Tanker (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 1) Read online

  Emir didn’t move. He was dragged to his feet by the gorilla and striped. He was dragged from the room and dumped in what passed for a shower where a hose pipe was pointed at him. The freezing cold water made his gasp and the power of the hose was such as to knock him from his feet. He was dragged back and strapped into the chair.

  “Now I hope you feel better after your bath and are sitting comfortably? You could save all this trouble if you just tell me all about it, a few names and the whereabouts of a certain memory stick.” Emir said nothing.

  Emir screamed. The prod had been first placed on his left nipple then his right. He knew he couldn’t survive this for long. He cried, he pleaded he screamed but the pain kept on coming.

  “I think the penis? Don’t you? I am afraid this may affect your chances of having children. Well that is if you live that is.”

  Emir passed out.

  Emir had been moved while he was unconscious. He awoke to pain everywhere and his brother. This was a different cell, much bigger with bright lights and more facilities. Water, electricity, a bath, not he guessed, used for bathing, chains, hooks and pulleys hung from the ceiling. His brother, Ahmet, was a mess of blood, bruises and broken bones. He was barely conscious and was strapped upright to a large cross against the corner of the cell wall.

  “Welcome back Emir” his interrogator spoke softly as usual as though they were just having a normal conversation over a cup of tea. “You see I like to bring families back together” he paused so that Emir could take in the full implication of the sight in front of him.

  He raised his hand and the ox, as Emir now thought of the big man who had tortured him for hours, went to the table and opened a box, paused and pulled out a scalpel. Without a word he approached his younger brother’s naked body and lifted his penis clear of his scrotum. The knife began to cut into the flesh. One testicle was laid bare of the scrotum and the second revealed in like fashion. His brother was barley aware of what was happening as his testicles were popped like peas from a pod from their covering.

  Emir heard his voice “Stop, Please stop. I will tell you.”

  “I knew we could do business, now let’s begin. No time like the present as time is pressing. Would you like something to eat and drink perhaps as we proceed?”

  Chapter 7

  Mehmet, deputy head of Turkish security was aboard the Lady Heloise in Monte Carlo. He and his entourage were gathered in the private stateroom. The conversation was constantly interrupted by the roar of the cars. Mehmet sat at the head of circular glossy rosewood table. “Where is he?”

  The rest of the officials looked at each other nervously. Yosuf replied with some trepidation.” Gone, disappeared, he left early this morning and hasn’t returned.”

  “Get out, all of you and ask Jason Delonge if he could spare me a few moments of his valuable time.”

  Jason arrived and he and Mehmet sat opposite each other. “How are you my friend?”

  “Fine Mo and you?” asked Jason.

  “I need a little help and I think you are the man to help,” he paused to let Jason know that this was not a request but a demand.

  “Of course”

  “This morning I received news that an interpreter that works for us has a certain something in his possession that we should like.”

  “I don’t understand, what has your interpreter to do with me?”

  “You will. His name is Berat and some associates of ours have been talking to his brothers in-law. These men are bad men, terrorists, members of ISIS and they gave Berat something which we should like back. A USB memory stick in fact and when we received this information we went and searched Berat’s room at the hotel and it was not there nor was he. We did not find the stick but we did find an email to you.”

  Jason knew he had a problem. This was obviously something he had to hand over to British Intelligence and he could not hand it over to Foreign Government. He also knew Tim had failed to meet with this Berat and he did not have the stick in his possession as yet. “Why do you need it, surely you can let MI6 deal with it?”

  “My Government wants the credit you understand for this. It would be a major coup for us in the fight against terror.”

  “I cannot help you,” Jason got up to leave.

  “Oh but I think you can and you will.” Mehmet turned the lap top round which had been facing him on the desk. There was a video image of Jason and a small boy with the big oval eyes.

  Jason Delonge stared unbelieving at the screen as he had hoped never to see that face again. He thought back to that summer five years ago. He had not been surprised to receive the invite from Mo. They had been firm friends at University and they had travelled to North Africa together, smoking dope and buggering the young men during the summer recess. Of course Jason had given up the dope, but not the buggery and was well on his way to a career as a diplomat. Mehmet Yildirim’s, Mo, career had also progressed since their time at University. He was looking forward to seeing his old friend again and there was always the opportunity to swap a bit of intelligence, which had the potential to be helpful to both their careers. The plane touched down on time and with his diplomatic passport, Jason was soon sat comfortably in the back of the black Mercedes sipping a glass of champagne as the driver struggled with the traffic in Istanbul.

  The villa was incredible and the automatic gates rolled open to reveal a sweeping cypress tree lined drive that wound its way to the house. Jason liked to describe the architecture as Middle East over the top bling. The big double doors were opened by the butler onto the marble clad vestibule with a double staircase curving upwards to the galleried landing. The biggest gold and crystal chandelier hung the full two stories from the domed ceiling which was panelled in decorative painted glass. Even Jason had to admit this was bling on a whole new level. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with antique furniture, gold objects d’art and tapestry works. Even the old Sultans would have been given a run for their money in this place.

