‘Yes it does. It does matter when.’
‘Look, Mother, I didn’t want to tell you …’
‘What, darling? What didn’t you want to tell me?’
‘It belongs to a woman …’ he said. ‘She was attacked in the alleyway next to the hotel.’
‘When? How do you know?’
‘It happened last night … I ran down to try and stop them, but it was too late. They were dragging her away.’
‘Oh my God!’ said Emine with horror. ‘Oh my God …’
‘I was ready to kill them. But it’s a long way down …’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Hüseyin. If you had done that, it would have given us all away.’
Hüseyin saw that his mother was in tears and put his arms around her.
‘Poor Aphroditi,’ she sobbed. ‘Poor, poor woman.’
‘You know who she was?’ asked Hüseyin.
‘Aphroditi Papacosta … God knows why she had come back. Perhaps to fetch something,’ said Emine. ‘I only hope she got out of the city alive.’
Hüseyin was sickened by this revelation. It was bad enough that Markos had witnessed an attack on a woman and stood by, but the fact that it was his boss’s wife made it even more shocking.
‘Will you look after it?’ asked Hüseyin.
Emine took the bag from her son as if it were a piece of precious china.
Knowing the identity of the soldiers’ victim made Hüseyin even more determined to find out what Markos had been doing outside the hotel in the early hours. For the next few nights he would be extra vigilant. He was even more appalled by Markos Georgiou’s behaviour than he had been before.
He was certain the opportunity would present itself. As he was undressing one night, he thought he saw some movement on the shore. It could have been a trick that the moonlight was playing with the waves.
Against Markos’ orders, Hüseyin ventured out on to the balcony, quietly sliding the door shut behind him. He did not want to wake Mehmet.
There was a man below him. In the moonlight, there was no mistaking his identity. The gleaming white shirt made him distinctly recognisable.
Were they not meant to stay in after dark? This had been the instruction Markos himself had given them. Hüseyin’s curiosity was aroused when he saw Markos walk along the seafront and disappear out of sight further down the beach. Up on the rooftop, they only kept watch on the street side of the hotel, so he would not be seen from there.
Perhaps he was just getting some air. Hüseyin decided to say nothing, but the next night he stood quietly on the balcony and watched again.
After several hours, he gave up. Nobody appeared. On the third night, the shadowy figure of Markos once again emerged.
Hüseyin knew he had to be fast – and quiet. He ran back into the bedroom, saw that Mehmet was asleep and went into the corridor. Feeling a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, he took the stairs two at a time. He had to get to the beach before Markos disappeared.
His fitness allowed him to reach the hotel’s fire door in moments. From there he could get on to the sand.
Footprints gave away the route that Markos had taken, so he followed them, planting his feet precisely in the indentations.
The tracks eventually turned away from the beach and went through a space between two hotels. As he turned into the alleyway, Hüseyin saw Markos silhouetted at the end of it. He knew he must be careful now. The stony ground would not muffle his footsteps.
Soundlessly he followed Markos through the streets of Famagusta. He took a circuitous route, walking purposefully, stopping occasionally at street corners to check if any Turkish soldiers might be in the next road.
Eventually they seemed to be reaching the edge of the city. Hüseyin had not been this close to the limit since the day he had first seen the barbed wire. The younger man hid himself in a garden. From there he could watch Markos as he approached the boundary.
Markos was taking a risk. There was some open space between him and the fence, and if soldiers came now, he would be seen. Hüseyin watched with trepidation and disbelief.
Markos glanced around him as he approached the makeshift fencing. Within seconds, he had opened a section of the barbed wire, almost like a gate, and gone through to the other side. He then carefully reassembled the wire to cover his tracks. For a short while Hüseyin could see him, but his pace seemed to pick up and he soon disappeared from sight.
Hüseyin had no intention of following him. At least not tonight.
