Liar's Candle

by August Thomas

  Under his windbreaker, the young father’s shirt has a half-visible police logo embroidered on it. Undercover? On his way home from work?

  “Fast!” The toddler claps her hands at Penny. Like most Turkish babies, she has an evil eye pinned to her sleeve.

  With a mechanical roar and a stream of tiny pale blue bubbles, the ferry pulls away from the dock.

  Penny turns around, breathing hard. Where’s Zach? She races to the lower-level railing. No sign of him on the dock. The cool breeze slaps back her hair as the ferry grinds past the long stone breakwater into open water, toward Eminönü. Seagulls dive like simit-seeking missiles in the wake. The people around her are laughing, chatting, on their way home for dinner on an easy summer evening. Even at seven, the light is still lustrous. Not brash gold like the sun that hammers down on Mardin, but soft as water, almost pearly.

  Penny runs along the narrow outer deck that rings the ferry. The sharpening breeze has chased the other passenger indoors.

  Didn’t Zach follow her? Where is he? She holds on to the railing, gasping for breath. The silhouette of old Istanbul spreads in front of her: trees, domes, minarets.

  A hand loops around her waist and pulls her close. She can feel the prickle of something sharp and metallic at the base of her spine.

  Zach says, in a low voice, “Sightseeing?”

  42

  * * *

  CROSSING

  Penny squirms. “Let me go.”

  “Isn’t it pretty?” He points at the grandest of all the domes, squared in by four stocky minarets. “Hagia Sophia. Almost fifteen hundred years old.”

  “Same as Mor Samuel was.” She braces against his grip, but he holds tight. “Let me go.”

  “You can’t possibly think that’s going to work.”

  She grits her teeth. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  The knife’s point scrapes her back. “You know,” he says, “it makes a big difference where on the spine an injury occurs. If I cut where the knife is now, you might walk again eventually. On crutches. Whereas if I push through the vertebrae here”—he draws the knife up her spine, between her shoulder blades—“you’ll never get out of a wheelchair. Hooked up to a ventilator for life.”

  Penny draws a deep breath.

  The knife presses into the skin between her shoulder blades, just enough to sting. “Screaming would be a very bad idea.”

  She exhales and cranes her head around. Maybe it would hurt less if he suddenly looked evil, but he doesn’t.

  It’s just Zach.

  The ferry rounds Sarayburnu, where the European shore buckles outward in a peninsula. It chugs toward the Golden Horn, where it will dock at Eminönü, across a broad square from the Spice Bazaar.

  If she can just stall long enough to reach Eminönü . . . “And if I give you the evil eye, what? You’ll just let me walk away?”

  “Why not? You won’t get far with Melek and Christina after you. And even if you do, you have no proof of anything. If you show up babbling about plots and terrorists and evil eyes and secret CIA conspiracies . . . well, everyone knows you had a head injury, you poor little thing. Plus, State told the press you were dead. Winthrop can have fun explaining that away.”

  Penny stomps on Zach’s foot.

  Zach tightens his hold. “I know you hate me right now. But it’s Christina you should be angry with. I never tried to hurt you. I made sure you didn’t go near the Embassy bomb. And it’s thanks to me you aren’t playing hide-the-electrodes with Palamut’s Presidential Guard right now.”

  “You’re sweet,” she snaps.

  “I’m really not the bad guy here, Penny.”

  “Dressing up as a suicide bomber? Threatening to cripple me?”

  “Bad is Christina arming the Hashashin. Bad is my perfect cousin screwing everybody over twelve ways to Sunday. But they love him. Me? I fuck up once, and they try to take my whole career away. Everything. And when I ask my cousin for help? He gives me a fucking campaign speech about integrity. No.” Zach shakes his head. “My only crime is not being high enough up the totem pole. Yet.”

  “Wow.” She shakes her head.

  “Aw. Did I shock the innocent little intern?”

  “You know,” says Penny through her teeth, “when the Hashashin blow themselves up, at least those bastards believe it’s for a cause. But murdering hundreds of people because you’re mediocre at your job? That’s just pathetic.”

