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

What?

Talk to Abu Mustafa.

I talked to him already, man.

What did he say?

What did he say? He said you’re a lying scumbag piece of shit is what he said. You don’t get it, your brothers aren’t your brothers any more. Not after what you did. Abu Mustafa’s not pulling strings for you, nobody is.

I am not asking for an act of kindness. This is a business deal. I am giving you more than you are giving me. And we both know that the brothers are in trouble. They need this.

No, you’re calling us up and saying, hello, there’s a package but you’ve got to come and pick it up from the depot. And by the way it’s a big package so you need to hire a truck. What’s the point, we’re doing all the work here but you’re supposed to be the fucking delivery boy.

Watch your mouth.

Watch my mouth? Watch your fucking mouth, bro. You’re not my emir any more. You’re not anyone’s emir after what you did. You should hear the brothers talk about you now. Like you’re something on the bottom of their shoe. Don’t even think about it, don’t you even… There’s two of us, take one more step and we’ll stick you in the fridge with this cunt and throw the pair of you in the fucking sea.

So we have a deal?

Funny. Look, we’re done here.

There is not much time. I need to know your decision very soon.

Is he even in one piece? I’ve seen your handiwork before.

Have a look.

Fucking hell, you’ve done a number there. At least he’s got all his fingers attached. You’re going soft in your old age. Let me take a picture, send it back. Where did he get the bottle from?

It does not matter.

What’s he saying? Fucking hell, he’s drunk – I can’t make out a word. Hello mate, enjoying your holiday? What’s your —

That is enough.

Who is he anyway?

It does not matter. What matters is who knows that he is here. And the answer is nobody.

• • • •

There is sleep, or something like it. Afterwards he tries to measure its duration by considering how he feels, the precise proportion of drunk to hung-over. He has recent experience of hangovers, plenty of it, so he has a degree of confidence in his judgement. Four hours, he thinks.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he knows how much time he’s got.

Five minutes, the vizier says. He’s standing by the window. A lorry strains up a faraway hill. The sunlight has a washed-out, late-afternoon quality.

August is lying on the floor. He moves his arms and legs to force the blood back into his extremities.

Who were those guys? he says. If it’s about money, I can get you money.

He doesn’t expect a response. He just wants to hear his own voice, which is more slurred than he expected. Maybe it’s closer to three hours.

Water. Can I have some water?

He has to do two things. Firstly, accept as a fact that the vizier will always be a step ahead of him. He thought the bottle of raki was about keeping him quiet. It turns out that was only part of its purpose. Even more than that, it was intended to make it impossible for him to claim – as 34c might have been expected to do – that he was a Muslim, a willing volunteer to the IS cause, cruelly tricked into this position by the vizier. It was intended to make sure that anything coming out of his mouth would be laughable.

Four minutes.

Secondly, August has to disregard the fact that the vizier will always be a step ahead of him, because it will lead to surrender, and he has to do something. If IS decide they want him, what will follow is a tranquillizer and twenty-four hours in the back of a lorry. Bored soldiers aren’t going to search through boxes of rotting foodstuffs when nobody’s even been reported missing. And after that, once he’s across the border…

He drinks some water. When the vizier’s back is turned he touches his pocket, looking for the sharp edge of the plastic blade hidden there.

If IS don’t want him, in an instant he’ll become worthless, pure risk, and he’ll be dead within minutes. This is why he keeps on returning to the question of how much time has passed since their visit. Because if they don’t want him, they’ll just ditch the phone they were using with the vizier and move on. There won’t be a courtesy call to explain their reasons. And so the vizier might decide at any moment that the deal is off.

But for now he seems intent on keeping August alive.

I need to use the toilet.

There is a bucket in the corner.

Can you help me?

He has no chance in a fight. It has to be sudden and brief. It has to be the eye or the throat.

Please can you help me? If you don’t…

They won’t want to have to wash him and change his clothes before taking him away.

The vizier takes a last look out of the window and lifts August to his feet as though he is weightless. With one powerful arm the vizier supports August as he tries to walk across the room. He fights the urge to be sick. He slowly twists, leans his back against the far wall and puts his open left hand on the vizier’s shoulder as though to steady himself.

Thank you, August says. He is breathing heavily.

The vizier’s eyes are pale grey and bloodshot. Too much hard bone. Any sudden movement in that direction will only be understood one way.

I’ve been thinking about it, August says. He steadies himself. Thirty-one, he says, maybe thirty-two. No more than that.

What —

With his right hand he pushes the tiny plastic blade deep into the vizier’s neck and twists and drags it downwards and across. The blood is sudden and violent. He pulls it out and jabs upwards towards his left eye