The Winter Thief

97

Vahid tenderly straightened the tine of Rhea’s hairpin, then put it in his pocket. It took only a short time to walk from Akrep headquarters across the grounds of Yildiz Palace to Huseyin Pasha’s office in the Great Mabeyn.

The secretary announced him and then asked him to wait until Huseyin Pasha had finished his meeting. Vashid paced impatiently. After half an hour, several well-dressed men emerged, followed by their secretaries and a scribe. Finally Vahid was shown into an office more luxurious than his own. He strode in, his eyes seeking the man he had sworn to kill, the one who had stolen Rhea from him and caused her death.

The sight of Huseyin’s scarred face brought back memories of Rhea’s charred body on the sidewalk. He started when he saw Kamil standing by the open French doors. Vahid smelled the cloying scent of lilacs enter with the breeze. An invisible bee buzzed insistently as the two men glared at each other.

“Selam aleykum, Vahid.” The note of satisfaction in Kamil’s voice caused Vahid more concern than the hostility. His wound began to throb.

“Aleykum selam,” he answered cautiously. He hadn’t expected to ask about Rhea in front of Kamil and wondered if he should return another time.

“If you have something to say,” Huseyin snapped, “let’s hear it, or don’t waste my time.”

Kamil shut the door and came to stand beside his brother-in-law.

“These have been trying times.” Vahid began in a neutral tone, wishing Kamil would leave.

“The times have certainly been treacherous for Armenians,” Kamil agreed in a hard tone, “and for socialists. In fact, for a lot of ordinary, innocent people. Their graves line the road from the Choruh Valley to Trabzon. But you know that, don’t you? You put them there.”

Kamil’s tone was sarcastic, but Vahid was satisfied to hear the anguish beneath the magistrate’s words. Undermining Kamil emotionally and morally was almost better than killing him outright. The cruelest death was the slow rot of self-doubt.

“I’m amazed to hear you criticize His Highness’s decision to send troops to put down an armed rebellion,” Vahid responded, “but what else can one expect from a traitor?”

Kamil stepped toward him, but Huseyin pulled him back. “There’s no point,” he told Kamil.

A man who can be baited, Vahid thought, smiling inwardly. Passion made men weak.

“Do you deny that you ordered Ottoman soldiers to fire on the sultan’s troops?” Vahid asked. “And this charade about using your own fortune to help the refugees,” he scoffed. “No funds have been withdrawn from your bank. Nothing was sold to account for the sudden, mysterious appearance of forty thousand British pounds in gold and several large emeralds in your hands in Trabzon. Did you steal them? Perhaps from the Ottoman Imperial Bank?”

“You are a mass murderer,” Kamil responded in a cold voice. “Worse than that, you are a man who kills for a calculated reason, as if he were slaughtering pullets to sell at market. Did you get what you wanted? Were the deaths sufficient to get you promoted?”

“I don’t answer to you,” Vahid said offhandedly, and turned to Huseyin. “I want to know something.”

“What?”

Vahid wondered if the men were armed. He presumed Kamil was. He reached into his pocket and saw Kamil’s hand slip inside his jacket. Vahid slowly withdrew Rhea’s hairpin. The magistrate’s hand emerged empty.

Vahid placed the pin on a small table by Huseyin, then watched jealously as he picked it up. The sight of the precious artifact in Rhea’s lover’s hand was unbearable. He felt a desperate need to pierce his own skin until all the poison had run out.

“My wife’s hairpin!” Huseyin exclaimed. “Where did you get this?”

No wonder Rhea wouldn’t marry him, Vahid thought. She had already married this bastard. “Rhea was your wife?”

“Of course not,” Huseyin exclaimed. “Rhea was a young girl I was trying to help.” He dropped the pin on the table. “You harassed the poor girl. If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.”

“That’s a lie,” Vahid snarled. “She died because of you. You brought her to that taverna.”

“How dare you insinuate anything. Rhea was like my daughter.”

Vahid snatched up the pin and held it in Huseyin’s face. “Is this what a father gives his daughter?”

“Her fiancé asked me to buy something special for her. What business is it of yours?”

“What fiancé?”

“I ask you again, what business is it of yours? You did your best to destroy her life. I won’t let you destroy her reputation after her death.” Huseyin hobbled to the door and held it open. “You’ve caused enough tragedy for us all. Leave now.”

Overcome by confusion and an inchoate rage, Vahid slammed the door shut behind him.

Turning to Kamil, Huseyin explained, “Rhea’s father asked me to get rid of Vahid’s unwanted attentions. They were making it difficult for the girl to get married. Vahid threatened her father.”

“He misunderstood your relationship, but that explains why he was trying to kill you and why his men attacked Feride.” Kamil frowned and pressed his fist against his mouth. The thought of Vahid harming Feride made him want to finish the job he had left undone. He would have gone after him if he hadn’t already laid a satisfyingly malicious snare for the Akrep commander.

“What a viper,” Huseyin exclaimed. “We have to do something about him. Imagine the damage he could do if he were promoted to head up the new secret service?”

“It’s been taken care of,” Kamil answered, his jaw tight. He had come to Huseyin directly from Vizier Köraslan’s office, but Vahid had arrived before he could tell Huseyin about the meeting. Better even than shooting off Vahid’s other hand was the thought of the man shivering in the special cell Omar had reserved for him at Bekiraga Prison, where Vahid would wait, perhaps for a long time, for his trial.