Slightly giddy with tension, Emily looked across at the derelict buildings of the old docks and decided that all they needed was a blanket of fog to turn this into a 40s gangster movie.  They’d been sitting for what seemed like hours (less than twenty minutes) by a tangle of wire, rust and weeds that used to be a fence.  And even though they were hidden in the long shadow late evening light, they could see from the water to the roadway clearly enough to read the graffiti on the corrugated metal walls.  There were scraps of rope and wood lying around and chain and large haphazard shapes of metal, some corroded barrels and scattered dilapidated crates.  It was a lonely, dirty place that smelled thirsty, oily and stained.

But Dreyfus didn’t see any of that.  All he saw was the long open space between the buildings on the right and the one by the water that he was interested in.  He’d already mentally driven down, turned the car and sent Emily in to get the girl.  He’d already counted the seconds, and the only thought he had now was, even though he knew Emily had been right to insist on coming, he wished he’d left her at the hotel.

There was movement.

There.  On the edge of the furthest building.  Just?  But, but, Dreyfus wasn’t certain.  He clenched his eyes closed — one … two … three … and open.  Yes, it was still there.  And another one.  And … Dreyfus slightly brushed his hand against Emily’s leg and pointed his finger over the dashboard.

“Just like we talked about,” he said without moving his eyes. “Wait for me to turn and …”

“I know what I’m doing,” Emily snapped, pushed the bottle of water away with her foot and picked the flashlight up from the floor.

The shadows were real now.  Five men moving quickly, quietly, half crouching, half running across the open space from the buildings on the right.  They didn’t stop at the building by the water, but — in one continuous motion — flung open the door and were inside.  There were flashes of light through the open door and muffled pops as if someone was snapping bubble wrap.  And then the men were outside again.  They paused, looked around and started back the way they had come.  Dreyfus reached for the ignition.

Suddenly, the world burst open in sharp lines of whining fire that staccato cracked and ricocheted against the broken pavement.  One of the running men folded over like a puppet without strings and another, stuttered, fell and struggled to his feet.  The rest dropped to the ground, shooting.

“Shit!”  Dreyfus turned the ignition key and looked behind him.

“No,” Emily shouted, “We can’t leave her.”

Dreyfus turned, his face fierce with argument.

“No.” Emily shook her head.

It was Emily’s eyes Dreyfus saw, and without hesitation, he pushed the car into gear and accelerated forward into the firefight.

It wasn’t thinking anymore, just instinct — foot on the pedal, across the asphalt, behind the men, turn, turn, turn, gripping the steering wheel and leaning to help the car doughnut around to the door of the building.  The zipping, hot metal hissing chaos, coming at them, around them, trying to find them.  The tires squealed in pain, fishtailed and straightened, and Dreyfus drove his foot into the accelerator and then wham into the brake.  The car slid and screamed and jerked hard as it stopped.

“Go!” Dreyfus shouted, pulled the Beretta from under his arm and shot two-handed through the open window.

Emily lunged out of the car, stumbled, lurched and ran for the door.  Inside she turned on the flashlight.  There were three men dead at the table: one still in his chair and two more on the floor in pools of glistening blood.  Emily gagged and turned the light up to the walls.  There were two doors.  She ran to the first one, shouting.

“Hello!  Are you there?”

The door was locked.  Key!  The key!  She banged on the door.

“Are you there?  Tell me if you’re there!  I’ve come to get you!”

There were sounds, cries and, “Yes!  Yes!  We’re here!”

Key!  Emily turned the flashlight back to the table.  There had to be a key.  She ran back, the surge of adrenaline killing her gag reflex.  There was no key.  No key!  Emily fanned the light across the room.  Something.  Something heavy.  Nothing.  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  She turned the light back to the table.  Something!  There was an assault rifle leaning on the wall.  She snatched it up and ran back to the door.  She put the flashlight on the floor, grabbed the gun with both hands and drove the butt straight down on the door knob.  The old wood groaned.  She tightened her grip and drove it down again.  The knob bent.  Once more.  She slammed the butt down as hard as she could, and there was a crack as the wood splintered.  Emily dropped the gun, turned around and kicked backwards with the flat of her foot.  The wood around the knob shattered and the door was free.

Emily picked up the flashlight, shone it forward and stepped into the room.  “Oh, my God!”  She hadn’t expected the smell, but it was the eyes that shocked her.  Fever-bright, frightened animal eyes, cringing against the light.  Emily shone the light across the floor to the open door. 

“C’mon!  Nobody’s going to hurt you, but we have to go!  We have to go now!”

