She looked around at the men, most of them now asleep. They all looked so fit and strong, in the prime of their young lives. If she were to recover this weapon it would be up to them to contain the incident and maybe – most likely – use lethal force. She looked across at Glyn. He was reading a book; an old copy of Fatherland. As if sensing her appraisal, he raised his eyes from the page and gave her a wink. She couldn’t help but smile back and then felt annoyed at herself. She was in charge of this mission, for Christ’s sake; this was no time to be flirting with handsome captains.
She closed her eyes to get some rest. Who knew when she’d have a chance to sleep again in the next seventy-two hours?
As she allowed her thoughts to drift, Matt’s face came into her mind. She remembered a special dinner they’d had together once; a dinner that had ended up in the bath and then…All of a sudden, Matt’s face was replaced by Glyn’s. Startled, she opened her eyes slightly and saw that the captain was still looking at her.
Uh-oh, she thought. This might get messy.
15
ISTANBUL
As luck would have it, Regan Dransfield and Matt Rix were staying on the same floor. Matt had unpacked his own room and organised himself then made his way back to the room booked under the name of Regan Dransfield. Entering the room, he went directly to the safe and typed in the number that Steph had given him. Opening the door, he removed the contents from the safe and placed the various packages on the bed. Turning his attention first to a plastic bag, he pulled out two small black boxes and a cable. Matt studied the larger of the boxes, which bore the label Thales. He had requested the best gear and here it was: a secure Tetra multiband radio with all the ancillary equipment. The second box was wrapped in plastic, obviously brand new, and contained a retransmission device. Matt next upended a cloth bag and tipped a jumbled mess of electronics onto the bed, along with a weapon. Picking up the pistol he whistled to himself.
‘The CIA is legit!’ Matt said under his breath. He studied the Heckler & Koch P30SK. At only a little more than six inches, the weapon would be perfect for a concealed carry. He grabbed the paddle holster, which had tumbled from the bag with it, and jammed it in his cargo pants, then added the pistol. Matt took off his jacket and pulled his t-shirt down over the holster and looked in the mirror, turning to inspect himself from different angles. Nothing visible.
With his left hand, he clutched his t-shirt in a ball and then pulled it up in one swift action, his right hand flashed down towards the P30 and he ripped it out of the holster; his left hand flashed up and he intercepted the draw as the weapon came up to the centre of his chest. He punched it forward and held it with an 80/20 grip: eighty percent master hand and twenty percent non-master hand. He kept both eyes open and looked through the sights into the mirror. Pleased with himself, he returned the weapon back to the holster as fast as he’d drawn it and put his jacket back on.
Returning to the stash on the bed, he picked up a small plastic bag containing two micro listening devices and receiver that resembled a Nokia phone, as well as a disc containing software to be loaded onto his computer that would link all the communications and surveillance devices. At the bottom of the bag was a five-millimetre plug and a small circuit board. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket. A tracking device and a target indicator beacon rounded out the equipment. Steph had provided him with everything he’d asked for. Satisfied, Matt returned the things he didn’t need back to the safe.
Matt checked the corridor and then, when he was sure it was clear, made his way back down the hall to his own room. He turned his back to shield what he was doing from the security camera located above the elevators, and pulled the plug and circuit board from his pocket. Feeling under the hotel door lock, he located the small opening for the plug and inserted it into the hole. He switched on the power to the circuit board and the green light on the door lock flashed. He pushed open the door. Then, switching off the circuit board, he closed the door again and tried to open it with his room key. This time the light flashed red, as the lock failed to recognise his key. He would have to go and get the card recoded at the reception desk. But at least he knew now that he could access any room. Using the circuit board, he let himself into his room and set up his computer on the small desk next to the balcony door. He ran the coaxial cable from the small box next to his computer. The multiband receiver would allow him to use the monitoring devices within about a kilometre and a half of his room. The retransmission booster that he would later place on a high rooftop terrace would ensure that was the case.
Time to go and find my old friend Faisal Khan, he thought.
...
Walking along Divan Yolu Road, Matt mingled with the late afternoon crowd. The breeze had picked up slightly since the morning and spots of rain now heralded the storm front that was approaching. Matt’s stomach grumbled, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. After he found where Faisal would be staying, some street food might be the best economy of effort. He kept an eye open for the dissecting street that he would need, and then spotted it in the distance: Evkaf Street. Fifty metres down the hill on the right-hand side was the Hotel New House. The building had been painted a soft pastel yellow, except the ground level, which was painted black. He surveyed the building; four storeys high, iron bars on the windows of the first storey. The entrance was set back from the street and the reception was down a set of stairs. Down the side of the hotel was a covered walkway leading into a garden. Matt suspected the walkway continued on around the back as well, but he would have to confirm that later. On either side of the archway were two lanterns. The fact that both were still on, even at this time of day, suggested that they were never turned off and that the garden area would also be well lit.
