let me just calculate it.” He closed his eyes in mock concentration, mumbled, and counted on his fingers. “It will be $9,950 US dollars. Let’s say $10,000 to be on the safe side. That’s without the clothes, laptop, and cellphones. You must give me the specifications for the laptop and your measurements for the clothes.”
Mayon and Aisha didn’t even look at each other to confirm or to start bargaining about the price. For them $10,000 was peanuts. They had dropped much more than that when dining with friends at some of the world’s top restaurants. Given their circumstances, they both thought $10,000 was an absolute bargain.
Mayon nodded his agreement with the price. “When will it all be ready?”
Yilmiz had a hard time suppressing the smile that threatened to occupy his face. He had readied himself to negotiate and would have come down to $2,000, maybe even $1,300. He went through the closed-eyes-finger-counting routine again. “Seven days is the quickest it can be done.”
Aisha sighed; she was heartily fed-up with living in Istanbul’s bughouses, the so-called budget accommodation. Nevertheless, she knew equally well there was nothing she could do but endure it for another seven days. Maybe the bughouses in Rome would be better than the ones here.
“Seven days is a long time, but I guess we also have to be careful,” Mayon replied. Yilmiz concurred. “When can we get the laptop and cellphones?”
“Just give me the specifications, and I will have them delivered to this address for you tomorrow at three p.m.” He wrote the name and address of a restaurant on a piece of paper and handed it to Mayon. He got up and retrieved a brown, faux leather briefcase from the chest of drawers and gave it to Mayon. “Carry this with you when you go to the restaurant. A man with a briefcase that looks exactly like this one will join you at some stage. You will swap briefcases, and you will pay him for the cost of the items.”
“Understood,” Mayon replied.
For the next hour, they went through all the details of where and when and by whom packages would be delivered to them, and Yilmiz took several photos for their new passports.
At the end of the conversation, Aisha took an envelope out of her handbag and counted out $10,000 in one-hundred-dollar bills and handed it to Yilmiz, who didn’t count the money — it would have been an insult to his guests if he had.
Chapter 7 -
Unwavering and stouthearted
Understandably, King al Saud was shocked and heartbroken when he was told of the two Royal family members who were involved in the planned subversion of the House of Saud. However, the King had to put the safety and well-being of more than two hundred powerful princes and twenty thousand plus family members above the interests of two dissenting family members. Therefore, like a true statesman, the King was firm in his decision not to interfere with due process in any way, shape, or form. Justice had to be seen to be done.
Although the investigative and trial processes were conducted in secret, there was nothing secret about the outcome of those processes. Therefore, justice was seen to be done by the many thousands who attended the mass public execution of the condemned, twenty days after the Minister of Interior gave his first instructions to Hamza Kouri, the Director of Mabahith.
The photographing of public executions was forbidden. However, the Saudi police did not strictly enforce this prohibition. They felt it should be treated as a rough guideline of expected behavior at events such as public beheadings.
If there was one wisdom the spectators took away from the executions, it was that although there were many things one could not do in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the consequences of ignoring the prohibition on criticizing the House of Saud topped them all. If you had any criticism of the Royal family, it was highly recommended to keep your ideas in your head if you had any desire to keep your head connected to the rest of your body.
The lackadaisical enforcement of the law against the filming of public executions assured the world media of a news scoop in almost real-time.
It was twelve days after Carter, Mackenzie, and the children arrived on Freydís that the news about the public mass execution in Saudi Arabia broke.
Carter was alone in the living room when he saw the news. Mackenzie was busy bathing and feeding Beth, and Liam was out somewhere with Jeha and Ahote.
This time, the news had a different effect on him.
He and Mackenzie had thus far not discussed their plans for the future. It was as if there was a tacit understanding between them that the time for that had not arrived yet. For now, it was more than enough to be reunited and to enjoy every moment of it.
However, the initial excitement of being together again, to be free and without danger, had started to wane. What was beginning to surface now was the inexorable psychological damage that followed in the wake of the ordeal that had begun ten months ago.
The beheadings in Saudi Arabia added another thirty to the mounting death toll. Many of the dead were entirely innocent, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or just being friends and family of the wrong people. How could anyone look upon all those mindless killings, injury, and destruction and not be affected? And Carter knew he was directly responsible for at least one of those deaths.