She shone the light back.  The room was alive with movement.  Emily stopped.  Eyes?  There wasn’t one girl here; there were half a dozen!  There was a second, maybe two — and then another surge of adrenaline and Emily recovered.

“Come on.  Now.  Let’s go!  Let’s go!”

Emily waited until they were all out of the room. “Stay close to me.  Follow the light.  Don’t look.  Just follow the light.”

Outside, the evening was loud, popping with sound, but it was away from them – somewhere else.  Coming out of the darkness, Emily squinted against the late light.  She grabbed at the backdoor handle, missed and tried again.  The door opened.

“Dreyfus. . .”

“Later.  Karga had more men.  They’ve taken the fight to the road.  Get her in here.  We have …” Dreyfus twisted his head, “What the hell?”

“We haven’t got one girl, Sinclair; we’ve got five.”

You can start reading this Emily and Dreyfus adventure here

The Grand Bazaar is the one of the few tourist destinations in the world that attracts more locals than foreigners.  But there are still enough yabancilar bargaining for trinkets to allow a couple sitting with their helva and coffee to go unnoticed.  Dreyfus loved these kinds of places – busy with people, commerce and history – smooth-stone old and full of stories.  Plus he knew that the very best way to remain unseen is to stay in plain sight.  Emily, on the other hand, wasn’t sure how to act inconspicuously and kept adjusting her pashmina and sunglasses – until Dreyfus gave her his guidebook and told her to quit.  They sat on the edge of a crowd of tables so Dreyfus could see Café Havuzlu’s crowd of tables and both approaches.  He had watched Sylvia Harrow and her granddaughter Madison walk in and sit down and was only mildly surprised that grandma didn’t look like a grandma, at all.  However, Madison was exactly the kind of pouty teenager he thought she’d be.  He sipped his coffee.

“Can you take care of the granddaughter?  I want her away from the table,” Dreyfus said evenly without turning his head.

“Are they here?”

“Straight across on the right.  No rush.  Finish your coffee.”  Dreyfus’ expression didn’t change.

Emily gave the market an exaggerated casual glance.  It didn’t matter: Dreyfus already knew that no one was being watched or followed.  Ms. Harrow had covered her tracks.  She knew what she was doing, and Dreyfus preferred to work with people who did.  He relaxed – barely.  Emily did not and nervously ate another helva.  A minute or so later, Dreyfus raised a finger to the waiter and pulled a 50 Lira note out of his pocket.  He folded it once and put it underneath his coffee cup.  Then he stood up and reached for Emily’s hand.

“We’re going to walk straight across, no hurry, no purpose,” Dreyfus said and stepped forward.  Emily caught his hand and stepped in beside him.

“Well, hi!  Imagine running into you guys here!” Dreyfus’ voice was North American loud but still mostly lost in the noise of the market.

“Look, Emily!  It’s Sylvia and Madison.  What are you two doing in Istanbul?”

Before anyone could answer, Dreyfus sat down and, in a much quieter voice, said, “Emily, why don’t you take Madison shopping and … stay where I can see you.”

Emily stepped forward. She had one job: she hooked her hand under Madison’s elbow, practically pulled her out of the chair and moved her quickly into the market.  They were deep in the crowd before Madison reacted and shook her arm out of Emily’s grasp.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Emily stopped. “Sinclair has some business to discuss with your grandmother, and from what I understand, we don’t want to hear it.  Okay.  So let’s just …”

“I’m not going anywhere.  I don’t know you.”

“I don’t know you either, but from what I do know about Sylvia Harrow, you and I need to be somewhere else right now.”

“You don’t know my grandmother.”

“Apparently, neither do you.  She’s a bit of a legend around here.”

“Yeah, so everybody keeps telling me,” Madison said sarcastically.

Emily grabbed Madison by the shoulder, reached up with her other hand and pulled off the girl’s sunglasses.

“Alright, little girl!  Lose the attitude!  Look, in case you haven’t noticed, these people are serious and they don’t have time to deal with a petulant teenager.  You need to keep quiet and let the adults work.”

“My grandmother …”

“Your grandmother is busy.  She’s trying to make sure some other silly kid doesn’t end up with a short and very nasty movie career.  Okay?  They’re not planning the prom over there.  And if they don’t do it right, people are going to get killed.  Do you understand that?”

Emily could see that Madison didn’t – not really.  But her eyes said she was trying hard.  Clever child.  And for that couple of seconds, Emily remembered, without thinking, when she was young – nothing more than a girl — suddenly dealing with a dose of lethal reality.  She knew what the beckoning fear in Madison’s stomach felt like.  The terror of not being able to run and not knowing what to do if you don’t.  She felt a lot more sympathy for this poor girl who was clearly out of her depth.

