Chapter Fifteen
A t breakfast, Mathias’s phone buzzed from where it lay face down on the kitchen table.
The man picked it up to glance at the screen, then pushed aside his coffee and stepped away to take the call.
Rayan waited, his plate of eggs abandoned, willing it to be Belkov with news—any news.
He needed something concrete to counter the crippling uncertainty.
When Mathias returned, his coffee was cold, and he was holding the map Rayan had given him. He spread it across the table, and Rayan could see he’d made a series of markings, outlining a route that went from Calais through Germany and into Poland.
“Belkov got word from his contact. The ?obuzi, a Polish gang from Lublin, have been active in France in recent weeks. Apparently, they’re bringing a group back with them to Korczowa.”
Rayan stared at the location Mathias had circled on the map. He felt the first tendril of relief since he’d arrived at the camp to find the girls alone. It meant there was still hope for Farhan. “He’s headed to Poland?”
“The southeast, near the Ukraine border. There’s no guarantee he’s with them, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.
There are several factories in the area, where they put migrants to work.
Belkov said his man has reached out to the local ?obuzi leader, Filip Zabawski, who’ll meet us there.
It’s our best bet for finding your friend.
But we need to move fast. They scatter quickly. ”
“We?” Rayan glanced up at Mathias. He’d been somewhat subdued since his conversation with Belkov the previous evening. It must have been difficult confronting the world he’d left behind. Rayan felt a twinge of guilt for his responsibility in that.
“I’m not going to pretend to understand what’s going on with you right now with all of this,” Mathias said. “But I’m not letting you go alone. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. I need you to stay sharp, understand?”
Rayan nodded.
“Good.” Mathias reached out and tapped Rayan’s cheek with his palm. “Then listen up. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Because they had to move quickly, there was no time to get false papers issued.
They would have to transport Farhan back the way the smugglers had taken him without documentation.
Mathias hired a small box truck from a rental company on the outskirts of the city.
He used a different name and paid in cash.
Before getting on the road, they swung by the warehouse and loaded a large furniture crate into the truck.
Provided they managed to find Farhan, the plan was that he would only use the crate for the crossing from Poland to Germany.
It had slits along the sides for ventilation and was just big enough to fit a man of Farhan’s size.
They tossed in a stack of padded moving blankets for him to use on the return journey.
Being jostled about in the back of the truck would be far from comfortable, but it was better than the alternative.
“If anyone asks, we’re traveling to pick up a Venetian credenza from my vendor in Krakow.
The paperwork’s in the glove compartment,” Mathias instructed Rayan as they drove out of Calais and onto the highway heading east. “We’ll pick up a few other pieces while we’re there—fill up the truck to make it difficult for the border guards to poke around. ”
Mathias, familiar with flouting the rules of engagement, had thought of every detail. To him, hurdles were meant to be cleared, and when his mind was set on something, there wasn’t much—legal or otherwise—that could stand in his way.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble until Bademeusel. There’s a checkpoint before leaving Germany.” Mathias adjusted the rearview mirror, a grim line forming across his forehead. “Getting into Poland is easy. It’s the way back we need to be concerned about.”
The chance of customs searching the truck meant they were traveling unarmed, a prospect Rayan knew didn’t sit well with Mathias.
But between the two of them, they had enough experience taking people down—with or without a weapon.
All he could do was hope they didn’t encounter any obstacles on the road they couldn’t handle.
“What’s this?” Rayan asked. Sitting between them in the footwell of the cab was a sealed cardboard box.
“A gift.”
Rayan raised an eyebrow. “Now we’re rewarding these assholes?”
Mathias shot him a sidelong look. “Don’t act so indignant. You know how this works.”
Rayan knew all too well. He sighed and stared at the back of the caravan crawling along in front of them. “How is Belkov these days?”
Mathias frowned and tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Same as always,” he said, navigating the truck into the left lane to pass. “Looking for any God-given opportunity to take more than his share.”
Rayan had a hunch Mathias was hiding something, or at least skirting the truth.
It was frustrating, the way Mathias’s first instinct was to withhold.
But then, that instinct had been crucial to both his success and his survival.
Rayan couldn’t have one without the other, yet he wished Mathias would be a little more forthcoming so he didn’t always have to guess what was going on in the man’s head.
