“Shit! Mehmet, they’re in the ladies’ room, not the men’s! Go next door and check the ladies’ room and then back down to the ground floor.”
><><><
I
STANBUL
There had been nothing in the boy’s forearm. Gilbert ripped the sleeve off of Garret’s shirt so he could see the wound on his shoulder. There was no time to worry about removing the stitches. The box-cutter sliced right through them, opening up the second wound to a depth of two centimeters. He put the box-cutter back in his mouth, used the thumb and forefinger on his left hand to hold the incision open and began probing with the tweezers. He felt the capsule almost immediately. It was in the center of the wound embedded about one and half centimeters into the deltoid muscle.
He moved the tweezers until he was sure they were on either side and squeezed. The tweezers slipped off the round surface. He tried two more times with the same luck. Garret moaned, sending Gilbert into a panic. He had to get this out before his son regained consciousness.
Gilbert dropped the tweezers on the floor and took the box-cutter out of his mouth. Wiggling it back and forth in the wound, he located the capsule and followed it down to the end with the tip of the blade. Then, he turned the blade sideways and winced when he felt it scrape the bone. Garret groaned again. Gilbert began carefully prying upwards. The amount of blood flowing from the wound doubled. He couldn’t tell if he was still under the capsule or not and was about to stop when he saw a white speck emerging from the red. Maintaining the same pressure and direction, he pushed it out far enough to grab with his fingers, and then pulled it out and dropped it into the toilet between his legs. He reached behind him to flush and realized it was an auto-flush toilet, so he stood up, holding Garret in his arms. Three seconds later, he heard the water being sucked down the drain. He sat back down and saw that Garret had opened his eyes.
“It’s over son,” he whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “Sit tight while I put a tourniquet on your arm.”
The boy’s face was sickly white. Gilbert wondered how much blood had been lost as he quickly took the second tourniquet, wrapped it twice around the gash in his son’s shoulder and tied it off as firmly as he dared. The yellow cloth turned red immediately. Next, Gilbert untied the knot behind the boy’s head and removed the dishcloth from his mouth.
“Are you okay, son?”
“My arm hurts, Dad. It hurts really bad.”
“Well, it’s over now. It’ll feel better soon,” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “We need to leave. Can you walk?”
“I’ll try.” The boy struggled to nod his head and closed his eyes again.
Gilbert set his son down on the floor gently. It was a bloody mess.
“Be careful,” he whispered. “The floor’s very slippery. Hold my hand.”
Gilbert had just turned the lock on the door when there was a loud crash of metal hitting metal, then another, followed immediately by a woman’s scream. He froze for a split second.
“Terrörle Mücadele. Sakin olun. Bir suçlu ariyoruz. Yerinizde kalin efendim.”
The lady stopped screaming. Another stall door banged open. Gilbert relocked the door, grabbed Garret, whirled around and sat him on the toilet seat. He leaned close to his ear and whispered.
“Sit tight. When that door opens, I need you to scream as loud as you can and don’t stop until I tell you to. Got it?”
The crack of another lock breaking was followed by another brief scream and more Turkish. Gilbert pulled the box-cutter out of his back pocket and pushed the blade up two inches. Another door slammed open. Six more stalls between us and them. He couldn’t let his feet be seen sticking out under the stall door, so he sat down on his butt with his feet under the partition of the stall towards the entrance, slid across the floor until he had enough room to lay back and then used the partition to pull himself into the last stall. In the process, three more stall doors had been thrown open. He pulled himself up on his knees beside the toilet, but remained in a crouch low enough to let him see the floor of the stall his son was in. Another door was kicked open, followed swiftly by a second.
This was it. He heard the thud of a boot on metal, the snap of metal as the lock gave way and the door crashing into the partition. He waited for the scream. It didn’t come.
“
Oglani buldum.
”
Hearing the language of his captors pushed the boy over the edge. He let out a scream so blood-curdling it sent chills up his dad’s spine. Gilbert saw the man step into the stall. Swiftly and silently, he opened the door to his own stall and turned the corner to find the man trying to put his hand over Garret’s mouth to stop him from screaming. Gilbert threw his left arm around the man’s head to pull it back and with one simultaneous motion pulled the box-cutter across his throat pushing down as hard as he could. At the end of the stroke, he felt the blade snap, but it had done the job.
Garret continued screaming, but the pitch and tone changed. Gilbert held the man’s head in a death grip as he flailed wildly. A gurgling noise came from the man’s severed windpipe. The diaphragm continued to do the work of inhaling and exhaling while blood from the jugular vein obstructed the flow of air. It was a full twenty seconds before the body went limp in his arms and Garret’s screams finally subsided into sobs.
><><><
C
AIRO
“Ali! Mehmet’s down. Ladies’ room, first floor!” barked Ahmet.
