TURKISH DELIGHT by Barry Faulkner (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕

it was dead, except for the locals and the military from a small base nearby. As we approached it Jones slowed down and took a right turn into a small lane off the main road.

‘You know the way. Been here before?’ I asked.

‘No, just want to dump this car away from the main area – don’t want it found in the town. Hopefully if they find it they’ll think it was just kids having a joyride.’

The lane wound through thick forest; every now and again a shaft of moonlight fought its way through the canopy and lit the bumpy lane ahead of us which soon petered out and came to an end at a wooden five bar gate. I could see the ocean in front of us but no beach, must be a cliff edge. We got out, climbed the gate and walked across a fifty metre grassed area that ended at the edge of a steep cliff with the sea smashing against it far below.

‘Just the job,’ Jones smiled at me. ‘Hold the gate open whilst I bring the car through.’

We went back to the gate and I did as he said and watched as he drove the car slowly towards the edge, jumping out a few metres before it nosedived over. I remember doing that on the South Downs a long time back with a Ford Consul that had two bodies in the boot and the bloody thing sticking on the edge, with the front over it and the back on the ground. Nowadays with four-wheel drive, no problem – if it’s in gear the back wheels push it over.

We started walking along the cliff top towards the old town and the dock. The moon was giving us enough light to see the way forward, but we took the precaution of putting our night vision glasses on, just in case – a bit cumbersome, but we’d see someone before they saw us. The cliff top began to give way to the narrow pebbled streets of the old town with rows of small two-storey stone built farm worker houses either side, three to a row with a narrow alleyway between each block. Their windows had the wooden shutters closed; slits of light shone through from some, and every now and again laughter and raised voices could be heard from inside.

A choice had to be made: carry on along the streets to the dock, or skirt round the back where their backyards gave way to a wide shingle beach. Trouble was, if they had dogs they would be tethered round the back and would probably bark their heads off at us. The streets weren’t lit, so we took a chance that nobody would be about at that time of night and carried on.

Big mistake. We should have taken our chances with the dogs. An open army jeep swung into the narrow road from a cross roads fifty metres further on, headlights blazing, and caught us in the glare. I wasn’t even thinking that they’d patrol this area, but with the ultra nationalist Turkish Grey Wolves Islamic terrorist group very active in north Cyprus with strikes against the army we maybe should have factored that into our thoughts. We had the advantage that they would be confused seeing two black-clad and armed men in their lights and had to stop and get their guns out; ours were slung over our shoulders and primed to go.

I swung my carbine up and loosed off a few rounds on automatic, taking out the headlights. Jones stepped across the narrow street to make a separate target and knelt on one knee as he did the same, his shots disintegrating the windscreen and driver’s head. Out of control, the jeep careered into the nearest house as I took care of the remaining two occupants. Lights were going on and doors opening all along the street as people came out to see what was happening. I nodded to Jones to follow me and ran down the nearest alley – the chained dogs were already barking so no need to be careful now as we ran towards the sea with the slope of the land giving some cover from behind. Once below the sightline from the houses we struck out towards the dock area which was lit up about a mile and a half further on. Behind us we could hear sirens and shouting; the upside was that the authorities would no doubt think this was a Grey Wolves random attack, and not be thinking it was from outside the area and that maybe the docks were the target

‘Into the water,’ I shouted to Jones who was ten metres in front. ‘They’ll have dogs.’

He raised an arm in agreement and we ran down into the surf, which slowed us down but would lose our scent. After what must have been a mile we halted and took a rest. Looking back at the old village we could see searchers’ lights were all over the shore and a line of them coming our way. It was an obvious choice for the pursuers if they thought we were Grey Wolves, we would be going towards the town and a safe house, so why would we go the other way into bracken and forest where dogs would soon find us? So we had to keep going, as no doubt they’d be sending troops down onto the beach all the way along towards the dock; it was just a matter of being ahead of them and getting into some decent cover.

My legs were feeling tired from running in water but the adrenalin had kicked in and we hurried on. Then we heard it – the unmistakable whirring of helicopter blades. It was coming from the dock area, its searchlight scanning the beach. We turned up the slope inland, over a small perimeter wall and into a beach hotel garden. It was