Free The Second Wave by Leska Beikircher Page A

were wide in
terror. She left John a bloody, whimpering mess in the middle of
the dormitory. All children had to get up, the girls too, to come
and see what happened to naughty boys who stole food and talked of
running away.
    When his tears dried later in the cupboard,
John promised himself two things, promises he kept to this day: he
would never cry again, and once he got away, he’d keep running for
the rest of his life so no one would ever catch him.
    Never had he been made to stay in the
cupboard for such a long time, and never did the time go by more
slowly. One night, one day, and another night he was in the closet.
It was freezing cold, but all the while he sat crouched opposite
the door, like a long-distance runner waiting for the gunshot.
    The sister who unlocked the door late in the
second night didn’t see it coming. As soon as he heard the sound of
feet trumping through the freshly fallen snow, every fibre in his
body tensed. It didn’t matter that he was hungry, thirsty, and
still black and blue from the flogging. The key turned, the door
opened, and John pounced into the sister’s knees like a human
cannonball. He didn’t stop to look who it was; it was vital that he
got a head start. Still in his pyjamas, he bolted across the
courtyard, squeezed himself through the barbed-wire fence, darted
into the starlit wood, and ran without looking back for what felt
like an eternity.
    Maybe it was the path his soul had chosen for
himself long before he was born. Or maybe he had missed the right
path and was just struggling not to drown. Whatever it was, the
little boy kept running.
    * * * *

Chapter 14: A Change of Tide, a Change of
Heart
    Like every coastal city, Byzantium’s everyday
life was ruled by the sea. Its slow, tireless tide washed in ships
and filled the fishermen’s nets. When the sea’s surface was calm,
and the waves rolled almost casually to the shore, life in the city
was tranquil. People went about their daily business with a certain
laziness, undisturbed by any rush.
    During high tide, a busy hectic washed over
the people of Byzantium. Not enough to affect their temper, but it
seemed that the squeaks of the donkey carts resonated through the
streets more quickly than they did a few hours earlier, especially
when the tide was accompanied by a refreshing breeze.
    John came to town during the months of the
undertaker’s breath. When at night the land chilled down sufficient
enough to ghost away the sea breeze. It was a time when
thunderstorms haunted the coast, not only at night. The air that
hung over the buildings and in the streets was heavy and reeked of
rotting seafood. Work was cumbersome, the animals stubborn. The
women were cranky, the men morose and the children hysterical; a
dangerous mixture at the best of times. Now that word got around
about the return of Yahya, the city’s criminal movement was one
shoot-out shy of becoming a powder keg.
    Byzantium’s organized crime was run like a
family business, with the exception that there was no head of the
family. It was more like a loose fitting-together of cousins and
distant blood relatives who all worked in different parts of town,
but casually kept tabs on each other to ensure that everything went
smoothly.
    For instance, Celem’s computer genius
contact, George, worked for Adniye, a spice smuggler and sister to
Lamiya, who was Erol’s right hand, who, in turn, was the man John
shot in Melik’s han the night before. To give but one random
example.
    The three men, George, John, and Celem—buyer,
seller, and middleman—met in George’s lab in the North tower of the
Topkapi Research Facility. A small room with more computer hardware
cluttering the space than was probably healthy to have lying
around. Celem stayed talkative on their way to the facility, but
exaggeratedly so, unusually chipper. John didn’t know if the man
had simply changed over the past years, or if something was
bothering him; in any case, he stayed wary.
    George