Beth was too young to be directly impacted. Carter and Mackenzie were keeping a close watch on Liam for signs of any adverse effects. For now, he still seemed to be unscathed. Maybe part of it was because Jeha, Ahote, and Bly kept him so busy there was no time to dwell on the dark and depressing thoughts Carter and Mackenzie had to deal with. And maybe another part of it was because Mackenzie made sure that during the time of their captivity, she never spoke to him in negative terms, always supportive and full of appreciation for how brave and strong he was.
Mackenzie was emotionally exhausted, however. Many a night, she would still break down in tears, even though Carter held her in his arms and reassured her that she and the children were safe, back together, and he would make sure they would never get in harm’s way again.
Carter’s emotions wer
e fluctuating between fury, gratefulness, guilt, and fear that his family would never be the same again. He was finding it hard to come to grips with killing a human being. As much as he knew he had no choice but to shoot that guard when he went for his gun, the bullets out of his gun, held in his hand, still ended the life of another human being.
Was there a right and wrong here? If so, what was right and what was wrong?
An eye-for-an-eye, a tooth-for-a-tooth, or turn the other cheek?
Certainly, the news about the executions was disturbing. Although no graphical images were shown of the explosion that began the nightmare of the past ten months, Carter knew what it entailed. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the pandemonium of the bomb explosion, the twenty-three dead, and the many wounded including himself. Mackenzie and Liam, a six-year-old boy, captured and held like animals in cages below ground for more than ten months without a single ray of sunlight, under constant threat of harm. Beth born in captivity . . .
As was the case with George Robertson’s death, the death of thirty more didn’t amend anything. It didn’t restore life, nor did it heal physical and emotional injuries. And the chain of events set in motion with that bomb explosion in Jerusalem ten months ago, was still raging. How much more before it would end?
It was a nightmare, which he, Mackenzie, and Liam to a lesser degree, would have to live with — wounds would heal but scars would remain.
Carter was so deep in brown study he didn’t see Mackenzie come in nor hear her talking to him.
After getting no response, she tried a different tactic and changed her voice to sound like that of Steven Spielberg’s ET character. “ET calling Carter. Carter come home.” That had the desired effect.
“Huh, what…? Sorry, Mackie, my mind was in a different place. What did you say?”
When she saw his face, she didn’t answer his question; instead, she asked, “Carter, what’s wrong? You look . . . upset . . . out of sorts . . . What’s bothering you?”
Carter was quiet for a few moments before he spoke. “Mackie, our lives have changed in so many ways the past ten months. You and I should make time to talk about everything that happened.”
She didn’t say a word. She just came to him, sat down on his lap, embraced and kissed him. Then she said, “Yes, I know, there is a lot to talk and think about.”
“Mackie, I’m aware you might not feel up to it yet. There’s no rush. We can do it when you’re ready.”
She shook her head. “I’m ready. Tonight, when the kids are in bed, we’ll get a bottle of fine red wine out of the cellar and tackle this thing head-on.”
Carter smiled. That’s my Mackie—unwavering and stouthearted. That night, he was going to find out just how unwavering and stouthearted his Mackie could be.
Chapter 8 -
We will be free
Mayon and Aisha, masquerading as a husband and wife couple from Dubai, had taken delivery of the laptop, mobile phones, new passports, clothes, and other items piecemeal as Emir Yilmiz supplied them over the course of seven days. The two of them remained ever heedful and tense. Television and radio news channels, as expected, showed their names and faces. In adherence to their father’s instructions, they stayed off the Internet. The Saudi government wanted them for subversion, conspiracy to overthrow the government, and corrupting the children of Allah.
They understood the first two charges; however, they had no idea what the charge “corrupting the children of Allah” meant. Indeed, very few people did. It was an offense that lacked specifics and included anything from loitering in public to high treason. Such a nonsensical charge was a joke, except for the fact that it carried the death penalty — that much they comprehended. However, it would make no difference whether they understood or not.
They were innocent. If arrested, they would eventually be found guilty of all charges by their own confessions. But their only true transgression was that they were the children of Xavier Algosaibi — an adversary of the House of Saud.
To quickly bring the two of them to justice, a one and a half million US dollar bounty was placed on each of their heads by the Mabahith. And although it was not mentioned in the news, Mayon and Aisha knew that meant dead or alive.
Thus far, their changed appearances, relocating to a different hotel every day, and staying out of the public eye ensured that they were not discovered.
