Chapter Sixteen #2
“Of course.” Gorelik cleared his throat. “Can Miriam get you some tea while I start putting the documents in order?”
A slight woman with a wheat-colored braid draped over one shoulder stood from behind the front counter.
“Do you have anything stronger?” Mathias asked, suddenly itching for a drink.
Gorelik gave him an indulgent smile. “For you, Mr. Beauvais, I have just the thing.”
He spoke to the woman in Polish, and she disappeared up a narrow set of stairs tucked away at the back of the store. Gorelik indicated for Mathias to follow him into his private office. They each took a seat, and the man fired up the computer on his desk.
“Would you like the pieces on consignment?”
“No, paid in full. I’ll settle in cash this evening,” Mathias instructed.
Gorelik raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.
He began tapping away on his keyboard. Soon the door opened, and the woman entered, carrying a tray with two narrow glasses and a crystal decanter.
She poured the clear liquor into both glasses and held one out to Mathias.
She left the other on the tray and took her leave.
“Please.” Gorelik gestured and lifted his own glass.
The liquor burned on the way down, instantly settling Mathias’s frayed nerves.
“And what about delivery?” Gorelik asked, his eyes trained on the computer screen. “Did you want us to arrange the shipment?”
“I’ll take it all today.”
This caught the man’s attention, and his gaze flicked to Mathias. “I’m afraid our store hand has gone home for the day.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ve brought my own muscle.” He stood and reached for the decanter. “May I?”
“By all means,” Gorelik said.
Mathias refilled both glasses then raised his to his lips and downed it gratefully.
Several shots later, he settled the account with Gorelik and arranged to meet the man back at the store in an hour to load their purchases into the truck.
Once outside, Mathias checked his phone to find a message from Rayan.
He buttoned his jacket against the cold then headed down the alley and out onto the street.
He found Rayan, Farhan, and the three other men from the silo at a park several blocks away.
They were sitting on two adjacent benches under the glow of a nearby streetlamp.
Each had a polystyrene take-out container perched on his lap and was tucking into the boxes of sausages and chips like they hadn’t eaten in days.
Mathias caught Rayan’s eye as he approached, and Rayan held out a container of food. Mathias shook his head. He wanted to enjoy his buzz a little longer. He sat down across from Rayan and listened as the men attempted brief introductions, for Mathias’s sake in a mixture of English and French.
Farhan, he knew. Then there was Ibrahim—a skinny kid from a small village near Nyala in Sudan—and Saif, who turned out to have lived not far from Farhan in Aleppo.
The fourth man, Hayat, was Eritrean and said little.
He looked to be several years older than the rest. They spoke of their wives and families, how they’d ended up in Calais, and how long it had been since they’d left home.
When the conversation got too complicated, they slipped into Arabic.
Rayan listened carefully as the men talked, interjecting occasionally in a quiet murmur and translating for Mathias when he deemed it necessary.
Mathias was less interested in their chatter and more in the way Rayan appeared to move between the two sides of himself, one he recognized, the other less familiar.
They seemed more enmeshed these days. He heard Rayan mention his brother’s name, and there was a harmony to the way he said it that hadn’t been there before.
Mathias felt a rush of fondness. He became aware of the transience of the moment. How strange it was that they were here at all. He knew that whatever was going to happen would happen soon, but for the moment, he had this.
With four extra sets of hands, it didn’t take long to load the pieces into the truck.
Rayan and Mathias waited until the vendor had retreated into the store before making Farhan and the other men comfortable—or as much as possible, considering the circumstances.
Using the moving blankets, they formed makeshift seats amid the cluster of furniture and strapped down the larger pieces to prevent them from falling over.
They had a long night ahead of them. When everything was ready, Mathias secured the roller door at the back of the truck and stepped over to the cab. The man’s face was stiff with fatigue.
He pulled open the driver’s door, but Rayan took his hand and eased the keys from his grip. “Let me.”
Instead of the expected brush-off, Mathias simply nodded, no longer possessing the energy to fight him.
Rayan had barely maneuvered the truck onto the road before Mathias was asleep, his forehead pressed against the passenger window.
Rayan made his way out of the city and onto the highway.
It would be at least another five hours until they reached the German border.
He would find a place nearby for them to stop and regroup.
Then they’d wait for daylight before getting the men into position.
Mathias had said they’d draw more attention as high-end antique dealers if they attempted the crossing in the dead of night.
Rayan drove along the darkened highway in eerie silence.
They’d established a system before leaving Krakow.
If the men in the back needed anything, Farhan would knock twice on the wall separating the cab from the cargo box.
As of yet, Rayan hadn’t heard so much as a whisper.
He had a feeling their passengers were well aware of the stakes.
He stole a glance at Mathias’s sleeping face, and his throat tightened.
There was no way he could have done this without him.
Mathias had taken each obstacle in his stride, operating with his usual unflappable efficiency.
But even Mathias had his limits. “I need you more than they do,” he had said.
Rayan hadn’t anticipated how hard those words would hit.
They’d cut through all other concerns, leaving behind a renewed sense of clarity.
In the past, it had been Mathias who led and Rayan who followed, but they were tied together now. When he went one way, Mathias was tugged along with him. This trip had made that abundantly clear.
It was a responsibility Rayan had little experience navigating.
He had to find a way to do what was needed—for Farhan and his family, for the people in the camp—without endangering what was most important to him.
And while the desire to help hadn’t lessened, the recklessness with which he’d approached that objective had.
He’d meant what he’d said to Mathias. Rayan couldn’t keep pulling him into situations that put his life on the line. He loved him too much for that.
Rayan gripped the steering wheel. His heart felt sore.
While he would never know what his mother thought of him, in Mathias’s eyes, there was nothing about who he was that needed redeeming.
He’d spent so long hiding his love for the man.
He’d never imagined there would be a time when Mathias would turn around and match it breath for breath.