  As is the nature of Turkish tradition the house was more or less segregated between the public and the private. You did business in one and the family lived in the other. The house was arranged around a beautiful tiled central square garden with a bubbling fountain that issued clear sparkling water. Obviously the owner did not feel the need to stick with any particular still of architecture and had not minded adding a bit of Moroccan into the mix. It was totally over the top but if not demonstrating the taste of the owner it certainly demonstrated his wealth,

  “Jason, so glad to see you,” Mo crossed the thick pile of the traditionally patterned hand woven carpet of the library. The walls lined with volume after volume of leather bound and hand tooled books, Light streamed in from an ornate window at the end with verses from the Koran etched around it.

  “Mo. It has been too long. What a beautiful plaice.” said Jason.

  “Not mine old boy, a friend’s. In fact there are a couple of people who I should like you to meet after you have had a wash and brush up. They will join us for diner. Just the usual business types looking for introductions in the UK and a nod of approval,” Jason was not surprised after all there was no such thing as a free lunch.

  Diner was quite a formal affair. There were eighteen including his host and himself, all men of wealth. The table was magnificent, gold cutlery finest crystal and fine dining. “Mr Delonge,” said the gentleman to his left. “I understand that you and Mehmet went to Oxford together?”

  “We did indeed and Eton of course.”

  “The finest school in the world I am hoping for my son also to go. Firm friendships are built on such experiences. Friendship is so important, don’t you agree?” Jason agreed. “Such friendships last a lifetime and can be so helpful in meeting the right people, the right circle, and the right network.”

  He paused and stared at Jason tying to gauge his state of receptiveness. Jason smiled and nodded knowingly. This encouraged him to continue. “Perhaps after we have sampled this delicious meal you, me and a few of
my colleagues could discuss some sort of arrangement?”

  Jason decided to not let this go all one sided and he knew enough to make the play a little difficult. It would all add to the price at the end of it, he did not want to appear to be too cheap. “What sort of arrangement?”

  “Oh nothing formal, of course we respect your position and neutrality, but perhaps there are areas of mutual benefit we could explore.”

  The meal had been sumptuous and Jason could not help but notice how the small boys aged no more than nine or ten had scurried around helping the serving staff. As he settled in an armchair in the library a dark haired boy with large oval eyes and long eye lashes passed him a glass of Remy Martin from a silver tray held by the butler. He smiled and looked away shyly.

  The discussions went very well and Jason had added significantly to his annual income and would in return provide ad hoc consultancy to his new business acquaintances. He settled back in the armchair. The guests having left, he and Mo sat facing each other. “Do you remember those weeks in Morocco?” asked Mo.

  “Never to be forgotten. Good to be young with no commitments.”

  “Ah yes commitments, they do have a habit of cutting down life pleasures.” He beckoned the boy, who had served Jason earlier and gently stroked his head. “It is a shame these commitments.” He waived the boy away. “Goodnight I think.”

  Jason made his way to his suit of rooms. A bathroom in gold and marble, a dressing room, a lounge with a bar, a television the size of a cinema screen and a huge bed completed the accommodation. He discarded his clothes and headed for the shower. The water was warm and ran down his body. He wondered if there might be a porn channel on the television. He felt his penis begin to harden. He stroked it up and down in the shower using the soap as lube. He continued rubbing gently up and down until it was fully erect. “A nice wank over a bit of porn on the TV and he would get a good nights sleep,” he thought as he made his way from the bathroom.

  At first he was startled there was someone in the room and his heart jumped. Sitting on the bed was the small boy with the oval eyes and soft olive coloured skin. He looked tiny sat in the middle of the huge bed naked.

  The screen on Mehmet’s lap top now displayed what the secret camera had caught in that room five years ago.

  Chapter 8

  Yosuf had seen that look in Mehmet’s eyes once or twice before. Mehmet, he knew was a fanatic in his own way but not a religious zealot nor a man of principle. He was in fact more of a sadist with an incurable drive to inflict pain. The job, he had, allowed him to give full licence to his passions including torture, rape, paedophilia and murder. He felt his stomach knot and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he met Mehmet’s stare.

  He knew he was dead. It was only a question of how and when and how much pain was to come. On balance Yosuf thought that he would be allowed to travel back to Turkey so he could quietly disappear. Killing him here in France could bring messy complications as the French were not that keen on people dumping bodies along the Cote D’Azure

  He had worked with Berat for six or seven years. He knew him. He was a good man, a decent man, who worked hard at his job and a good Muslim. When he heard that Berat’s brothers in-law were to be arrested and were involved with ISIS he just wanted to warn Berat so he could make sure that he and Celik distanced themselves and cleaned their house so to speak. To double check they had nothing, nothing at all to link them to the terrorists. He should have known better for the very reasons he had warned him.

  He had been stupid and with hindsight he should have known that Berat would, being the man he was, try and protect his family. Now it was all too late, events had led him and Berat, both of them to certain imprisonment or death. His mind raced. “What were his options?”

