Dark Water Page 23

  ‘I don’t answer to you,’ Makana said.

  Mek Nimr threw his arms out magnanimously, but there was no warmth in his smile.

  ‘There’s no need to be like that. We’re on the same side now. Where do you think Winslow got his information about Ayman Nizari?’ He squinted at Makana through the smoke.

  ‘That still doesn’t change who I work for.’

  ‘You’re a stubborn man, you always have been. That’s why you could never accept that a man from my background could rise above you. Your pride again.’ Mek Nimr blew out his distaste in a thin stream of smoke.

  Makana glanced back towards the minders, who stood at the end of the path deflecting anyone thinking of walking in their direction. How long would it take them to register? They would hear a splash and then they would come running. Two to three minutes to cause death by drowning. Mek Nimr seemed to read his mind and took a step backwards.

  ‘There are things you never saw in me.’ Mek Nimr tossed his head impatiently, like a horse preparing to bolt. ‘I am thorough. I am methodical. You leave everything to chance.’ He leaned back, getting into his stride. ‘That was what really surprised me; how anyone could take you seriously as an investigator, when you leave everything to chance. You’re a man without a system, and look where it has brought you.’

  ‘Why did I provoke such anger in you, such hatred? I’ve never understood that.’

  ‘My father was a servant who waited on the tables of the rich,’ Mek Nimr said slowly. ‘My mother sold vegetables in the market.’

  ‘So what?’ Makana demanded. ‘My father was a teacher. He wasn’t rich.’

  ‘He was a national poet. A folk hero. He gave lectures at the university. He was someone.’

  ‘You were jealous of my father?’ It seemed an absurd idea.

  Mek Nimr brushed the air with his hand. ‘You had that look. The look that said you could do whatever you set your mind to. An arrogance, an assumption of superiority, as though you had something that set you apart. Maybe it didn’t come from your father, or your background. Maybe it was just you, just the way you see the world.’ He dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel before straightening his jacket. ‘Anger? Hatred? Maybe once upon time, but not any more. I’m a wealthy man now. I look at you and I feel pity.’ He shook his head. ‘I see a man who has nothing. No dignity, no money, no family.’ Mek Nimr thrust his hands into his pocket and rocked on his heels. ‘It can’t have been easy for you, all these years, knowing you had caused their deaths.’

  Makana felt the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. The dark air seemed to press down.

  ‘She’s here, isn’t she?’

  ‘You know the answer. You’ve always known it.’ Mek Nimr lit another cigarette with his fancy lighter. ‘Do you think you mean anything to her, after all these years?’

  ‘She’s my daughter.’

  Mek Nimr shook his head. ‘Not any longer.’ He leaned closer. ‘I brought her up. I taught her right from wrong.’ He stabbed a thumb to his chest. ‘I am right, and you are wrong.’

  ‘You sabotaged the car. You cut through the steering rods. That’s why the car went off the bridge.’

  ‘You can believe that if you want to,’ Mek Nimr shrugged. ‘It makes no difference.’

  ‘She’s still my daughter.’

  ‘Not any more. I’m the only father she knows. She wants nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I’d like to hear her say that.’

  ‘Why, don’t you believe me?’ Mek Nimr asked. ‘You abandoned her. You walked away when you could have saved her life, and perhaps even her mother.’

  Mek Nimr had changed. He was no longer the figure Makana had carried around with him all these years. He seemed to have grown in stature, bigger, more powerful than ever. When he glanced off to the right Makana turned his head to follow his line of sight.

  She was standing there beside the Medusa. Silent, dark and still. The light from beneath the water outlined her silhouette.

  ‘Admit defeat,’ said Mek Nimr softly. ‘It will make it easier to face your death when it comes.’

  Makana watched him walk slowly up to his men and beyond. He made a move to follow, but the guards remained in place, barring his exit from the walkway. They straightened up, hands held in front of them defensively. He watched Mek Nimr approach the woman and then together, the two of them carried on towards the exit. Neither looked back.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Makana’s mind was a blank when he finally made it up to the surface. He was walking in a daze, numbed by what he had just seen. Mek Nimr had triumphed. Finally, after all these years, his moment had come. He’d brought Makana his daughter, back from the dead, only to take her away again.

