The Istanbul Mafia, Part 2
Eastern Istanbul. An abandoned factory stood along a quiet stretch of national highway.
A Mercedes G-Wagen rolled slowly into the plant with its headlights still burning, and we parked in a corner of the floor.
"Master. We're here."
"What time is it?"
"About ten minutes to midnight."
"They'll call. Wait."
A short while later, midnight came, and Istanbul No. 1's phone rang.
Ring-ring. Ring-ring.
He answered.
"Master. They're waiting inside the west warehouse."
"Then we go there."
"Yes."
He drove us west. Past a collapsed brick wall, a warehouse came into view with its door standing open, and the vehicle eased slowly inside.
The interior was as wide as two basketball courts laid side by side. Half-used equipment and discarded materials lay scattered here and there. We reached the center and stopped.
Shadows of men appeared in the beam of the headlights. Then—
Screeeech. Clank.
The warehouse door we had come through slammed shut.
Istanbul No. 1's phone rang again.
"Yeah. That's right. Then we'll get out."
He hung up.
"Master. They want us in front of the vehicle."
"Then we get out."
I stepped out with the slaves. As in Cairo, an Islamic headscarf covered my head and sunglasses hid my eyes.
The other side spoke first.
"Shy, are we?"
"Does that interfere with the deal?"
"We make it a rule not to trade with people we can't trust."
"You've come this far. I wouldn't suggest calling it off."
"And why's that?"
"Because if you play games, I'll kill you."
"Ha. Hahaha. Funny. Real funny. Where's all that confidence coming from?"
"You know where we come from."
That the drugs originated with IS was an open secret. Even a thriving criminal outfit with more than a hundred members had no intention of picking a fight with IS and its thousands of madmen.
"We came to trade tonight. So let's trade first."
"The money?"
"Right here."
One of them stepped forward, dragging a large suitcase. Four million euros meant four hundred bundles of ten-thousand-euro notes. The weight alone would be more than one man cared to lift.
"And your goods?"
At the question, I turned aside.
"In the trunk."
The slave in the driver's seat turned the car around, opened the trunk, and showed them the bags stacked inside.
"Ours runs a bit heavy. You'll want to check it yourselves, won't you?"
"We will."
Five of them approached at an easy pace, the man with the money case among them. Through my enhanced hearing I caught more than those five breaths in front of me—others, to the left, the right, and behind us. We were surrounded. Hardly a problem, of course. I wasn't starting anything yet.
Two of the men who had come up went to the trunk, opened a bag, and pulled out a packet of pills to check what was inside. In the meantime I gave IS No. 1 and No. 2 their orders.
"Check it."
The two stepped forward, took the case of money, set it on the floor, and opened it. Euros lay stacked in neat rows. They drew a few from the middle to confirm the bills were real, and counted how many bundles there were in all.
Both sides finished their checks at nearly the same moment. The men who had looked the money over reported back.
"Four million. It checks out."
Our side was done. The gang, surprisingly, was being meticulous with the goods. The ones who had pulled the drug packets from inside tore open a sample, took out a pill, and ground it fine between their teeth to taste it.
Bastards. Glance at it and be done.
The plan was simple. Once they walked off with the drug bags, a tracking spell would give me their location, and I would take the drugs back. If they realized they'd been cheated before that, the whole thing was dead.
"You planning to chew every last one? Leave something to sell."
Their boss laughed it off.
"This isn't pocket change. You've got to be thorough. Am I wrong?"
"I'm getting tired."
Just then the man checking the goods shoved the packets back into the bag as if he were finished.
"Looks clean to me."
At his subordinate's words, the boss smiled.
"Good, then. Let's do business again. I'll be in touch—"
He was trying to wrap it up.
"W-wait a second. This one. The taste is off."
One of the two, halfway through putting a packet back in the bag, had found something. He held it up and switched on his phone's flashlight.
"The color's a little different."
He glanced at us, then quickly tore the packet open, took a pill in his hand, and crushed it between his fingers. Compared with the others it crumbled with almost no resistance. He brought the powdered finger to his tongue.
The instant the powder touched it—
"Can't be helped. We go to Plan B."
The words had barely left my mouth before the slaves drew the pistols at their waists. The gangsters who had been staring us down, already tense, grabbed for the grips of their own holstered guns just as fast. But I was far quicker than any of them.
The moment the man checking the pills crushed a fake between his fingers, every spell I had prepared was already active.
