CHAPTER 1
I could see the commandos circle their flimsy rubber raft. Three quick circles in succession were all it took. All three passengers overboard. I could hear screaming and yelling. The passengers terrified for their lives. The commandos barking orders. They were fast and efficient. They scooped up the passengers and their luggage in nets. The nets fired from underneath their skiff like torpedoes. It wasn’t the rudimentary type of skiff I had seen the Somali pirates using seven years earlier. It was more advanced. Much more. More than enough to do the job. It looked like a professional job. It was time to intervene.
I slowly raised my M4A1 carbine rifle to my AN/PVS-14 Monocular Night Vision Device. There was no way to procure a helmet on such short notice. I opted for a crude homemade head harness put together with tie-down straps and foam. Bungee cords secured it in place. It would have to do.
The first commando was at the bow of the skiff. There was a chop to the sea. It looked like a washing machine on spin cycle. A 25 mile per hour crosswind between me and the target. Absolutely perfect for the windsurfers who would be out in full force this afternoon. Absolutely not perfect for a Navy SEAL vet who’s looking to terminate two commando pirates at 0317 hours in the Aegean Sea.
I had promised DEA Agents Bill Frost and Claire Abbey there wouldn’t be any casualties. As I looked down the barrel of my rifle I wasn’t sure I was going to keep that promise. There is no such thing as close enough when it comes to taking low percentage shots in high stress environments.
I went through my mental checklist from SEAL Sniper School. Sight picture. Sight alignment. Breathing. Grip. Trigger pull. Those are the fundamentals. Check.
I made a conscious note of my natural breathing cycle. Don’t hold your breath. Time the shot. Take it at the precise moment of the natural respiratory pause at the bottom of your exhale. You don’t want your breathing, or lack of, to affect the shot’s elevation. Check.
I thought about my natural point of aim. After my sights were on the first target I gently rocked my body back and forth until I was naturally aligned with the target. Check.
That’s all first phase of SEAL Sniper School. Second phase is stalking. Stealth and concealment. A Jet ski isn’t normally considered very stealthy or concealed. Often they’re painted like exotic sports cars. Make sure everybody sees that you have one. I had sprayed this one down with a matte finish. It was about as stealthy as it was going to get. The night sky was cooperating. There were some clouds, but they were inconsistent. It was better than nothing.
Speed kills. You can shoot a sniper rifle faster by slowing down. My resting heart rate was thirty-seven beats per minute. As I watched the commandos bark orders I calculated. I was at thirty-eight.
The commando at the bow was facing me. He was pointing with his hand and arm, but his body was still. I took in a breath. Let it out. Took in another breath. Let it out. Pull. He buckled in half. Collapsed backwards. Over the side and into the big drink. The commando on the stern swung around. Reached for his pistol. Too late. He went back and over like the man before him.
I fired up the Jet ski and raced over to the scene. The three passengers from the raft were now treading water in the frigid night sea. The first two with life jackets. They were a boy and girl, but they looked similar. Maybe brother and sister. The third had a sinister look to him. Very different facial features.
I threw a life preserver on a rope to the girl first. She was two yards away. She grabbed it for dear life. A few quick pulls on the rope and I was lifting her onto the ski.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Yes. Please help my brother!”
She pointed to the boy who appeared a few years older than her. I threw him the life preserver. As I pulled him in I turned back to the girl.
“Refugees?” I asked.
“Yes. Syria.”
I got her brother to the side and brought him onboard. The third man was still swimming in place. He looked shocked, but OK. I threw him the life preserver.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“He’s,” the boy began. He hesitated a moment before beginning again, “He’s helping us. Can you please help him?”
“Yes.” I began pulling him to the ski and turned back to the girl. “How do you know him?”
“He’s a friend of the family,” she said as her eye contact went from strong to none at all. I didn’t know what to make of it, but knew something smelled fishy. I got him to the ski.
“Put your hands behind your back?” He did it without any fuss. I think he was happy to just be alive. I zip tied his hands.
“Where’s your luggage?”
Their eyes scanned the water. “There,” the brother and sister said in unison. It was floating no more than three meters away.
“Only that one?”
“Yes,” the both said.
I looked down at the commandos. They were floating face down. I had shot them less than thirty-five seconds ago. Now I had a Jet ski with two refugees and a very questionable extra. I’m a huge guy. Luckily they were all thin and none over five foot nine.
