Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Read online

  Payback

  A Friend in need….

  Mark David Abbott

  Copyright © 2020 by Mark David Abbott

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For all the faceless victims of Man’s greed

  Contents

  GET A FREE NOVELLA FEATURING DETECTIVE RAJIV SAMPATH!

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Epilogue

  Also by Mark David Abbott

  GET A FREE NOVELLA FEATURING DETECTIVE RAJIV SAMPATH!

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  Prologue

  Hatay Province, Turkey, 2015

  The girl thrust her hands deeper into her pockets in an effort to keep warm and hugged her arms closer to her body.

  She looked up at the vast expanse of stars above her. It was a beautiful clear night, not a cloud in the sky, and the light from the moon bathed everything in a silvery glow.

  It could have been magical, but for what lay ahead.

  She tuned back into the murmured conversations around her—a mixture of languages, German, French, and English—but the volume was too low for her to make out anything, and besides, English was the only language in which she was fluent.

  The man who called himself Abu Bakr came around the front of the SUV and stood in front of them. He was fat with a long straggly beard and a severely receding hairline. He spoke English with a thick accent she couldn’t place. He pointed down the dirt track that ran along the fence line.

  “Walk down that way for about five-hundred meters. There will be someone there. He will show you how to get through.” He turned back to face them, looking at each of their faces one by one, his eyes resting on her for a moment longer than necessary. “Do you all understand?”

  A low chorus of agreement and nods went through the group.

  “Don’t touch the fence except for where he tells you. It’s electrified.” He looked at them again to make sure they all understood before continuing. “Once you get through, run. Run as far as you can.”

  One of the men, a French speaker, spoke up, “Ow do we know where to go.”

  Abu Bakr grinned, his mouth opening to display a row of crooked teeth. “Don’t worry. You will know. Someone will meet you. It’s all arranged.”

  The girl gave a nervous smile to her companion and shifted her weight. She thought again about what she was doing. Was it the right thing? She had never been away from home like this before. She was scared, but... also excited. Another world was out there, waiting for her. A new promised land, a land where people could live as they were supposed to as it was written in the great book. And who better to go there with but the young man she loved, the man who had swept her off her feet back in the courtyards of the university, what seemed like just a short time ago. It had been a whirlwind, but everything she had imagined romance to be. He smiled back at her and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. She nodded and looked back at Abu Bakr, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. He looked away, his lip curling in a sneer, and addressed the group again.

  “Ma salaam. Good journey. Allahu Akbar!”

  “Allahu akbar,” the group repeated, a couple of men slapping each other on the back.

  Abu Bakr gestured toward the track, “Now go.”

  The five men and one girl started walking in the direction he had shown. A high, chain-link fence lined the track on their left while to their right, fields of olive trees stretched off into the darkness. The group walked in nervous silence, the only sound from scuffed feet and pebbles rolling away.

  The girl looked back over her shoulder, but Abu Bakr and his vehicle had already gone. There was no-one around. They were alone... at least that’s what they thought.

  A figure materialized out of the darkness, gesturing for them to hurry, and pointed toward the fence. As they neared, they saw someone had cut the fence, and the two sides were peeled back to make a hole just big enough for a body to pass through.

  “Through there,” the man hissed. “Hurry.”

  “The power?” asked one of the men in the group.

  The man grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s cut. Now go.”

  One by one, the group eased themselves through the fence and waited for the others. The girl was last. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes—it was now or never. She opened them and saw her companion kn
eeling on the other side of the fence, his hand reaching through the hole in the fence.

  She nodded, crouched down, took his hand, and scrambled through the hole.

  “Yalla, yalla. Run!”

  “Which way?”

  The man pointed into the darkness. “That way. Allahu akbar!”

  “Allahu Akbar!”

  1

  John screwed up his face in distaste and glanced over his shoulder toward the cafe window. Just as he thought, it was the new guy.

  He put the cup back down on the table and dabbed at his lips with a napkin before settling back in his chair. The coffee was over-extracted and bitter. He gazed across the street toward the tree-filled Jardim de Príncipe Real and sighed. There was no point in complaining on the guy’s first day. He would learn.

  John nodded at the elderly man walking past. “Bom Dia.”

  “Bom Dia,” the man replied, his face creasing in a smile, the lines on his forehead and around his eyes, filled with stories from a long, well-lived life.

  The sun burst through the clouds, bringing warm rays of light. John loosened the scarf around his neck, dropping it on the seat beside him. He sucked in a lungful of crisp spring air and reached for his coffee again. Apart from the coffee, life was wonderful.

  He and Adriana had a nice apartment in the Príncipe Real district, a lovely neighborhood with cobblestoned streets, trees, and cafes and restaurants within easy walking distance. He glanced over at the car parked at the curb, a recent treat for himself. A 1970 Porsche 911 S in Bahia Red, the car he had dreamed about since he was a kid. She was beautiful and gave him a lot of pleasure, racing around the streets.

  After the traumatic experiences in Oman and India, life was enjoyable again. Adriana loved her work and was enjoying being back in the country of her birth, close to her parents. John had settled in easily, was picking up Portuguese, and had been enjoying exploring Lisbon, seeking out great places to eat and drink. Their circle of friends had grown slowly, and the city was beginning to feel like home.

