The Sister(38)
‘Listen, boy, call me Donovan, by the way. I'd like to give you a reward.’
‘I didn’t do it for the money,’ he said.
‘Well at least let me cover your time and expenses. It’s the least I can do. How much do you want?’
Too tired to argue, he hesitated and then said, ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds, that’s all, just for fares and that.’
Donovan took out his chequebook. ‘Who do I make this out to?’
‘My bank account is in the name of Bruce Milowski.’ Seeing the confusion on Kale’s face, he added. ‘It’s my real name, but that’s another story.’ He started to explain and then thought better of it.
The older man smiled for the first time. Something about this kid appealed to him, apart from the fact he’d just rescued his daughter. He scribbled the cheque out and put it in an envelope, sealing it closed. Then handing it over, he said, ‘If there’s anything I can do for you son, you know where I am.’
They shook hands and Kale summoned his driver to drop him home.
The following morning at the bank, he completed the paying-in slip and passed it under the glass screen to the teller. She looked up at him, a mix of joyful confusion on her face. ‘I think you might have made a mistake,’ she held the cheque up to the glass for him to see. ‘Because this slip should have another three zeros on it.’ Miller was stunned into silence
The cheque was for a quarter of a million pounds, enough to set him up for a long time. He never forgot his good fortune and, afterwards, he divided his time equally between those who could afford to pay and for those that couldn’t, he worked without pay. The rich subsidised the poor, a private investigator version of Robin Hood for modern times.
Kale used his wealth to have the cult shut down, by fair means or foul, routing its leaders. They simply disappeared, presumably afraid to face legal proceedings. And he was responsible for repatriating and reuniting nearly one hundred young people with their families. When his accountants untangled the web of financial dealings, the huge amount of revenue generated by the organisation astounded him, and naturally he took steps to relieve them of that wealth.
Without money, they would find it difficult to start again.
Chapter 28
June 1980
The mute scrawled a question onto the paper pad and passed it to the man standing opposite him. Without turning away from the window, he took the pad and looked at it.
‘What will we do?’ The note read.
Carlos raised his amber eyes and gazed across the Istanbul skyline, the sunlight turning them the colour of molten gold.
‘We take over what’s left and start again.’ He turned to look at his friend. ‘Hasan, we will rise from the ashes, bigger than before.’
Hasan scribbled quickly and pushed the new note at Carlos.
‘What about Kale? Do you want me to kill him?’
Carlos smiled. Hasan is so loyal.
‘No, my friend, he took nothing from us. Instead, he has provided us with an opportunity.’
Hasan’s broad face looked fierce; lips pressed tight together; an eyebrow rose in unspoken query.
‘We will destroy the opposition. There is no better time to do it. The religious world is in disarray.’ Carlos took a small box from his hip pocket and opened it. ‘We are about to build a new church, Hasan. I have seen it.’ Tilting his face upwards, he put a coloured contact into each eye, turning them dark brown. ‘I will call our movement, The Church of The Resurrectionists of Monte Cristo. This will be the new church and nothing will stand in our way. First we will rid the world of the major cults, and then the old church will fall to us.’
Hasan nodded appreciatively. There was no doubting the ability of Carlos to do so.
Chapter 29
23 July 1983
The Hammersmith pubs had steadily filled with people since six o' clock. With Dire Straits playing the Odeon that night, drinkers in this particular watering hole wasted no time loading up on drink. It was a huge pub with a rough reputation; real spit and sawdust, hot and sweaty, a feeling of edginess and danger permeated the air. On concert nights, the extra crowds created a heady atmospheric cocktail of excitement, which attracted all kinds of men and women, from office staff to hippies, hospital workers to labourers. Most of them would go on to the show.
In this pub, lone outsiders could find themselves vulnerable and unwelcome. Those in groups were relatively safe, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to have one drink and then leave.
Two Americans were talking loudly at the bar, their voices raised above the din of the crowd. ‘Have you ever felt in real danger?’
‘Sure I have, and you know something? I’m not feeling real comfortable right now,’ he said, anxiously eyeing the mean-looking giant of a man who’d appeared at his friend’s shoulder, belligerently looking him up and down, measuring him.
The big man poked him in the back.
Carefully putting his beer down, he caught the cautionary expression in his friend’s eyes, the unease registering with him, he turned around slowly and then froze. Staggered by the man’s size, his knees, perhaps eager to run, bucked involuntarily, and he stumbled, fighting to control limbs that had turned jelly-like.