The Ottoman Conspiracy, page 3
part #3 of Jeff Bradley Series
He and Sulla climbed out.
“Gani will stay with the car,” Sulla said. “We might need to scoot in a hurry.”
From a distance, Jeff had thought the overhead cover was for the traders, but as he and Sulla walked closer, it appeared not. The sellers were not undercover but out in the open on the pavement. Wood planks lay across the top of upturned Peroni beer cartons and plastic buckets. Sitting on the planks were plastic trays of whole fish, shellfish, and a wide variety of species he couldn’t readily recognise. Behind, on small plastic tables, were sets of scales.
Sulla said, “The Bari council built those cement counters in the rear for the fish sellers to display the day’s catch. But as you can see, no one uses them. They want to be where the customers are, so they stand on the footpath, in the rain, and not under the shelter.”
Jeff noted the especially built counters were not entirely unused; they held empty Peroni beer bottles.
In summer, there would be flies. Lots of them.
Jeff walked with Sulla as they mingled with morning shoppers. All the time, his eyes scanned the surroundings. It was more exposed than he would have liked. On either side of the market road was ocean, and the only way out was back on to the promenade. Opposite the market stalls, a small park served only to split the road coming from the marina, giving drivers the option of turning left rather than having to drive past the fishy smells. The park was no more than fifty metres across. It did have decorative trees and some artistic rock formations, and was perhaps somewhere for Sulla to hide while he waited, but if the meeting went wrong and they had to flee, then anyone running into the park and trying to hide would be easily seen by their pursuers.
“This is a good spot, Sulla, if you think many witnesses will put off a gunman shooting in the open, but if the gunman doesn’t care, we have no escape. There is only open ground for a couple of hundred metres, whichever way you look. And running into the ocean is not an option.”
“I agree.” Sulla grinned. “I have learned a valuable lesson. A good guide should visit locations.”
Jeff ignored Sulla’s wisecrack.
He said, “I think how we handle this is, you wait in the park. There are a few trees that will give you some cover and you’ll have a good view. If it is Leka’s men and they mean to take me out, maybe you can come up with something that might distract them. If we stand here together, it makes it too easy. We’d be sitting ducks.”
“Yes, I agree. I do not want to be a duck. But I should stay close. You do not speak Italian. If you need help, and panic, everyone will think you are a madman or a lost tourist because you will be waving your arms about and, to them, speaking gibberish. They will not understand you.”
Jeff frowned and shook his head. “I will not panic.”
“Smart men smell fear, Jeff.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Sulla left to get in position in the park. Jeff loitered near the middle of the markets. He stood back, allowing pedestrians and shoppers to walk about without tripping over him. The traders, unshaven men in denims, knitwear and leather jackets or windbreakers, accosted each passer-by with well-practised sales pitches. The shoppers ignored the harassing banter, and instead studied the wares before shaking their heads and moving on. Now, closer, Jeff studied the species of fish on offer. Used to fishing New Zealand waters, he thought the seafood on display looked undersized. But, undersized or not, he was thankful the goods had brought people out of their apartments. The fishmongers and the growing number of shoppers might increase his chances of survival.
Sulla had been right not to enter Marius’s apartment. Another reminder, as if he needed it, that when working unfamiliar territory a few alliances with the locals might save his life. Sulla was not strictly a local, but he knew the terrain and the language and had contacts ready to support him. He was putting his faith in Sulla. In the past, Sulla had never let him down, and he trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t today.
Standing about and showing little interest in buying seafood brought an occasional glance from a few of the fishmongers. One held up a flounder not much bigger than a human hand and waved it towards him. Jeff shook his head, but the attention made him uneasy. The seller turned back to the housewives, but Jeff noticed that an eye was cast his way every so often.
When they arrived, Marius and his men were easy enough to spot.
The black SUV drove into the street, ominous in its disregard for pedestrians and other vehicles. It stopped, two wheels on the park-side pavement. It blocked Sulla from Jeff’s view. Sulla was smart; he’d find another spot. The Italians climbed out. Jeff recognised two of the men from the apartment. The man walking between them had an authoritative swagger. That had to be Marius. The driver followed behind.
