Suddenly Omar stopped and pulled out his revolver. Kamil and Ali followed suit. The light picked out the whites of Rejep’s eyes. He looked very young and frightened.
“What is it?”
“Over there. See them?” Omar whispered, pointing.
Just beyond the edge of the light, Kamil could make out what appeared to be a group of men facing them only meters away. He heard Rejep’s sharp intake of breath and Ali whispering to him to stay calm.
Kamil signaled to Omar, then stepped sideways into the darkness. He moved quickly and soundlessly toward the waiting men while Omar held the light in their eyes.
Suddenly, one of the figures toppled over.
“They’re dummies.” Kamil walked into the circle of light, pulling one of the figures behind him, its cloth body black with mold, straw and wool swelling through its disintegrating skin. “Dressmaker’s forms. Look, this one still has scraps of some kind of uniform on it.”
Omar started laughing, the sound multiplying as he did.
“Quiet,” Kamil commanded. “If there are men around, they can hear us.”
Suddenly one of the figures moved its head. An enormous rat glared at them before hurling itself from its perch. Its piercing cry rattled Rejep, who whispered to Ali in a frightened voice, “Maybe it’s like the magistrate says. Maybe it’d be better to come during the day. I heard some of these rats eat children.”
“Go on, you drag tail,” Ali teased him, pushing him ahead. “That’s a rat and you’re a man.”
Rejep moved closer to Omar, who held the lamp. Rats scuffled close by, but Kamil thought the men all felt easier now, as if their laughter had sucked the poison from the night.
Rejep turned around to Ali, smiling. “That was some rat,” he chuckled. But before he could finish, he stumbled to a halt and said Ali’s name in a breathless, quizzical tone. “Come on, don’t joke with me like that.”
“What is it, Rejep?” Kamil asked.
Omar had forged ahead and the edge of the lamplight receded from them.
“Omar,” Kamil called in an urgent whisper. “Omar.”
Omar turned and held up his lamp. “What?”
“Ali’s gone.” Rejep’s voice trembled.
Omar walked back to them. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone. He was here a second ago. Now he’s gone.”
Omar and Kamil held their revolvers ready. Omar held the lamp high as they searched the room, calling Ali’s name, but the only response was the squeak and scrabble of rats. The darkness seemed to swallow the light.
Rejep followed behind. “They took him,” he said in a wavering voice. “It’s my fault. I should have kept him in my sight. I looked away and now he’s gone. It’s my fault.” Rejep raised his gun with a shaking hand. “They’re going to kill him,” he cried. Then he pulled the trigger.
The report shattered the air with a violent sound that filled the basement and rolled over them from all directions like a physical force.
“Allah protect us,” Omar exclaimed.
Kamil peered intently into the darkness, ears alert for any movement.
Rejep was on his knees, eyes wild, breathing raggedly, his revolver fallen to the floor.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Omar took his collar and yanked him to his feet. “Get up,” he bellowed. “What are you, a virgin? I’ll fuck you if that’s what you need. Get up like a man. Take your gun.”
Still trembling, Rejep reached down for his gun, failed to find his holster, so stuck it in his waistband.
Omar shook his head. “Now we’re all deaf,” he snarled.
They continued the search for Ali, calling his name. Finally, Kamil had had enough. “We’re getting out. We need more light and we need help,” he said in frustration. “Give me the lamp.”
Omar hesitated, then handed it over.
“Let’s go,” Kamil said curtly. “Watch our backs.”
Kamil retraced their steps, orienting himself with difficulty by the pillars and piles of bricks and machines, until he saw the corridor. Relieved, he ran along it, then pushed through the door and onto the pier. It was dark. The other lamp was gone. So were the prisoners and the two guards.
Omar cursed. “They must have come from the station and taken the prisoners. Where are the extra men?”
Kamil laid a warning hand on Omar’s arm and pointed to the pier at their feet. Pieces of cut rope snaked across the wood. They exchanged a sharp look.
Kamil drew his gun once more and gestured to Omar to follow him to the end of the pier. Kamil held the lamp out over the water. The boat was gone. He leaned over farther. Bobbing against the pilings of the pier were the bodies of the two policemen.
Kamil wondered how long they had been in the basement. It seemed like forever but he thought it had only been a few minutes.
Omar walked up to the shaking Rejep and took him by the collar. “Take one of the horses from the marble works and ride as fast as you can to Oun Kapanou station and get help. That’s the closest station. Don’t let anyone there put you off, you scrawny-assed bastard. Overturn their card table if you have to. Understand? Tell them there are two dead policemen and there may be more if they don’t get their asses over here. Do you think you can do that?”
Kamil could see from Rejep’s face that anger was beginning to displace his fear. Kamil was furious at Omar for insisting on this disastrous adventure, but at some level he had to admire the police chief’s understanding of men.
When Rejep was gone, Kamil gave Omar his revolver, took off his jacket, and let himself fall into the water. It enfolded him, absolving him for a moment of the need for thought. His boots clung to his legs like a second skin and seemed to buoy him. Then his head broke the surface and he found his nose just a hand’s breadth away from the younger man’s curly hair. He tucked the man under his arm and dragged him through the water to the wharf, where Omar waited to pull him onto the flagstones. Kamil went back for the second man. He saw the body of the drowned smuggler snagged under the pier, but decided to let the police fish him out.
They laid the policemen out in the lamplight. They were handsome men, Kamil thought. Both wore slim gold bands. Their wives might have admired them like this in sleep, their faces defenseless, easier to adore. He remembered the younger man’s smile and he imagined that they had been happy, rich in life if not in wealth. Perhaps they had children. He pictured a young black-eyed boy with curly hair and an easy smile and felt inexpressably sad.
Omar shook his head, clicked his tongue, and pointed to the single slash in each man’s uniform just above the heart. “Perfect cut.”
A master of his art admiring the handiwork of another, Kamil thought angrily. If Omar hadn’t stubbornly insisted on looking for that tunnel, his men would still be alive. But then he saw Omar’s face and reconsidered his wrath. The police chief looked harrowed.
“Stupid,” Omar whispered harshly to himself. “Stupid to risk the lives of my men. I would never have done that in the war. For what? So I could prove there was a tunnel. Of course, there’s a tunnel. Allah. Allah is the enemy of pride.”
“That’s probably where they took Ali,” Kamil pointed out in a neutral voice, not trusting himself to say more.
He heard a commotion and looked around to see Rejep jump from his horse and run toward them, Shishko at his heels with the original backup force. They were too late, Kamil thought.
Dozens of policemen with lamps and torches swarmed through the basement of the Tobacco Works, islands of light floating through the darkness.
“It’s got to be here,” Omar shouted, flinging debris aside. “I know it’s here. It has to be here.”