“Mr. Secretary,” says Moe Sokolof. “I’m not questioning your judgment. But if there’s even the slightest chance that there was an irregularity—”
“And what if we find something?” says Winthrop. “I’m not denying it’s a possibility. What do you want me to do, Moe? What would you do? Ask President Palamut? Penny Kessler was at his palace. Ask Prime Minister Bolu? That’s a nice start to our new relationship—he’s the one who appeared on camera inviting her. Whatever the hospital told us, we’ve already gone on record to the whole world endorsing it. Brenda said it. I said it. The President of the United States said it.”
“Then we’ll have to face the consequences,” says Brenda.
“Consequences?” says Winthrop. “If we backpedal now, no matter what we do, no matter what we find, even if we find nothing, the United States will appear to be implicated in Penny Kessler’s death. And in the process, we’ll destroy whatever is left of our relationship with Turkey. You know this is true.”
No one denies it.
Winthrop adds, “It’s our responsibility to think of the future, Brenda. After you’re officially confirmed as Ambassador—”
“Mr. Secretary,” says Brenda, “I joined the Foreign Service straight out of graduate school. This is more than my career. This is who I am. I thought it meant more to me than anything but my children.” She takes a slow, deliberate breath. “And I would sooner walk away right now than sit one day in office knowing I had any part in covering up the murder of a young woman whose only crime was wanting to serve her country!”
Frank is scarlet up to the dome of his shiny head. “Ms. Pelecchia!”
“Frank!” Winthrop silences him. His deep brown eyes fix on Brenda’s. She can see his emotion, and she can tell it’s real. “Brenda, please believe me. I feel as you do. But we both swore an oath to well and faithfully discharge our duties. Going down this kind of conspiracy-theory rabbit hole won’t make anything better. And it won’t bring Penny Kessler back. I cannot in good conscience take actions that may draw our country into another long, avoidable war. And don’t kid yourself. If this NATO deal goes down the toilet, our relationship with Turkey is unlikely to recover. And without us, we all know where they’ll turn. It’s too late to save Penny. All we can do is try to stop this from ever happening again.”
“Mr. Secretary, I accept that you’re doing what you feel is right.” Brenda means it. “And I must ask you to accept my resignation.”
Moe grabs her arm. “Bren—”
Winthrop shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that. Not now. We’ve got the Borusan reception in an hour. The NATO conference launches tonight. I need you, and I need Moe. I’m just the big guy from out of town. Your officers need leaders they believe in. They need you. You have a duty to them. To your country.”
Brenda closes her eyes. “Most of my officers are dead, Mr. Secretary.”
“Then do it for them.” There’s a rare fire in Winthrop’s eyes. “Do it for Penny Kessler. Help make peace. If you want to quit after the Summit, I won’t stop you. But you can’t desert us now.”
38
* * *
CARAVANSERAI
SULTAN HAN CARAVANSERAI, CENTRAL ANATOLIA
15:40 LOCAL TIME
In the dusty brightness of midafternoon, the tour bus rolls in air-conditioned comfort down the highway.
“And now,” Sully’s voice booms down from the bus speakers, “we approach the caravanserai!”
Seated beside Mrs. Cochrane, Penny shrinks back into the plush red seat. The caravanserai means a stop. A stop means she’ll have to get out. And getting out means she’ll have to face Zach.
Before they got on the bus, he urged her again to remember. But she can’t. All she can see is pain and smoke, and dark bruises forming where Zach grabbed her arm.
Zach sits three rows back, across the aisle from Connor, smiling at her when she turns. Like she’s a pot he doesn’t want to boil over. Like she’s a girl he’s sweet on. Like she’s a bomb that might go off.
Always watching.
Zach’s a hero, she reminds herself. A whistle-blower against the might of the CIA. Risking everything when he has a little girl at home to support. That takes courage. Honor. Conviction. He’s been through hell. Maybe special rules apply. Maybe she’s being selfish. How much does her safety really matter when things like this are at stake? He didn’t know a bomb would go off. But she never agreed to be his courier. He didn’t even ask.