  ‘Amin Bey? Is everything all right?’ It was Koçak. Makana was glad to see him.

  ‘You followed us.’

  ‘Yes, I follow you. I say, this is not good for Amin Bey.’

  ‘Thank you, Koçak. I’m fine. I just need a few moments.’

  ‘You look like you need some çay.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  So Makana allowed himself to be led to the taxi and Koçak drove them back to the place they had drunk tea on their first excursion. They stood by the railings where the breeze was strong and the sea seemed to heave with distress.

  After all these years he had finally found his daughter, only to learn that she was no longer his. He didn’t know which of the two facts was the harder to accept. He felt elated by the knowledge that she was alive, and yet crushed. He meant nothing to her.

  ‘The world is not easy, Amin Bey,’ Koçak offered. ‘That is why we all need Allah to guide us.’

  Makana wasn’t convinced Allah was involved in this particular instance. If he was then things were a lot worse than he imagined.

  When they had finished their tea, Koçak drove Makana to the white mosque at Ortaköy. Makana peeled off five hundred dollars from the money he had left. Koçak refused at first.

  ‘It’s too much, Amin Bey.’

  ‘No,’ said Makana. ‘It’s not enough.’ Koçak finally accepted the money. He got out of the car to kiss him on both cheeks.

  ‘If you ever need me again, you know where to find me.’

  Makana watched him drive away, realising that he had just said goodbye to perhaps the only person in this city that he really trusted.

  It was now late afternoon and an air of calm hung over the quayside. Tourists and locals wandered by in search of somewhere to sit and have a bite to eat before dinner. The air was filled with the gentle hum of conversation over which the distant traffic and the seagulls’ ceaseless crying added a discordant tone. The ivory-white mosque had a slender beauty to it that distinguished it from the more flamboyant Blue Mosque of Sultan Ahmet, or the more audacious Fatih Camii. It projected no ambitions or declarations of victory but seemed satisfied to provide an elegant presence. Its position, tucked beneath the looming arch of the Bosporus Bridge, lent it a touch of fragility.

  It was fair to assume that Boris had no particular interest in mosques. Mooring his yacht alongside it was probably more a matter of creating a photo-opportunity than out of necessity. Still, even in this it failed. The contrast only underlined the vulgar decadence of the vessel. Today there was no sign of the female companion who had been with Boris in the car showroom.

  Makana and Kara Deniz were shown up onto the aft deck, where they found the man himself reclining on a sofa juggling phones. He wore an officer’s cap and a bright green shirt decorated with red and yellow parrots, open to the waist to reveal a hoard of pirate treasure: medals, gold necklaces and silver coins. A pair of sunglasses added the finishing touch to the image of a modern-day freebooter. An indefinable industrial dance beat throbbed from speakers built into the teakwood panelling. Boris fluttered a handful of ringed fingers at the heavily laden table to one side.

  ‘Help yourselves, please, don’t be shy. We don’t stand on formality here.’ />
  Kara Deniz glanced at Makana and shrugged before going over to the bar to open a bottle of beer. Makana looked back at the quayside and the crowds moving past.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Boris pointed a finger adorned with a large silver skull. ‘Too exposed, right? Believe me when I tell you this is the best place to have a quiet chat. Not even the most sensitive microphones of Russian FSB can pick up anything above all of this.’ It was plain what he meant. Between the sea, the chatter of the birds, the heavy traffic running over the bridge along with ferry horns, tourist babble, even the flap of the canvas awning above their heads, it would be hard to pick out any conversation. Boris indicated the bench opposite him. ‘Nadir’s big mistake. He never knew what he was dealing with. Me, I don’t like to take chances.’

  Boris got up to mix himself a drink in a blue glass the size of a small fishbowl. Ice cubes shaped like dolphins bobbed cheerfully on the surface. He propped his sunglasses on the top of his head to reveal small sharp eyes that darted between them.