  John was fortunate he didn’t have to work, his shareholding in the Hong Kong listed Pegasus Land more than sufficient to provide him and Adriana with an extremely comfortable life. With all the time John had at his disposal, he had become fitter than ever before, lean and strong, full of energy and well-being. He was sleeping well. The occasional nightmares filled with repressed memories from the past were fewer and further between.

  He reached for the coffee cup, then remembering the taste, changed his mind. He sighed. There was something wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it... He felt restless as if there was something lacking. It had been troubling him for a while, eating away at the back of his mind. It was why he had come out this morning and was drinking awful coffee, instead of one of his own at home. The walls of the apartment had felt as if they were closing in, and he needed to get out, to move around, to do... something. Perhaps he had too much time. It was ironic. When he had worked for a living, when he had been a wage slave, he had dreamed of free time, of being in control of every hour, not being bound by the clock and deadlines.

  A presence beside him disturbed his thoughts.

  “John bom dia, como você está?”

  John smiled and reached out to shake the hand of Agostinho, the owner of the cafe.

  “Bom dia Agostinho, estou bem, obrigado.” He then gestured toward his coffee cup and made a face.

  Agostinho placed a hand on John’s shoulder and nodded, switching to English.

  “I’ll make it myself.” He glanced toward the cafe and shrugged. “He’s still learning.”

  John smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “Obrigado.”

  John sat back and continued his train of thought. People here were nice, friendly. His life was perfect, there was no reason to be dissatisfied, but if the truth be known, if he was completely honest with himself—he was bored.

  2

  The ground rocked with a heavy impact, and a fine mist of dust filled the air. Mahfuza pulled her daughter closer as they huddled under a blanket in the corner of the room. That was the closest one so far, the explosions getting closer and closer the past week. She looked down and placed a hand on her daughter’s forehead. She was hot, a low fever, but there was little she could do. They hadn’t eaten properly in months, and any medicines were solely for the use of the fighters. Mahfuza shivered and wrapped the loose end of her hijab across her face, covering her mouth and nose, and pulled the blanket tighter to keep warm. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, the motion the only comfort she could give her child.

  It hadn’t always been like this. There had been happier times in another world—a world filled with love and abundance, where people smiled and laughed, where food was plentiful. It seemed so long ago, and the thought increased the heavy feeling of despair that enveloped her. She wouldn’t cry, there was no point. She had stopped crying a long time ago. She was here, and she must accept it.

  Another explosion shook the building, and she winced, opening her eyes, and glancing down at the little girl in her arms as the sound of a jet fighter screamed overhead, but not a sound came from the child, her eyes open, staring blankly across the rubble-strewn floor, oblivious to her surroundings. Mahfuza leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head, continuing her rocking. She closed her eyes again, and her lips started moving.

  “Bismillaah ar-Raḥmān ar-Raheem. Alhamdulilah rab il alameen, Ar-Raḥmān ar-Raheem......”

  3

  John felt a vibration in his pocket and shifted his position, so he could remove the phone as Agostinho returned with another cup of coffee.

  “Obrigado, Agostinho.” John smiled and glanced at the screen. He raised his eyebrows, and his grin became wider. John nodded at the café owner, then answered the call.

  “Steve.”

  “John, mate, how’s it hanging?”

  John chuckled. “I’m well, Steve. How are you?”

  “Can’t complain, mate. People keep having affairs, so I’m always busy.”

  “The glamorous and exciting life of a private eye.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t think that after sitting in a car for twelve hours, drinking cold coffee, and pissing in a bottle.”

  John nodded, his thoughts going back to the times when he had done exactly that. He reached for his coffee and took a sip. Much better. He glanced across at Agostinho, who was clearing a nearby table and gave him the thumbs-up as Steve continued.

  “How’s life treating you? Still in Lisbon?”

  “Yes. It’s a great city. You should come and visit.”

  “Hmmm, maybe I will.”

  “You’re always welcome, Steve. Adriana would love to see you again.”

  John liked Steve a lot. Despite meeting briefly, they had been through so much together, experiencing things that created a bond between them. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Steve and his intervention in Oman, stepping in when the mercenaries hired by Surya Patil had attacked their desert camp, John and Adriana might not be alive today.

  “How’s she doing? Settled in with that newspaper? What’s it called?”

  “Público.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s loving it. It was always her dream to do something like that.”

  “Well, send her my love, mate.”

  “I will.”

  There was a pause in conversation, and John heard a sigh on the other end. He frowned.

  “Is everything okay, Steve?”

  “Yeah, mate, it’s just...”

  “What?”

  John listened to the silence. He almost thought the line had been cut when Steve spoke again.

  “John, I need your help.”

  4

  John wiped his hands on the dishcloth and draped it over his shoulder as he glanced toward the table, checking everything was laid out correctly. Good. He reached for the glass on the kitchen benchtop, swirled the ice cubes around, then took a sip. H
is gin and tonic was almost finished. Glancing at his wristwatch, he calculated Adriana should be home any minute, just in time for him to make a fresh one.

  He took one last look around the kitchen, wiped a spot of liquid from the benchtop, then picked up his glass, and walked toward the bar. He retrieved a second glass from the cabinet just as the front door opened.

  “Hi, baby.”

  John turned and smiled as Adriana removed her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her bag on the table by the door.

  “Perfect timing.” John held up the empty glass and raised an eyebrow.