She thinks of Connor, pushing her up to the shelter of the helicopter. An act of friendship that cost a bullet through his hand.
She doesn’t know what to believe.
The bus bellies up beside its brethren in the caravanserai parking lot.
Sully tries to shepherd his flock past the souvenir hawkers at the gate, and into the caravanserai. But the siren song of the tchotchkes soon lures Mrs. Cochrane from the path of historical enlightenment.
“Look at those necklaces!” Mrs. Cochrane gravitates toward a rickety stall. “Don’t you just love the evil eye jewelry?” She fingers a silver chain studded with glass eyes the color of cobalt. “I got evil eye rings for all my granddaughters at Ephesus, but these are so lovely, I might just have to get them, too, if I can bargain him down. You can’t have too much good luck!”
Good luck.
Tens of thousands of staring blue glass eyes lie spread out on the little wooden tables, from tiny identical earring studs to dinner-plate-size slabs of heavy glass. Glass eyes tied like wishes to a little potted tree. Rows of sparkling glass eyes strung into bracelets and amulets and necklaces, studding gimcrack clay bowls and plastic wall ornaments.
Watching her. Watching over her.
Good luck to the girl with the flag.
And in that instant, Penny knows.
Triumph warms her like sunshine. Proof, real proof, and she had it all along. She’s got to tell Connor and Zach. Where are they?
Connor is nodding agreeably as Sully makes cracks about camels. Zach loiters at the back of the tour group, schmoozing with Mr. George. Mr. George hands him a cigarette, and Zach pulls the lighter out of his pocket.
Then another memory slides into place with the leaden sureness of a key in a lock.
Zach’s lighter.
The Hashashin would never have let a prisoner keep a lighter.
And if Zach wasn’t their prisoner—
Penny hears the words of her companion on the journey to Mardin, the archaeologist. You don’t think those murderers had help from the inside?
She remembers Zach’s barrage of questions in the crypt. How fresh he looked. How unafraid.
She hears Jamal’s puzzled cry across the dusty courtyard at Mor Samuel. Not Robson, not Hey, you, not some insult, but Zach.
She feels Zach’s rage, when he gripped her arm in the darkness of Derinkuyu.
She sees the hexagonal tower of Mor Samuel falling.
Zach wasn’t protecting her and Connor.
He was getting rid of all the witnesses.
And he’ll never let her and Connor escape until he has what he wants.
Mrs. Cochrane has her paperback of Stevie Tim’s Turkey splayed open to the vocabulary section. “Ha-yurr,” she declares to the souvenir seller, shaking her head. “Chock pah-hah-luhh!”
“Not pahalı!” he protests. “Fifty lira for necklace is very ucuz!”
Penny reaches for a tray of simple bracelets, each a single blue evil eye on a colorful string—red or yellow or turquoise or hot pink—and fastened with a cheap-looking brass clasp. “How much are these?” she asks in English.
The seller beams at her. “For you, lady? Fifty lira for ten!”
“I just need one—”
“But your sisters! Your friends! Your mother! Your grandmother! Your cousins! Your neighbors! Your—”
“Fine!” Penny glances over her shoulder. Zach hasn’t spotted her. “Just hurry.” Back in the hot sun, she’s sweating in the filthy green tunic. Her gaze falls on a stack
of gleaming white T-shirts emblazoned with a cartoon of Nasreddin Hodja riding his donkey backward, and the immortal legend: ANCIENT KERVANSERAI CAMEL PALACE, TURKEY. “And one of those.”
Sully leads Zach, Connor, and the rest of the tour group through the gate, into the caravanserai.
The seller slowly wraps each bracelet in a little cellophane pouch. He looks her up and down. “Where you are from?”
“Michigan. America. Please don’t bother to wrap them—”
“Amerika! I love Amerika! My cousin, he—”
“How much?” says Penny urgently, snatching up the T-shirt.
“Two hundred lira” comes the serene reply.
Penny fixes him with a death glare. “Bu tişört ipekten değil ki, lan!”
