LITMIR.BIZ

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revealed. The trail led to accounts opened by Binice, Terzel and Makar. Following disbelief and embarrassment that he had been taken in by the three men, Kaplan had the information kept quiet so he could deal with the three. Loyalty to the cause had taken a backseat, smothered by deceit and pure greed. Ignoring the reason behind Özgürlük’s existence, the trio had given in to their base emotions.

      Having been put in the picture, Kaplan took control and made the decision that the traitors would not be allowed to escape. He set in motion the means by which he would exact his revenge.

      Revenge. Retribution. It had to be done. Betrayal required closure. Allow people to steal from you and it diminished your standing. The scales had to be balanced. With all that was going on, Özgürlük’s reputation needed to be put on firm ground—and allowing a pair of petty crooks to sully that reputation was unthinkable.

      * * *

      KAPLAN HAD MET Tak Kumad in a busy Istanbul café. They’d sat at a table, outside, the sun high overhead. They could have been any Turkish customers, drinking small cups of aromatic coffee and discussing anything.

      But they were discussing something far deadlier than the price of food or the results of the international football match that had taken place the previous night.

      They were arranging how Binice and Terzel would pay for their treachery. The moneyman, Makar, would be dealt with as a separate matter.

      “This must be painful for them before the final bullet,” Kaplan said. “I am not normally a vengeful man, but those two have manipulated me. Made me look a fool. So my heart seeks a way to make them suffer.”

      “As God looks down on me, I promise you suffering for them both,” Kumad, the assassin, said. “By the end they will welcome my final bullet.”

      “Should I ask how you will achieve this?”

      “Do you recall Alexander Litvinenko? Former Russian SSB officer. He left Russia to avoid being prosecuted for his stand against the Russian Secret Service. He was given asylum in the UK and continued as a journalist writing about the behavior of the Russians. He wrote books condemning their actions. He became ill in November 2006 and died three weeks later. It was confirmed later that he had died from being poisoned by polonium-210. A very lethal radioactive compound. Most likely put in his tea. It is undetectable in that condition, but works very well on the immune system, or so I have been told.”

      “Is this what you would propose for our friends?”

      “I have been able to obtain some. Only a small amount,” Kumad said. “That is all it will take.”

      Kaplan thought it an ideal way to repay Binice and Terzel.

      “They would not die immediately?”

      Kumad smiled. “No. The full effects would run over a few weeks. But initially they would become extremely ill. Skin affected. Loss of hair. General lassitude.”

      “How would you give it to them?” Kaplan asked, his interest piqued.

      “In a similar fashion,” Kumad said. “I have spoken to a friend in the business and he has instructed me how to do this.” He smiled at the thought. “A very smart man who has been in the business for a long time.”

      “And has he used this polonium-210 himself?”

      Kumad nodded. “Oh, yes.”

      When Kaplan picked up his coffee again he hesitated. “It would be as simple as putting it in a cup like this?”

      “Don’t be concerned. I did not bring a sample with me.”

      “I want this done quickly.”

      “Then all I need from you is a timetable of where Binice and Terzel can be found. Once I have that, I can make my arrangements.”

      They concluded their meeting after finance details were completed.

      Kaplan felt satisfied. He had cleared the way for a matter of honor, Turkish-style, to be carried out. With Binice and Terzel dealt with, the episode could be forgotten and he could concentrate on the Özgürlük campaign.

      * * *

      TEN DAYS LATER Kumad received a call from Kaplan.

      “It has been reported to me that Makar is becoming a nervous man,” Kaplan said. “I believe he may be regretting his involvement with Binice and Terzel. Remember he knows a great deal about Özgürlük. As banker he has been responsible for moving around money. Most important, the payment for the devices from the Russian. We cannot risk anything going wrong at this stage. It’s time he was retired. Better that way than risk additional problems. Deal with him but make sure you bring his computer back with you. Understood? Above everything, that computer must be returned into our safekeeping.”

      “Understood.” Kumad brought up the other business he was involved with. “Did you know Binice and Terzel are in London? At one of our emergency apartments?”

      “Yes. I sent them there to keep them away from everything here. They believe they are being given a reward for the work they have been doing for the cause. I told them I needed them to oversee a project that is coming off in London. Their arrogance is amazing. They truly believe that while they have stolen money from us I am rewarding their loyalty. I told them to take a break while the project is being set up. Your treatment seems to be working well. In the last week they have started to look unwell but have said nothing because they have no idea what is happening. Tak, as much as I would like to have them suffer even more, I think it is time to cut short their suffering. We have enough on our hands with other, more important matters. Would you agree?”

      “It would complete our deal and close it nicely.”

      “See to it.”

      * * *

      KUMAD KNEW LONDON WELL. He visited often. He enjoyed the rush of the big city, the busy pace. The fact that for the most part he could come and go as he pleased. Anonymity was a useful thing for someone in his profession. Although security, as in any large city, had been increased, London was still an easy place to get around. The busy streets, full of people going about their business, were comparatively safe. Armed police were in evidence, but with such crowds it was easy to lose himself. He was, on the surface, simply a citizen going about his business. He posed no threat to the watchful eye.

      With Binice and Terzel taken care of, all that remained was for him to handle the banker. Kumad saw no problems there. Makar would not offer any kind of resistance. He was just a money mover. Not a trained gunman.

      Sitting in a small café that served real Turkish coffee, Kumad considered his options. Makar would not be in his office until morning. It was just after nine o’clock in the evening, so he would have to wait until the man came to his office for the next day’s business. As he drained his cup, Kumad decided he may as well return to his hotel and get some sleep. Nothing was going to happen until the next day.

      At his small hotel in Bayswater he had a shower, cleaned his pistol and made sure the magazine was fully loaded. Then he went to bed and got a solid night’s untroubled sleep. He knew that Makar never opened his office before nine thirty.

      He was in another café across the street from Makar’s building, having breakfast and keeping an eye out for the man, when Makar stepped out of a London cab, paid the driver and went into his building. He carried an attaché case that would most likely contain his laptop. Kumad finished his food and coffee, paid and left the café.

      He walked along the street before he crossed it and eased into the alley a few doors along from Makar’s building. The rear area was quiet and Kumad made his way to the wooden gate that would lead him to the back of Makar’s property. He had been here before and knew all the access and exit points. There was a brick wall with a timber gate. Kumad pulled on a pair of latex gloves, slipped the latch and stepped through, closing the gate behind him. There was a small yard leading to the metal stairs, which in turn led to the upper floor. At the top was a metal door that gave access to the interior. From earlier visits, Kumad

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