Black List

by Will Jordan

  Alex leaned back in his seat, feeling like an unruly student who had just been chastised by the teacher.

  Halvorsen, briefly amused by the interplay, soon turned his attention back to more practical matters. ‘As far as we could tell, there are only two security personnel on duty at night. One is on roving patrol throughout the building, and the other is on duty in the security room at all times. The room is locked and secured with an encrypted card reader, and has protected hard-line communications to the outside world. If we must go in, it would make sense to hit them in the early hours of the morning.’

  ‘No,’ Anya countered, speaking with the firm confidence born from long experience. ‘This must happen during shift changeover, when the night security staff are logging in.’

  Halvorsen frowned, but didn’t argue. Likely he knew better than to debate with her over matters like this.

  ‘This all sounds lovely,’ Alex chipped in. ‘But if the doors are locked and the security men can trip the alarm at a moment’s notice, how do you plan to get inside the building in the first place?’

  The look in her eyes somehow put him in mind of a hawk that was sizing up its prey. ‘Like I said, you worry about the Black List. Leave the rest to me.’

  Reaching into the sports bag, she retrieved the Colt .45, inserted a magazine into the open port and pulled back the slide to chamber the first round.

  ‘Stay here. I’ll be back soon.’

  Chapter 38

  Burak Karga glanced up from the TV, disturbed from the football game he was watching by a knock at the door.

  ‘Get lost, I’m busy,’ he mumbled, turning his attention back to the game. Galatasaray were leading 2–1 against bitter local rivals Fenerbahçe, with Fenebahçe pushing forward in search of an equaliser in the dying minutes. No way was he leaving this to deal with some beggar or travelling salesman – two things which were roughly synonymous in his opinion.

  Especially not when he was facing a tedious eight-hour overnight shift, working security in a building that nobody in their right mind would want to break into. Unless they had a real thing for circuit boards and copper wire.

  The knocking continued, more urgent this time. Whoever was out there wasn’t about to give up.

  ‘All right!’ he snapped, rising from his chair and stomping towards the door of his small but fastidiously clean apartment. One thing he prided himself on was his sense of order and discipline. ‘What is it?’

  Leaning close to the spy hole, he was startled to find himself looking out at a woman. A Western woman, with tanned skin, short blonde hair and striking blue eyes. She was dressed in a sharp business suit, the blouse unbuttoned just far enough to reveal a subtle glimpse of cleavage. Who was she, and what was she doing here?

  ‘Burak Karga?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Anna. I work for ISS,’ she explained, speaking in accented but fluent Turkish. ‘Something has come to our attention, and we need to talk. Can I come in?’

  Karga felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach. If the company had seen fit to send an official representative to his home, it couldn’t mean anything good. What was it about? His mind was in overdrive, churning through any minor infraction he might have committed while on duty that had somehow been discovered.

  ‘O-okay,’ he called. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  Turning around, he rushed into the bedroom and grabbed a fresh shirt from his wardrobe, quickly buttoning it up as he returned to the door. Running his fingers through his hair a couple of times to smooth it down, he took a deep breath, reached out and unlocked the door.

  Of all the unpleasant possibilities that had leapt into his mind in the past thirty seconds, none of them came close to what happened next.

  The instant he undid the lock, the door flew inwards, propelled by a hard kick that sent it crashing against him. Karga grunted in pain and shock as his head took much of the impact, and fell to his knees with stars dancing across his eyes. He could feel something warm and wet dripping down his face, and realized with vague comprehension that he’d been cut.

  These were the least of his problems however. Quickly slipping into his apartment, the woman in the suit pulled the door shut and knelt down beside him, drawing something from behind her back.

  Karga froze as the cold barrel of a weapon was pressed against his forehead.

  ‘If you cry out, you die. The weapon is silenced, so nobody will hear it,’ the woman hissed, her voice frighteningly calm and controlled. ‘Nod if you understand.’

  With no choice but to comply, Karga nodded.

  ‘I am going to ask you some questions. If you answer fully and truthfully, I give you my word that you will live through this unharmed. I will leave and you will never see or hear from me again. But if you lie to me or withhold information, I will know about it. Believe me, I am very good at discovering liars. I will kill you, then I will kill both your parents and your brother. They live in Izmir, right?’

  Karga could feel tears forming. How did she know so much about him? ‘Please, I don’t want—’

  ‘I don’t care what you want,’ she cut in. ‘When someone has a gun at your head, all that matters is what you do. If you do the right thing, you and your family will live. If not, you die. Now, are you going to cooperate?’

  There was no choice for him to make. How could any man withstand such a threat?

  ‘Yes,’ he finally said.

  She nodded, and the gun barrel was withdrawn a little. ‘First you are going to give me your access card for the ISS building, then you are going to tell me everything you know about the security system. Pass codes, patrol routes, access protocols, everything. So, let’s begin.’

  Chapter 39

  Anya was feeling a little more optimistic about their chances when she returned to the safe house about an hour later. Karga had, to his credit, lived up to his end of their agreement, telling her everything she needed to know about the building’s security system, and more besides. In the end it was all she could do to shut him up.