Nevertheless, being on the run from the terrifying Mabahith and no doubt some of the world’s best contract assassins meant seven days was an agonizingly long time. Mayon and Aisha felt the tension, uncertainty, and idle waiting was becoming too much for them. Aisha was constantly complaining about their miserable accommodations, food and surroundings, and being treated like delinquents and plebs. Mayon’s patience was wearing thin. Aisha didn’t seem to understand there was nothing they could do unless they wanted to take the grave risk of going back to Emir Yilmiz to try and speed things up. Their father’s directions were unambiguous — use a contact like Yilmiz once and once only. The first time you meet the person is also the last. No exceptions.
The straw that almost broke the camel’s back was the breaking news about the mass public execution in Saudi Arabia. Their father was the first one to be executed. It was not shown on TV, but Mayon and Aisha knew how gruesome and inhumane those public executions were.
A bit of respite came the day after the bad news. It was the morning of the seventh day after meeting with Yilmiz that Mayon entered the hotel room with their new passports in hand. Aisha broke down sobbing with relief. She already had their luggage packed, and thirty minutes later they were in a taxi on the way to the airport. Another personal safety tip from their father — if you can prevent it, don’t use the same airport or border crossing twice — meant they didn’t direct the taxi driver to the Istanbul Atatürk International Airport where they had arrived seventeen days before. Instead, they headed for Istanbul’s Sabiha Gokcen International Airport.
Mayon took his sister’s hand when the plane lifted off the tarmac. She was still shaking. “Don’t worry, Aisha, we are going to make it.”
They were seated in economy class. Being in first or business class, where they were used to traveling, would have exposed them too much. “Within a few weeks, no one will ever be able to track us down. We will be free,” Mayon whispered to her.
She nodded, closed her eyes, and let out a long sigh. “I hope you’re right about that, my brother. I don’t know how much longer I can endure this kind of stress.”
Emir Yilmiz’s cell phone rang, and he answered. There were no pleasantries, just a voice saying, “Alitalia 4755 to Naples.” The phone went dead, and Yilmiz immediately made a call to his contact in Paris.
Chapter 9 -
We didn’t win; we only survived
Liam and Beth were fast asleep. Carter and Mackenzie had settled on the couch in front of the fireplace. Mackenzie was reclining on her back with her legs over Carter’s lap, and he was massaging her feet.
“Okay, Carter, let’s talk about it,” she started. “I can see it’s been bugging you, and to be honest, it’s the same with me. But I think you should go first. I don’t have all my ducks in a row yet.”
“Mackie, that’s what I admire so much about you — untiring and courageous.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Out with it.” She smiled.
“The thing is, Mackie, you and the children went through a horrible ordeal, and I blame myself for everything that happened. I—”
“Stop it right there!” Mackenzie said firmly. Her eyes were blazing. “If I ever hear you say that again, I won’t answer to the consequences. It isn’t true. I know it, and you know it—”
Carter interjected, “No, wait, let me finish. If I’d never taken the position with A-Echelon, you wouldn’t have become part of A-Echelon, either. And even if you didn’t take the role with A-Echelon, you would’ve been with me. And as we know, I was the prime target of Algosaibi and his cronies.”
“Now, just tell me
how on earth were you supposed to know all of that was going to happen? Hmm? Are you going to tell me you have some sort of hidden prophetical ability you neglected to use when you were supposed to? Only then would it make sense to blame yourself.”
“That’s not the point, Mackie—”
“What is the point then, Carter?”
“The point is that if it weren’t for my work on the ancient nukes, none of this would have happened.”
“Now listen to yourself, Professor Carter Devereux. If one of your students would have given you an argument like that in an exam, I’m sure he or she would have failed. Right?”
Carter shrugged.
“Of course, you would fail the student. Let me ask you a question based on your logic.” She didn’t wait for him to agree; she just continued. “Why only blame the moment you started working for A-Echelon? Why not go back to the moment you stepped on my toe? Why not the day when you asked me to marry you? Those are the incidents that triggered the chain of events. Not only your work at A-Echelon. We — Liam, Beth, and I—became part of your life the day you stepped on my toe there at the University. Yes, even before they were born they were part of your life.”
Carter shrugged again. He knew Mackenzie was right, and her pure logic was somehow helping to straighten out his mind. He could feel the weight of self-blame slowly lifting off his shoulders.
“I don’t want to disrespect the memory of your parents and siblings, but what about that situation? You were only a little eight-year-old boy then. The gas truck lost control on a dry road and swerved into the oncoming lane, colliding with your parents’ car, killing them all. Do you blame yourself for the fact that you weren’t there at the time? That you were at your grandparents’ house?”
“No, of course not,” Carter whispered as his memory flashed back to that fateful day.
“But this time it’s okay to beat yourself up over something you had no control over either?”