“There’re too many of us for this ski. We’re gonna try it anyways. Everybody just hold still and we’ll be in Kos in ten minutes. We’ll sort this out there.”
I swerved right and reached down to grab their bag as we coasted past. It weighted at least sixty pounds. Light considering it probably contained all their worldly possessions. I stowed it as best I could.
No one said anything on the ride into Kos. I saw a Greek Coast Guard vessel patrolling so I cut the engine and waited for it to pass. I could feel the girl behind me shaking. She must have been freezing. No one spoke. It took the vessel less than a minute to lumber by. It seemed like an eternity. I headed towards shore perpendicular to the direction from which the vessel had come. As we approached land I shut off the engine and we coasted the last few yards right to the shore. I put my index finger over my lips so the passengers would remain silent. I looked each one in the eye and then interlocked my fingers. I put my interlocked hands around the boy’s neck from behind. Then I backed away. I motioned for his sister to take the position I had just occupied. I moved the cuffed man to the front and motioned for the boy to lock his hands around the zip-tied man’s neck. I’m sure they felt more like hostages than refugees. It was by design.
I grabbed their luggage and guided them to a café not more than fifty yards from shore. It was chosen due to its stealth location. No drunken tourists bumping into us on their way home from closing down a bar. I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked the lock on the back door. They went inside without instructions. The blackout blinds were already pulled in advance. I flipped on a light.
“The shower is there,” I pointed to the corner. There was a door leading to a wash closet that had both a shower and toilet. “You’ll go one-by-one. Quickly. I’ll give you dry clothes and a towel before you enter. No one is to talk at any time. If you understand me move your heads up and down.”
They all nodded.
“Before you shower I must check you for weapons.” They looked confused. “Ladies first,” I said. The girl just stood there. I motioned for her to come forward. She walked towards me. I put my hands on both shoulders to stop her. I took a step back and extended my arms and spread my legs. She followed suit. I checked her thoroughly but with respect. I pointed to the wall and made the position of a mummy with my hands at my sides and my legs together. She walked over to the wall and stood facing me.
I patted down her brother much more thoroughly. He was clean. I motioned for him to go stand against the wall.
Then I patted down the guy I had cuffed. I found a knife in a sheath secured around his leg with two shoelaces. I can’t believe it held during the fall and the swim. I sat the knife on a table. It was the only weapon between the three of them. I left him cuffed.
I grabbed a towel and some clothes from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and handed them to the girl. I pointed to the shower. She took the clothes and headed off.
She was back in five minutes. Fast for a girl I though. Especially one who had just been pulled from the sea.
There was a couch in the corner. It was next to the desk and office chair where a manager would sit to balance the books and handle the day-to-day operations. I looked at her and pointed at the couch. She walked over and sat down.
I pulled out some more clothes from the bottom of the filing cabinet. I held them up. I looked at them and then at her brother. I dug deeper for something smaller. I walked over and handed him the clothes and a towel. I quickly tilted my head to the direction of the shower and then back. He walked quickly and shut the door. I heard the water fall from the shower head within three seconds. He was thin and looked cold. I can imagine that warm shower felt like a new lease on life.
I walked back over to the desk and sat down. I looked at the girl.
“He’s your brother?”
She opened her mouth to speak. She caught herself just before she uttered a word. She nodded.
“It’s OK. You can talk now. Just in a low voice.”
She nodded again.
“What happened out there?”
“Two men. Those two men you saw in the sea with their faces down. We were crossing from Turkey. They wanted to rob us. Maybe more. I’m not sure.”
She was smart. She didn’t say the men I shot. She didn’t accuse me of a crime that I had obviously committed. She was calm and had a cool head on her shoulders.
“Why did they want to rob you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’re just unlucky.”
I knew that couldn’t be the case.
“Did they get anything?”
“No. Thanks to you.”
“Where do you want to go now?”
“London. It is my dream. Ever since I was a little girl. If we cannot reach it then Germany.”
“And how do you plan to get there?”
“Apply for asylum in Greece. Should we receive that then we will immediately begin the journey.”
“What makes you think you will receive asylum?”
“Greece is giving nearly everyone from Syria asylum. There are Facebook groups where refugees share news daily.”
“And him.” I pointed to the cuffed man. “Does he also want asylum?”
She looked at the man and he at her. They held eye contact for a moment. She looked back at me. “I can not say what he would like. It is better to ask him.”
“What would you guess?”
