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

beside the road when his patrol came through and saw you, and he started following.’

‘What about the rest of his patrol?’

‘They’ll be further down the road at the outskirts of the city waiting, hoping you were meeting some insurgents and then they’d get the lot. Anyway, enough about him – let’s get you sorted out.’ She spoke Turkish into a radio which was answered also in Turkish.

A few minutes later a van pulled up – an old battered van, no lights and just a driver; he was late middle-age, in rough clothing and an old peaked cap, and didn’t speak. Gold opened the rear doors and pulled out a change of clothing for both of us. She had it all planned – why was I not surprised? Because it’s Gold; nothing left to chance, ever. I noticed some building materials inside, so that was our cover; in a few minutes we were both just ordinary Turkish construction workers. Our onesies disappeared into the rucksack and Gold wrapped on a hijab. We both crammed onto the one threadbare passenger seat and started on our way towards the city of Antakya.

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The early morning light was filtering through the dawn mist as we drove into Antakya; the streetlights were still on and early traffic starting to move around. I looked out to the bay, a good ten miles away on our left now – no activity – and looking out further I expected to see a smouldering skeleton of the ship, but there was nothing; she must have sunk – well, that was the plan after all. Woodward said not to let the missiles reach Turkey, and they hadn’t. But seeing Eve Rambart board the ship and escape the inferno had added a chapter to the plan; now I had to find and kill her, seeing as she was obviously the one organising the illegal arms sales. And, of course, I also had my eyes on a million quid bounty from hubby. Mercenary, me? But of course.

We were in the old part of Antakya and pulled up outside a cafe half full of workers having their breakfast. A rickety table at the back had a scrawled note on it: Saklı –dır. Gold saw me look at it and provided the answer to my unasked question. ‘Reserved.’

No sooner had we sat than the waiter, or maybe the owner, was at our side: plump, middle-aged, unshaven and wearing a striped apron that really needed to go in the wash. Gold held up three fingers and he was gone.

‘This is Ajdin.’ She introduced our driver who smiled and nodded. ‘Ajdin and I go back a long way.’

I didn’t ask questions; I knew Gold had been operating inside Turkey when Turkey supported ISIS, and she had probably had some input into the PKK and Armenian Front. But that was none of my business, I don’t ask questions – if you don’t know things then they can’t be forced out of you by torture or drugs. The current Erdoğan regime in Turkey has a lot of internal enemies and had put down a military coup a few years back, so whether Ajdin was still involved wasn’t my concern – not my contact, and in this business you have your own contacts and stay away from other people’s. Although I never had any direct contacts in the Middle East, Gold would have had many in her time with Mossad. Perhaps Ajdin was one of those.

The breakfast was served up quickly and was delicious – a dish of menemem with Turkish bread, sucuk and pastırma, followed by fruit jam, honey and black tea. Most of my English friends think Turks survive on doner kebabs – they don’t, and certainly not on the crap bone scrapings mixed with pulverised offal called doner kebab that we get in the UK. We ate in silence; sometimes you get a meal and just want to take time and fully enjoy it – this was one such meal. Nothing out of the ordinary to a Turkish worker, but after the day and night I’d just had it was a joy.

‘Okay, let’s go,’ Gold gave the order when we had finished. Ajdin paid the bill and as we left the cafe and went back to the van.

‘What’s the plan then?’ I asked as Gold and I crammed back into the passenger seat and Ajdin started the engine and we moved off.

‘Sleep, that’s the plan, Ben – a good long sleep. I’ve done some research and we are going to have to have our wits about us for what’s in store, so first you get some shut-eye.’

I must admit I could fall asleep without much rocking; it had been a mentally and physically exhausting two days since I left the base.

Ajdin drove us out of the town and through a couple of small villages before taking to unmade roads and tracks for a mile or so before pulling up at a very palatial-looking building set in its own compound with several armed guards on patrol.

‘I’m impressed, is this your holiday home?’ I joked at Gold.

‘No, couldn’t afford this – even Turkey has its rich entrepreneurs. The one who owns this also has a dislike for the Erdoğan regime and is only too happy to quietly aid others of the same persuasion. Don’t talk to anybody, and no pictures.’

A housemaid met us at the door, nothing was said as she led us through the marble tiled ground floor and out to an open compound at the back of the house, then across it to a separate building set on its own. It looked like a stable on the outside but inside it was a large single room that reminded me of an American motel: bed, shower, table, chairs and TV. The guest room for guests you can’t acknowledge? Probably.

Gold stood in the doorway as I tried the bed