He lurches back, startled into Turkish. “Forty lira, efendim. But—”
Penny slaps down two powder-blue hundred-lira notes, each adorned with the head of a whirling dervish. “That’s twice what I owe,” she says in Turkish. “Give my friend here the bargain of her life.”
“Absolutely, efendim!” He hands her the bracelets in a plastic bag.
“You’re incredible, darl,” Mrs. Cochrane exclaims to Penny. “Did you use Berlitz, or Rosetta Stone?”
“Pimsleur. They’re great!” Penny hurries into the caravanserai. It’s an oasis of startling loveliness. A fountain splashes in the center of the courtyard. Flowering vines climb the exterior staircases. In a corner, Sully is gesturing at a carving.
“Hey.” Zach strides toward her. “Shopping?”
“I needed a clean shirt.” Penny glances at Sully.
She’s got to time this perfectly. Zach has already killed. If he realizes what she’s done before she gets away . . .
“Penny.” Zach slides a hand around her waist. “On the bus. Did you remember any . . .”
“I have to use the ladies’ room.” She pulls away. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”
He tries to mask his impatience with a syrupy grin. “Hurry back.”
Penny almost retches.
She waits until the tourists are all seated for the dervish ceremony, then slips into the darkness of the caravanserai. Beneath the arches, dervishes in long white robes and tombstone caps stand still in the vibrations of the flutes.
Penny sits down at the back. As the dervishes begin to spin, she undoes the evil eye bracelet from her left wrist. She slips it into the plastic bag with the others. In its place, she fastens the almost-identical replacement: a little blue glass eye on a thin red cord.
The dervishes spin faster in the darkness, with the sureness of long practice.
Penny takes a deep breath. No mistakes.
“There you are!” exclaims Connor, when they emerge into the blazing parking lot. “I was getting worried—”
“I bought CDs for everyone’s Christmas stocking.” Mrs. Cochrane is starry-eyed. “It was the most moving—”
“Sunscreen check!” trumpets Mrs. Reid. She fixes Zach with a disapproving glance. “You’re awfully burnt. Take some.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Reid.” He sidles up beside Penny. “Come on. I’ll help you with yours.”
It’s her chance.
“Wait here.” Penny presses the plastic bag full of bracelets on Connor. “Would you hold this for me? Please?”
He meets her eyes, questioning.
Desperately, she wills him to trust her and not argue.
“Okay.” His voice is neutral. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Zach takes Penny by the hand. “Come on, babe. We don’t want a repeat of what happened last year in Nantucket.” He winks at Mrs. Reid, who is standing only a few feet away. “Two hours on the beach, and this one”—he nods at Penny—“was redder than a lobster.”
As they walk away, Penny hears Mrs. Reid say, “Aren’t they an adorable couple?”
When they’re just out of earshot, Zach flips open the bottle and squeezes a pool of white lotion into his palm.
Penny’s mouth is drier than the blowing dust. “Zach . . .”
“Hold still. I’ll be your mirror.” He leans in close and smears the cold sunscreen across her forehead, down her nose, and across each cheek like war paint. He squeezes out more sunscreen and puts his hand up to her neck. She gives an involuntary start. “Hey, it’s all right. I got you.” He rubs in the lotion, up to her jaw. He must be able to feel her pulse racing. But surely he’s far too conceited to correctly interpret that.
There’s a gentleness in his eyes. “You’re safe now.”
For a split second, doubt cuts in.
But she can still feel the sting where his nails dug into her arm.
“I’m sorry I got so emotional before,” he whispers.
“That’s okay.” Her voice is hoarse.
He rubs the cold sunscreen into the back of her neck. “I’m glad I finally got you alone.”
Penny doesn’t trust herself to speak.
Then he does what she knew he would. “Penny, let’s go back to the party. You can remember. I know you can. What happened after you got ice cream?”
Penny looks straight into his oh-so-honest brown eyes. “Well, Ayla and I went to sit under a tree.”
“Uh-huh?” Zach smooths the lotion under her eyes and up to her temples.
Penny’s voice gets stronger. “A woman came up to me and asked me if I was the girl who won the bingo. And then . . .” Penny gasps. “Oh, Zach.”