“I wouldn’t be able to guess.”
Well played I thought. This guy was almost certainly a trafficker. One she likely no longer needed, but she still didn’t sell him out.
I waited a moment before continuing. “Do you know who shot those men?”
“I don’t,” she said. “But I am thankful to that person for saving our lives.”
I leaned back in my chair. The bathroom door opened and her brother came out. The shirt was still too big, but it didn’t look like a tent. The sweatpants fit well. I motioned for him to join his sister on the couch.
“You may talk. Just in a low tone,” I said. “Do you know who this man is?” I was looking the boy right in the eye. He didn’t flinch.
“Yes,” he said.
“Who is he?”
“He is the man who was helping us cross the sea.”
“When did you meet him?”
The boy didn’t say anything. His sister put her hand on his thigh just above his knee. Offering him support.
“At the shore,” the boy said. “Just before we departed.”
“And how did you meet him?”
“We were told to wait for an SMS. When we received the SMS we were to go to the meeting point at the shore. When we received the SMS we went. He was there with the raft.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No. He didn’t tell us.”
“Do you know who he works for?”
The boy remained silent. His sister began, “He is a friend of a friend.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Our father requested safe passage for us. This is the man who was to provide it.”
“Do you think he provided it?”
“We are here now so I am very satisfied.”
I thought for a moment. Their English was very good. I guessed they were from a good family or watched a whole heck of a lot of American movies. I dug in the drawer and found another set of clothes and a towel. “Wait here.”
I walked over to the boat captain. “Do you understand English?”
“Talk little. Listen all.”
I spoke slowly. “You had knife. Why?”
“For emergency,” he said.
“What emergency?”
“Any kind. Never know.”
I knew he didn’t have any more weapons and I doubt he was trained in any form of martial arts. He looked like a guy with a family trying to make money, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I walked him over to the shower. Set the towel and clothes inside on top of the toilet seat cover.
“I will untie you now. You will take a shower. You will leave the door open. I stay here.”
I pointed to a spot three feet from the door. It gave me a vantage point on the brother and sister and this guy.
“Understand?”
He nodded.
“OK. We have a deal. Don’t break our deal.”
I cut the plastic cuffs with the knife. He brought his hands in front of him and twisted his wrists while he rubbed the skin where the cuffs had been. He stepped inside. Faced away. Removed his clothes and stood under the hot water. I kept an eye on him with my peripheral while I watched the brother and sister. They weren’t talking. Just facing forward. They were very still, but I could see they were holding hands.
The man finished and got dressed. I motioned for him to walk in front of me. He did. We got close to the couch and I cuffed him for the second time with plastic handcuffs even though I didn’t see him as a threat. This time I let him keep his hands to the front. I pulled up a plastic chair next to the couch and motioned for him to sit down.
“Who do you work for?”
“Sahil.”
“Who is Sahil?”
“Sahil Tourism.”
“What is Sahil Tourism?”
“Coast. Coast Tourism.”
“Sahil means Coast?”
He nodded yes.
I looked at the boy. A look asking for confirmation.
“Yes, Sahil is Arabic for coast. He works for Coast Tourism,” the boy said.
I looked back at the man. “What is your job?”
“Tours.”
“Tours to where?”
“Greece,” he said.
“Only migrants?”
“Anyone who pay can go.”
“How many that are not migrants take tour?”
“Many.”
“How many?” I said.
“Two hundred.”
“Two hundred when? Every day?”
“Summer yes. Now yes.”
“They go at night?”
He didn’t speak.
“They go at night?” I repeated myself.
“No. They go day.”
“How many migrants at night?”
“I no know.”
“Why you no know?”
“I only one captain.”
“More captains?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I no know. Boss no tell me. Just tell me what I must do.”
The guy was a disgusting, scumbag, human trafficker. But I believed him. I wasn’t interested in him anyways.
“Who’s your boss?”
“Boss,” he started. “Boss is Muhammad.”
“Muhammad what?”
“I no know.”
I looked at the boy. “What’s the boss’ name?”
“I don’t know his name. We just had a mobile number. We weren’t supposed to ask these questions.”
“You weren’t curious?”
“Yes, but I just want to make it to London. That is all I care about. The rest is unimportant. Just stay alive until London.”
“What’s your name?”
“Adam.”
I looked at his sister.
“You?”
“Amy.”
Did they really expect me to believe that? I considered probing them about these Western names they had conveniently adopted. I had more important things to consider.