  ‘I understand you’ve had a bit of trouble.’

  ‘A few complications,’ conceded Makana. ‘How much do you know of what Nadir was doing for me?’

  ‘Only that you need a car and drivers as we discussed.’ The dolphins chased one another around his glass as Boris swirled it. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Makana looked over at Kara Deniz, who was sipping her beer, trying to hold her hair back from blowing in her face.

  ‘What you have to understand about Nadir is that when he came out of prison, he had lost his belief in politics. All he cared about was the money. He didn’t care where it came from.’ Boris glanced in Kara’s direction. ‘You may not want to hear that, but it’s true.’

  ‘Do you need to know who the passengers are?’ Makana asked.

  ‘Yourself and one other. I don’t need to know more. I provide the cars, clean, untraceable number plates – we need two. Also drivers who are reliable and don’t talk.’ Boris tilted his chin up. It looked like something he had picked up from a gangster film. ‘Last time we talked, you had a problem locating your passenger.’

  ‘That’s been resolved.’

  ‘You found him?’ Boris glanced away, dropping his sunglasses back into place. ‘So that’s no longer a problem.’

  ‘You found him?’ echoed Kara. Makana looked over at her before turning back to Boris.

  ‘How soon can you arrange the transport?’

  ‘A day or two. Normally, I would say sooner, but considering the situation it is best to be cautious.’ Boris popped a fistful of peanuts into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘How about you, how are you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine, but much as I love your city I don’t plan to stay here any longer than I have to.’

  ‘Wise man. Me, if I was in your shoes, I would already be gone.’ Boris flashed a brief smile. ‘Some would say you outstayed your welcome.’

  ‘I don’t have much choice,’ said Makana.

  ‘You still want to find out who killed Nadir.’ Boris shrugged. ‘I understand. When you find out, you just tell me.’ He stabbed a thumb to his chest. ‘I’ll take care of it. Free of charge.’

  ‘You’ve heard nothing?’

  ‘No.’ Boris took a long swig from his glass. The dolphins shuffled around. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘But I’ll get them.’

  ‘He thinks the Israelis are involved.’ Kara Deniz had switched from beer to vodka, which seemed to be something of a tradition around Boris. She downed one shot quickly before pouring herself another, the icy liquid in the bottle moving sluggishly, thick and slow. The alcohol gave her a mean, hard look. Boris laughed.

  ‘What makes you say something like that?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘The Mossad here?’ Boris cackled. ‘They would never come here. It would be a scandal.’

  ‘That’s what I told him,’ Kara Deniz said defiantly.

  Boris patted Makana on the shoulder. ‘Look, take my advice. You’re new to this town. The Israelis cannot operate here. If they were discovered it would be a national outrage.’

  ‘I thought Turkey was Israel’s strongest trade partner in the region?’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ Kara Deniz answered. The vodka seemed to have aged her ten years in as many minutes. ‘Sure, Erdoğan went to Tel Aviv last year. I was with him. I watched him at the Holocaust Memorial. Like an obedient puppy. He said all the right things. He always says the right things. He wants the world to see him as progressive, but also as a strong man in the region. So, on the surface it looks like they’re close friends, but since the Americans strolled into Iraq things have gone sour. It’s a civil war over there. Shia against Sunni. The Iranians accuse the Israelis of bombing the Askari mosque.’

  Boris grinned. ‘Listen to her! Press the right buttons and she goes off like a rocket. Imagine what she’s like in bed.’ He walked over to put a hand on Kara’s neck, but she shrugged him off and poured herself another drink. ‘Easy with that stuff, balim.’

  ‘Don’t balim me, I can drink you under the table any day of the week.’

  Makana was in no doubt that she was right, but he wondered what was making her hit the vodka so hard. She turned her flinty grey eyes on him.

  ‘Nadir was a dyed-in-the-wool Marxist. He supported the Palestinians. He’d never work with the Israelis.’