Body Acceleration
Strength Enhancement
Vision Enhancement
Hearing Enhancement
A body borrowing magic's strength drew the pistol at my hip at five times the ordinary speed. I had quit sword training after a single day because it was a nuisance, but I had kept up my shooting whenever I had the time. Pistols, automatic rifles, bolt-actions—lately even machine guns and RPGs, nothing left out. Full-auto and single shots, the mobile combat shooting I had seen in videos, even the quick-draw drills Western cowboys favored with a handgun. I was already fast on the draw, and with magic laid over it I poured out bullets like lightning.
The result—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Four pulls of the trigger planted two rounds apiece in the bodies of the two nearest men.
Thud! Thud!
Guh—! Ugh!
They went down backward with bullets in gut and chest before they could even clear their guns. Right behind them, the gangsters and the slaves opened up on each other.
Crack-crack! Bang-bang-bang-bang! Crack-crack-crack! Bang! Crack-bang-bang-bang!
Both sides hunched and fired pistols across the short gap. The slaves, former IS instructors, at least had the sense to find cover and get low. The gangsters, frantic just to draw, stood where they were and pulled the trigger. A storm of rounds crossed the close distance between them, and two of the gangsters dropped while our side took nothing.
In that span I alone moved fast to the side. Unlike the slaves, who had thrown themselves behind cover, I broke position on pure speed. The men in front of me were less dangerous than the ones on the flanks and at my back.
Inside the warehouse, drowned in dark, a little movement was enough to hide a body. Once I was in the dark—
"Invisibility."
⟨ Invisibility ⟩
Concealed, I ran, hunting them. Owl-like night vision let me move through the black warehouse without the slightest hindrance.
"Fucking—kill them all!"
The boss's voice rang through the warehouse, and from every side the men who had been hiding opened up with automatic rifles.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
Tat-tat-tat-bang! Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
Bullets poured in around the Mercedes. The slaves, tucked behind the Benz's body, scrap iron from the abandoned plant, and the pillars, ducked and barely rode out the hail. Meanwhile I ran through the dark like a thieving cat.
The first target came into view—a man risen behind a stack of crates, hosing the floor with a machine gun. I sprinted at him and blew his head off.
Bang! Thud!
Before the man with the burst skull could even topple sideways, I snatched up the machine gun he had dropped, swung the muzzle, and sprayed the man standing on the opposite side.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
Thup-thup-thup-thud-thud-thud!
The burst swept the ground around him, and his body took the rounds and flew backward. Two down. I threw aside the empty machine gun and ran again.
"Finish it! What the hell are you doing!"
At the shout, the men ringing the place searched for me. But there was no way they would find an invisible body in pitch dark.
The boss shouted again.
"Lights! Turn on the lights and fight, you idiots!"
An abandoned factory was not about to have power. They switched on the searchlights they had brought, and they had no idea how bad a choice that was. The moment the lights came on, they forgot that their own positions would be given away.
I charged the nearest man and sprayed an AK-47 pulled from my magic pouch.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
"Guh—!"
Another one gone. Then the men who had seen the muzzle flash poured pistols and machine guns all at once toward where I had been.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-bang!
I moved fast and slipped the rounds. A few hit my thigh, but the Armor Skin vest, worn three layers thick, had turned the skin of my whole body into something like three plates of steel. Bullets that punched only the cloth ricocheted without breaking skin. Moving through the fire, I finished the last of them.
Tat-tat-tat-bang!
"Aaagh!"
Once the men who had surrounded us were all down, the gunfire stopped.
"Looks like the bastard ran. Hey! Load the stuff, fast. We're going after him."
At my order the slaves hurried. They gathered the drug packets spilled across the floor, moved the case of money, and loaded it all into the trunk. One of them walked with a gun and put a bullet in the forehead of every man still breathing.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
No witnesses could be left. We had just finished clearing the inside when engines sounded outside.
Vroooom!
So they're running.
"Get in, now!"
I got the slaves aboard and started the engine.
Vroom!
I hauled the wheel around and floored the accelerator.
Vroooaaam!
Torque surged, and the G-Wagen shot forward. I drove straight at the closed warehouse door.
Crash-crash-crash!
The thin iron door shattered and flew, and the G-Wagen burst out of the warehouse.
Clatter-clatter-clatter!
We rolled over the fallen door, and ahead of us vehicle lights were already leaving the factory. I couldn't afford to leave anyone alive.
"We're going."
I hit the accelerator.
Vroooaaaaam!
The heavy vehicle tore after them.
