Page 40 of A Life Imagined
“Farhan Taleb.”Rayan paused.“The man from the beach.He and his daughters ended up at the camp.He was taken from the Jungle earlier today.”
“And you’re going to go out there and bring him back?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re being stupid, Rayan.”
“No, I’m taking action.”
Mathias exhaled in frustration.Trust him to twist my words.“He’s not your responsibility.”
“He wanted me to thank you for saving the girls.Amina and Zahra are their names.And they need their father.They can’t be alone in this world.”
Mathias remembered the clench of those tiny arms around his neck.He clicked his tongue.“You’re too soft.”
Rayan fixed him with a steady gaze.“But you knew that already.”
Mathias stared back.He’d been mistaken.Rayan might have looked like he had before, but this man was different.He’d come here not as a lackey, not as a lover, but as an equal.
Mathias stood and folded up the map then slipped it into his pocket.“I may still be in contact with the Bratva,” he admitted finally.“I’ll see what I can find out.But think carefully before you decide to get involved.There are more factors than you realize at play here.You don’t get to dip your toe in only to pull it back out again.”
“Don’t worry,” Rayan said tightly.“I have no intention of backing out.”
Mathias kept his old phone in the safe in the study.He took it out later that evening and plugged it in to charge.It was like unearthing a little black book of Canada’s seedy underbelly.Rayan’s former number was the only one not saved.He’d had that memorized, dialed by heart each time.
He scrolled through the list of contacts, all coded so that at first glance, they appeared a strange mashup of unintelligible aliases.Police personnel identified by the last digits of their badge number, councilors by the name of their arrondissement, family members by physical features or famous fuckups.Belkov’s number was simply saved underConnard.
When he got to it, Mathias stopped.He hadn’t spoken to the Russian since he’d left Montreal.But he still remembered the man’s promise: “The Bratva will answer.”Perhaps it was time he tested that out.
The phone rang several times before Belkov picked up.“To what do I owe the honor?”He sounded amused and predictably inebriated.
“What do you know about the trafficking groups operating in central Europe?”
“Not even a ‘hello, how are things’?”the Russian mocked.
“Not like you to waste time on pleasantries.”
Belkov laughed.“Direct as always.Is this your new vocation, Beauvais?People smuggling?I figured you’d be running a resort in Cabo.”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“That you are.”
“I’m after information on who’s shopping migrants around the industries for free labor.”
“I’d say damn near all of them.You’ve got the Polish gangs, the Lithuanians… don’t even get me started on the Bulgarian mafia.We don’t have much to do with them once we get the people into Europe.We collect our fee and hand them over.But I know someone who oversees dealings along the Balkan corridor.He should be able to steer you in the right direction.Why the sudden interest?”
“I’m looking for someone who was picked up in Northern France within the last twenty-four hours.”
“I pity the poor sucker if he’s found himself in your sights.”
“How easy will it be to track him down?”
Belkov sucked his teeth.“Not easy, but not impossible.”
Mathias leaned back in his chair.“How about you tell me what you want in exchange.”
There was a low chuckle in his ear.“You should have started with small talk.Buttered me up a bit.Then you’d have a better idea of what it is I want.”