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Zach’s grip tightens. “It was supposed to be a controlled explosion. Just enough to compromise him. To give me maximum leverage.”

  “Compromise who?”

  “Believe me, I had no idea the Hashashin were planning a bomb that size.”

  “But you did know they were planning one.” Her hands are shaking. “You said you kept me away from it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means you must have known exactly where and when it was going to be. Which means you let everyone else die. Ayla. The Ambassador. Martin MacGowan. Practically every single person in POL Section. Almost three hundred people. You murdered them. You murdered them all.”

  “The Embassy bomb was remotely detonated. Somewhere, some Hashashin terrorist was watching a live stream of the party. And then, boom, he pressed a button. Is that supposed to be my fault?”

  “You dropped your drink.”

  “What?”

  Penny squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re not a clumsy guy. After Mehmetoğlu got that text that said the microchip had been delivered—as soon as you made sure I wasn’t going anywhere—you dropped your drink. And then the bomb went off.” Bile stings her throat. “You were giving the order to press the button.”

  Zach says nothing.

  “It seems pretty stupid to make sure I had the microchip and then just let me go.” Penny swallows. “Why didn’t you just take the microchip at the party? Or at least have the Hashashin kidnap me, too?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be knocked out.” The point of the knife presses into the base of her neck. She can feel the angry tremor in Zach’s hand. “I was going to carry you heroically to safety and retrieve the chip. But those assholes got greedy. That fucking bomb was ten times bigger than we agreed. I woke up in the van halfway to Mardin. The Hashashin didn’t know about the chip. We agreed they could take Mehmetoğlu—a kind of freebie. But Kurds are just target practice. They wanted me, too.”

  “Ten times bigger than you agreed?” Penny’s voice is raw. “Did you negotiate about how many people you were willing to kill? You knew there would be children there. And you let those bastards put the bomb in the ice cream truck.” She cranes around to see his face. “What about Mia? Did you think about what it would mean for her, having a father who’s a traitor and murderer? What about all the children at the Embassy party? Did you think about them? About their parents?”

  “Mia.” Zach chuckles. “What the fuck would I want with a kid? Mia is a bunch of photos I copied off some mommy blogger on Instagram.”

  “You fucking sociopath.”

  He shrugs. “You wouldn’t sleep with me. You’re too boring to blackmail and too uptight to bribe. I had to find another way to synthesize a bond.” He grins. “You said we had to trust each other, remember?”

  Penny can barely get the words out. “I told you about my childhood. You knew I’d do anything to keep a little kid from getting hurt.”

  “Penny?” He leans his chin on the hollow of her shoulder. His breath is warm against her cheek, his voice amused. “I know you’re stalling. You’re talented, don’t get me wrong. But it’s another fifteen minutes before we get to Eminönü. You know you can’t go crying for help; if Palamut’s police get hold of you, you’re dead. So come on. Just give me the evil eye, and I won’t hurt you. I’ll even buy you an apple soda from the bar.”

  “It’s on my right ankle. See for yourself.”

  “How unobservant of me.”

  She watches him. “Aren’t you going to take it?”


  “So you can kick me in the face?” He chuckles. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed. No, you’re going to unbuckle it for me.” He traces the knife point up her neck. “Now.”

  “Baba!” A tiny pigtailed figure races toward the railing. “Look, Baba! Seagulls!”

  “Careful, Nur’cuğum!” The father scoops the giggling child away from danger and cuddles her close.

  The toddler waves at Penny. “Fast!”

  The father turns.

  Words rise in Penny’s throat.

  Zach pulls her closer. She feels a sharp sting and a small drip of warm blood down the back of her neck.

  The young father smiles. “Now I know why you were in such a hurry!” He carries the toddler back inside.

  Zach waits until they’re alone again. The besotted smile slides off his face. “Crouch down slowly and take off the evil eye.”

  With exaggerated molasses slowness, Penny stoops. She fumbles with the bracelet clasp, stalling for time, praying for some kind of last-second inspiration.

  And then it comes.

