How to Betray Your Country by James Wolff (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

Let’s talk about him. What time was that?

No, this man Turkish, he is, I don’t know word in English.

Describe it to me.

He is not like you, he is drink alcohol, his…

Clothes.

They are dirty.

What time was this?

Maybe, six, maybe seven. But he is Turkish —

Why, because he’s dark? I don’t think you could tell at a distance. What was he doing here?

I do not know. He has bottle, maybe telephone, he is talking.

And then, in case at a later date it all looks to Lawrence just a little too convenient, the vizier provides a random detail.

I think there is man with car also.

What, a second man?

Yes, but I don’t see him.

And what, he leaves with this other man?

Yes.

Christ, okay.

He finally catches the tape on the plastic edge and jerks his head down sharply to pull it free of his mouth. He is desperate. Christ, okay. In those two words he hears Lawrence’s train of thought swerve into a ditch. He hears him think: August is probably sleeping off a heavy night in his hotel room. This whole thing might have been a joke, or worse, some sort of trap. It’s a good reminder that he’ll need careful handling. Far better to do one’s due diligence before involving the police. Send someone round to his hotel, check the hospitals, trace his name against flight manifests. That’s the point to start thinking about the police. Set hares running now and you’ll end up looking like a fool when he turns up with a hangover in a few hours.

You don’t happen to know where they went, do you?

He tries to pull the gag out of his mouth but it catches on the tape and when he tries to shout the sound is muffled.

What’s that noise?

Children. My friend, look, the time is —

All right, all right. You don’t know where they went, do you?

He tries to pull the gag free from his mouth but it’s long like a sock and even to him his shouts still sound muffled. He bangs his head against the fridge door.

No, no.

Okay, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Take this for your trouble. No, I insist, it sounds as though I’ve woken the whole place up. Got lots of children, have you? Buy them all a nice lunch tomorrow to make up for it.

Okay, okay.

This is your house, then, is it?

What? No, owner he live Ankara.

Got it. Well, thanks for your help … what’s your name?

Mehmet.

I won’t bother you again, Mehmet.

The gag comes loose. He pushes all his weight against the door and tears at the rubber with his fingers, even the broken finger, and shouts as loudly as he can. He tries Lawrence’s name, he tries his own name. The vizier’s footsteps rattle like gunfire in the stairwell. He opens the fridge door and stuffs the gag back into August’s mouth and winds fresh tape around his head so tightly that he struggles to breathe. A single blow is enough to knock all the air from his body. Somewhere he hears the sound of a tap running. He doesn’t know what is happening. The door opens again and the vizier throws a bucket of cold water over him and then re-padlocks the fridge. The water washes the blood from his face and feels refreshing. An odd punishment, he thinks. But then he hears the quiet hum of a motor and he realizes he’s in trouble. The vizier has switched the fridge on.

• • • •

He examines his situation, looking for a way out. Within minutes he is trembling like a tuning fork. It is difficult to bring his mind to bear on anything other than his immediate circumstances. He concedes an admiration for the ruthless efficiency of the vizier. Here is a man who understands the economics of suffering, the balancing of input and output in his favour. Why waste time and energy on an unnecessary demonstration of force? Far better to weaken the prisoner. That way he won’t have the will to struggle, to shout, to escape. Already he is exhausted, fighting the cold, fighting to keep the gag from slipping down his throat, and so he looks again with his cheek for a sharp edge. He rattles against the sides of the fridge like a nut inside its shell. The plastic finally catches on the tape and he pulls it loose from his mouth. He spits out the gag and breathes deeply and the air, like electricity, makes him glow brightly with pain. He feels within himself the possibility of surrender. He cannot let that happen. There is work to do.

• • • •

There are some things that must be true. Number one: there is no Iranian, there was never any Iranian. There was only ever the vizier, playing a role. The Iranian was a fiction designed to keep him engaged and busy until … what? He realizes it was probably his own impatience to get things moving at the start that made the vizier come up with the idea of the Iranian. Number two: the vizier doesn’t intend to kill him, at least not yet. If that had been his plan he’d have done it hours ago. August’s value is as a commodity of some kind. Number three: it’s inexplicable that the vizier hasn’t moved him by now. It would have made sense to move him immediately, rather than lock him up inside the house. But it is beyond crazy to keep him here after someone has come to the front door asking for him and talking about going to the police. The only possible reason for staying here is that the vizier has nowhere else to go. But IS have extensive facilitation networks in Turkey: they have access to people and properties and money. August knows this as a matter of fact. Is it possible, therefore, that the vizier isn’t connected to them? Or that he doesn’t have access to their resources? How could that be the case?

• • • •

His