Jeff rolled his head, enough to loosen his neck. It was stiff from sitting too long at the docks. He let his arms hang limp and flexed his fingers. A technique he used to relax his body. Four armed men against one unarmed. Jeff weighed his options. He couldn’t think of any. But four against one gave him a chance. He’d fought more. A number of the fish vendors waved to Marius. They smiled the smiles of servants to master. A touch of acid rose from Jeff’s gut into his gullet. No wonder Marius looked as casual as he did. These were his people. A whole bloody army; even some of the old people out shopping nodded deferentially to him.
Jeff had not needed a sign round his neck with his name scrawled across it to be recognised by Marius. Like a rooster about to have sex with a brainless hen, the Italian strutted towards him. Jeff allowed himself a quick look behind. The shifty eyes of the vendors flickered between him and Marius, but none had moved closer. For the moment, his back was secure.
The theatrics of the arrival of Marius and his men had stamped an air of darkness over the market. The fish sellers were talking among themselves, shoppers eavesdropping. As word spread, the sellers seemed to stop selling and the buyers suddenly found a reason to slink away home or at least move to a safe distance. The stepping back of the crowd had created an amphitheatre.
Marius had a babyish face and looked too young to be a gang leader. Dressed in casual clothes – leather jacket, denim jeans, ankle boots – he might have been coming home from high school. Marius fixed his eyes on Jeff. Lifeless was Jeff’s first thought; they had none of the hopeful sparkle of young people. Aged beyond their years and lacking in humanity. A quintessential, dispassionate killer was Jeff’s assessment of the young Italian. Not a man who would show mercy or be reasoned with.
“Mr Bradley, we had arranged to meet at my apartment,” Marius said. “It upset me when you refused my hospitality. Not polite for a man who comes from a country that prides itself on manners.”
Jeff resisted the urge to seek out Sulla. He knew the Kosovan was not far away, but a flicker of his eyes in any direction would tip off Marius where Sulla was hiding. They knew he had not come alone. As if on cue, one of the men from the apartment scanned the crowd. As long as Sulla stayed hidden, Jeff had an edge of sorts.
“I’m a cautious man, Marius. My first instinct is to not trust a man until I get to know him.”
Marius glared then laughed.
“Perhaps you are right to be this way.”
Jeff said, “You have information on the whereabouts of Avni Leka. Tell me what it is and I’ll be on my way.”
“You are an impatient man, Mr Bradley. In Italy, we discuss such matters over a coffee or a cognac. There is a café a short drive from here. Let us take this conversation there. We can use my car.”
With a slight movement of his head Marius gestured towards his vehicle. Jeff remained passive.
Marius’s driver was sidling to Jeff’s right and one of the other men to his left. When they were in position, both backed away. Far enough that the distance between them meant Jeff could not get to either before they pulled their weapons. Professionals. The fish vendors further along the line watched on, uncertain. Jeff’s head was spinning as escape scenarios flashed through his mind. But in all his SAS training, this situation had not been practised. The special ops manual spelled it out: whenever possible, avoid direct contact with the enemy.
He said, “Avni Leka has killed many innocent people, including friends of mine.”
“This is not my problem,” Marius said. “I do not know this Avni Leka. My boss has said you are messing with his business, and he has ordered me to bring this interfering to an end.”
And there it was. Confirmation he had walked into a trap. Marius straightened. His shoulders drew back and there was an almost indiscernible shift of weight on to the balls of his feet. Jeff trained as a boxer. He never fought as a boxer, but he recognised the signs of a man readying himself to fight. His own reaction was to let his arms fall limp. Relax. If it did come to a fight he could flick a jab to the jaw as quickly as any pugilist. But Marius had a noticeable bulge under his left armpit. Jeff didn’t need to have x-ray vision to know the bulge held six to twelve rounds, depending on the weapon model. He doubted Marius had any intention of indulging in fisticuffs. He would be pulling his handgun.
