Authors: R. D. Ronald
‘And then Steiger ceases the attacks, catapulting the levels of popularity and influence of those under his thumb through the roof,’ Mangle interjected, with a slow nod of his head.
‘That’s exactly it,’ Tazeem confirmed grimly. ‘When the dust settles afterwards, he pulls out a suitable scapegoat to go down for the attacks, blames it on a political or religious insurrection, and the public get their pound of flesh.’
‘Which would also help to isolate his people from any suspicion when they began doing his bidding,’ Mangle said.
‘He’s bringing in a shitload more of the Daisycutter bombs he uses, tomorrow,’ Tazeem said.
‘What was that?’ Tatiana asked, looking alert now. ‘Daisycutter explosives, did you say?’
‘That’s what I overheard,’ Tazeem confirmed. ‘Why?’
‘That was the device used in the assassination attempt when my parents were killed. It was commonly used across the old republics in times of political turmoil.’
‘Yeah, that’s what they said on the news as well,’ Mangle added. ‘A tightly packed tube of explosives with a copper liner in the device, triggered to fire in a specific direction, then another shell of further explosive and shrapnel that disperses in a circular pattern, cutting through anyone and anything in its path. Kasey Haugh said it was the first report of them being used over here. She speculated that an old cache may have been sold on the black market and shipped over.’
‘I think I want to lie down for a while,’ Tatiana said and looked over at Decker.
‘Sure, take the spare room,’ Decker said, and stood to show her the way.
Tatiana got up but held onto Mangle’s hand for him to accompany her. Decker pushed open a door on the landing that led to a small box room containing a wardrobe and single bed, with a small patch of dusty blue carpet under their feet.
‘I’ll leave you two alone, then,’ Decker said and closed the door after him.
Tatiana slid down her tracksuit pants, pulled off the sweatshirt and climbed under the quilt. Mangle wasn’t sure what his response to that should be and stood uncomfortably for a moment, watching. The fine orange glow from the streetlamps filtering through the thin curtains glistened on her smooth skin, and highlighted some rough areas of healing cuts and abrasions.
‘Will you get in and just lie with me?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said, trying not to think of the experiences she had been forced to endure. He fumbled with the belt on his trousers, kicked them off and pulled his shirt over his head. The bed felt cool against his skin and her sudden warm touch made him shiver. He pushed as far back as he could, but the confines of the single bed pretty much precluded there being a gap in between them.
‘Um, sorry,’ he said as further attempts not to crowd her probably felt like the opposite.
Tatiana turned to face him. ‘What will we do now?’ she asked.
Mangle was even more confused, and was glad when his hesitancy prompted Tatiana into speaking again.
‘We know everything they have done, and will continue to do, yet we are unable to go to the police. All of the girls there, plus the ones they continue to traffic in, will be brutalised and eventually killed.’
‘I don’t see what we can do about it. Maybe write down as much as we know and send it off to a bunch of reporters. Hope one of them runs with the story and digs deeper?’
‘That will take too long,’ Tatiana said hopelessly, ‘Steiger is leaving tomorrow night.’ Her shoulders began to shake gently as her sobs overcame her.
‘Hey now,’ Mangle said, tentatively caressing her arm. ‘You can’t make yourself responsible for the welfare of everyone. Whatever we can give to the press I’m sure will eventually result in some of the girls being freed.’
‘And Steiger? Even if he shuts down what he has built here, he will still crop up somewhere else and commit the same crimes again.’ Tatiana wiped the tears from her cheeks and brushed her hair away from her face. ‘Is it possible that the men behind this are the same ones responsible for the death of my family? If that is true then I will never rest until they pay for what they did.’
‘I really don’t know, but how could you ever find out?’
‘The big man you have described – Jupiter. If he was the one who planted the bomb when my parents were killed, I would know. I just need to get close enough to recognise his face.’
‘You think the scars on his face were a result of what happened that day?’
Tatiana shrugged and looked away. Mangle let his hand rest on the warm skin of her upper arm. He could feel scar tissue beneath his fingers, signatures of pain she’d already endured, yet despite this she still strove to help others even if it meant putting herself back in harm’s way. There was nothing Mangle could say to make her feel any better.
