“They’re coming,” said Bustan. He blinked away sweat dribbling into his eyes. “Forty minutes. What are you going to do?”
Black ignored him, turned his attention to the thin figure of Aksoy.
“Tell these people that Bustan has deceived them. That Bustan intended to murder them.”
Aksoy, with the Beretta pointing at his chest, became suddenly energetic, directed his full attention to the man and woman, launched into dialogue. Their expressions changed – a mixture of emotion. Their bright new future had vanished. In its place, a nightmare barely believable.
“Tell them their children are in grave danger. Tell them I plan to help them, if I can. Tell them the police can’t help.” Which was true. The police wouldn’t race to a hospital, guns blazing, on the word of illegal immigrants who couldn’t speak English. There was procedure. Due protocol. Interviews, reports, requests, decisions, warrants. A whole gamut of arrangements to be put in place, layers of bureaucracy to unpeel, before the Law stirred a muscle. By which time, it was too late.
Suddenly, the woman clutched her husband, sank to her knees. Her husband spoke. The language didn’t matter. Fear was distinct, coating every syllable.
Aksoy listened, turned to Black. “He asks what will happen to them.”
“I’ll get them back,” replied Black. He chose not to elaborate. If his suspicions were true, he could never bring himself to articulate such horror to the parents. “Take them back into the living room. Stay with them. I’ll be through shortly. Bustan and I need to chat. Don’t try to leave. If you do, I’ll kill you. You understand me, Aksoy?”
Aksoy’s head wobbled up and down, like a puppet’s, guided by an invisible thread. “I will not leave. I swear.” He helped the woman to her feet, ushered them into the room.
The woman glanced back. “Please,” she whispered.
He knew she didn’t understand his words, but he answered her anyway. “I’ll get them. Whatever it takes.”