The strange and illogical path that Markos had taken to reach his exit point had brought Hüseyin along streets that he had not visited for a long time. On his forays to find fruit, he wandered mostly into the residential areas, but tonight he found himself once again in what had been the city’s lively avenues and squares, where tourists and wealthy Cypriots alike had shopped. Leontios, Volta and Zephyr Streets used to conjure up such images of glamour. Now they were in ruins.
As he returned to The Sunrise, he remained vigilant about his own safety, but he was also distracted by what he saw.
In the main streets, the shops had now been methodically looted. Naked dummies, like cold corpses, lay in obscene tangles in shop windows. Other stores had been more tidily stripped of their contents. The place looked even more desolate than it had done before. A slight breeze was beginning to get up, and a few leaves rustled in the gutter. The darkness of the winter’s night and the city’s general emptiness chilled him to the bone.
Something black and long-tailed scuttled in front of him. Hüseyin shuddered. He had always hated rats. Without doubt there were more rats than people living in this city now.
He hastened back to The Sunrise, leaving the fire door slightly open just as he had found it, and ran upstairs.
Back in his room, he lay in bed, wide awake.
What on earth was Markos doing? Hüseyin was both shocked and mystified that he was leaving the city without telling them.
He kept vigil for the next few nights, and whenever he saw Markos leaving again, he hastened downstairs and followed him towards the city perimeter. On the first few occasions, Markos went through the wire and was out of sight.
During the daytime, Hüseyin had noticed that Markos sometimes went down to the nightclub. He often re-emerged with a bottle of whisky for Vasilis Georgiou, or a cigar for his father, but Hüseyin now wondered what else he did down there. The doors were always kept firmly locked.
Markos sometimes went out legitimately in daytime to find supplies for the baby, such as disposable nappies. Panikos was still not much use for such errands. He puffed and panted even getting to the first floor.
During one such excursion, Markos found another discarded newspaper; this time it was Phileleftheros. It described the discovery of atrocities against Greek Cypriots. In the past few days, both families had been discussing the possibility of departure, but the revelation of the continuing dangers outside their luxury home immediately quashed such ideas. It brought a new wave of anxiety for them all.
Although they did not keep precise track of dates and days, the radio sometimes reminded them. They celebrated festivals and religious holidays simply to break up the monotony of time. Kurban Bayramı had passed in early December, and normally the Özkans would have feasted on a sacrificed lamb.
‘We’d have bought new clothes for our children too,’ Emine explained to Irini. ‘But at least we’re not short of those here!’
‘The lamb, though …’ said Hüseyin wistfully. He missed the succulent slices of meat they would have enjoyed.
Not long after that, it was time for Irini to bake traditional Christmas melomakarona biscuits, moist with honey and bursting with dates and nuts.
‘These are delicious,’ said Emine, eating her third one. ‘I love your Christmas.’
To sustain a sense of celebration, Markos brought up a record player from the nightclub and installed it in a small lounge next to the ballroom. Panikos found a way to rig this to his generator.
/> First of all, Markos found recordings of traditional Cypriot music, both Greek and Turkish. Vasilis and Halit joined in when he put these on, and even Mehmet and Vasilakis were encouraged to learn the steps.
Maria preferred top twenty hits, so Markos went down again to find more albums, Abba, the Isley Brothers and Stevie Wonder among them. Irini was persuaded to dance, and with a little encouragement, Emine was soon on her feet too. Halit did not stop her, although she felt his disapproving looks.
‘Leventi mou,’ Irini called out to her son. ‘Come and dance with us.’
‘Wait!’ said Markos. He strolled over to the record player and put on a different song. It was his mother’s favourite.
Hüseyin watched them dance
‘Heaven, I’m in heaven,’ crooned Frank Sinatra.
Irini rested her head on Markos’ shoulder as he held her close, rocking her to the jaunty rhythm of trumpets and drums and singing along in perfect harmony. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. In one son’s arms, she forgot her worries for the other.