Jeff glanced over his shoulder. The fish vendors on Marius’s payroll had stepped forward. Others, uncertainty across their faces, stepped back. The number of assailants wanting to rip him to pieces had jumped to twelve. Jeff shook his head. He’d misjudged his foe; a serious error that might now cost him his life. His SAS commander would have kicked his butt for being such a dumb-ass. His only hope now were the men Sulla’s brother-in-law had sent to Bari to oversee the smuggling of goods into Albania. They were tough men. Ex-Kosovan Liberation Army fighters. Sulla had said they could be with them in an hour, but had they arrived yet? There was no obvious sign of them, but the crowd of onlookers had increased. Were they hiding in plain sight?
Sulla himself was nowhere to be seen.
Jeff turned his attention back to Marius. Marius raised his eyebrows and gave a slight tilt of his head.
“It’s not looking good for you, Mr Bradley.”
Jeff said, “If your choice is to protect Avni Leka, you are my enemy.”
Marius’s lips tightened into a thin line. “As I said, I do not know any Avni Leka. I only know what my orders are.”
Again, Jeff searched for Sulla.
To his horror, more men were drifting across the street. Marius was making sure he didn’t escape. Murmurs from his men distracted Marius and he turned in the direction of the approaching newcomers. Something was wrong. Instead of increased confidence, he looked confused.
Then Jeff saw Sulla.
He nodded to his friend and allowed himself a hint of a smile.
Sulla waved his arms and his men moved in behind Marius’s gang. Marius’s eyes narrowed as each of his men reaching for their weapons received a nudge in the back. Weapons remained inside their jackets.
Marius tightened his lips and turned on Jeff.
“Shall we call this a draw, Marius?” Jeff said.
Marius lifted his right hand towards the bulge in his jacket.
“Don’t go there,” Jeff warned.
Marius dropped his hand away in a gesture of defeat, but Jeff did not relax.
“Smart man, Marius. Now where can I find Avni Leka?”
Suddenly, there was the deafening sound of sirens.
Jeff recognised the blue-and-red cars of the Carabinieri, Italian military police. Tyres screeched as cars slid to a stop around them. Police officers leaped from their vehicles, side arms in hand. Marius glanced sideways at Jeff and gave him a quizzical look. Jeff shrugged. Two officers ran to Jeff and, taking an arm each, guided him to a car already turned and facing the boulevard. Bemused, Jeff had little choice but to allow himself to be led away. He looked out for Sulla. The big Kosovan scratched the top of his head, then looked about him seeking an answer. A frown appeared on his forehead. The message to Jeff was that it seemed neither Sulla nor Marius knew any more about who had called the police and what was happening than he did.
The police bundled Jeff into the back of the waiting vehicle. Sirens blared, and the motorcade sped away. Looking back through the rear window, Jeff saw Sulla’s brother-in-law’s men gather round Sulla. Marius and his men shuffled back and forth. An angry Marius was gesticulating as he conversed with his driver. He pushed him in the chest. The driver held up his hands and turned to his companions for support. The shoppers, pedestrians, fishmongers, and Marius and his men could only puzzle at what had just happened. Jeff was doing the same.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Starliner bus continued en route to Istanbul. There had been no further incidents. Barry and Bethany, like the other passengers, were in shock. The murder of the bus driver had dulled their senses. They were unused to such naked violence. The blast of a gun and the sight of a man’s brains splattered across a bus windscreen had left everyone traumatised. No one dared speak or make any sort of contact with the other passengers, fearful they might be singled out and suffer a similar fate. Barry and Bethany had swapped theories on why they had been hijacked and what the kidnappers’ end goal might be. Nothing they had come up with made sense of their predicament.
Barry watched cars pass. How he would have loved to have held a sign to the window: ‘Help! Hijackers have taken control of our bus.’ A sedan coasted alongside for a few hundred metres. A young boy harnessed into a safety seat caught Barry’s attention. The boy waved at him. Barry did not return the wave. He looked away. Any misinterpretation of the gesture might lead to a bullet in the head. When he looked again, the sedan had gone.