Matt walked up to the hotel. He held his phone up to his ear and hit the record button, filming the hotel while having a false conversation – in Italian, to further disguise himself – about buying a new dog. He entered the reception, still talking on his phone. He smiled at the small lady behind the counter, mouthing hello as he walked past. He walked straight to the elevators at the back of the reception area. Testing the elevator, he found that no card was required to operate it; he was able to access each of the four floors. He then conducted a detailed recon of each floor, recording it all on his smart phone. There was an exit door at the end of each corridor, he noted, and these exits were not alarmed. Satisfied that he had all he needed, Matt returned to the ground floor and exited the hotel through the back garden, then continued up the hill towards the main road.
The modern tramline ran the length of Divan Yolu Road. Matt walked up to the token machine and purchased a red token for his trip then walked through the turnstile and waited for the next tram. Once on board the trip was straightforward. After fifteen minutes, Istanbul’s main train station came into view. Exiting with the crowd, Matt made his way to the large central hall and sat on one of the many steel benches. Settling in with a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to Istanbul he had purchased back in Bologna, he watched the comings and goings of the crowd over the top of his book. There was no telling how long he would need to wait. Perhaps he wouldn’t even pick up Faisal Khan here and would need to go to the hotel and get access to the guest list. He ran through multiple scenarios in his mind while scanning the hall for the Afghan. Presumably he would be wearing the shalwar kameez common to Afghanistan…or would he? Even though Turkey was predominantly Muslim, not many locals wore traditional dress, unless they were attending prayers – and even then, the style of dress was more progressive and Western. If Faisal Khan wanted to blend in, he might well be dressed in something other than his usual brown robes and vest.
A few hours passed and Matt was starting to feel restless. Perhaps he had missed him. Then someone approaching among a wave of passengers from a recently arrived train caught his eye. Matt almost didn’t recognise him at first. Taller than the average Turk, his hair was jet black and parted to one side, longish and curled at the bac
k – similar to the way Pakistanis wore their hair in the border regions. The long traditional beard of the Taliban fighter was gone and instead Khan was sporting a three-day growth. But it was the clothes that gave him away. Khan stood out from the crowd, dressed in light brown pants and a black oilskin jacket; the outfit just didn’t look right.
Matt followed Khan as the crowd exiting the station swept him along. The Afghan militant made his way out of the station and towards the tram stop, but rather than board a tram he instead walked alongside the tracks. He proceeded slowly up the road that snaked its way back towards the Blue Mosque. Carrying an Adidas sports bag on one shoulder, pulling a roller bag behind him with his right hand and clutching two plastic bags in his left, he made slow progress.
He stopped in front of several of the shops lining the street, gazing in the windows, occasionally entering one, making small talk with the shopkeepers. Matt realised Khan was employing classic counter surveillance techniques. He would stride briskly for a hundred metres or so before abruptly slowing down to a plodding pace. Stopping at a brightly lit shop to purchase a chicken shawarma, he suddenly looked over his shoulder and back down the hill. Matt, who had by this time moved ahead of Khan, rather than tailing him, watched with interest. Khan wouldn’t be looking for him, he knew. Rather, the Afghan was checking to see if the Turkish intelligence apparatus had picked him up. Matt decided to get on the next tram and continue up the hill to the hotel; there was a little Starbucks almost opposite the tram stop that would provide a perfect vantage point. Now that he knew what Khan looked like in his Western clothing, Matt would have no problem picking him out again.
Forty minutes later Faisal Khan came striding past the Starbucks. He turned and walked down the stairs into the reception of the Hotel New House. Matt gave him a few minutes then proceeded around the side to the fire stairs. He opened the ground-level door slightly and peered through. He spotted Khan waiting for the elevator. Matt made his way up the stairs to the second floor and waited, watching through the small window in the fire stairs door. He counted down twenty seconds then, when there was no sign of Khan, ran up the next flight of stairs two at a time. He was just in time to see Khan exit the elevator and proceed down the hallway towards his room. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. Matt waited for five minutes, then left the safety of the stairwell and walked quickly down the corridor to check the room number. The Afghan was in room 313. Matt had just returned to the door to the fire stairs when he heard a sound behind him. He slipped into the stairwell then, holding the door open a crack, looked back down the corridor.
Faisal Khan was leaving his room, dressed now in white and a black vest.
Bingo, thought Matt. This was a lucky break. Khan was off to evening prayers.
He hurried down the stairs and out the garden exit, then rounded the corner of the hotel in time to see Khan leave through the main door and walk up the street. The call to prayer echoing from minaret to minaret across the city gave Matt a fair idea of where the Afghan was headed. Matt looked down at his watch and smiled to himself.
He made his way back up the fire stairs to room 313. Taking the plug from his pocket, he pushed it into the electronic lock and pressed the small switch on the circuit board. The green light flashed on the door and Matt pushed it open and went inside.
The room was smaller than Matt had anticipated. There was an old leather chair in one corner next to a wooden wardrobe, a small desk and metal chair against the wall, and a double bed. The bathroom was immediately to the left of the door. Matt crossed the room to peer through the green curtains – which clashed horribly with the orange carpet and tan walls – he saw that a sliding door gave access to a small balcony.