“Don’t worry,” she said, gently. “Your grandmother knows what she’s doing.  Back in the day, she used to play hide and seek with the Russian army.  And believe me, that’s a good trick.  I know a little bit about dealing with Russians.”

Emily fluttered her left hand, showing off her missing ring finger.  Madison moved her eyes in surprise.  Emily smiled and dropped her hand.

“Do you know how your grandmother got away?  How she escaped?”

“No, I … she never told me.” Madison said, utterly deflated.

“The story goes, on the prison train from Kiev to Siberia she got one of the KGB guards in a chokehold and jumped.” Emily arched her eyebrow, “Moving train.”

Emily made a diving motion with her hand.

“I – uh – didn’t …”

“Hey,” Emily half laughed, “Your grandmother’s hard core.  If anybody can do this thing, she can.  It’s going to be alright, but you need to keep your mouth shut and just do as you’re told.  Okay?”

Emily gave Madison back her sunglasses with the hand that was missing a finger.  She watched Madison’s eyes.

“It was a business deal.  Sinclair got what he wanted, and I lost a finger.  Now, c’mon!  Let’s go look at some scarves.”

–

“Ms. Harrow, my name is Dreyfus Sinclair.”

To Sylvia, Dreyfus Sinclair looked like a college professor who needed some sleep, not exactly the sort she had expected.

“Sylvia, please.”

“We need to make this brief.  Right now, we’re just a couple of expats who ran into each other by chance.  Let’s keep it quick and simple.  I have the person you’re looking for, or at least I will very soon.  How are you getting out of the country?”

“You talked to Karga?”

“For our purposes, Ms. Harrow, I’ve never heard of him.  What’s your plan to get out of the country?”

This was business.

“I’ve got passports and a car waiting just inside the Bulgarian border.  We drive across and either …”

Sinclair put his hand in the air. “Since the refugees, the border is a lot tighter than it used to be, and there’s no way of knowing who those guys are working for.”

“I know the roads.  There are a lot of ways for silly women to get into Bulgaria.  The passports are to get out again.”

“Do you know your way in the dark?”

Sylvia nodded.

“And when can you be ready to go?”

“Right now.  All I need is time to rent a car.”

“Don’t.  I’ve rented one for you.”  Dreyfus reached into to his pocket and handed her a key. “Dump it when you’re done.”

Sylvia took the key.

“Walk straight that way until you get to the street, and press the fob.  It’s the exact same model as mine, so you’ll know what to look for, when we make the switch.  The only difference is yours is black and mine is white.  Do you know the Mall of Istanbul?”

“The big one right on the highway?  I can find it.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there tonight at the main entrance, front and centre, just after dark.  Nine o’clock.  There’ll be lots of tourists, so nobody’s going to notice a couple more.  And I doubt if anybody’s going to think of checking the CCTV at a shopping mall – at least not right away.  We make the switch, and you head for the border.  And don’t stop.  Once the Albanians figure out what’s going on, they’re going to make life very unpleasant around here.  You need to be as far away as possible.  I’m going to use my car as the decoy.  I’ll leave it someplace conspicuous — that should slow them down for a while, but not forever.  They’re going to start checking, and unfortunately you’re already on everybody’s radar.  So, if you can, don’t go back to the hotel, and stay away from your Turkish friends.  That’s the first place they’ll look.”

Dreyfus watched Sylvia trace the plan in her mind.  Yeah, Emily was right: he was a fanboy.

“Okay.  I need a place to stay out of sight today.  Maddy needs some sleep, and I have to make sure my people are in place.”

“Do you know Salema’s?”

“No.”

“Uh – it used to be – uh — Ev Nabil?”

“Yes, I know it.  It’ll work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at nine – Mall of Istanbul — and if I’m not there by nine thirty, clear out and run for the border because everything’s gone sideways.”

Dreyfus started to get up.

“Thank you,” Sylvia said sincerely, “I – uh – I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do this.”

Dreyfus laughed, “No worries.  From what I hear, you used to do this stuff in your sleep.  I’ll send Madison back in a minute,” and then louder, “No problem.  Your hotel tomorrow night for dinner.  ‘Til then.”

Dreyfus raised his hand and walked away.

After Madison went back to her grandmother, Emily and Dreyfus wandered and shopped (Emily bought a bracelet) for another half an hour to make certain the two women were gone.  Then they left the market and stood at the entrance.