Hüseyin watched his mother watching the dancing couple. Markos also felt her eyes, and afterwards asked her for a dance. Music was exercising its magic over them all, and so, it seemed, was Markos.
They almost forgot where they were and the circumstances that had brought them there. It was like a party, at the centre of which was Markos Georgiou, smiling, changing records, serving drinks and dancing. He looked as dapper as ever. His shoes shone, his Pierre Cardin suit (borrowed from the abandoned wardrobe of a wealthy guest) was immaculate and his shiny hair neatly trimmed by Emine.
Hüseyin was watching Markos all the time now. He had heard that Frank Sinatra was a gangster, but this was not the reason he would not dance.
Chapter Twenty-eight
WHEN EVERYONE WAS pleasantly tired, the two older men climbed to the roof for their watch and the others retired to bed.
Hüseyin went on to his balcony and waited. Knowing that Markos came and went made him feel more caged than ever. Although they had now established what felt like a way of life, in reality they were quarantined, deprived of access to the outside world and all that it contained. Whatever Markos was doing, he was doing it for himself, Hüseyin was certain of that.
A few days later, he followed him on one of his night excursions and saw that there was someone waiting on the other side of the fence. Markos handed over a package. The recipient took it and unwrapped it. In the moonlight, there was a flash of metal.
In exchange, the man handed Markos an envelope. He opened it and looked inside. Apparently satisfied with the contents, he stuffed it in his jacket pocket and turned away.
Hüseyin realised that Markos would not be going through the fence, and if he was going to get back to the hotel first, he would have to move fast. He turned on his heel and ran, constantly glancing behind him. He pushed open the fire door, making sure to leave it on the latch, and dashed into the foyer.
He paused to catch his breath, realising that he had made it just in time. Within seconds he heard the click of the fire exit being closed from inside. Markos must have run too. It was too late for Hüseyin to make it up the stairs before Markos appeared, so he retreated into the shadows and hid behind one of the huge faux pillars that appeared to support the ceiling.
He saw Markos cross the reception area and reach the door of the nightclub. Within seconds, he had unlocked it and gone down the stairs.
During the day, Markos was always meticulous about locking the door behind him, but this time he had even left the key on the outside. As far as he was concerned, he was unobserved.
Hüseyin, his heart still pounding from the run, but now beating even harder, darted out from the shadows and pushed open the door. He padded down the carpeted stairs into Markos’ underworld.
On the left was a door that led to the nightclub itself. Hüseyin opened it an inch, saw a dark space and closed it again. Down the corridor to the right, he could see the beam of a moving torch. He could resist neither the temptation nor the risk. He had left his shoes behind the pillar upstairs and now moved silently towards the dancing light. Both the outer and inner doors that led to the vault were open, and through the crack in the second, Hüseyin could see Markos.
Some of what he saw was just as he expected. The rest totally astonished him.
The table in front of Markos was piled up with guns. This sight was no surprise; Hüseyin had already deduced that Markos was selling them. He guessed that both Greek and Turkish Cypriots would give almost everything they owned for the means to protect their family. Wherever Markos had acquired them, these metal instruments of death must be worth their weight in gold. As Hüseyin watched, Markos picked one up and ran his hand along its barrel. Then he wrapped each one in a cloth and put them back in the safe. Inside the safe Hüseyin could also make out piles of brown envelopes that he imagined must be payments for previous deals.
Markos turned back to his work. Hüseyin could now make out his features. They were dimly illuminated from below by a small kerosene lamp, which cast distorting shadows on his face. The expression of demonic greed was unmistakable, and Hüseyin saw him more clearly in this half light than ever before.
All over the surface there were neat piles of small boxes and a mound of velvet bags. Piece by piece, Markos removed the jewellery and spread it out, concentrating, calculating and making notes on a pad.
Hüseyin could see mounds of glinting gold and dazzling precious stones. It was an astonishing hoard.
