by Cliff Ryder
"Maybe I will shoot you in the head and take your money, then buy myself as many breakfasts as I want." Ajza smiled sweetly as she looked up at him.
"You know," Nazmi said, "I almost think you would do such a thing."
Ajza knew that he had no idea of what she had done in the past or was prepared to do now.
"You know that Mustafa doesn't like to be kept waiting," Nazmi said.
"Tell him to leave. I'll catch up." Ajza pushed Nazmi aside and went to the bathroom.
Inside the small bathroom with the rust-coated shower and toilet, she turned on the water and undressed. Then she knelt, reached behind the toilet and pressed a section of the wall. The section slid away and she took out the micro-miniature burst transmitter.
"This is Calico," she said quickly, in a voice that — thanks to the running water — couldn't be heard outside the thin walls of the room. "The meeting is on."
She pressed send and watched as the transmitter encrypted the message, compressed it and beamed it in a split second. Somewhere in England's MI-6 offices, someone should receive the message.
If they didn't, she knew she might be dead within the next hour with no one the wiser.
Just like her brother.
2
New York City
"Does he follow you everywhere?"
Kate Cochran looked at her companion and smiled. "Are you referring to my bodyguard?"
"I am," Gunter Hirschvogel admitted. He claimed to be in his late forties, but Kate knew from his file that he was in his early sixties. However, trim and fit as he was, tanned and dark-haired, he got away with the lie almost effortlessly.
His suit was handmade Italian. The plastic surgery didn't show except for a little around the eyes, which no one would have faulted him for. Eyes were important. Especially for someone who'd made their wealth by getting other people to trust him.
"He goes with me most places," Kate responded. She knew she looked elegant in her dark blue evening gown. Her wrap pulled everything together, and she'd turned heads most of the night. That had been enjoyable.
"When we get to my apartment," Hirschvogel said, "where will he be then?"
"Comfortable, I hope," Kate answered.
Hirschvogel laughed. "Perhaps we could send him down to the bar."
Kate looked over her shoulder at Jacob Marrs, the man they were discussing. "I don't think he'd like being that far away from me. He takes his job very seriously."
"I don't see how any man would want to be far from you," Hirschvogel said.
"Thank you," Kate said as if flattered by the comment. Only the years of doing espionage work in the field kept her in character. She detested men like Hirschvogel.
"However, I do have another possible solution." Hirschvogel removed his electronic keycard from inside his jacket. "Perhaps we could put him with my security people."
Kate glanced back at the two men who had accompanied Hirschvogel to the museum earlier. Older than Jake, both wore cruelty and dispassion like armor.
"It's a shame one of us doesn't have another bodyguard," Kate said. "Then they'd have a fourth for bridge."
"Actually, I have a houseman." Hirschvogel opened the door, stepped inside and waved toward another man standing just inside the apartment foyer.
Kate cursed silently. Events could get very dicey in the apartment. If Hirschvogel found out who she was, and who and what she represented, he would probably try to kill her.
"Good evening, Mr. Hirshvogel." The houseman was in his late forties. No emotion showed in his pale blue eyes. "Good evening, miss." He didn't offer to take her wrap or his employer's coat. That would have slowed his reflexes and filled his hands.
"I have him," the calm voice of Kate's support technician reported. "Friedrich Moews. This guy's a killer, Kate."
The transmission came from the receiver/transmitter built into Kate's left earring. It was state-of-the-art, complete with encryption encoding. Agents had wired a repeater inside the building earlier that afternoon. The delicate necklace at the hollow of her throat held a wireless camera.
Jake wore an earring that made him privy to the same communications stream Kate received. The top button on his jacket concealed a tiny camera.
Kate tapped her bracelet once for yes to let everyone know she'd heard the message. When switched on, the bracelet doubled as a Morse-code key and held a wide-angle lens for scanning documents and transmitting via wireless Internet.
Hirschvogel turned to Jake. "While I'm entertaining Ms. Danvers, perhaps you'd like to spend your time with my security staff."
Jake shifted his gaze to Kate and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Go," Kate said. "Enjoy yourself. If I need anything, you'll know."
"She won't need anything I can't give her," Hirschvogel said lasciviously.
"Wow," tech support said. "Is this guy confident or what?"
Only Kate noticed the twitch of Jake's lips that betrayed a stillborn grin. He nodded and followed the other men through another doorway.
"You have a big apartment," Kate said appreciatively as Hirschvogel led her into the living room, with its obviously expensive furniture and artwork. A large plasma-screen television hung inert on the wall.
"I have forty-five hundred square feet," Hirschvogel bragged as he took her elbow and walked her to the wet bar in the corner. "Would you like wine?" He pulled open a door. "I have a selection."
"White, please. I'll trust your judgment." Kate left his side and wandered around the big room. She tried to map the apartment's interior in her mind. There was a master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms to house the security guards. In addition to the four in the apartment now, Hirschvogel had four others who worked rotating shifts to give himself a constant human shield.
Hirschvogel poured wine and brought a glass to her.