“There’s a white Rav4 around here somewhere.” Dreyfus clicked the fob in his hand.  There was a flash and a beep at the end of the street.  Dreyfus offered his arm, and Emily fell into step.

“When you go get the girl, I’m going to come with you,” she said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Emily wasn’t interested in Dreyfus’ opinion. “That girl is frightened out of her skin, Sinclair.  And I have a fairly good idea of how this Karga fellow is going to convince the Albanians to let her go.  Then you’re going to show up with your business face on and scare the shit out of her.”

Dreyfus stopped and turned to Emily.

Without turning to look, Emily pointed her finger forward.  “No!  That girl’s been through enough and that’s an end to it,” she said and started walking.

Dreyfus thought about it and gave one long exasperated exhale.  He took a few quick steps forward and offered Emily his arm, again.

“I’m really not that scary,” he said.

“Dreyfus, you might act like a teddy bear, and I love you dearly, but on dark nights, wolves make fires to keep you away.”

——–

You can read the original draft of “Madison’s Grandma” here

Or find the whole adventure Songs of Sylvia here

You can read more about Emily and Dreyfus “Christmas at Pyaridge Hall” here

Or find Dreyfus and the Duchess here

When the telephone rang, Emily thought seriously about being asleep.  It wasn’t actually late, but two hours of Turkish TV had made her grouchy.  Dreyfus was probably just trying to make it up to her, but she wasn’t sure she was in the mood to be seduced.  On the other hand, Dreyfus didn’t really call unless he had something to say.  Now she was curious.  She picked up the receiver.

“Who’s calling, please?”

There was a small laugh. “Are you decent?”

“Barely.”  Emily was wearing the hotel bathrobe.

“I’m in the bar.  Come for a nightcap.”

“We drink too much,” she said, but the line was hollow.

Emily looked around.  Last night’s dress was too complicated and tomorrow’s skirt was for tomorrow and she’d already taken off her makeup, and she really didn’t want to put on a bra.  And … ah, the hell with it!  The bar was probably closed anyway, and Sinclair had just scammed a bottle of something and was sitting in a corner.  She found a pair of jeans from the suitcase and pulled them on (careful with the zipper) and when she couldn’t find a top, just grabbed one of Sinclair’s sweatshirts.  It was too big everywhere, but she pushed up the sleeves, picked up the room key card and went down to find him.

The bar was closed, but it wasn’t empty.  There were three tables that still had people and thick candles burning, two at the entry and one towards the back, along the water.  She picked her way through the dark tables and sat down.  It was surprisingly chilly on the banks of the Bosporus. 

“Is that my shirt?”

“It’s the closest you’re going to get to touching me tonight.”  Emily reached for the glass, “You know, we drink too much.”

Dreyfus shrugged. “Probably, but I’ve got a great story that’s worth a glass of wine.”

Emily lifted her glass.  Even in the candlelight, she could see Dreyfus was having fun.  Now she was curious.  Emily slipped her sandals off and tucked her feet up underneath her in the big upholstered chair.  It was a perfect night for one of Sinclair’s stories.  She tasted the wine and kept the glass in her hand.  ‘Alright, Sinclair, what have you got?”

Dreyfus sat back in his chair, just on the edge of the candlelight.  He was a shadow and a voice. “The guy I talked to tonight?”

“Karga?” Emily volunteered.

“Yeah.  He’s a big deal.  He’s been calling the shots around here since Methuselah was in diapers.  Before you and I were even born.  The man’s an institution.  But way back in the day, when he was still getting his hands dirty, he ran with a woman.  A real badass bandit queen.  They call her Sahin, the Falcon.  She made her bones smuggling whisky and cigarettes, from here across the Black Sea into the old Soviet Union.  But get this — in a sailing ship.”

“What?  When was this?” 

“I don’t know.  60s?  70s?  Something like that.  Real old school Cold War stuff.  Moonless nights, secret coves, sneaking under the radar.”  Dreyfus moved his shoulders back and forth, “Dodging patrol boats.  Right out of the movies.  This goes on for years, and the Russians can’t catch her.”

“Sinclair, are you falling in love?”

Dreyfus put his hands wide and smiled.  He took a sip of his wine. “Finally, the Russians have had enough, and they send in a Spetsnaz team and blow up her boat.”

Emily didn’t know what a Spetsnaz team was, but Sinclair was clearly impressed.