“You still have his number?”
“It’s in my phone. If my phone is still dry then, yes, I have it.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Luggage. Outside pocket.”
The bag was still sitting against the wall where I had left it. Still water logged. Still surprised I had recovered it in time. I walked over and unzipped the outside pocket. I reached inside. I felt a thick plastic, waterproof bag. I pulled it out. It had two passports. They were navy blue. At the top they said something in Arabic. Below that it said: SYRIAN ARAB REPUBLIC. Below that it said: REPUBLIQUE ARABE SYRIENNE. Below that the Hawk of Quraish. Kind of like the eagle on my passport, but not. I opened them up. There was a picture of the boy on the first one. It looked recent. Next to the picture it said: Given Name/Prénom: ADNAN. Below that it said: Surname/Nom: AL-ATRASH. There were five other fields below that and an Issue No. field at the top. There were also the usual seals, numbers, codes, and such that aim to prevent counterfeiting. I slid it underneath and inspected the other passport. Given Name/Prénom: AMENA. Below that it said: Surname/Nom: AL-ATRASH. So now that they’re on European soil Amena’s ready to be called Amy and Adnan is now Adam. Can’t say I blame that strategy. I reached back inside the bag and felt around. I pulled out an Amazon Kindle. Really? It was sealed in three Ziploc bags. I stuck my hand in again and felt something soft that had become hard. I pulled it out. It was one of those puffy jackets that if you stand on them and roll them tight enough they’ll fit in the palm of your hand. Warm enough for cool spring and fall days, but small enough to stuff in a pants pocket if need be. This one seemed a little bigger and didn’t feel quite right. I started to open it and could feel there was something inside. The jacket was doubling as padding for something. I continued unrolling it. It was the newest model iPhone inside. The screen was dead. I fooled around with it trying to power it on. Eventually the screen came to life. It asked me for a passcode. I looked at Adnan.
“What’s the code?”
“One. Nine. Six. Two.”
“Significance?”
Adnan smiled. “Year of first James Bond movie. Dr. No.”
Maybe he really did have a crush on the British. Then again what boy doesn’t go through a James Bond phase at least once?
I tapped the screen and was confronted with a bunch of small pictures. Thumbnails I believe they’re called. Or are the icons? Doesn’t matter. I took the phone over to the desk and sat down.
“How do I pull up your stored numbers?”
“The light brown icon. The one with the darker brown guy’s head and the spiral notebook thing on the side,” Adnan said.
I was staring right at it. I tapped it. Nothing happened. I looked at Adnan.
“Tap twice.”
I did and a list of numbers appeared. Some with names some without. Some in Arabic. Some in the Latin alphabet.
I stopped. Realizing I forgot something. I reached inside the filing cabinet and found another towel. I motioned for the cuffed guy to stand up. I grabbed the plastic chair and walked him over to the closet and opened the door. I sat the chair inside and pointed to the seat. He sat down. I wrapped the towel around his head. Covering his ears and eyes. I left the door open and went back and sat down.
“Who are these people? The ones you have numbers for.”
“Everybody we know,” Adnan said.
“And anybody who might be able to help us,” Amena added.
“Do you have parents?”
“Yes,” Amena said.
“Where are they?”
“Back in Syria.”
“Why didn’t they accompany you?”
“Our father is too old. The journey would be too difficult,” Adnan said.
“So he’s taking his chances with ISIS?”
“There are no more chances to take. They already took everything. He is poor now.”
“But you didn’t used to be?”
“No. We were fortunate. We had a good life. Many nice things. A happy family.”
I didn’t say anything. Just thinking for a moment. “Who arranged your transport?”
“Our father.”
“And he gave you money before you left?”
“Yes. And he sent some money to some friends along the way. Friends were we can stop briefly and pick it up.”
“What kind of friends?”
“His friends. I don’t really know.”
“Business or personal?”
“I think at his level they are often the same.”
“What does he do?”
“He was a business man.”
“A very successful one,” I said.
“Yes. You could say that,” Adnan said.
“What business was he in?”
“Exporting of consumer staples.”
“What consumer staples?” I said.
The kids looked at each other. “Male contraceptives,” Adnan said.
“Your family exports condoms?”
“Yes,” Adnan said. “It’s not exactly shameful in our culture, but something you definitely wouldn’t bring up in polite conversation.”
“So you just leave it at consumer staples?”