Tatiana closed her eyes and after a while fell asleep. Mangle lay watching her and wondered if he would be able to sleep if he’d lived through the same experiences that she had.
Sadiq parked a block away and secured the case in the trunk of the Mercedes before cautiously approaching his apartment building. He didn’t want to chance an opportunist thief making off with a suitcase full of cash.
No one went in or out of the apartment entranceway as he walked nonchalantly along the other side of the street. The owner
of the adjoining clothing store came outside and began to pull down the steel shutters as he closed up for the day. Sadiq turned his back and perused the window display of a baby boutique he’d stopped beside. Once the rattle of shutters had ceased, Sadiq hurried across the road.
He had no key now, but even if he did he wouldn’t have risked using it. The police, or anyone else who might be watching the building, would have only a rough description at best of the Asian that apparently lived there, but it would flag their attention for sure if someone unidentified let themselves in with a key. They would certainly have pictures of all key-holders in the building.
Sadiq pressed the buzzer for Mrs Altrecht, the lonely old woman who would let in anyone. Sure enough, the lock clicked open and Sadiq pushed open the heavy door. Mrs Altrecht lived on the second floor, and would be tottering expectantly to her door to see who had come calling. Sadiq strode up the stairs two at a time and hurried to a doorway on the first floor. He stopped outside, took a deep breath to compose himself, and knocked sharply three times.
‘I’m finished for the day,’ a disgruntled voice barked from within the apartment.
‘Mr Petrov, I need to see you for just one moment.’ Sadiq knew this was his best chance to get out of Garden Heights. He needed the building’s superintendent to cooperate.
A moment later came the sound of latches and bolts being withdrawn and the door opened a few inches, still secured by a chain. The man eyed Sadiq up and down and coughed, making no attempt to cover his mouth.
‘Thought you would be long gone by now,’ he said gruffly and maintained firm eye contact. Whatever had happened upstairs, Mr Petrov was determined to show he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.
‘Is someone there?’ a frail voice echoed down the stairwell. Mrs Altrecht had wandered out of her apartment to discover who her guest might be.
‘I just need to get something from my place, yeah? And I’ll be on my way,’ Sadiq said. ‘I would much rather have this conversation inside.’
After a moment’s contemplation Mr Petrov closed the door on Sadiq. He heard the metallic scrape of a chain being removed and then it reopened, allowing him inside. Sadiq stepped into the gloomy hallway as Mr Petrov shuffled into the kitchen and set about making some tea. Sadiq walked into a cramped living area with too much furniture. He sat down on a scuffed mahogany Louis XVI style chair and waited for the man to return.
A stack of rumpled video game magazines lay on a table beside him. Sadiq picked one at random and began flicking through. Some of the headlines from articles inside had been cut out.
‘My nephew, Ralph,’ Mr Petrov said returning to the room, by way of explanation.
‘I didn’t think video games would be your thing,’ Sadiq said, dropping it back onto the pile.
‘Was it you, then, that shot them?’
‘No.’
The old man nodded. A contradictive gesture that seemed neither to confirm nor deny his belief in the truth of what Sadiq had said. ‘So you need to get in there, and then you’re leaving for good.’
Sadiq re-established eye contact, and nodded in return.
‘I want paying in advance.’
‘I can’t do that, Mr Petrov,’ Sadiq lied, having anticipated the old man’s stance. If he paid first, there was nothing to stop Petrov from calling the cops before he even left the building. ‘I have some money in the apartment. I’ll collect it and bring you five hundred on my way out.’
‘You will give me two thousand, and I will go up there with you,’ the old man said gruffly.
Sadiq agreed and drank a little of the bitter tea Mr Petrov poured from a silver and blue enamelled pot. It had gone exactly
the way he had hoped. He’d almost managed to pull the whole thing off.
Crossing the road outside, Sadiq hurried back toward the car. He patted the counterfeit passport and other identification that provided a reassuring bulge in his pocket. He had left Mr Petrov happily leafing through his stack of used notes, but even with his aversion to authority, figured the money wasn’t likely to buy his silence for long.