The sound of gun metal tapping on the railing beside the driver’s seat brought an instant reaction. Forty heads looked to the front of the bus. This time, The Sheriff was already standing. He waited until he was certain he had everyone’s attention.
When he spoke, there was a harshness to his voice.
“I think we have an understanding. You have been well behaved, and this is very good. I am certain you must be asking yourselves, why have we done this to you? What are my friends and I doing here? Why have we stolen this bus, and you along with it? The time has come where I can tell you a little of what is happening. Not everything, of course. Some aspects must remain a mystery.
“We are to take a journey together, to the Syrian border. It will take thirty hours, maybe longer. For you, time does not matter. You will be my guests until the journey is ended. It won’t be too boring, and for those of you who have an interest, we will pass through Cappadocia, one of Turkey’s most famous tourist spots.” The Sheriff changed his tone to conciliatory. “Think of me as a guide. Our first stop will be Istanbul. Not far away. There you will leave the bus. Bathroom facilities and food will be provided. I repeat: as long as you behave yourselves, no harm will come to you. And you will be treated with civility. Talk among yourselves. Do it quietly. Even walk about if you wish, but I remind you, do not do anything silly. You know the consequences.”
The Sheriff turned his back and spoke to the police officers. He lowered his voice. When two of the policemen spoke to each other it was loud enough to be heard by Bethany.
“Those policemen are speaking Albanian,” Bethany whispered to Barry.
“Are you certain?”
Bethany nodded. “I’m positive.”
Like Bethany, Barry worked for the UN in Kosovo. She worked in research. Barry was a carpenter, overseeing a team of builders and electricians who attended to all the UN construction and maintenance needs. He’d had the opportunity to learn the local language, but wasn’t good with academic stuff, so got by with just a few basic words. Bethany was good with languages. In Albanian she was fluent. If she said they spoke Albanian, they were speaking Albanian.
Barry raised himself in his seat. A quick look confirmed no one had taken advantage of The Sheriff’s offer for them to socialise. As Barry had expected, everyone sat still and mute. Satisfied he would be left alone, he fell back in his seat. What he was about to do needed to be done before some nosy passenger found the nerve to take a walk. On recent travels he had lost two money pouches and a phone to muggers, so on this trip he had followed his friend Jeff Bradley’s advice. He had carried a smaller mobile phone and an extra credit card in a pouch strapped to his ankle. Jeff told him the credit card would get them money from an ATM, and the phone, help from the nearest embassy. Barry had told Jeff he wasn’t a dumb-ass, but on this trip he’d followed the advice anyway.
He whispered to Bethany to warn him if any passengers came near. And keep an eye on the cops. Bethany leaned into the aisle and cast an eye to the front of the bus. The Sheriff still had his back to her and was speaking with his men. No passengers were walking about. Without turning, she gave Barry a thumbs-up.
Barry slid his hand down the side of his leg and under his trouser cuff, and found the pouch. He pulled on the Velcro flap. The ripping sound seemed almost as loud as a gunshot. He checked with Bethany. Her head still hung in the aisle. No one was coming their way. To remove the phone from the pouch, he gripped it between two of his fingers and slid it up his leg, setting it on his lap.
He put his thumb on the off-and-on slider and pushed the phone under his thigh to muffle any sound. He switched it on, and was relieved not to hear any noise. The phone back on his lap, he manoeuvred it until he could see the screen out the corner of his eye. He wanted to keep his head as straight up as possible. If his head was down, anyone looking his way might become suspicious. He clicked on Contacts. At the top of the list was Jeff Bradley’s number. He tapped the screen.
He had first met the New Zealander in Kosovo. Jeff had introduced himself as a wine maker and said he had come to Kosovo to source bulk wine. Barry later learned Jeff was ex-Special Forces, and his real reason for coming to Kosovo was to find the men who killed a close friend. Barry had complete faith in the ex-military man. He and Bethany were only alive today because of Jeff. If anyone would know what to do right now, it was Jeff Bradley. And Jeff was not far from Turkey. He would be sitting in the house bar of his Rome hotel, swigging a beer and waiting for them to arrive for the wedding.