  Satisfied that he hadn’t lied to her, she had left him bound and gagged in his bath tub before departing with his access card and security pass codes. Karga was single, based on both her own observations and the brief dossier that Halvorsen’s people had put together on him, meaning it was unlikely anyone would visit him in the next few hours. Likely he’d make his predicament known sooner or later, but she planned to be long gone by then.

  Halvorsen was seated on the couch, thumbing rounds into the magazine for his own automatic. Though he would be armed like her, his part in this operation was confined to the role of getaway driver, partly because she was dubious of his skills after two decades away from field work, and partly because she wanted operational control to stay with her. She might be short-handed when they went in, but at least she’d only have Alex to worry about.

  He glanced up as she entered. ‘How did it go?’

  Anya held up the access card. ‘It could have been worse.’

  ‘He didn’t give that up willingly, I suppose?’

  She shrugged. ‘I can be very persuasive.’

  At this, he smiled knowingly. ‘So I remember.’ He gestured to the kitchen, where a coffee urn was steaming away. ‘There is coffee left if you want some. Tastes like shit but it does the trick.’

  She shook her head, preferring to stay away from caffeine now that they were soon to go into action. The kind of jittery, nervous energy that came with it was of no use to her, particularly when she was about to attempt a hastily conceived raid on a high-security building in a foreign country.

  ‘Where is Alex?’ she asked instead.

  He pointed towards the narrow balcony beyond the shuttered windows. ‘Said he needed some air.’

  Which was clearly untrue, she knew. Nobody went outside simply for fresh air, particularly in a crowded urban area like this. Alex was out there because he wanted to be alone. He was afraid of what was coming, and the more ti
me he spent alone with that fear churning over in his mind, the worse it would become. She’d seen it happen many times in the past, often with disastrous results.

  She needed him focussed and motivated, not frightened and indecisive.

  Leaving Halvorsen in the living area, she pushed open the shutters and slipped out onto the narrow balcony clinging to the side of the apartment building.

  Whatever shortcomings this place might have had in terms of space, utilities and decor, one area where it did at least excel was the view. From this high vantage point she was able to see right across the dense and chaotic urban sprawl of central Istanbul to the glistening waters of the Bosphorus Strait. Ships and boats of all descriptions ploughed across the narrow body of water that linked the Black Sea with the Mediterranean, while on the far side stood the eastern half of the transcontinental city.

  Closer at hand, six immense minaret towers rose high into the evening sky, surrounding the countless domes and high walls of the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, the largest of its kind in the country. Another reminder of Istanbul’s conflict-ridden past. Anya recalled reading once that in ancient times a heavy iron chain had been hung across the sultan’s entrance to the mosque, forcing him to bow as he rode inside on horseback. The intention was clear: even all-powerful rulers had to learn humility from time to time.

  It was a shame today’s crop of world leaders hadn’t learned that lesson, she thought.

  As Halvorsen had said, Alex was out there leaning on the railing, staring out across the city without really seeing anything. He was holding a packet of cigarettes, though he hadn’t lit one yet.

  He didn’t look around as Anya slipped in beside him, sharing the view in companionable silence for a time.

  It wasn’t like him to be so taciturn, and for a moment Anya caught herself wishing he would say something to break the silence. At first she had found his constant questions and inane banter both irritating and draining, yet she had to admit that over the past few days she’d grown accustomed to it, perhaps even learned to like it. Maybe because when he was speaking, she didn’t have to say anything herself.

  At this moment, however, things were different.

  ‘It is a good evening,’ she said at last, watching a young couple sauntering along hand in hand on the street far below. Not a care in the world, Anya thought with a fleeting tinge of envy. ‘When I was young, my mother used to call this the magic hour. She believed there was purpose to all of our lives, and that at moments like this, we were given a glimpse of it. She said anything was possible at such a time.’

  Alex said nothing in response. His eyes continued to survey the city, though his thoughts were clearly turned inward.

  ‘I know the last few days have been… difficult for you, Alex,’ she said, groping for the right words. Conversations like this always left her feeling uncomfortable and strained, as if she didn’t have the vocabulary to express herself properly. ‘I know, because the same thing once happened to me.’

  At last this seemed to stir his interest. He blinked, and slowly turned to look at her.

  ‘I told you once about my life before,’ she said, the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed. ‘I was young then, and I was different. Gentle, naive, a daydreamer who used to lie in the long grass staring up at the sky, wondering what might be.’

  She shook her head, dispelling the memory.

  ‘That all changed one evening, not unlike this one. I was outside in the field overlooking our home when police and men in official cars arrived. I was told that my parents had been killed. There was an accident, their car ploughed into a tree, and they were gone. Just like that. Everything I had known, everything I was and might have been, was taken away from me that night. I had to change very quickly, let go of my fear and weakness, let go of who I had been. That’s why I call this time “before”, and why I can barely remember it. I chose to forget that little girl, Alex. I did this, because the memory of who I was would stop me doing what I had to do to survive. So I let her go.’