With a twist of her wrist, Kate tapped her bracelet, sending out a string of Morse code to Jake. They were up against the clock. Events were already in motion in Istanbul, and if they didn't find the information they needed, a lot of people were going to be dead within the hour.
"So," Hirschvogel said smoothly, "what line of business are you in?"
Kate smiled at him. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
Hirschvogel guffawed. "You're a fan of spy movies?"
"Somewhat," Kate admitted. She looked at Hirschvogel.
Suddenly gunfire cracked in the other room. He started to go forward, but stopped immediately when Kate reached under her dress and pulled out the small, two-shot derringer she'd holstered to her thigh. At first his attention was caught by the expanse of thigh she flashed, but then he quickly focused on the pistol in her fist.
"Don't move," she told him as she aimed at the center of his chest.
3
London, England
Samantha Rhys-Jones pulled her Jaguar XKE to a stop in front of the office building and looked around. The neighborhood was an old one, but it had been given several face-lifts since it had first been built. The unadorned buildings stood like regimental soldiers.
Back in its heyday, Fleet Street served as home to London's journalists. These days law offices, temp agencies and pubs that serviced the needs of both populated the area.
Comings and goings at all hours of the day kept the neighborhood busy. That alone proved sufficient reason to choose the neighborhood for the meet.
Headlights flashed at the end of the street as a decrepit cargo van rounded the corner and came toward her. With her eyes on the van, Samantha pressed a hidden release on the console between the seats. A panel popped open to reveal a Walther P99 chambered in .40 caliber. She favored the weapon because it was easy to conceal, fit her hands well and had good knock-down power.
She took the gun from its hiding place and placed it in her lap. Despite her experience, she found her heart rate elevated and her mouth dry. She was nervous, but not panicked.
"Indigo," tech support called over the earwig she wore.
"Yes," Samantha sa
id calmly.
"Clockwork has a visual on you."
The van flashed its lights on and off.
"Understood," Samantha said. "I'll talk to you again once we're inside." She dropped the Walther into her coat pocket and switched off the Jaguar's engine. Then she climbed out to meet the van's occupants.
Five of them got out of the vehicle — three women and two men. The mix surprised Samantha, but not the age. All of them were in their early twenties. They wore gray coveralls with RALEIGH'S CLEANERS stenciled across the back.
One of the women placed thin magnetic signs on the sides of the van while one of the men changed the front and back license plates. For the next few minutes, any police check on the licensed van of a cleaning service by that name would exist, complete with work history and referrals.
Shortly after that, the computer files and the magnetic signs would disappear as if they'd never existed.
"Hey," a lanky Indian youth with long black hair and a goatee greeted her.
"Hey," Samantha said. She recognized him because she'd worked with him before, but she didn't remember his name. Of course, there was always the possibility he'd never given it. She never gave hers. "New crew?"
He nodded and grinned, flashing white teeth. "Breakin' 'em in. Don't worry. We'll take good care of you." He fished equipment cases from the van's cargo area.
"Do you need help with anything?"
"The door," the guy said. "You get that, we've got the rest of this."
"Your security card is set to run," tech support said.
Samantha walked to the back of the Jaguar and opened the trunk. A hidden compartment held a wireless Internet-equipped magnetic strip printer. She took a security card from her pocket and ran it through the slot.
"You're good to go," tech support said.
Samantha walked to the door. Dressed in slacks, a plain blouse and her trench coat, she looked like a barrister rousted out of bed to handle a client who'd called from jail.
She glanced at the "cleaning" crew. All of them stood with cases in hand.
Samantha swiped the key card through the reader on the door. A second later the lock released. She opened the door and went through the dimly lit hallway. Although the building had been refurbished with new paint and new carpet, the dimensions remained as confining as they had two hundred years ago. There was only room for one person at a time up the stairs.
It would not be, she reflected, a good place to get caught.
"Indigo," Kate Cochran said.
"Yes." Samantha slid the card through the next security checkpoint. She breathed a little easier when the lock opened.
"We're secure."
Samantha knew that meant Kate had control of Hirschvogel in New York. "Understood. But I still don't like the idea of your involvement."
"Duly noted," Kate replied.
Kate's permanently unruffled demeanor irritated Samantha slightly. Kate appeared always calm, cool and collected. But that was also why she was director of Room 59. That, and the fact that when it came to it, she didn't hesitate to get her hands bloody. Even when the blood was that of their agents.
"If there'd been another way to crack this," Kate went on, "I would have been all for it. There wasn't. I was the best call."
"I still don't have to like it."
"It's your op. You know I'll always help out in whatever capacity I can. And I told you I'd cover this leg of the mission."
"Not till it was impossible to find anyone else to do it."
"No one could have done this as easily as I did."
"Ego much?" Samantha asked, and she was only halfway teasing.
"Confident," Kate countered.
* * *
A security camera mounted on the wall ahead tracked back to Samantha. "Support, did we know about the on-site video security?" she asked.
"We now own the on-site video security," the woman replied. "Wave at the camera and I'll get you some prints ready for Christmas cards. This the season for breaking and entering."
Samantha smiled. "Brilliant," she said sarcastically.