“Correct.”
“They’re made in Syria?”
“Malaysia.”
“How did your dad get involved?”
“Our mother is Malaysian. They met in Saudi Arabia.”
“And decided to start making condoms together?”
“No. My mother’s family owned a lot of land. My father noticed there were a lot of rubber trees on that land. He got the idea just from that.”
“How often do you speak with your father?”
“Every day almost.”
“And your father’s friend. The one in Turkey. Where is he in here?”
I looked down at the phone. Neither Adnan nor Amena said anything.
“We really don’t want any trouble for him. He helped us cross.”
“Which one?”
Amena elbowed Adnan in the side. “The one that says McDonalds. McDonalds dash Izmir.”
I scrolled down to the name. The number had a plus ninety prefix. Turkey.
“What happens if we call him right now?”
“I don’t know,” Adnan said. “I don’t think he will be very happy with us.”
“You have to call him at some point to let him know you made it, right?”
“That was his job. He was to return and tell him.” Adnan motioned towards the cuffed man.
“What’s your name?” I asked the cuffed man.
“Kerem,” he said.
I pressed the green phone icon next to McDonalds dash Izmir. It rang three times before someone picked it up. I could tell they had been sleeping.
“Merhaba.”
“I have Kerem, Adnan, and Amena.”
There was a silence on the other line. He had two choices. Claim ignorance and effectively abandon them, or maintain loyalties to their father.
“What do you want?”
“A meeting. This morning.”
“Why? They just want passage. They are refugees.”
“Maybe the are. Maybe they aren’t. I want to talk.”
“About what?”
“A deal.”
“You are police?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want a deal?”
“Kos this morning at 11 o’clock. Return a call to this number when you arrive.” I was prepared to hang up.
“Wait! I cannot go to Greece right now.”
“Why not?”
“I have some problem there.”
“What kind of problem.”
“Problem with police.”
Making the enemy come to you is a much better strategy than going to him. That’s when you have time and negotiating power. I had the power with the man on the other end of the line. Not so much with the Greeks. Now I was technically a kidnapper with three hostages.
I needed a place in Bodrum I knew. A place with plenty of entry and exit points. A place with a lot of traffic in and out. Traffic generates noise. And tourists. I didn’t want prying local eyes.
“Starbucks in Bodrum on Neyzen Tevfik Cd. 10 o’clock this morning.” It’s the main tourist street facing the harbor. The one where all the tourist boats enter and exit for the day. I can blend in.
“OK.”
I hung up the phone. Kerem, Adnan, and Amena seemed to realize they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
I motioned for them to stand and follow me. I took them upstairs and showed them each to a room. There was just a bed in each room. There were no windows. The walls were thickly padded in a cream color. They looked like a mattress without the sheet. The doors locked from the outside. The rooms had been used to detain drunks while the downstairs was used for processing. Now it was a coffee shop. I had never used the upstairs. I added the beds myself just yesterday. It would serve perfectly for the next few hours. I put them each in a room. Locked the doors.
I went back downstairs. The suitcase was still in its place. I unzipped it and examined the contents. Mostly wet clothes. There was also some jewelry. I found some Euro bank notes inside another Ziploc bag. There was a hole carefully cut in the fabric at the corner of the frame. They had been wedged in there. Everything seemed legit. I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
I went back to my chair. Propped my feet back on the desk. The first ferry across wasn’t until 0915. I had over four and a half hours to kill. The SEAL teams know that whenever you get a chance to eat, you eat. Whenever you get a chance to rest, you rest. I set my alarm for 0830. Plenty of time to be first in line for a ticket.
As the ferry pulled into port in Bodrum I knew my target had eyes on me. He knew I was coming over on this first boat unless I had my own watercraft. I had ditched my night gear in favor of a t-shirt, shorts, and boat shoes. It’s surprising how fast you can run in boat shoes when they’re laced tight. I had a small man bag. The kind you see everywhere in Europe. The bag contained a windbreaker, Adnan’s iPhone, three passports of varying origin, a pen, paper, and a pistol. On the pistol slide it said: P226. Below that it said: Made in W Germany. It was a SIG Sauer P226 9mm pistol. Extremely easy to take apart and put back together. It was an older model. The Made in W Germany gave it away.
The tourists exited the boat in a tight formation. Apart from my height and size, it was easy to fit in. Most everyone went running off to secure a sun lounger at the beaches they had studied the prior night in their travel guides. I was nine hours away from the closest U.S. city, but I was headed to a Starbucks to meet a guy who I only know as McDonalds dash Izmir.