  ‘People change,’ Boris offered, in a spirit of reconciliation. He added something else in Turkish before turning to Makana again. ‘We are set now. What was your arrangement with Nadir?’

  ‘We were to meet close to here.’ Makana gestured at the open area in front of the mosque.

  Boris nodded his approval. ‘It’s a good spot. Access from the sea as well as the road. Maybe we can use it.’

  ‘Okay, then what?’

  Boris scratched one of the red parrots in his armpit. ‘A short drive up the coast. We change vehicles for safety’s sake, then across the border to Belgrade. Once out of the city it’s just a matter of speed. We give you a fast car.’

  ‘We haven’t discussed money.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Boris waved a dismissive hand. ‘This one’s for free. I’m not going to make a profit out of a friend’s death.’

  Makana glanced over at Kara, who was staring sullenly out at the water. Boris walked over to the table to fix himself another drink. ‘You sure you won’t join me?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’

  ‘Where you come from it’s not impolite to refuse another man’s hospitality?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I think I need to keep a clear head.’ Makana smiled apologetically. ‘Tell me more about Nadir.’

  ‘Nadir?’ Boris held up the bottle of vodka to examine how much was left. He splashed it liberally over a handful of fresh dolphins scooped from a bucket before drowning them in pink soda. ‘Nadir was a changed man when he came out of prison. It does that to you. Nobody is the same.’ He spoke like he knew what he was talking about. ‘For me it happened when I was still young, just a kid. I got over it. Nadir was already grown up. He had established himself, he had a reputation. That can crush you. Everything you thought you knew about yourself is destroyed. After that, all he cared about was money, looking after his family.’

  ‘Maybe that was his motivation,’ said Makana.

  ‘To work with the Israelis, you mean?’ Boris shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘He was a businessman, maybe they made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘We’re all businessmen.’ Boris glanced at Kara, who was silent. He wore the sleek, satisfied grin of a man who has all the answers. ‘In business it is all about the terms of agreement. If they are acceptable, then everyone goes home happy. If not, somebody usually dies. But Nadir was not like this. He still had principles, ideals. That’s why he was so bad at business.’

  As a philosopher, Boris belonged in the category of those who will believe anything that p
ops into their heads for as long as it coincides with what they want to do. Makana knew the type. They slip and slide over the surface of the world with the minimum of friction.

  ‘The question is who stood to profit from killing him,’ Makana said.

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t profit,’ Boris suggested. ‘He was tortured, you say. Then someone wanted information. After that they were just covering their tracks.’ He shrugged as if it was all too obvious.

  The sound of a car horn brought their attention to the quayside where a large silver BMW had pulled up. Boris waved as four women descended from the vehicle. All were clad in bikinis covered by loosely tied wraps. Their arrival brought a touch of a carnival feel with it. Their colourful clothes matched Boris’s parrots. They tottered up the gangway on high heels and even higher laughter, clutching sunglasses and handbags.

  ‘So now the party begins,’ declared Boris with a wink.

  ‘Maybe it’s time to go,’ muttered Kara. Makana was in agreement. They waited for the women to come aboard. Makana recognised the statuesque blonde who had been at the showroom earlier. She had brought some friends along.

  ‘Anoushka!’

  ‘Boris, darling!’ she cried as she threw her arms around his neck. He gave her a squeeze and a pat on the behind before turning to greet her friends, all of whom got the same treatment.

  ‘Text me when you’re ready to go. I’ll give you a time. We know the place. No phone calls.’ Boris laughed and patted Makana on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, my friend, you’re in safe hands!’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Once on the dock, Kara walked quickly ahead of Makana, either still incensed by Boris or fuelled by the vodka – it wasn’t clear. Makana let her go. Eventually, the anger burned away and she slowed to allow him to catch up. They stopped at a waterside terrace and ordered coffee. Kara pushed the hair out of her face.

  ‘I get the feeling there is something between you and Boris,’ said Makana after a time.

  ‘Once upon a time. Long ago.’ She dismissed him with a wave. ‘I was young and impressionable. He was reckless. A hoodlum, running with a gang. What is it about dangerous men?’