The two men started to run, but then Gil called out, “Hold on!”
Right across from the Rolex store was Guess. Gil bolted to the first display shelf, snatched a handful of sweatshirts from a pile, and took off. An alarm sounded as he passed through security. Voices shouted from in the store.
They rounded a right-hand corner and sprinted past an empty storefront and a lightly populated Nautica.
Crap! This mall is way smaller than I thought! Ahead of them stood three tiny stores leading to a dead end. They took another right.
The police must have been more familiar with the mall because half of them had swung around the corner ahead of them. No way forward. No way back.
They went up.
An escalator stretched to the second level. Despite sprinting up the steps two at a time, it still felt like forever. They were totally exposed. Shots rang out from below, and Nir saw a man at the top of the escalator collapse to the ground.
Ahabalim! They’re killing their own people!
At the top, rather than having room to run, two burly and—judging by the open collars of their uniforms—hairy security agents waited for them. Gil came off the escalator first, and one of the guards smacked him in the ribs with his club. The agent doubled over and sprawled to the ground.
The club was still moving, spinning around for a replay against Nir’s head. But Nir saw it coming. He ducked the blow and drove his knee into the other man’s thigh, knocking him off balance. Then Nir drove his elbow up into the man’s face, and, using the man’s momentum, sent him tumbling down the escalator into the police officers who had begun to run up.
A hard blow caught Nir in the small of the back. It was the other guard. Nir raised his arm to deflect a second blow. The club hit, sending jolts of pain radiating up through his shoulder. From behind, Gil slammed a fist into the man’s kidneys, causing him to buckle. Using his foot, Gil sent the second guard rolling into the police, who had just started making their way up the “down” escalator.
The Guess sweatshirts were spread all over the floor. Nir and Gil each grabbed one and slipped it over their head as they ran. Nir wore XXL, but the pale blue hoodie he tugged down his body felt like a medium.
“Really?” he said to Gil as they scanned their escape options.
“Sorry. I didn’t have time to check sizes when I stole them off the shelf.”
They hung a right and then a quick left toward where the entrance was a floor below. But rather than finding any steps down or some other way out, there was only a long coffee bar called Pure Black. The two men stopped, trying to figure out what to do next. Loud shouts behind them told them that the cops would be there any second.
Gil slapped Nir’s shoulder and pointed to the right. Nestled between the coffee shop and a porcelain store sat an outdoor terrace. They were at least four-and-a-half meters from the ground, but going over the railing appeared to be the only option for getting back outside. They sprinted that direction.
More gunfire echoed through the mall. Nir knew that unless a person was well trained and had put thousands of rounds through a gun in combat settings, hitting targets when one’s adrenaline was pumping was nearly impossible. Doing that on the run was even more so. Still, these idiot cops kept firing. Nir couldn’t believe the lives the Turkish police were putting at risk for a one-in-a-million hit.
The two men sent one table spinning and a second tumbling over as they ran through the coffee shop. The sounds of somersaulting chairs and breaking ceramic accompanied their flight. Reaching the glass doors, they pushed through to the terrace. The late afternoon was too cool for anyone to be using the tables outside, but thankfully, the workers had unlocked the exit anyway. Reaching the rail, Nir and Gil looked over. Below was the valet entrance to the mall, with cars waiting to be parked. What looked like two BMWs, a Tesla, a McLaren, and a boxy silver Mercedes G-Wagen sat in a line. Nir pointed to the G-Wagen, and Gil nodded. Hopefully, the SUV would have just enough height to keep them from breaking any bones.
They heard glass getting punctured and felt the whiz of bullets go by. No time for second thoughts—they had to jump. They didn’t look as glorious as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid did when they jumped into a flowing river below, but Nir thought they had to look pretty cool as they flew down. They hit the Mercedes’ roof with a crunch. Even though his head didn’t strike anything, the pain in his recently concussed skull was excruciating. With a groan, he rolled down the windshield. Gil’s voice got him into action.
“Nir! Let’s go. We’ve got to go!”
The valets had circled the car to see if they were alright. Nir slid off the hood to join Gil, who had already dropped to the ground. Then shots rang out. Two of the valets went down. In the quick glance Nir was able to take, their wounds looked superficial. He prayed he was right.
Once again, they ran.
Up ahead was a large edifice. “Ufuk Ünıversıtesı,” a sign read. An ambulance was parked out front by double doors.
“Let’s skirt through the hospital grounds and see what’s on the other side,” said Nir, pointing ahead.
Either the people at the medical center were used to battered people running through their courtyard or they were too sick to care, because no one seemed to bat an eye at the two Israelis as they sprinted past. Sirens continued to sound in the streets around them, and Nir had no idea if they would exit the grounds to a phalanx of squad cars manned by gun-pointing cops. But when they burst through the trees on the other side of the hospital property, it seemed that no one else had made it there yet.
Nir slapped Gil in the chest and pointed ahead. “There’s our ticket out!”
Across the road was a tall building, at least 15 stories. At its base was a Škoda car dealership. The two men ran across the street, getting honks and obscene gestures as they did. Spotting the service department, Nir angled that way. Reaching the building, they ran into a covered drop-off area. A man was standing next to the open door of his Octavia holding up a key fob.
“You drive,” Nir called to Gil.
As Nir ran to the passenger side, Gil snatched the key fob from the owner’s hand, spun him away from the door and into the service tech, and dove into the seat. Moments later, they were racing through the lot looking for an exit.
“That guy is not going to be happy with us,” said Gil with a nervous laughter.
Nir ran his hands over the rich brown leather on the dashboard. “I don’t blame him. This car is styling!”
They enjoyed the car for less than five minutes before they pulled into a public parking garage. There, they found an inconspicuous beater that they hoped wouldn’t be noticed for a while.
Gil’s phone had been destroyed when he flew out of the van. Nir’s, however, was still intact. He dialed a number, which was answered by a very relieved Dima. After linking up with a local asset who knew all the back roads, they began their journey north to the Black Sea and safety.