I walked around the area. I could guess where he might have his men stationed and what I would do if I needed to deal with these clowns.
I was right on time by design. I didn’t want to arrive early and assume a position like a sitting duck. I stood on the boardwalk in front. I saw a man sitting by himself. He was having a Turkish coffee and looked relaxed. He was wearing aviator sunglasses, a navy blue polo shirt, and navy blue jeans. He had Adidas running shoes on his feet. You could tell he was the boss of something by the way he carried himself. His body language was dominant. I tapped on his number in my phone. I saw the man pick up his phone. I saw his lips move and then heard the sound through Adnan’s iPhone.
“I am here.”
I kept the phone in my left hand by my side. I walked up to his table and held the phone out as if to show it was me whom had called. He stood to shake my hand.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
We were off to a civilized start.
The waiter came by. I ordered a filtered coffee. Black.
“I am interested in a deal,” I said.
“What deal and for what?” he said.
“I have your boat captain and two of your clients. I also have a Jet ski and connections on the Greece side. What I don’t have are enough refugees. The higher paying ones.”
“You want refugees?”
“Yes,” I said.
He smiled ear-to-ear. “You think I don’t know what an American cop looks like?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Right,” he said and took a sip of his coffee. “And why in the world wouldn’t you be a cop?”
“There’s more money on the other side.”
“And you’re all about the money, yes? An American in Greece smuggling refugees. That makes a lot of sense. You call a meeting to practice your jokes?”
My coffee arrived. The waiter set it on the table and quickly excused himself.
It was a big Starbucks shop. It had a couple levels and an inside and outside. It was early, but it was already filling up. Most people were drinking concoctions that were topped in whipped cream.
“Have you seen the news this morning?”
“No. I was woken in the night by a call. I had some things to do so I remained awake until now.”
“Maybe you should take a look.”
He motioned for the waiter to come over and then said something to him in Turkish. The waiter disappeared and then reappeared holding a newspaper. He scanned the front and the first few pages.
“I see nothing unusual.”
“Try online. Hürriyet.”
He tapped on his phone. I could see the Hürriyet logo. The third most visited website in all of Europe. I could see an image. Probably taken about the time I arrived on shore. He studied the article for a full minute. I saw him clicking around to some other websites that cover the news.
“Two dead. Suspect missing.” He looked up from his phone. He stared at me through his gold-framed aviators.
“Not the kind of things cops normally do,” I said.
“No.” He continued to stare me down. “Not usually.” He continued looking at me curiously. Took another sip of his coffee. “What do you propose?”
“I will release the brother and sister. Drop them off at the processing office for asylum seekers. I will put your captain on a ferry back to Bodrum.” I took a sip of my coffee. “And I want your help.”
His eyes still on me. He said nothing.
“I have GPS, route maps and time tables for the Greeks and The Turks. The Turkish boats won’t follow me once I get five hundred yards from shore. Not worth the risk. They can’t catch me. They can’t sink me like your rafts. And they don’t fire their weapons. Once I clear five hundred yards I’m home free.”
Still nothing.
“This brother and sister that I have. I can see they have money. I can see they are from a good family. I want these clients. The ones you value too much to put into a rubber raft and then cross your fingers for luck. The ones who pay more. The ones who demand a safe passage without risk.”
“Why are you here?” he said.
“What do you mean? I am here to speak with you about business,” I said.
“No. I mean why are you even in this part of the world? What are you doing here?”
“I came to visit my mother. She is Greek. She is not doing well. She cannot work. She needs money for medicine and doctors. I have used all my savings. I am not allowed to work in Greece. I don’t have the papers. I must turn to other methods.”
I could see him trying to make a decision on the truthfulness of my words. He was still on the fence, but he was beginning to lean in my direction.
“You have miscalculated.”
“How so?” I said.
“The boat captain is worthless to me. I have twenty more just like him. The brother and sister. They are already in Greece. I can find them with GPS. I can tell the authorities I have their killer and hostage taker. I have friends at the newspapers and in the media. Your picture would be on every television station before you finished your coffee.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “Maybe it is you that has miscalculated. I have a pistol pointed at your stomach and two fake passports. I could pull the trigger and disappear in the madness before you take another breath.”