Sadiq jumped into Tazeem’s silver Mercedes and started the engine. He indicated and pulled out into the flow of evening traffic. With the briefcase full of money in the trunk and all the ID he needed to disappear, all Sadiq had to do was be sure that no one had spotted him. The police weren’t such a concern but Carson Keaton would be more than happy to tie up this particular loose end.
He drove on for a few streets, pulled a U-turn and went back the way he’d come, watching the mirrors intently for any other vehicles making a hasty change of direction. There were no obvious candidates for a tail, and Sadiq had begun to allow himself to feel a little smug before the sight of a grey Hummer three cars behind caught his attention. He was reasonably sure it had been behind him when he had driven away from his building. Sadiq followed a right–left–right–left weaving pattern through the city blocks, always keeping to the speed limit, but never seemed to be more than 200 yards from the following vehicle.
If they were police they would already have pulled him over. It had to be someone working for the Mayor. By now they would have intercepted Mohammed and realised the cases had been switched. If he pulled over and attempted to take the case from the trunk they would undoubtedly pounce. His only hope was that they’d expect him to have already stashed the money elsewhere.
Sadiq drove into the centre of Garden Heights and pulled into a car park in one of the city’s most luxurious quadrants.
He got out, purposely didn’t pay for a ticket at the machine, and hurried off down the street. Hopefully this would be enough to convince his pursuers he had no intention of returning to the vehicle. They would most likely abandon it and try to follow him on foot.
The obvious disadvantage Sadiq now faced was that he didn’t know who to look for. The large, grey, military-style vehicle had been easily identifiable, but now whoever followed would blend into the background. This was a situation Sadiq had been in numerous times over the years, and his inbuilt survival mechanism kicked in as he ducked in and out of doorways and hurried through mostly deserted department stores, winding down to the close of business.
A youth in a brightly coloured red and green hooded jacket looked bewildered as Sadiq thrust a handful of money at him and told him to take it off. He looked around suspiciously, then obediently removed the jacket and handed it over. Sadiq pulled it on as he hurried down a narrow stairwell and out to an adjacent row of shops. He doubled back, and now eagerly retraced his steps toward the car.
Casting furtive glances left and right would only draw attention to him, so Sadiq tried to keep his eyes down and his stride smooth and efficient. He overshot by a block and doubled back to survey the area from a better vantage point. From here he could see all nearby parked vehicles and anyone standing about waiting he would mark as a potential tail.
A slightly hunched figure rushed out from The Walker building, one of the elite apartment complexes. Protectively cradling one of his hands he pushed past Sadiq. Sadiq’s heart began to race, but the man obviously had other things on his mind and didn’t pay him any interest. Breathing again, Sadiq leant against a huge marble pillar and continued to scan for a threat. Overworked businessmen talked too loudly into cell phones, hurrying along to their favourite bars to indulge in an evening of numbing anxiety respite. Couples linked arms, some weighed down by shopping
bags boasting pretentious designer labels, others primped and preened for a night at a restaurant or theatre.
Sadiq had learned to trust his instincts, and right now his were uncapping the lid on the familiar feeling of victory. He began to walk across to the car park. If this were a movie, Sadiq thought, his theme tune would be playing in the background.
The man who had brushed by him a moment earlier climbed into a red 4x4 Toyota and wheel-spun out of a bay in the parking lot. In an effort to control the vehicle he turned the wheel hard, causing the back end to slide out. There was a loud crunch as it careered into the front wing of Tazeem’s silver Mercedes. Sadiq stopped dead. The shrill siren wail of a car alarm emitted from the damaged vehicle. All heads turned in that direction as the man accelerated away out of the lot.
Small groups congregated to discuss what they’d witnessed. Cell phones flipped open as emergency service calls were placed to report the incident. Sadiq felt hamstrung. Would he even have a chance to retrieve the money? Forcefully he stepped forward, determined to seize what would undoubtedly be his last chance, but the sight of one couple caused him to pause. They weren’t chattering like the others. In fact they were cool and alert, eyes not on each other, nor the squalling Mercedes.
The man, slightly taller than his female companion, looked up and saw him. His arm rose smoothly to his ear, his lips moving soundlessly as he spoke into his sleeve.