“I’m surprised he was willing to help.”
“We developed somewhat of a mutual understanding in those last few years. When I left, he offered his assistance should I ever need it.” Mathias made a sour face. “And before you say it, no, we’re not friends.”
Rayan laughed. It was strange to imagine the two men getting along, especially considering how much they’d hated each other during his time in Montreal.
Rayan remembered several tense car rides back from Laval when Mathias had plotted aloud the details of the Bratva boss’s takedown.
Of course, city politics interfered with his plans.
They made an odd pair but were also complementary, two underdogs determined to get their due.
Outside the window, France passed in a blur. Rayan hadn’t been sure what would follow his request for a favor, but he should have known Mathias wouldn’t attempt anything half-assed. He was well aware of the risks Mathias was taking by helping him.
“Thank you,” Rayan said quietly. “For doing this.”
“I shouldn’t be.”
“You are good at it, though.”
“Smuggling people? You might be surprised to learn this is unfamiliar territory.”
“No…” Rayan searched for the right words. “Finding creative workarounds.”
“I believe the term is breaking the law . And yes, I’ve made quite a career of that.” Mathias turned on the wipers as a splatter of rain speckled the windshield. “You think stroking my ego will make me forget about the idiotic wild-goose chase we’re on?”
“It wouldn’t be the first.”
Mathias smirked. “No, it wouldn’t.”
“Tony always seemed to kick the real stinkers our way.”
“No surprises there. That man was happiest when he had me knee-deep in muck.”
Rayan grinned at the memory of standing outside Tony’s office, raised voices traveling down the corridor, as Mathias and the Collections boss engaged in yet another clash of wills. “It feels like a lifetime ago. Hard to believe he’s gone.”
Mathias said nothing. Rayan knew a part of him was still sore about the circumstances surrounding Tony’s death.
“He looked out for you, you know,” Rayan said. “I overheard him a few times at Le Rouge, dressing down some of the old guard when they started talking shit.”
Mathias’s expression grew reflective. “I owed him more than I realized.”
“I’m pretty sure he knew that.”
“Of course he did.” Mathias’s mouth tweaked. “He’d have used anything to hold over me.”
“It was his way of keeping you in line. Not much else seemed to work.”
Mathias gave a snort and caught his eye, their shared past glancing between them. “Look at you, Rayan. So perceptive.”
After eleven hours of driving, Mathias hit a wall. They’d just passed the German city of Cottbus when he exhaled heavily and flicked on his turn signal, guiding the truck toward a nearby exit. “We’re done for the day.”
Rayan shared the man’s sentiment. His whole body felt stiff, and he was desperate to stretch his legs. Mathias pulled into an unassuming motel a short distance from the highway and parked in the deserted lot. They would spend the night here and make the crossing into Poland the following morning.
While Mathias went to pick up keys at the front desk, Rayan walked to the gas station across the road for coffee and cigarettes. It paid to be preemptive with Mathias. There was a glass case of hot food by the register, and Rayan took a carton and filled it with exotic convenience store delicacies.
Back at the room, Mathias eyed his selection warily.
“I think that’s schnitzel,” Rayan offered.
“It could be horse meat for all I care,” Mathias muttered.
After they’d eaten, Rayan sat behind Mathias on the bed, working out the knots in the man’s back. “I’ll drive tomorrow.”
“No,” Mathias said. “I want to make the crossing.”
“You don’t think I can handle it?”
Mathias tilted his chin to look at him. “You’re a useless liar. You’ll be spilling your guts before the border guard even opens his mouth.”
Rayan jabbed his thumbs into the muscle below Mathias’s shoulder blades and was rewarded with a sharp grunt. “I’m an excellent liar.”
Mathias chuckled. “See? Useless.”
Rayan smiled despite himself and slid his fingers to the nape of Mathias’s neck, gentle this time.
His touch elicited the slightest of shivers.
There was a line Mathias walked carefully—the division between resistance and submission.
Sometimes, while Rayan had the man in his mouth, Mathias permitted him to move his hand lower.
Then, just as quickly, Mathias would pull away, the flicker of something indeterminable in his eyes.
Rayan dropped his hands and pressed his lips to the warm skin behind Mathias’s ear, leaving a trail of kisses. “Walk me through tomorrow.”