The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Colonel Ahmed Mustapha, a short stocky man with a pleasant face, stared out of the window of his office at the Famagusta army barracks. He glanced at his watch: Twelve-thirty. Out of an ingrained habit, he studied the new batch of raw conscripts who staggered in the rain while they carried armfuls of kit towards their quarters.

“What dregs from the gutter did they send me this time?” he muttered. “How do they expect me to patrol and keep order with untrained idiots?”

He noticed a white Mazda saloon car turn in through the open gates, drive into the visitors’ car park and stop. A youngish, slim woman and a man got out and dashed towards the administration office. He gazed at the sky; last night’s storm had passed but driving rain still fell, pounding the barrack square. He wanted to go home to his beloved Turkey. A few more years and he could retire.              

He picked up his cup of tepid coffee, sipped it and ambled over to his desk. He sat in his chair and idly lifted a Parker pen, one of a matched set given to him by his wife. He contemplated the mountain of paperwork,
then pushed it to one side.

Nitsa and Pavlo shook the rain off their clothes and waited by the enquiries counter.

A corporal in his early forties, with a well-trimmed grey beard sat at his desk. “Can I help you?” he asked in Turkish.

Nitsa shoved Pavlo out of the way and spoke in Greek. “I want to see the commandant.”

The corporal swivelled his chair and shouted into the back office. A younger man entered. A few words passed between them. He looked at them, smiled and in Greek said, “Sergeant
Berk Celik.” He had a fighter’s build: broad shoulders and muscular arms. From the size of his paunch, he was not keeping himself in shape and a deskbound routine had allowed muscles to revert to flab. “Can I help you?”  

Nitsa’s
eyes flared. “We must see the commandant.”

“May I ask why?”

She held her smile and leant on the counter. “It’s of great importance.”

Sergeant
Celik returned to his office, picked up a telephone and scratched at his pockmarked face.

“Colonel, outside my office
are a man and woman who wish to discuss an urgent matter with you. Yes, Colonel. I will bring them in.”

“Follow me,” said the sergeant.

They wandered along passages with offices on either side and up a narrow staircase. At the end of a corridor, the sergeant told them to wait. He knocked on a door and went in, closing it behind him. In less than a minute he returned and motioned them to enter. “Colonel Ahmed Mustapha, the senior officer.”

The spacious room contained practical military-style furniture. Maps of Cyprus covered one wall and dark grey filing cabinets stretched along another. Near the window stood a grey metal desk with papers scattered over it, and three chairs.

Colonel Ahmed Mustapha, wearing a well-pressed dark blue uniform and smoking a cigarette, stood when they entered. The colonel closed a document folder on his desk and in Turkish said, “Please, sit,” indicating the two hard wooden chairs in front of his desk. “You are Cypriot?” He stared straight at Nitsa. “Which language, Turkish, Greek or English. I’m proficient in each.”

“We are Greek Cypriots. I am
Nitsa Charalambous and this is my fiancé, Pavlo Neophytou.”

The colonel gave a cold smile and in Greek said, “My sergeant tells me you want to discuss matters of importance.” He pointed to
Pavlo. “You tell me.”

Pavlo
shivered. “We hoped there might be a reward if we told you something important.”

The colonel gave a look that froze the blood in their veins.

“Rewards are given when something is disclosed. Tell me what you know and I’ll decide if a payment is justified.”

Nitsa
shrugged, well aware that the colonel played with words. Controlling her emotions, she thought fast as a player in a game where there were no rules. “It’s the location of forty priceless icons. We know that a few Greek Cypriots intend to remove them from their hiding place in Varosha.”

The colonel let a prolonged moment of silence pass before he lit another cigarette. “For information to be worth money I need to know where and when?”

The hostility of distrust grew.

Nitsa
returned his gaze and leaned on the edge of the desk. “At this moment the icons are in the basement of an abandoned church. The deacon, now Bishop Costas Protopapas of Paphos, hid them when you invaded.” She paused. “How much will be the reward? I’ll tell you no more until I have the money.”

The colonel cleared his throat and glared at her. “We did not invade. We restored law and order and gave our people hope,” he shouted, hatred showing in his eyes. “Our forces merely claimed what the British stole. You Greeks ruled our brothers with an iron fist, allowing them nothing and taxing them to the hilt. If our president had not stopped us we would rule the whole of Cyprus, not just this little bit.”

Pavlo swallowed and did his utmost to sound brave. “Nitsa, we should go.”

Her eyes swept back to
Pavlo. “Are you stupid? We have come this far and I have no intention of leaving.”

The colonel hesitated. “You wish to stay?”

Nitsa glared at the colonel, aware of a surge of irritation rising. “I can sit here all day. No money. No information.”

“Is there any way I can persuade you to be more reasonable?” He shrugged.
“How can I estimate a reward if I don’t know the facts?”

Pavlo
turned to Nitsa. “This is useless. I think we should go. The sooner I’m across the Green Line the better.”

“Oh, shut up, you wimp.”
Nitsa considered her options, Pavlo might be right. Speaking in a manner that concealed her true feeling she said, “Colonel, we will leave now.”

The colonel picked up his telephone. “Captain Asker
Yilmaz, will you and Sergeant Celik come to my office.”

Nitsa
had the sense to keep her mouth shut. Pavlo had lost the plot but she remained firm. The door opened and two men marched in, saluted and stood at ease.