  He knew he had but one choice, run. He hurried to the cabin set aside at the rear of the Yacht for communications. The amount of equipment was small, a powerful computer, a printer and a guard on the door. They could encrypt and send secure messages and scramble the phone allowing them to communicate with home with relative immunity from being listened to or hacked. The cabin had been swept for listening devices so it also afforded the opportunity for very private conversations. The cabin also acted as a secure location for their confidential possession, bags, laptops and files, the things you would not leave in a hotel room.

  As he descended to the secure cabin he considered Berat’s actions. He realised, that once Berat’s wife had warned her brothers and become involved by taking the evidence against them he, Berat being a decent man, had needed to do something. He should have destroyed the evidence but his conscience would not let him. He could not hand it over to Mehmet as that would have been tantamount to handing his wife over for torture and providing a death warrant for her brothers. Knowing that he had a piece of evidence that could potential save countless lives, Berat had wanted to get that information into the hands of someone who would use it, but not against his wife and family. So he had contacted the British. He had not foreseen that his brother in-law would have cracked under torture and give up his sister. Nor could he have foreseen that the Brit he contacted would be a paedophile buddy of Mehmet’s. In fact as soon as Celik became involved it had only been a matter of time before he was in the firing line. Yosuf was also pretty damn sure that ISIS by would be sniffing him out soon as well. Turkish security leaked like a sieve. There was a great deal of support for a return to fundamentalism all across society and Government Departments were not isolated from society as a whole.

  The guard smiled broadly at Yosuf, as he recognised him. They had travelled all over together and were friends, “How’s the race going?”

  “Hamilton has the lead and provided nothing goes wrong with his car he should take the win.”

  “You have all the luck, pretty women and fast cars. I just get to stand down here watching the luggage,” he opened the door for Yosuf.

  He entered and closed the door behind him. He had at the bottom of his heart known it may always have come to this. He had rehearsed it a thousand times in his head. Planned every move but had never really expected it to become a reality, His hands trembled as he picked up the oversized bag. It was the type that accountants and lawyers used to carry their clients documents. Black, study and leather clad, it was a cross between a big box and a carry on luggage bag. It bore the diplomatic emblem and seal. These bags either travelled with their owners at all times, with the capability to be handcuffed to them or they travelled in the hold of a plane in large sealed metal boxes. In any event it was part of the diplomatic mission and immune from customs or any other form of border scrutiny. Guns drugs and even people had been transported using this convention.

  As Yosuf had risen in the ranks, he had become more and more aware of how perilous a career could be in a Country that seemed to be going backwards on human rights. He had started to slip things in his bag and over the years. It had become a full flight and survival kit. Passports, money, IDs, it had built up over the years. He took his bag and tapped on the door to be let out, “You are not the only one to miss the race, the lowlier of us have work still to do,” he quipped with the guard as he left.

  There would be no going back he knew that, he also knew that going back to Turkey would be injurious to his health and potentially fatal. The party was now in full swing. A black girl and her friend were doing a striptease for the lads and he knew a couple of the prostitutes were conducting a gangbang in a cabin in the bowls of the boat. All good fun to lubricate the spirit of international friendship,

  He had one small matter he wanted to satisfy himself on before he went. He spotted Ahmed, the gofer with the other porters and valets congregated in a small group watching the two strippers now rubbing and playing with each other putting on the lesbian finale to their show before they moved to join the other prostitutes to do their fucking duty downstairs. He carefully pushed his bag under the buffet table and made his way over to the group.

  “Met,” he said gestu
ring for him to come over to him. He was known to all and referred to as “Met the bag,” for obvious reasons. “Can you tell me something?” he asked. Met nodded in response “Did you load up the British contingent at the hotel and ship them down here?”

  “Yes, I always take personal charge of the foreigners, better to have a fuck up with your own group than balls up the guests transport, why? Is there a problem?”

  “No, no problem, but tell me did they all make the limos?”

  Met rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. “My list, it is like a school trip. I count them on the way here and count them out on the way back. That way I don’t leave any lying around anywhere.” He smiled as he looked down at his list.

  “Only one, Anthony Burr, made his own way here.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Yosuf knew who Anthony Burr was and decided to have a wander around and take a look for him before discreetly picking his moment and disappearing.

  Chapter 9

  The ISIS banner with its bold lettering in white on its black background hung from the wall. The hooded figure moved from the camera’s field of vision revealing the tableau behind. The computer screen filled as the web cam was moved in closer

  “Do you recognise that cunt?”

  The screen showed a close up of the female genitalia. A hand appeared from out of shot and roughly began to probe the labia seeking the entry. The camera pulled back unsteadily, showing more of the scene.

  The lower half a naked woman’s body was stretched across a table, her legs tied to the legs of the table exposing the hair of her pubic region, the hooded figure probing and pulling roughly. She was completely naked. The hooded figure held his erect penis in his other hand which he was rubbing vigorously.

  The camera widened its angle further and her naked body in its entirety was exposed her breast slipping slightly to the side of her chest. One was being fondled by a second hooded male also exposing his erect penis. The camera hovered above her chest.