  Alex was listening to her now. She could feel his eyes on her, even as she stared out across the glistening waters of the strait, though in truth her thoughts were turned inward. She was thinking about the frightened little girl she’d chosen to leave behind, the life she’d chosen to forget. She wondered, in a fleeting moment of doubt, whether it could ever be hers again.

  Alex sighed and turned his gaze back out across the city. ‘I’m sorry, Anya.’

  She blinked, returning to herself. ‘For what?’

  ‘For a lot of things. Mostly for making this happen.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s my fault we’re here now, my fault you don’t have the Black List. I’m sorry you had to go through all of this, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. I know that doesn’t mean much, but… I wanted you to know anyway. Might not get another chance to say it, know what I mean?’

  She did know. He wanted to make things right with her.

  Moved by a sudden impulse, Anya reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm. It wasn’t often that she felt the need for physical contact, and if she was honest, overt displays of affection had always left her feeling strangely uncomfortable. But just this once it felt right.

  Alex Yates was a good man, she knew then. Maybe he wasn’t the sort she normally associated with, and she doubted they’d be seeing much of each other once this was all over, but he was a better person than many she had encountered over the years. And perhaps deserved a second chance.

  ‘It does mean something,’ she allowed.

  That seemed to satisfy him, and for a time he was silent and pensive.

  ‘I saw you, you know,’ he said at last. ‘At Trafalgar Square, the day I met with Arran. I saw you watching me.’

  She blinked, regarding him with surprise. ‘You remember that, out of all the people you saw that day?’

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. I remember all of them, every face, every piece of clothing, every car and bus and bike on the road. Forgetting isn’t an option for me.’

  Her brows drew together for a moment as she assessed the meaning behind his words before arriving at the logical conclusion. ‘You have a photographic memory.’

  He nodded, offering a weary smile. ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Has it always been this way?’

  Again he nodded. ‘All my life. When I was little, I found I could remember just about anything I saw or heard. It made learning things...well, easier. My teachers at school were convinced I was cheating on my exams somehow; they couldn’t understand how I could remember entire textbooks word for word.’

  His skills with computers were beginning to make more sense to her now, and his ability to find loopholes that others couldn’t. He didn’t see what others missed, he simply remembered what others forgot.

  ‘That is a gift,’ she said, wishing her own memory were as infallible. She had trained herself over the years to commit important information to memory, but of course there were limits to what she could accurately recall.

  ‘A gift?’ he snorted. ‘Yeah, right. More like a curse. Imagine never being able to turn it off. It just keeps piling up, every day, every minute. My head gets so filled up with useless shit, sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in it. I even end up forgetting things that are supposed to be important. So no, all things considered, I’d rather I hadn’t inherited this “talent”.’

  Anya said nothing, perhaps a little surprised by the vehemence of his sentiment. She would never know the turmoil that existed within his mind, the sea of random thoughts and memories that he had to constantly manage and keep under control, the sheer mental energy he had to expend just to get through the day.

  ‘But it is yours anyway. You can either spend your life wishing it wasn’t there, or you can use it. I know you can do that.’ She glanced at him, comparing the man before her with the frightened, hesitant weakling he’d been only a few short days earlier. ‘You are stronger than you look, Alex. Maybe even stronge
r than you realize.’

  Alex didn’t say anything to this, though she sensed her words had struck a chord in him. Maybe he would listen to her.

  ‘Are you going to smoke those?’ she asked, nodding to the cigarettes in his hand.

  Alex smiled wryly. ‘Thought you didn’t approve?’

  ‘I think you have earned it.’

  He looked at the packet for a long moment before slipping it back into his pocket.

  ‘When you have the Black List and we’re on a plane out of here, then I’ll celebrate,’ he decided. ‘In the meantime, we have work to do.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ she conceded. ‘Are you ready?’

  Alex nodded, summoning up the deeply buried reserve of courage that she knew he possessed. He was frightened and intimidated by what lay ahead, but he would see it through. She would make sure of that.

  She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Then let’s finish this.’

  *

  So there we were, about to make our final play. Like gamblers on losing streaks the world over, we were betting everything on one last roll of the dice.

  It sounds insane when I think about it now. The idea that somehow we’d actually get away with it, that they wouldn’t be expecting what we were about to do.

  Maybe it was overconfidence getting the better of me again, or maybe I just wanted to believe there was still a way out. If I didn’t still have that to hold on to, then what else was there?

  Either way, I went into it with my eyes open. Seeing nothing.

  Chapter 40

  As the sun sank below the distant western horizon and darkness fell on the ancient city of Istanbul, office buildings, shops and factories slowly emptied as workers began their long commutes home for the evening.

  But two people who had no intention of going home tonight were Olivia Mitchell and Vince Argento. Encamped on the roof of an apartment building about a hundred yards from the ISS Communications office, they had been observing it with a pair of high-powered binoculars since their arrival earlier in the day, looking for any sign of Yates or Anya. Such static observation was a mind-numbing task at the best of times, and so far one that had yielded no results.