  “What about Connor?” She rises, bracelet in her fist. “Maybe you’re right. Nobody would believe me alone. But Connor’s a CIA officer. A military vet. He isn’t like you, Zach. He’s brave and he’s honest and he’ll fight for what he knows is true.” Her voice strengthens in triumph as she looks up at Zach. “All he has to do is get to the NATO Summit. And you’re too late to stop him now.”

  “He was out cold, Penny. I saw those guards shove him into the back of a car. I don’t think anybody will ever be seeing Connor again.”

  “How do I know that’s not another lie?” Penny fights through the nausea.

  “You don’t. But it’s true.”

  The horrible thing is, she believes him.

  She blusters. What else can she do? “So what if Melek’s got him? I escaped from her with no training and no weapons. I’m sure Connor can waltz out in half the time.”

  “You escaped because you had no training and no weapons. They were careless. They won’t be that sloppy again.” Zach leans down to look her in the eye. “Melek has a certain way of doing business. I know where she’s taking Connor. He won’t get out.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Look. Even if, by some freakish chance, Captain Wonderful escapes, nobody is going to believe a word he says. He has no proof.” Zach holds out his hand. “Give me the evil eye.”

  The ferry draws near the mouth of the Golden Horn. Smaller ferries jostle around them in a bobbing traffic jam.

  “I can’t,” Penny whispers.

  “No is really not an option.”

  Penny opens her fist. “It’s just another decoy.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sure it is.”

  “You studied me, didn’t you? You worked me all summer. Does that sound like something I’d do?”

  “You lied at the caravanserai.”

  “See for yourself, Mr. Honesty!”

  He reaches out warily and takes the bracelet. Keeping the knife at her neck, he holds the evil eye up to the sun. The light shines clear through, blue and pure. Nothing but glass.

  His voice is surprisingly calm. “Where is the real one?”

  “Connor has it.”

  Zach exhales hard.

  Penny snatches back the bracelet and fixes it around her left wrist.

  The ferry bellies up the Golden Horn toward the Galata Bridge. A little white ferry—one of the small shore-hoppers, almost empty—roars perilously close beside them, obviously determined to beat its big sibling to the landing. Oblivious, the big commuter ferry cuts it off, veering toward Eminönü on the left bank, where the New Mosque’s dozens of dove-gray domes rise beside the crowded plaza of the Spice Bazaar. Behind the ferry landing, silent squad cars line the road. Waiting.

  Penny turns to Zach. “You said you know where Melek’s taking Connor. Is that true?”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t save Connor alone.” Penny swallows hard. “Help me, and you can have the evil eye. The real one.”

  Zach’s expression is sardonic, but he lowers the knife. “What time yesterday do you think I was born?”

  “Connor would die before he gave it to you. You need me.”

  “And you’d just hand it over?”

  “I don’t want my friend to die. And I’m prepared to guess that you’re prepared to guess that you can probably force me to give it to you.”

  “Touché.”

  Onshore, armed police file onto the ferry landing.

  Penny backs away. “Did you have to impersonate a suicide bomber?”

  Zach sheathes the knife. “Follow me.”

  Penny races after him to the back of the boat. Zach hoists himself up onto the railing.

  “Are you crazy?”

  He lunges out over the water.

  No splash.

  Penny scrambles across the slippery deck, toward the railing of the ferry.

  Eight feet down, across two feet of choppy water, on the empty rear deck of the little white ferry, Zach straightens up and beckons her.

  Penny pulls herself up on the metal railing. Her bloody palms leave prints on the peeling white paint.

  The big ferry grinds against the rocky bed as it maneuvers toward the dock.

  “Hurry!” hisses Zach.

  Penny jumps. She barely clears the iron side of the little ferry and lands painfully on her knees.

  Did anyone see her? Penny cranes around to see the window of the big ferry. Nobody was watching; all faces are turned to the police on the dock.

  Except for one. The tiny pigtailed girl is watching gravely over her father’s shoulder, fingers in her mouth. She pulls her hand out for a rather slimy wave.

  Penny waves back.