“But she doesn’t care.  It just makes her mad.  She starts running the stuff in trucks up the coast through Bulgaria.  But by now, she’s the people’s hero.  Romanian kids are spray painting her name on buildings.  The Ukrainians are printing cartoons of Brezhnev with bird shit on his shoulder.  The Soviets are looking like idiots and it’s embarrassing.  They call in the military.  They’ve got soldiers, patrols, road blocks, helicopters, you name it, everything out there looking for her, but she just keeps rolling.  They know she’s coming, but they can’t do anything about it.  Our girl’s playing dodgeball with the Red Army — and winning.”

“You are in love.”

“Of course.  Aren’t you?”

Emily took a drink and thought about it.

“Last resort, they put a bounty on her, 250 thousand American dollars.  Back then, that’s Bill Gates money, and eventually somebody rats her out and she gets caught.

“Shit!”  Emily had been cheering for Sahin ever since the Russians blew up her boat.

“The Soviets put her on trial.  It’s a show trial.”  Dreyfus made a throw away gesture, “She in a glass cage, handcuffs, manacles.  And they televise it.  See what happens when you piss off the glorious people’s revolution or some such.  Anyway, she’s convicted — obviously — and gets 20 years.”

Emily straightened up in her chair.  “This isn’t a very good story.”

“No, no wait!”  Dreyfus put his hand up, “That’s not the end of it.  They put her on a train. Off to the Gulag.  But somewhere along the way, she grabs a guard and jumps.

“Oh, my God!”

“Yeah, jumps from a moving train!  This woman is not going to Siberia, regardless.  They stop the train.  Big palaver.  Run back and all they find is a prison uniform and the guard in her underwear, lying there with a broken neck.  The falcon has flown.  Completely disappeared and nobody has seen or heard of her since.” 

“Where did she go?”

Dreyfus shrugged.  “Nobody knows.  But, talk about a legend.  She’s the real deal.  They’ve written songs about this woman.”

Emily thought about it.  “Okay, but that evil-looking fellow didn’t interrupt our evening just so his father could tell you a cool adventure story.”

“No, he didn’t.” Dreyfus poured more wine and offered the bottle.  Emily nodded.  “The thing is, a couple of days ago, Sahin, the bandit queen, came back.  She showed up, out of nowhere, here, in Istanbul.  Phoned her old buddy Karga and said, ‘Hi, did you miss me?’  Apparently, some friend of hers daughter got abducted in Rome, and she’s come out of retirement to get her back.”

“Wait a minute.  She must be an old lady by now.” 

“I think that’s why she got in touch with her partner in crime.  He’s the local muscle.”

After years in the company of Dreyfus Sinclair, Emily knew exactly what that meant.

 “Anyway, Karga knows where the girl is, and he knows the people who have her.  And even though he wants to do a favour for an old friend – and not just any old friend — he really doesn’t want to get into a barney with these nasties.  He’s got to live here.  So, he’s asked me to help him out for – uh — plausible deniability.  He doesn’t want his fingerprints anywhere.” 

“Who took the girl?”

“Albanians.”

Dreyfus could feel Emily’s eyes through the darkness.

“Okay, Russians,” he admitted.

“And?”

“And – uh — she’s on her way to China for a short movie career.  So, I said yes, I’d do it.”

“Are we going to get shot at?”  Emily had had some experience with Russians — and Albanians.

“No, no, nothing like that.  Karga’s boys are going to do the heavy lifting.  I just wait until they’re gone, drive in, pick up the girl and deliver her back to her rightful owner.”

Dreyfus took a drink.

“I’m going to meet Sahin — her real name is Sylvia Harrow, by the way — and her granddaughter, tomorrow in the Grand Bazaar to arrange it.  Probably for tomorrow night.  We need to do this quickly.”

“I’m coming too.  I want to see you fluttering around like the biggest fanboy.”

Dreyfus leaned forward, “Fanboy?” 

Emily dipped her head, tipped her glass and looked at Dreyfus from the top of her eyes.  She was about to say … but out of the shadows there was a slight change in Dreyfus’ face, subtle, elusive but Emily recognized it.  Storytime was over.

Emily put her feet back on the floor, tucked them into her sandals and stood up.  “I’m going to go to bed.”  She stepped around the table, leaned down and kissed Dreyfus on the cheek.

“Can you fix it?”  Emily said softly.

“Yeah.” Dreyfus nodded.

“Alright.  Don’t stay up all night,” she said, turned and walked away. 

——-

You can read the original draft of “Madison’s Grandma” here

Or find the whole adventure Songs of Sylvia here

You can read “Christmas at Pyaridge Hall” here

Or find Dreyfus and the Duchess here