The Other Son - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

ALEXANDER SÖDERBERG has worked as a television screenwriter and lives in the countryside in the south of Sweden.The Other Son is his second novel.

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**This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof**

Copyright © 2015 Alexander Soderberg

1

(ISTANBUL)

The coffee was sweet, black, and treacly.

Sophie left it untouched, as did Aron, who was sitting beside her in the lavish room listening to Basir, the fat Turk opposite them on the other side of the desk, as he tried to haggle and gain the upper hand.

Behind Basir’s bulky frame sat his silent bodyguard. Wiry, swarthy, and alert, he sat there observing everything. The bodyguard had searched them brusquely and thoroughly before the meeting began. Everything was fine now. Basir smiled at them as if they were old friends. But they had never met before. Basir was a front, the weapons were destined to end up somewhere else. Where didn’t matter. But he was important because he was the one they were negotiating with. Basir was very talkative. He babbled and chattered as if the sheer quantity of words he uttered would improve his position, rather than what he was actually saying.

Sophie interrupted him.

“We’ll send the goods through, and you’ll have to get them out,” she said. “Everything has to go smoothly, otherwise it could all grind to a halt. And if it grinds to a halt, there’s a greater risk of mistakes happening.”

Basir dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand.

“I know this city. I know everyone, the police, customs officers, transport officials. This is my city; everything will be fine, trust me.”

The room was ostentatious, overblown. Everything was dark red—thick carpets, long curtains, big, heavy furniture, brass ornaments all over the place.

“So what do you need us for, then? ” Sophie asked.

His smile wavered slightly.

“You’ve got the weapons,” he said.

“And we’ll supply them in small consignments over a period of four months. That’s how we’re going to do this.”

“And we’ll pay after each consignment,” Basir said. “That’s the best way, believe me,” he repeated.

“I believe you, but that isn’t what’s going to happen.” She smiled.

Basir looked offended. “Isn’t it? ”

A phone rang twice in a neighboring room.

She said calmly, “You pay in one installment, for everything. Pay- able now.”

He glanced quickly at his watch.

“What if it does grind to a halt, if something happens? If we lose a consignment? ” he asked.

Sophie smiled.

“Are you in a hurry? ” she asked.

He pretended not to understand.

“You looked at the time,” Sophie explained.

“I do that occasionally. Don’t you? ” His laugh sounded false and put-on. Almost like a cough.

He wasn’t what she had been expecting, Basir. According to the people who had helped set up the deal, Basir was supposed to be a reasonable man. Calm, straightforward, and uncomplicated, with a degree of honor in his approach to business, the nature of his business notwithstanding. But this man was quite different from that.

“Yes, when I’m in a hurry,” she said.

“Well, I’m not in a hurry.” He laughed again.

Everything felt very peculiar. Sophie glanced at Aron to see if he was feeling the same as she was. He was busy studying Basir.

“What was your question? ” she asked the Turk.

“Yes, what was my question . . . ? ” he muttered, slightly bewildered, as he cast a glance at his bodyguard, who replied quietly in Turkish without taking his eyes off Aron.

“If we lose a consignment . . .” Basir said.

“You won’t,” Sophie said. “You just said so, because you know everyone. You know what goes on in this city. It’s yours.”

“True.” He laughed again. He was getting more nervous.

Sophie considered the situation. She had a feeling that he saw these negotiations as something to be endured, and that he wanted to get away. That his reasons for sitting there were quite different from hers. That this wasn’t about doing business at all. Because if it were, this wasn’t the way it was done.

“So, what do you say, Basir? ” she asked.

He pretended to think. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He was off balance.

“Let’s do as you say, then,” he said. “We pay you now; you arrange to send us the weapons as you suggested. That’s probably best.”

Just like that? She could feel Aron’s electrified reaction beside her. He felt the same as she did.

The bodyguard adjusted his position on the chair. Aron noticed.

“Thank you, Basir,” she said.

“Stay and have coffee with us,” he said.

The mistakes were coming thick and fast now. You didn’t drink coffee after a deal. Not with a man like this. You drank it before. And they had already done that. Stillborn chat that didn’t go anywhere.

She turned to Aron. He was staring at Basir, reading him like an open book.

“Aron? ” she asked.

“I know,” he said quietly. They heard heavy footsteps on the stairs outside the closed door. Steps that were making their way up toward them.

The bodyguard reached for the gun in his shoulder holster. Aron threw himself at him as Sophie rushed toward the door behind them. No key, just a handle. She grabbed hold of a chair and wedged the back of it under the handle. The bodyguard was out cold. Aron had moved on to Basir, and had him on the floor. A lead paperweight on the desk took care of the thickset Turk.

Heavy thuds against the door.

They were on the fourth floor. No way out apart from the door.

Aron grabbed the bodyguard’s pistol, tipped the desk over, and aimed the gun at the door. Sophie crouched down next to the door. The blows got heavier. The door was about to give way.

At a signal from Aron she pulled the chair away and the door flew open.

Aron fired several shots in quick succession, moving the pistol a few centimeters from side to side, until the magazine was empty and the gun started to click. Then he vanished behind the desk.

Silence. Gunpowder, the smell of cordite. Sophie stared at a point on the floor, trying to focus. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she thought it must be audible throughout the room.

Suddenly Aron was at her side, pulling her to her feet and tucking her behind him.

“We’re going down; stick close to me. When I say stop, you stop. When I say move, you move.”

They left the room, stepping over a dead body in the doorway. There was another one lying on its back farther down the stairs. Sophie tried not to look. Aron picked up a pistol beside the body and moved on cautiously. He gave her quiet instructions. A few minutes later they reached the ground floor. There was life outside, mopeds, motorbikes, people.

He told her to wait while he checked the street. Then he waved her to him.

The smell of exhaust fumes hit her as she emerged onto the street.

They melted into the crowd and began to walk away quickly. She turned around after a while and found herself meeting the gaze of a man who was making his way toward them through the mass of people. A big man, almost two meters tall, swarthy, moving quickly and determinedly.

“Aron!” she said.

He had seen the man too, and grabbed Sophie by the arm and began to run, then he let go. Sophie stayed close to him. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, shielding her from strong emotions. She just had to get away, get to...