  The larger ferry docks. No sooner do the ferrymen slide the ramp into place than dozens of dark-uniformed policemen charge on board. The little ferry slips into a smaller berth, closer to the Galata Bridge, its lip protruding over the concrete. Without waiting for the dockhands to slide the disembarking stairs into place, Penny and Zach hop onto solid ground.

  Zach’s arm slips back around her waist. Penny flinches.

  “Smile,” he whispers. “And walk nice and slow.” He pulls a smartphone out of his pocket and holds it up to his face as they cross the road to the tram stop, pretending to photograph the Spice Bazaar. “Have you got coins?”

  Penny digs a few lira out of her pocket to buy plastic jetons for the tram. On the docks, police are swarming all over the large ferry.

  “Which way?” asks Penny. “Bağcılar or Kabataş?”

  “Kabataş. Stay on till the last stop.”

  The tram is painfully crowded—a gauntlet of sharp elbows, overcooked tourists in Hawaiian shirts, and swinging shopping bags. The clock over the door reads 19:36.

  Penny reaches up to a slippery yellow plastic grip and holds tight, so the blood from her palms won’t run.

  With a cartoonish strum of electronic harmonies, the tram glides out of the stop, up onto the Galata Bridge, and across to Karaköy, at the foot of the faded hill that rises to the Galata Tower. How can there already be another stop? They’ve hardly gone a quarter of a mile!

  More passengers crush aboard. Finally, the doors close again. A soft female voice issues from the speakers: “Next stop: Tophane.”

  Penny stoops under a businessman’s sleeve to meet Zach’s eyes. He looks straight through her and leans casually against the pole, the quintessence of a bored commuter. The tram pulls beneath the old Ottoman cannon foundry and out past the naval offices and insurance-company buildings that line this semi-deindustrialized patch of the European shore.

  She could scream. People would help her. She might even escape. Make it to the Consulate. Tell them, convince them—

  And in some lonely room, Connor would die, long before help could reach him.

  “Fındıklı,” coos the recording as the tram whirrs alongside a waterfront park. “Next stop: Kabataş.”

  At Kab
ataş, passengers uncramp themselves and hustle onto the platform. Penny and Zach cross to the right side of the road. Penny takes a deep breath of cool air off the water. The light is getting redder now. Zach hails a cab and both of them climb into the back.

  “Tarabya’ya,” orders Zach. His Turkish is slicker than Penny’s, more colloquial, but his accent remains as gummily American as a slice of Kraft cheese.

  The cabbie warns him that the coastal road is closed through Ortaköy.

  “Cut up Barbaros and over to Maslak, then down to the coast from there. Can you turn the radio off, buddy?”

  “Tarabya?” asks Penny.

  “Old presidential residence down near there,” Zach replies in English. “Melek’s been having it fixed up. She’s the only one who uses it these days.”

  “And you think . . .”

  “Nice and quiet for interrogations. And if she wants to get rid of a body, there’s plenty of room.”

  * * *

  EUROPEAN SHORE, ISTANBUL

  19:34 LOCAL TIME

  Connor wakes with an aching jaw as the SUV speeds down an unfamiliar, leafy boulevard. On the left, gated mansions. On the right, glittering blue water. Blaring sirens echo in his sore skull. Through frosted windows, he can see cars swerving out of their way.

  The driver is on his cell phone, expostulating in Turkish. Sounds defensive, but careful, like he’s breaking bad news to a superior.

  Penny would understand exactly what he’s saying.

  Penny.

  “Where is she?” Connor straightens up in his seat, to find his hands and feet are bound. “Do any of you speak English? Where are you taking me?”

  The young Presidential Guard buckled beside him just stares straight ahead.

  “Where are we going?”

  No answer. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t understand.

  “Where’s Penny Kessler? What did you do to her?”

  The SUV turns left, swerving uphill on a shaded side road, to the service entrance in a high wall. Connor recognizes the insignia on the gate.

  The SUV pulls up at a small brick outbuilding. The guards shove Connor inside and muscle him down a brightly lit flight of stairs.