He watched as Markos picked up three or four items and dropped them casually into his jacket pocket. The others he carefully packaged up again and replaced in the safe.
Hüseyin backed away and crept up the stairs. The picture was now clear. Finally he understood why Markos regularly left the city. Money, guns and gold. It made perfect sense.
As Markos locked the safes, he looked up suddenly, thinking he had heard a noise. But there was no one there. He gathered his papers and glanced with satisfaction at the numbers written there.
Back in July, Markos had found that the items he was safeguarding for his brother in the vault were suddenly objects of great desire. After the invasion, not only guns but also gold had gone up in value. In addition to Aphroditi’s jewellery, in itself worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, he had undertaken to look after necklaces, bracelets and rings for several of the local jewellery stores. He had let it be known that, with its layers of doors and its combination locks, the strongroom at The Sunrise was more secure than anywhere on Cyprus. People felt confident about leaving their valuables there. Some of them had deposited their best pieces with Markos as early as 20 July, when the first of the Turkish troops had landed in the north.
Since then, property, land, stocks and shares had all dropped sharply in value, so Markos was one of the few people on the island with any real wealth. His only problem now was finding enough storage space for the vast amount of cash and jewellery in his possession.
Over the next few weeks, Hüseyin followed Markos every time he could. He realised that Markos had worked out with almost mathematical precision where the troops were positioned and at what time there was a change of duty. Judging by the complex route he took to the wire and how relaxed he seemed at times, he knew where they were garrisoned, where they watched from and the best time to leave The Sunrise. He realised that Markos even took into account the phases of the moon. During the days before and after it was full, he took extra care.
On every journey, he was catlike in his avoidance of Turkish soldiers. In spite of this, Hüseyin knew that Markos’ conduct was a risk to everyone at The Sunrise.
He did not know how Markos had come by the guns, but it sickened him that he was clearly smuggling jewellery that was not his own out of the city.
One night, when Hüseyin saw Markos reach the wire, he decided he would follow him out. There were a few buildings and just about enough trees to give a slim man a hiding place. As long as Markos did not look over his shoulde
r at the wrong moment, Hüseyin would be safe.
He trailed him three or four miles to a crossroads and eventually saw Markos reach a cluster of abandoned vehicles. Hüseyin guessed that they had been there since the mass exodus from the city. He heard the dry, choking sound of an old engine being brought to life and saw a vehicle move off. Amongst all these clapped-out vans and cars, Markos had found one that still functioned.
As he disappeared out of sight, Hüseyin wondered what happened when this snake of a man met Turkish soldiers. He knew instinctively that Markos would find a way. He was fluent in Turkish, as he was always keen to demonstrate in front of the Özkans, so Hüseyin imagined that language would get him through. Clearly he also had plenty of cash and gold with which to bribe them.
Cautiously Hüseyin made his way back to the fence, his curiosity more than satisfied. He began to question everything that had taken place over the past months. He now suspected that Markos was using the Özkans as a buffer to keep his own family safe. There was nothing Hüseyin would put past him. He wondered just how much they had all been manipulated.
He knew, though, that he had to keep everything to himself. Even if Markos was effectively keeping them all there for his own benefit, it would be hard to prove.
The following day, a thick fog came in from the sea. The atmosphere was heavy and the mood at The Sunrise was low.
When Hüseyin saw Markos the next morning, smiling and charming as usual, in spite of the gloom into which everyone else had been plunged, he could not smile back. He could not share the good cheer displayed by the Greek Cypriot.
It was seven months since the beginning of their time alone in the city, and nearly six since they had arrived at The Sunrise. Most of them were still enjoying the ample store cupboards, and for Emine and Irini the luxurious bedrooms with their fine linen and well-appointed bathrooms were a daily pleasure.
Gradually the two older men had lowered their guard with each other. They smoked, sometimes drank and even discussed their political views, clicking their worry beads almost in unison.