Matt turned his attention to Khan’s belongings. He looked into one of the plastic bags sitting on the table and found it full of flatbread. Opening the wardrobe, he saw Khan’s jacket on a hanger. Matt took the small passive listening device he’d brought with him and fixed it to the inside of the jacket’s lapel, then moved on to inspect Khan’s sports bag. He carefully unzipped the bag and rummaged through the contents, which included what looked like a couple of garage remotes and a small battery pack and antenna.
I see you’re up to your old tricks, mate, thought Matt.
Matt removed the GPS tracking device from his pocket and took the plastic covering off the adhesive backing. He placed it firmly inside the bottom of the bag.
‘That should do it,’ Matt muttered. ‘Now, what else do you have in here, you sneaky prick?’ He looked over to the other side of the bed, and noticed the roller bag. Unclipping the locks, he opened the case.
‘Jesus Christ, Faisal, really?’ Matt said under his breath on seeing the contents. He closed the lid, locked it again and stood up.
Just then, the door lock clicked and the handle moved.
Matt jumped half a foot in the air. Moving across to the sliding door in two quick strides, he ripped it open and leaped outside onto the balcony, closing it just as the room door opened. He looked for an exit. There was a fire escape, but an old rusty padlock had secured the access grate. ‘Shit, that’d be right,’ he whispered.
Through the gap in the curtains he saw two people enter. The first through the door appeared to be a woman from housekeeping. Short and plump with greying hair held back by a black scarf, she looked like someone’s sweet grandmother – except she held a Browning 9mm in her left hand.
Behind her was a tall, skinny Turk dressed in dark chinos and a blue polo shirt – the universal dress for secret police trying not to look like secret police. He breezed into the room with an air of authority and looked around.
Satisfied the room was empty, the woman put the pistol away in the small cloth shoulder bag she wore. Meanwhile, the tall Turk had moved over to Khan’s sports bag. Pulling a biro out of his pocket, he moved some of the contents of the bag around. It was a rudimentary search and he didn’t really look that interested. He then gave the wardrobe a cursory once-over and shrugged as if he was done. He had completely overlooked the roller bag, Matt noticed.
The woman, noticing that the sliding door to the balcony was slightly ajar, began to move towards it.
Oh shit, thought Matt. He looked around frantically for another way to escape. At three storeys, the chances of getting down in one piece were slim. The balcony below was a possibility, but it would require some time to lower himself down – time Matt didn’t have. Matt cursed inwardly; just like that, the whole mission was going to be jeopardised.
Then the Turkish man’s phone rang and Matt heard him answer it. He said something to the woman and she closed the door she’d begun to slide open.
Releasing a small sigh of relief, Matt looked through the crack in the curtains to see the pair leaving the room. Judging by the speed of their withdrawal, he presumed they had been alerted to Faisal Khan’s imminent return.
Matt went back into the room and quickly attached the last listening device to the bottom of the bed. Satisfied all was in order, he left through the front door and jogged down the hallway back to the fire exit stairwell. Leaving the hotel, he zigzagged his way through the streets and back to his own hotel room, where he set up the computer and receiver and searched for a signal from the listening devices.
White noise came across the small handheld receiver and then some coughing. Khan was back in the room. No doubt he would have had to get his key recoded after Matt had broken in. The Turkish secret police clearly had a master key card to access the rooms. Hopefully Faisal hadn’t thought twice about his access card not working. Matt settled back on the bed with the receiver in his hand. He leaned over and grabbed the remote for the TV and put CNN on in the background, volume down low. If someone was listening in to his room, they would have to contend with the background noise. Then he looked at the room service menu. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning and his stomach was churning with hunger. Khan coughed again, and this time he spat as well. Matt screwed up his face and put the receiver down o
n the bench. He dialled for room service and ordered a steak and then went in search of beer in the minibar fridge. It was well stocked, of that much he was thankful. Twisting the top off a Heineken, he took a large swig and walked back over to the bed. As he sat down and settled himself again his phone beeped, alerting him to a message. It was Todd Carson. He was at the airport and about to board a plane for Istanbul.
‘TC, you bloody ripper. The cavalry is on its way!’ He swigged again on the bottle.
Actually, this espionage shit is pretty cool, he thought.
16
ISTANBUL
‘Good evening, Milko, this is Faisal Khan. A friend gave me your number.’
Matt jolted out of his light doze and nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get to the audio receiver. He turned up the volume and grabbed the pen and notepad from the bedside table, ready to transcribe Khan’s side of the conversation. Matt hadn’t expected the Afghan to make contact with the Russian arms dealer so soon; not this evening, anyway. A quick check of the small Bose clock radio confirmed that it was indeed late; nearly 10.30 pm. Matt rubbed his eyes; he had fallen asleep about an hour ago. He was still suffering from the effects of jet lag.
Khan continued talking and Matt scribbled down the important details: nine pm exchange tomorrow and something about payments received and cash still owing. It didn’t make much sense. He heard Khan laugh and then the conversation ended. Matt held the receiver hard against his ear. Khan was still moving around. Drawers opened and closed and the Afghan cursed a few times, then there was a squeal of the door to the hotel room opening and closing. After this there was nothing, no audio at all. Even though it was early evening and freezing cold outside, Khan had obviously left his jacket behind.
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