The Ottoman Conspiracy, page 16
part #3 of Jeff Bradley Series
“Only Marius. I’m hungry,” Jeff said. “How about you?”
Reason nodded.
Jeff said, “I need a shower and you want a shower, and we both need to relax for a bit. I think we order room service. How does that sound to you?”
Reason shrugged. “Why not?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sulla drove into Flag Square, the main plaza of the Albanian port city of Vlore. His brother-in-law, Blerim Basholli, was standing next to a knee-high hedgerow that fringed the mosque. Sulla had flown to Tirana, the Albanian capital, collected the car Blerim had organised for him and driven the coast road to Vlore. The trip had taken too long. It was early evening. Blerim had been in Vlore for the day. Sulla hoped he had news of Osman Gashi and his busload of illegal immigrants.
Blerim crossed the road to meet him.
“Have you seen Gashi and his people?” Sulla asked, as he locked the car.
“Yes, they left an hour ago.”
Sulla’s shoulders slumped. He spread his hands and leaned on the bonnet of the car.
Blerim patted Sulla on the back. “Do not be downcast, my brother, we are not too late. They have three boats. Fast boats, but not as fast as my boat. First, they will go to Sazan Island. It is about half an hour into the Adriatic Sea in my speedboat. For them, maybe it takes longer. Italian naval vessels and planes patrol the Adriatic, especially between Sazan and the Apulian Peninsula. This is the main smuggling route to Italy from Vlore.”
Sulla nodded. His brother-in-law should know what he was talking about; he was one of the major smugglers. At first, it had upset Sulla when he learned heroin, cocaine and other shit drugs were fed into Europe through Vlore, but Blerim swore his men never touched drugs. Sulla had not believed him and had him investigated. To his relief, he found out it was true. What it was Blerim smuggled, he wasn’t certain. Cigarettes were once high on the list, and commodity stolen goods like cooking oils and sugars that he could turn a quick profit on in Kosovo. Sulla didn’t care what the goods were as long as they weren’t drugs. During the Yugoslav and later the Kosovan war, Blerim had traded weapons, but this market had dried up when the war finished. Besides, he was only interested in bringing goods into Kosovo, not taking them out. Sulla had heard most of the high-quality perfumes and make-up on Kosovan retail shelves came via Blerim.
Blerim said, “Gashi and his men will wait behind the island until they have an all-clear and are certain the Italian navy is not about. We have time. You said there were more than one hundred people on the buses.”
“Yes, give or take ten or twenty.”
“They will need to do two trips. If we miss them tonight, we can catch them tomorrow. This is good, yes?”
“No, Blerim, it is not good, we might not have that much time. The hostages will arrive in Mardin tomorrow. This town is only a few kilometres to the Iraqi and Syrian borders. It has to be tonight that we find Gashi. I need him to lead me to Avni Leka. Now, where is this boat of yours?” Sulla asked.
“Leave the car. I will drive us to the port. The boat is moored there.”
“The car will be safe?”
Blerim laughed.
“Look at the rust. It needs paint. The tyres are worn. This car is a heap of shit, Sulla. Who will steal it? There are much better cars.”
Sulla had not been in the resort town for years. In June and July, the promenade and beaches bustled with holiday-makers and the restaurants and nightclubs partied into the night, but right now the chill air had sent everyone off to the warmth of their homes, and the streets were empty.
Blerim parked near the port gates. Not really a port, in Sulla’s opinion. It comprised a single jetty, and he doubted there was enough room for two or three small ships. He followed Blerim along the shoreline. Anchored boats rocked back and forth as small waves rushed past them. Blerim pointed into the bay.
“It is the one with the white hull.”
Sulla squinted into the dark. A street light gave some illumination.
“I see it.”
“A twenty-seven footer, and all the luxuries needed to travel in style. It is very nice on board. Most important for you, it has 450 horsepower; more than enough to catch up to Gashi’s boats. You know what Gashi is like. Caution will lose out to greed every time. He will have overloaded his boats with people. Too much weight will slow them.”