“What?”
She holds up her left hand. “She gave me this.”
“Good luck.” A slow smile spreads across Zach’s face. “Of course!” Thank God, he takes his hands off her face. He cradles her wrist and unclips the bracelet. Eagerness and sunscreen-greasy fingers make him clumsy. He gets the clasp open. “It must be in the bead. Oh, Penny. I knew I could count on you.” Zach clasps both her hands, and she forces herself to look him in the face. “You know you can never tell anyone about this. Never. Not even Connor. If you tell, it could be a death sentence for you both. Do you understand?”
How can he possibly think she’s dumb enough to fall for this crap? But, she reminds herself, she fell for it before. She widens her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to leave. I need to get this somewhere safe.”
“But what should I tell Connor? And Sully will want to know why you disappeared.”
“Tell Connor that Eylo contacted me. They never managed to give you the proof at all. Now I’ve gone underground to get it. Tell Sully I loved the dervishes so much, I decided to hitch back to Konya and see Rumi’s tomb. Can you remember that, Penny?”
Sully’s voice carries across the parking lot. “Back on the bus, everybody! Time to go!”
Zach squares his jaw, every inch the handsome, self-sacrificing hero. “I’ll never forget you, Penny.”
With supreme self-control Penny bites back a retort. “I know.”
He leans in to kiss her, but she holds up her hand. Her voice shakes a little. She hopes he can’t tell it’s with rage. “I can’t let you do that.”
He grins and dabs a white spot of lotion off her nose. “You’re sweet.” He hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “Bye, Penny.”
She watches him stroll down to a motorcycle in the parking lot, fiddle with the ignition, and roar out of the parking lot.
Connor races up beside her, plastic bag on his wrist. “Where’s he going?”
Penny swallows. “Not far enough.”
39
* * *
GOLDEN BOY
BALTALIMANI, ISTANBUL
17:06 LOCAL TIME
Steel giant Borusan Holding’s Bosphorus headquarters occupy a nine-floor turreted mansion, lodged on the European shore of the Bosphorus between the rambling stone castle Mehmet the Conqueror built in the mid-fifteenth century, and the swooping intercontinental suspension bridge named after him in the 1980s.
On the top floor is a boardroom. Swivel chairs surround a meeting table of flickering solid steel. The chairs are empty. Security st
aff prefer to stand, and in weather this fine, the VIPs are out on the terrace, fawning over President Palamut, sipping mint-cucumber lemonades and admiring the view.
Moe extracts Brenda from a tense and unpromising exchange with the Turkish Minister of Foreign Affairs.
Moe sounds haggard. “It’s Winthrop. He got a message on his personal phone. Now he says he’s got a headache and he has to leave.”
“In the middle of the reception? Is he having a stroke?”
“He wants to go back to the Consulate.”
Brenda takes a deep breath. “Palamut’s not gonna be happy.”
“Nope.”
“You going with him?”
“Winthrop wants us to stay and gloss things over.”
“President Palamut doesn’t want us. He wants Mr. Golden Boy to make him feel special.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Bren.”
“Moe . . .” Brenda keeps her bland party expression glued in place, but her blood pressure is spiking. “If there’s another attack—”
“We’d know, Bren. I’m sure. It was his private line. It’s probably just a family thing.”
“Sir?” Across the terrace, Frank hurries alongside Secretary Winthrop. “Where are you going?”
“You stay here, Frank.” Winthrop forces a smile. “I got this.”
* * *
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
10:20 LOCAL TIME
Christina repositions her neck cushion and leans back in her ergonomic chair. “Mr. Secretary, there’s no use panicking.”
“How could this happen?”
“Leaks are a fact of life.”
“I’m already fielding questions about Penny Kessler.” His breath quickens. “I think, worst-case scenario, maybe Palamut has his hands dirty. And now—”
“It’s clear from your cousin’s message that he is deranged. Miss Kessler died in a hospital in Ankara. As for Connor Beauregard, we had credible evidence that he was a double agent instrumental in the July 4th attack. Sometimes you have to make the hard calls and act fast on the intel that you have.”
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