TURKISH DELIGHT Barry Faulkner (i love reading txt) 📖

‘I wanted you to believe she was dead – after all, you had a million pound contract on her life; you might have carried it out and that would have been very unfortunate.’

‘Unfortunate how?’

‘Well, things had come to light that changed the situation. If you remember our meeting, I told you I didn’t want to become the third of her husbands to die suspiciously.’

I nodded.

‘Mr Nevis, in my business you deal in very big amounts of money; you create relationships with people who are, shall we say, open to other offers as the merchandise we offer is not always available on the open market.’

‘Banned by the Geneva Arms Convention,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘Well, in a way yes, some products are made and available but only to certain countries. Other countries we are not permitted to sell them to, and of course that ...’ His voice tailed off as he hunched his shoulders and spread his palms.

I finished his sentence, ‘Creates a black market.’

He smiled, ‘A very lucrative black market.’ He turned to Eve. ‘My dear wife here has been, unknown to me, a very big player in that black market. A very big player for a considerable time on behalf of the IRG, using me – just as she had used her previous husbands – to provide arms to them, which is why she is still alive. She is a bargaining chip, Mr Nevis, she is not what she seems, she is an agent in the Defence Procurement Department of the Iranian Government – not even Woodward knows that. Iran will want her back and will do a very good prisoner exchange to get her – that is why she is still alive.’

I was confused. ‘But those crates went to Turkey, not Iran.’

‘Turkey is a staging post. In my business one keeps a very low profile, as you know – you could only find one picture of me, and a very out-of-date one at that. I keep everything at arm’s length – double arm’s length if I can – and this warehouse is a case in point. Yes, it is rented to a subsidiary company of my businesses but I had never been here until a few weeks ago. One of my trusted managers had noted that we had more crates than we should have had; a week later he disappears. Strange, eh? To cut a long story short, Mr Nevis, my dear wife, who handles my accounts, had ordered more of certain products than I needed to fulfil my genuine orders, and these extras were on a separate invoice which was paid for by bank transfer of funds from Switzerland – exactly the same as the way I make payments, so nobody thought anything was strange.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But those funds came from an IRG Swiss account, not mine and of course the extras ordered were for the IRG. Clever, eh?’

‘Very.’

‘And so the crates were shipped out with my genuine crates to my genuine customer, the Turkish Defence Force, and to their warehouse in Antakya.’

‘And they didn’t notice?’

‘Why would they? A lorry with crates of armaments arrives at an arms store – a perfect ploy. Then those for the IRG are moved on at a later date by IRG people who have infiltrated the warehouse workforce and use false movement paperwork. The military bosses at the warehouse see paperwork that says the arms and missiles are going to their own forward units at the Turkish borders. Everything was working so well for this bitch!’ He turned quickly and slapped Eve across the face. She staggered back and fell to the floor. I tensed myself, ready to go for my gun if Gold took this opportunity to open fire. She didn’t.

Rambart turned back to me, smiling again. ‘And then we had the little episode of the freighter and the Turkish warehouse explosions. Were you responsible for those, Mr Nevis?’

I pursed my lips and shook my head, no.

‘I am not sure I believe you, anyway it gave the IRG game away. Turkey is a very up-to-date country, Mr Nevis; their forensic scientists are second to none, and it quickly became clear that an explosion of that magnitude was far too big for what should have been in that warehouse at the time, and the remnants of missiles and arms that they pieced together afterwards far outnumbered the official listings of what should be there.’ He paused for effect. ‘So that was when my dear friend Serife Aydin, my long time contact and  Commander in the Turkish Special Forces, took control.’ He gave a small bow in her direction. ‘As luck would have it, she is a remarkable likeness to my wife. Just a few tweaks to the hairstyle and she could fool anybody from a distance – even you.’ Things were falling into place; I was beginning to understand the whole scenario. Eve Rambart was an IRG agent. She had married the bosses of the biggest arms producing companies, murdered them and taken control of the companies making sure of a continuing supply to Iran through the Turkey warehouse scam.

A car pulled up outside. I noticed that Aydin never took her eye or the gun off me. A car door shut and Jameson Reynolds came in. He stood for a moment and took in the situation.

‘I wondered why the gate wasn’t locked and no security at the front.’ He walked over and stood beside Aydin. ‘Hello Ben, looks like you’ve got yourself in a bit of a mess.’

‘I should have known you’d be involved.’

‘Money, Ben, you know how I get attracted to it – the more the better. My good friend Nicholas was dealing above his financial limit, and with his business being a little, shall we say, under the radar, normal lines of credit were closed to him.’

‘You always were