Sulla scratched at his day-old stubble.
Blerim led Sulla along the shoreline for fifty metres before scrambling down the embankment. They strode across the sandy surface to a rowboat sitting in a foot of water and held steady by one of Blerim’s men. The three pushed it out into knee-high water and climbed in. A short row and they were alongside Blerim’s speedboat.
“You own this boat?” Sulla asked, as they climbed aboard.
Blerim nodded.
“Smuggling must pay well; I think that is an expensive boat.”
“Yes it is, and if I ever meet the owner I will negotiate a price. In the meantime, I think we can say it is borrowed. Come on, let’s get under way.”
“We’re gaining.”
They had closed the gap. Sulla could clearly see Osman Gashi’s giant frame. From this distance, he could shoot him and be done with it. He would like that very much. But Jeff wanted him alive, and that was all that would save the Balkan crime lord on this day. But Sulla might need to control Blerim. Gashi had murdered Blerim’s father. Blerim had already forfeited an opportunity to avenge his father’s death not so long ago, when Jeff needed to keep Gashi alive. And now here they were, crossing paths again, and Sulla knew it would be difficult to calm his brother-in-law a second time.
“More throttle, Blerim,” Sulla yelled.
“That’s it, all we’ve got, but we will catch him, don’t worry. The Adriatic Sea is very big and there is nowhere to hide,” Blerim shouted back.
Blerim had mounted a floodlight on the cabin roof. Sulla kept it trained on Gashi as Blerim steered. What puzzled Sulla was why Gashi was on the boat at all. It was not like him to take such risks. He had men to do the dying and the going to jail for him. He paid them well, and they were loyal; they all knew the consequences of betrayal and failure. A lack of mercy was behind Gashi’s criminal success. The loyalty his men showed was whether they liked it or not. And, Sulla knew, in a country like Kosovo, where there was eighty per cent unemployment, well-paid jobs, even if illegal, had a queue waiting to take them on.
Gashi’s three boats had been side by side, but now two slowed. Gashi’s boat moved ahead of them. The two rear boats split: one to starboard and the other to port.
Sulla yelled to Blerim, “Gashi has no idea it is us after him. He thinks we are the police, and that, by splitting, he will make the police chase one of the other boats.”
They closed to within fifty metres. Blerim pulled out his gun.
Sulla tapped him on the shoulder. “Remember, we need him alive.”
Gashi threw bundles of rags into the water.
Blerim said, “Look at that: he is lightening his boat by dumping the possessions of the immigrants. This will not work.”
Another bundle brought a reaction from an immigrant. Sulla watched as a man rushed at Gashi. Then gunshots. The man fell from sight. “He shot one of the migrants.”
Two more shots were fired.
Sulla bit at the inside of his cheek. “Something is wrong.” He squinted into the darkness. “There.” He pointed and swung the lamp round until he found a bundle of rags. It was splashing. “It is a child!” Sulla screamed. “He’s throwing the children overboard.”
Blerim twisted to look at Sulla. Horrified. “Are you sure?”
Sulla pointed to where the beam of his searchlight was directed. Blerim saw the movement. “I’m sorry, Sulla, but we can’t leave the children to drown.”
Sulla tightened his lips. He turned away and kicked at the wall of the boat. He turned the light one last time on to Osman Gashi. The big man had moved to the stern. He waved. Sulla turned the light away to search for the children. Gashi’s boats disappeared into the darkness. A defeated Sulla opened his phone to send Jeff a text. No signal. He would have to wait until they returned to Vlore. He had failed Jeff. Without the information to find Leka, the last opportunity for Jeff to save the hostages was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A knocking on the door woke Jeff. He flung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled across the room. He pulled the door open. It was Fati. The cabbie pointed at the watch on his wrist. Jeff took hold of Fati’s arm and turned it towards him.
“It’s only six-thirty,” Jeff said.
“We need to leave by seven-thirty. It will take the whole day to get to Mardin. We must be on the road before the bus. If it leaves first we will never be allowed to overtake it.”