I could see his head tilt slightly. He was looking at the table. He was looking at my man bag. My hand was right next to it. My fingers spread. They were pointing towards him. Same as the gun in the man bag. The man bag was a flimsy material. Easier to fire the SIG without even removing it from the bag. No one would even see a gun. If my acting was good enough the security cameras might even look like I was making a mad dash like everyone else.
“You see the man two tables over and one row behind us? The one pretending to enjoy an overpriced blueberry muffin while he does a crossword,” he said. He didn’t have to finish the rest.
“A Mexican standoff. Not exactly, but close.”
“Exactly,” he said. He reached down to take another sip of his coffee. Presumably to show his position was at least equal, if not better, than mine.
“So what do you suggest?” I said.
“I cannot make a suggestion for you. You are a grown man. You can make your own decisions.” He paused to look out to the sea. “But you do have guts. And a Jet ski. And connections on the other side. Maybe something can be done.”
I said nothing.
“I have a shop around the corner. It is a friendly place. We can go there and speak in private in the back. If you would like.”
I thought about it for a few seconds. “How do I know this isn’t a set-up?”
“You don’t know. That is your predicament. You came asking to deal. I am telling you now. Let’s deal.”
I raised my hand that was closest to the man bag. The one prepared to pull the trigger of the nine-millimeter pistol inside pointed at the man still only known as McDonalds dash Izmir. I rubbed my fingers together to ask for the check. The waiter began walking in our direction as he pulled out his coin bag. The man who had been eating on the muffin tilted his head from the crossword puzzle. Not a direct look, but definitely focused in our immediate area.
“Ten lira,” the waiter said. I paid and he thanked me and walked back to his post. Waiting to serve his next customer of the young day.
“Let’s deal,” I said.
The man held out both hands. Palms up. It was as if he was offering me a place to stand next to the table. He wanted me to stand first so he could assert his dominance by standing last. I accepted his offer and he rose after me. He dropped his left hand. His right hand and arm were still extended. He changed the direction of the two as if to say right this way. I proceeded.
Less than three minutes later we arrived at the shop. There were three men out front smoking shisha and sipping on Turkish tea. They smiled as we entered. We walked to the back and talked on his couch. A young girl entered and presented us with small cups of tea as soon as we sat down. She removed them from her tray and sat them on small saucers on the low table in front of us. She said nothing and departed quickly. The cup was so hot I could barely hold the glass let alone sip from it.
We spoke business. He had an important family coming in two days. It would take two trips on the Jet ski, but it was easily doable. I know the going rate for a speedboat or sailboat is up to €10,000 per person. A family of four would command €40,000 at that rate. The man offered me €4000 total. Probably about ten percent of a VIP crossing, or what would have been the full amount if they made the voyage by raft. Just like Amena and Adnan. He told me he would call me a few hours in advance of the time he would need me. Then I would cross the sea and meet with one of his associates. The associate would give me the map of the location where the refugees were located. I would go immediately, pick them up, and take them to Kos. I would be paid no later than three days. If the refugees called in the successful crossing when they landed the money would be released from the third party, which holds the money, right away. I could pick it up from one of his associates then. In the meantime I would return to Kos and take Amena and Adnan to the asylum processing office. I would return the phone to Adnan and he would call in to report his safety. I’d then go to the harbor in Kos and buy a ticket back to Bodrum. Karem would take the ticket in my place. I accepted the terms and we settled it with a handshake. I downed my tea and stood to leave.
“I’m Niarchos. What should I call you?”
“I thought you said your mother was Greek,” he said. He thinks he’s caught me in a lie. If I made it a point to mention that my mother was Greek and build up her backstory, then it goes without saying that my father probably isn’t Greek or else I would have just said my parents are Greek. If my father isn’t Greek then why would I have a Greek surname?
“She is. I took her name. My mother and father were never married. He left before I was born.”
“I understand. I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK. Long time ago.”
“So it’s Niarchos. Like the famous Golden Greek. Stavros Niarchos.”
“That’s it.”
“Niarchos, I am The Turk. It is not a proper name, but it is what everyone here knows me as, and the best way to address me. But for now, I’m sorry but I must insist, please do not use my name. Others should not know we have this agreement. Yet.”
“Understood.”
I returned to Kos and carried out our agreement. I bought two prepaid disposable phones. With the first phone I texted the new number to a number The Turk had given me. Now just to wait for the call. With the second phone I texted just two and a half words. I’m in.