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In the blink of an eye, I'm on him. My hand snakes out, grappling for the gun with a precision that betrays calm amidst my fear. The weapon is mine in a heartbeat, wrested from his grip with a force that leaves no room for resistance.
Without a moment's hesitation, I use the butt of the gun, driving it into his temple with a swift, decisive blow. The impact reverberates through my arm, a jolt of finality. His body crumples to the ground, the man instantly unconscious.
Panting, I stand over him, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from my system. The gun feels heavy in my hand. In the distance, the sounds of the bustling city seem a world away, disconnected from the raw reality of the alley.
For a moment I linger, catching my breath, my mind racing with the implications of this encounter. Was it a random mugging or something more sinister tied to my mission to find Mariya?
I pocket the gun, a necessary precaution in this unknown city. The need to find Mariya, to ensure her safety, spurs me on with renewed intensity. Every second counts, and I can't afford any more distractions. The gun secured, I search the man for any clue of who he is and why he targeted me. I quickly find his phone.
The image staring back at me from the screen is my own, accompanied by a concise description and a clear directive: “Capture Alive.” A chill runs down my spine. It's evident now that I’m not the only one hunting. I'm being hunted as well.
Tucking the phone into my pocket, I haul the unconscious man over my shoulder with a grunt. To any onlooker, it's just another night in Istanbul, a city that sees its fair share of inebriated tourists. I blend into the shadows, my makeshift drunk friend a convincing prop in the urban theater.
The trek back to the hotel is a careful one of avoidance, slipping through less traveled alleyways and side streets. By the time I reach my temporary hideout, my muscles are screaming, but the adrenaline coursing through me dulls the pain.
Inside, I secure my unwelcome guest to a chair using whatever I can find—cords from the drapes, a belt—things that will ensure he won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
As minutes tick by, transforming into what feels like hours, my patience wears thin. But I know the importance of what he holds in his still-slumbering mind. Information is power, and right now, it's the key to saving Mariya.
Finally, his eyelids flutter, a groan escaping his lips as consciousness returns. I stand over him, an unspoken threat as he continues to wake up.
"Welcome back," I say, my voice low and controlled. "We have a lot to discuss."
The fear in his eyes as they focus on me is tangible. He knows he's caught, but what he doesn't know yet is just how far I'm willing to go for answers.
I toss a glass of cold water into his face for good measure, a rude but effective awakening.
The shock of the sudden cold leaves him disoriented, his eyes darting around the room in confusion.
Leaning in close, I fix a steady gaze upon him. "You've been out for a while," I say, my voice a low rumble. "A few days, actually."
His eyes widen, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them. It's a lie, of course, but he doesn't need to know that. In this game of cat and mouse, misinformation is a weapon as sharp as any blade.
The man's initial shock fades, replaced by a brash defiance. "I'm not telling you anything," he spits out, venom in his voice.
I lean back, crossing my arms. The air grows thick with tension as I wait a few moments before speaking again.
"Where is Ahmet keeping my wife?" I demand. The tone in my voice and the vengeance in my eyes leave no room for negotiation.
The man clamps his mouth shut, a stubborn glint in his eyes. He's loyal; I'll give him that. But loyalty has its limits, and I'm prepared to push those limits until they break.
I study him for a moment, weighing my options. Time is ticking away, and with each passing second, Mariya is further from my grasp. I need to play this right and apply pressure where it will hurt the most.
"All right," I say, standing up. "Let's try this another way."
I pace the room, my mind racing with strategies. This man is a small component in a larger machine, but even the smallest component can cause the entire machine to grind to a halt if leveraged correctly. I need to find his weak spot, the chink in his armor that will make him talk.
Lucky for me, I have just the thing.
I study my captive closely; his defiance would be almost commendable under different circumstances. Time, however, is a luxury I can't afford. Reaching into my coat, I pull out a gun, watching his eyes widen with the instinctive fear of the hunted. In one fluid motion, I aim and fire. Instead of a bullet, a small dart embeds itself in the man's neck, delivering its secret.
"That," I say calmly, "is poison from the lily of the valley. It's a beautiful yet deadly plant. I learned about it while sending flowers to Mariya. It’s quite effective."
Fear replaces bravado on the man's face as sweat beads on his brow. His breaths grow ragged and shallow.
"In a few minutes, you're going to feel drowsy," I continue, keeping my voice even and measured. "That's the poison starting to work. If untreated, you'll eventually slip into a coma, followed by your organs shutting down, one by one."
His earlier defiance has vanished, replaced by sheer terror. He writhes against his bindings, his eyes wide and wild.