“Okay, Fati, we will meet you downstairs before seven-thirty.”
Jeff closed the door. Reason was sitting up in bed.
“Good morning,” Jeff said. Reason lifted her hand in response. “Fati says we need to be on the road early. It is going to be a long drive.”
“I heard,” Reason said, not fully awake.
She peered at him through half-closed eyes, entangled hair falling around soft features. She looked alluring and vulnerable at the same time, and not the strong, capable woman of the last few days. If he said what he thought out loud, she would probably leap from the bed and toss him out the window. But they had spent the night together. Not intimately, but the dynamic between the two of them had changed; at least in his mind it had. He found her appealing; more than that, if he was honest.
Jeff said, “Why don’t I take a walk for twenty minutes and you can use the bathroom, get yourself organised? When you’ve finished, I’ll do my ablutions and we can eat.”
“Thank you, Jeff. I’d appreciate some time alone.”
The hotel breakfast was a smorgasbord of cold meats, cheeses, fresh buns and plates of Turkish traditional dishes that Jeff did not recognise. He would have liked an English breakfast; in his mind, nothing was as good as bacon and eggs, but the cold dishes filled a hole. And Reason, freshly showered, agreed the coffee was drinkable. She ordered a second cup. Jeff shook his head when the waiter looked his way.
The previous evening had been a pleasant distraction. When Jeff and Reason made it back to their hotel they had showered, and while Reason used the bathroom, Jeff ordered food and wine brought to the room. They sat on the floor. Reason, clothed in a T-shirt and shorts, looked as sexy as hell. Only a thin layer of cotton had covered her toned nakedness, and the aroma of her perfume heightened the sexual tension. He had wanted to hold her, and she was less than an arm’s length away. Would Reason resist? Relaxed, her attitude towards him had softened. It was a natural reaction. The excitement and thrills and fear experienced through conflict were life-changing, and shared with another often formed the foundation of a lasting camaraderie. For a man and a woman, the ordeal might lead to intimacy between strangers.
They had agreed not to discuss business while they ate dinner. The events unravelling around them were out of their control, and the frustration borne of bashing their heads against an immovable political stance needed to be put to one side. Reason had laughed at Jeff’s stories of his struggle to establish his vineyard, and she had told him of her training as a Hollywood stuntwoman and some of the stunts she had performed. While Jeff thought he had been open about life and life experiences, after an evening of chat Reason had not revealed anything truly personal about herself. Not that it mattered. Whatever she told him was her choice, and beyond that it was none of his business. When she laughed, she touched his arm. He liked her touch. The wine had loosened their moods. Once or twice, their eyes met and held a fraction longer than would happen between friends. Jeff sensed Reason would not resist if he leaned across and kissed her.
But the photo on the laptop in her hotel room was an unassailable barrier. Reason had a family. Danger and circumstance had brought them together, but the moment would pass and it would be unfair of him to take advantage and have Reason regret it later.
Across the breakfast table, as if reading his mind, Reason said, “You were the perfect gentleman last night, Jeff. By choice, or do you not find me attractive?”
Jeff raised an eyebrow.
“What can I say?” she said, teasing. “I’m a woman. We’re sensitive.”
“Okay, fair enough. In your hotel room in Istanbul I saw the photo on your laptop. Call me old-fashioned, but married women are off-limits. However, for the record, I find you very attractive.”
Reason looked down into her coffee. She fiddled with the ring on her right hand. On the wrong finger and the wrong hand, but from Jeff’s observation the ring was a wedding band. When she glanced up her eyes were moist.
“My family – my husband, my two beautiful children – are dead, Jeff. Killed, two years ago.”
Jeff remained still.
“I am so sorry, Reason.”
He was about to ask her what happened, but waited; if Reason wanted, she would elaborate.
“You can’t have known, but it’s something I have learned to live with. I have moved on. It was either that or go insane or do something silly, like try to join them.”
Jeff opened and closed his mouth, uncertain how to respond. His phone bleeped. He tilted the screen until he could read the sender’s name. He glanced across at Reason.