"I can do them up nice. Santa and his little elves standing in the background."
"I'll pass." Samantha waved at the video camera. She slid the card through the next reader and entered the foyer on the fourth floor.
She walked quickly to the third office on the left. The card got her through that door, as well, and they entered a conference room.
"All right, people," the young computer wizard said as he put the cases he carried on the big table. "Let's get clandestine." He cracked his knuckles theatrically.
As Samantha watched, the five techs quickly assembled a mission-control station made up of various computers, monitors and miniature satellite receivers. Tech support monitored the communications, but they were going live on the mission they were currently involved in. Once they had all the satellite links in place, Room 59 would be operational.
The designation Room 59 described the virtual command post that could be set up anywhere. Once it was live, it pulled in significant espionage satellite links that could be traced back by various international intelligence agencies. MI-6, the British watchdog of the international scene, would immediately begin sniffing them out. So would MI-5, their domestic equivalent.
Other international spy groups, if interested in what took place in Istanbul at the moment, would also try to find them if they were noticed. Every time Room 59 was alive and active, it could be a cat-and-mouse game. Not all of the international community was willing to let the personnel and invisible agents of the clandestine espionage group operate unchallenged.
"Have you asked your guest about the business taking place in the target area?" Samantha asked Kate.
"No. I've been waiting to get confirmation of a green light."
Samantha silently agreed. There was no reason to make Hirschvogel aware that they knew about his operations. If their campaign didn't pan out, they didn't want to give away their source of information or interest.
"I'll let you know the minute we're green," Samantha said. "How bad is the situation there?"
"We're intact," Kate said, "but there are three losses."
Meaning that Jacob Marrs had killed the three security men. When it came to protecting Kate, Samantha knew Jake never hesitated.
"Will you need cleanup there?"
"Negative. Our guest is used to cleaning up after himself, and he'll be properly motivated to do a good job of it."
Okay, that was a point in their favor. Now if everything happened correctly in Istanbul, it was going to be a good evening's work.
4
Istanbul
Ajza sat in the back seat of the cargo van and tried not to look nervous. She thought about the cargo they planned to pick up and how cruelly Turkish laws dealt with criminals regarding drugs. Considering the fact that she was more or less on her own — except for the exfiltration team she hadn't talked to in weeks — she thought she was holding up pretty well.
As it had been for hundreds of years, the marketplace was a gathering place for merchants, local buyers and tourists. Only a few of the tourists walked through the aisles, along with those in search of early-morning bargains. Mostly the hawkers and buskers pursued the regular customers, people who'd come to market early to buy fresh vegetables for meals.
Ajza loved the Anatolian side of Istanbul. The city stood proudly, the only one in the world to straddle two continents. As a result, throughout history, armies and peacemakers of the East and the West met there to do battle and to reach trade agreements.
The Bosphorus Strait cut the city in two. The brown water flowed into the green Sea of Marmara in the harbor — not far from the prearranged meeting place. Fishermen already plied the waters, their sails brave and full against the azure sky. Motorboats filled the immediate vicinity with noise.
Bookshops and antique dealers butted up against coffeehouses and cinemas, the constant mix of the old and the new that shaped the city. At least this side
of it.
When she'd had time on her own, which hadn't been often, Ajza loved roaming through the bookstores. Spying in the field was lonely work. Reading helped pass the time and occupy the mind so it didn't constantly dredge up everything that could go wrong.
Besides that, bookstores often held gems of information, lost books and maps that had histories and locations within whatever city she was posted. These had, on rare occasions, helped her keep her cover story intact and saved her life.
"Are you thinking about breakfast?" Nazmi asked.
She didn't look at him. She'd already given him far too much encouragement. Getting close to someone, especially someone she might have to kill or who might try to kill her, was foolish. She'd already been down that road once and it hadn't worked out well.
"No," she answered.
"Then what?" Nazmi demanded. "You're not worried, are you?"
"Should I be?"
"No." Nazmi put a hand on the stock of the AK-47 assault rifle he carried. "We're here for show. Just to keep the honest men honest." He shrugged. "When you're dealing with drugs, the people involved aren't always trustworthy."
Ajza knew that. Spies working for money or for political conviction proved much easier to work with than drug dealers. The drug dealers lived on paranoia and killed at the drop of a hat. The only reason spies and terrorists dealt with those people was because the commodity they sold translated more readily into influence across international borders than cash or gold. Drugs represented money in any currency.
"I know," Ajza said. The feeling that something was off haunted her. "We've never made an early-morning pickup like this."
Nazmi shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe these people came in during the night and haven't been to bed yet."
That, Ajza decided, seemed even worse. Paranoia and insomnia wasn't a good combination.
"Here comes Mustafa." Nazmi nodded at the leader of the group Ajza had infiltrated.
Mustafa was broad and powerful-looking. Early in his life, he'd been a stevedore, one of the young, strong backs that eked out a living shifting freight for the cargo ships. His mustache was fierce. His loose shirt hid the pistol he carried in his waistband. He also carried a briefcase that Ajza knew immediately was going to the drug dealers.