“On my way.”
Jabbar grabbed the phone.
“Forget the ladies’ room. The boy is moving. He has left the northeast corner and is heading due west.”
“Copy that.”
For several seconds, they heard nothing but Ali’s labored breathing as he raced down the final escalator to the ground floor. Then, they heard the faint but unmistakable sound of a fire alarm, followed by the shrill screams of women.
“Ali, is that what I think it is?” asked Ahmet in exasperation.
“Yes, sir.”
“The boy is now headed south by southwest towards what looks like the back exit,” continued Jabbar.
They could hear Ali saying over and over again, “Excuse me, pardon me.” He must have been rough. There several exclamations of “Watch where you’re going, you son of a donkey!” Half a minute later, Ali came back.
“I’m at the exit heading into the parking lot, but it says the boy is headed west.”
“That’s right.” replied Jabbar.
“But, that’s impossible. There’s a twenty-foot retaining wall on the west side of the parking lot.”
CHAPTER
78
I
STANBUL
The short, wiry man on the dock took the passport Gilbert held out and stood for a minute, studying the ragtag bunch in front of him. His eyes kept coming back to Garret. The boy was dressed in new clothes. He looked feeble, though, and the cuts on his face were fresh.
“What about ID for the rest of them?”
“Didn’t our friend tell you I would be travelling with my family?”
“Yes, but you want to leave the vessel in Cyprus, so I should fill out a form.”
“I’m sorry, but we left them at the hotel. Besides, my friend paid a bit of a premium for your help, not for you to set up a passport control booth.”
Gilbert nodded at Gary, who immediately presented his passport as well. The man took it and opened to the first page.
“Duane Lewis?”
“That’s right,” answered Gary with a smile. “I’m Dan’s brother. These are my two nephews, my niece, my sister-in-law and our sisters,” he said pointing at each one.
The man still hesitated. Gary knew he had to resolve this quickly before the man’s gnawing suspicion and fear of authority turned against them. He had to make an emotional connection. Gilbert’s approach would never work.
“Abi, ben Istanbul’da oturuyorum zaten. Bunlar ailem. Ziyarete geldiler. Bir Mavi Tur yapsinlar istedim. Vakit kisitli oldugu için hemen çikmalari lazim. Sorun oluyorsa parayi geri verin, baska bir tekne buluruz. Yani, bizden dolayi sikintiya girmeyin.”
The man’s face lit up. Foreigners never took the time to learn the language.
“You know Turkish! That’s wonderful!
Tamam efendim. Sorun yok. Binsinler.”
Gary turned to Gilbert.
“He says it’s okay. You can all board now.”
“Thank goodness,” Gilbert replied.
Gary’s knowledge of the culture and his amiable approach had just saved them. Gilbert turned to his family.
“Let’s get moving. It’s a long way to Cyprus.”
He walked across the narrow gangplank, Ginger followed carrying Gabriella. Shelly held Garret’s hand, Gary scooped up Garth and Gwyn boarded last. Their host stood holding the door to the quarters below deck. Gilbert motioned for everyone to enter.
Gary cleared his throat, put his hand on Gwyn’s shoulder and said, “I need to have a word with you and Gilbert.”
Gilbert responded impatiently.
“Gary, we can talk after we’re safe at sea. We need to get moving.”
“That’s why we have to talk now. This is where we part ways.”
Gwyn’s mouth dropped open.
“Gary, you can’t be serious. We are running for our lives. You can’t stay here!”
“This is where I live,” he replied softly. “Besides, Matt has a lead on Angela’s sister. This afternoon, he obtained video recordings of girls who had been sold. Angela identified her sister. I’m going to start working on this case while he handles Dad’s funeral arrangements.”
“But, we may need your help,” she protested.
Gary stuck his hand in his back pocket, withdrew a folded piece of paper and pressed it into Gwyn’s hand.
“If you do, just let me know. All of my contact information, phone numbers, emails and Skype address, are on the back of this note from Matt. He asked me not to give it to you until you were aboard.”
Gwyn grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it eagerly to read the short paragraph in Matt’s strong handwriting.
Dearest Gwyn,
I’m sorry for everything you have suffered recently. I too mourn the passing of your father. He was a great man. I am also very concerned about the difficulties your family now faces. You know that I will do anything I can to help any you. In spite of these recent troubles, I am glad that they brought us together again. I still cherish the hope that we might have a future. I don’t know where your journey will take you, but if you are open to giving us another chance, I will be waiting for you at the Café Tortoni in Buenos Aires, Argentina on Avenida De Mayo 825 every day during the third week of February.
Love,
Matt
Gwyn crumpled the paper in her hands, threw her arms around her brother’s neck and said through her sobs, “I’m so glad we did this together. Thank you for coming.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Tell Matt I’ll be there.”