“It’s from Sulla.”
Reason nodded. “Go ahead and read it. I’m okay, really.”
Jeff gave the text a quick scan. His lips tightened, and he shook his head. “Damn it.” He looked up at Reason. “Osman Gashi escaped.”
“Then it’s the end of the line, I guess?”
“Yes, it is. I’ve run out of options.”
Reason glanced at the television over the café bar and behind Jeff.
“The bus is about to move again.”
Jeff looked back over his shoulder. The TV showed that the canvas was down. Jeff swung back to Reason. Her eyes had cleared. The moment between them was gone and it was back to the business at hand. He would ask about her family another time.
He gulped the last of his coffee.
“We need to leave. Fati will be waiting.”
“I’m eating.”
“It’s a bun. Bring it with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Fati sped down the sloping lanes and on to the main road out of Goreme. Traffic was heavy, and after a hundred metres it had ground to a halt. Like the other motorists, Fati beeped his horn at no one. The bend in the road prevented Jeff from seeing whatever it was that was causing the hold-up. To the right, in a small field, a man stood beside a box selling motor oils and hubcaps. Near the seller was an inflated hot air balloon. The wicker passenger basket was pegged to the ground to stop it rising. The balloonist was inside the basket operating the propane burners to keep the balloon filled. The giant, brightly coloured balloon swayed back and forth in the breeze. A banner hung down over the front of the basket.
“What’s that all about, Fati?”
“Goreme is very famous for hot air ballooning. The press is here. The balloonist is getting free publicity. On the banner is his company name and phone number.”
“Good for him. With the traffic going nowhere, he now has the fastest mode of transport in town. Something is up,” Jeff said, stating the obvious. “I’m going to have a look.”
“I’m coming with you,” Reason said.
Jeff opened his bag and pulled out the binoculars. When they reached the corner at the top of the slope they could see a roadblock was in place a half-mile before the hostage bus encampment. Military vehicles sat parked across the road. Jeff raised his field glasses.
“The bus hasn’t moved,” he said to Reason. “And the tarpaulin is back in place.”
Two military officers stood beside the bus speaking to one of the hijackers in the shadows of the canvas wall. The military men waved their hands about. One of them placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. He kicked at a rock. The second officer pointed to the shadows like he was stabbing holes in the air. They both turned and stomped off.
Jeff lowered the field glasses.
“I have no idea what the hell the soldiers and the hijackers were talking about, but whatever it was, the soldiers are not happy. With the cover back up, my assessment is, I don’t think that bus is going anywhere, and nor is this traffic. There is another roadblock further ahead. More armoured vehicles. The road is blocked both sides.”
He passed the binoculars to Reason.
“I hope what appears to be happening is not happening,” Jeff said.
Reason looked across at him. “You mean, have the Turkish government drawn a line in the sand?”
“Looks like it. I have a feeling this is the end of the journey for the bus.”
Reason said, “Two army trucks are circling the bus dropping poles and giant bags of something. Soldiers have run forward and are opening the bags. It looks like more canvas. Huge rolls of it. Now we have soldiers picking up the poles and one of them has a handheld post-hole borer. I’d say they’re building a screen round the bus to block it from the media.”
“Do you still think the Turks will blow it up?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Reason said, scanning the activity with Jeff’s binoculars before passing them back. “I don’t know if they will blow it up. Not yet anyway, not with their soldiers so close, and not with those military officers standing next to it. My fear right now is The Sheriff and his men will blow it.”
“I say that won’t happen, not yet at any rate. That will be an act of last resort. I think it will only happen if the army attack the bus and attempt a rescue.”
For the next hour, they watched as the Turkish soldiers encircled the bus with a canvas wall. Portable toilets were brought back and smaller trucks offloaded trays of food. When the wall was complete, all activity within the enclosure was gone from sight.
“The soldiers have set themselves up inside the compound. A discussion could be taking place with the hijackers,” Reason said. “It could be a negotiation to hand over the hostages,” she added, hopefully.