“Captain
Yilmaz,” said the colonel. He pointed at Nitsa and Pavlo. “These two unfortunate creatures have information that might be of value to our national security. Place them in the holding cell, give them something to eat and I’ll see how talkative they are in the morning.”

The captain turned. “Sergeant
Celik, you will take care of them in your usual manner.”

“You can’t do this,” screamed
Nitsa. “I’ll report you.”

The sergeant’s thin, cruel mouth twisted in a sadistic grin as he stood alongside her.

Something disquieting shaped in her mind. The sergeant frightened her.

The colonel grinned, his eyes empty of warmth. “That’s possible but hardly relevant. I have the advantage and no thanks are necessary. You are in my country and have, in my opinion, broken our laws. Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sergeant Celik reached out and grabbed Nitsa by the hair. She swore in Greek as he tightened his hold. The captain placed his hand on his holster and nodded to Pavlo. In a state of shock, they walked out of the office and descended the stairs. At the end of a long passage, the captain unlocked a metal-clad door. Sparsely lit steps led into the darkness and stale air wafted around them. 

The sergeant dragged a shouting
Nitsa to the bottom. His strong grip relaxed and she begged him to let her go. Pavlo, prodded by the captain, followed meekly.

Still holding
Nitsa’s hair, the sergeant began laughing as he yanked her head back and forth a few times before it made contact with the wall. Blood oozed from the cuts on her forehead. He kicked Pavlo in the stomach. Nitsa saw him double over before he collapsed to the floor. In pain he attempted to crawl into a corner. At a cell door the sergeant paused, opened it and shoved Nitsa into the dank interior. “I’ll be back,” he sneered.

Pavlo
tried to hide in the shadows but received another kicking for his troubles. The sergeant grabbed him by the hair and hauled him along the cold, stone floor. Fear tightened Pavlo’s gut.

“Tell me,” the sergeant asked. “What is it that dragged your sorry arse into my clutches?”

“We wanted to collect a reward for information.”

The sergeant threw him into the cell next to
Nitsa’s. Before slamming the door he said, “You’re a pretty boy. I have a few friends who will want to make your acquaintance. Sleep well.”

The captain and the sergeant climbed the stairs and once back in the passage, slammed home the bolts. “Okay, Sergeant, it’s back to the paperwork. Carry on and keep me informed of any progress.”

*  *  *

Nitsa
realised escape was impossible from this place. In the meagre light she took note of her surroundings. To her left a stone slab served as a bed. There were no windows, and only a single guarded light in the ceiling. She wondered what the four steel rings in the floor signified. Stunned, she sat on the stone slab.

“
Pavlo, can you hear me?”

“
Nitsa, are you all right?”

“They want to scare us. Whatever happens
do not tell them a thing. If you do we’re in trouble.”

A scraping noise indicated the bolt being withdrawn.
Nitsa remained upright and waited. When the door opened, Sergeant Celik, his dark eyes lustful, stood with two armed soldiers on either side.

“I told you she has a good body. As my men tell me, when you’re poking the fire, you never notice the ornate mantelpiece.”

She didn’t understand what he said but sensed their intentions. She shrank back into the corner until the wall stopped her. The two soldiers entered. The sergeant closed the door. One soldier placed his arms around her, pulling her towards him. The cruel smile on his face and the stench of alcohol on his breath forced her to turn her face away. He lifted her skirt and she screamed.

She struggled, clawing at his eyes. With both hands, he slammed her back against the wall. “You callous bastard,” she screamed, at the same time lifting her right knee to aim for his groin.

Sensing her movement he turned and deflected her knee with his thigh. With a closed fist he struck her a savage blow across the face that snapped her head back. Before she had a chance to recover, he swung back again. This blow sent her tumbling across the cell. The men laughed, grabbed her and threw her to the floor. Like mad men they ripped off her clothes. Nitsa shrieked, the sound filled with rage. Fear gave her strength as she struggled but they laughed all the more as they kicked and beat her. She tried to speak. She wanted to tell them the location of the icons but the words would not come.

They dragged her to the centre of the cell under the light. She tore one arm free and dug her fingernails hard into soft flesh. With venom, she clawed, drawing blood.

“Bitch,” the man shouted. He laughed as he smashed his clenched fist into her face.

“She’ll soon learn her manners,” said Sergeant
Celik. He tossed a bunch of cable ties at them. “Secure her to the floor. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Spread-eagled, she watched
Celik remove his trousers, fold and place them on the side.

“Now, Bitch, let’s see how good a ride you are.”

“Get on with it,” shouted the other two.

Nitsa
attempted to scream but terror silenced her. The sergeant tore into her, laughing as he did so. The others sat, smoked, urged him on, and waited their turn.

She lay still and bleeding.

Their lust sated, the men dressed and left.

“I’ll bring a few more friends next time,” said the sergeant.

*  *  *

Pavlo
lay on the floor of his cell, waiting, listening, and shaking. Nitsa’s agonised screams and the quiet which followed frightened him. He trembled, aware of footsteps. The door bolt slid across and he feared for his life.

Captain
Yilmaz stood over him. Sergeant Celik leant against the doorframe, smoking. “We have brought you food and water. Enjoy it,” said Yilmaz.

“You’re not going to beat me?”

“Why should we?” said Yilmaz. “You have my word as an officer I’ll not touch you. Obviously, you are an intelligent man. After you’ve eaten we can chat.”

“I listened while you raped
Nitsa.”