As always Rahmani wrapped up on an optimistic note. He didn’t practice the art of frightening people to give. The money should come from the heart. In traditional fashion a fedora was passed and most laid checks or envelopes into it, though a number gave euros. Rahmani would record the cash for the organization’s private records but the money itself would go into his pocket to pay his way. This kept it from the Italian tax authorities.
He finished with his customary farewell. “We will see a free Iran again. I believe it. And you should believe it as well.” He smiled broadly. “Be sure to give us your current address for our newsletter.”
Afterward there was a crush of hands and of words of deep gratitude. Before leaving he pocketed the updated register, then with a warm smile set off. Outside the women were gone. Rahmani took a taxi directly to the airport. On the plane no one seemed to pay him special attention, nor did anyone as he went to get his car.
By that afternoon, he was at his office. He placed the revised register in his safe, making a mental note to update the computer database later. He glanced at his watch. There was much to do and very little time.
24
MEYRIN, SWITZERLAND
MAIRIE COMMUNE DE MEYRIN POLICE
RUE DES BOUDINES 2
9:34 A.M. CET
Ulrich Spyri entered the police station with a scowl. He’d allowed himself to have hope in what logic and experience told him was a hopeless situation.
“Where is he?” he asked the desk sergeant.
“In the common room, sir.”
“I’ll be there if anyone needs me.” Spyri was buzzed from the waiting area into the hallway leading to the offices and holding cells of the police station. He walked the short distance to the common room. Inside were three tables with chairs, a pair of vending machines, a joint use refrigerator, a microwave and two toasters. Someone had placed travel posters along one wall with pictures of distant and sunny climes.
When the American had been picked up on the Route de Meyrin by a patrol car not long after midnight, Spyri had him rushed to the station. His feet were bleeding and he was struggling to compose himself. He’d been bandaged and provided with a pair of shoes. For all that he’d been through, he gave a good recounting of the kidnapping, of his extraordinary escape, and an accurate picture of where he’d been held and how to get there. He’d conveyed the sense of urgency they all felt.
Within minutes Spyri was confident he knew where the woman was. His lieutenant had been furious as they’d waited the few minutes for the tactical team to prepare for the rescue. The old shoe shop wasn’t three blocks from the police station.
The raid had taken place very quickly and with typical Swiss precision. And to no avail.
The woman was gone. So were the three men.
The forensic team had meticulously combed the van they’d discovered but so far had produced nothing of use. The problem now was that Spyri had no idea what vehicle they’d fled in. They’d questioned everyone living or working along the street but no one had seen anything. With the border to either France or Italy not ten kilometers away they were surely already out of the country and had been by the time the raid was launched. He’d immediately sent an alert but had no expectation it would succeed.
Jeff was sitting at a table with a blanket across his shoulders. A female officer had been assigned to remain with him as experience had shown a woman had a calming effect in such situations. Spyri took a chair that gave a small squeal as he moved it and sat facing the American.
“You’ve been told?”
Jeff nodded. “Yes. I’m disappointed but relieved you didn’t find a body. Do you have any leads?” There were two Band-Aids on his face, three more on his hands. The laces to his oversized shoes were untied. He clutched a mug in his hand.
“We’ve sent an alert to all the neighboring countries. We routinely work with them and they will treat it as if the crime had been committed within their jurisdiction. We’ve also notified our own police in the unlikely event they’ve remained in Switzerland.”
“What did you tell them to look for? Three men and a woman?”
“I’m afraid so. That’s all we have presently.” The American looked exhausted. Well, he would be.
There was a rap at the door and Henri Wille from UNOG entered the room carrying a black athletic bag. Spyri gestured at a chair. “You two met before, I think?” Spyri said. Jeff looked up and nodded in recognition.
“I am very sorry for this, Mr. Aiken. Your government and employers have been informed. I want you to know we are doing everything we possibly can to find Miss Haugen.”
“Thank you.” Jeff drank the now cold tea, then said, “Let me ask you an important question. If they were going to kill her, wouldn’t they have done it where we were held? Then they’d leave? They wouldn’t take her to kill her later, would they?”
They would if they wanted to question her first, Henri thought, glancing at Spyri, who by his look had reached the same conclusion. “We can’t know what they plan,” Henri said. “They are criminals, terrorists from what you’ve told us. We just must do all we can to find her. Has anything more come to mind since the police last spoke to you?”
“Nothing. I keep reliving it over and over, wondering if I shouldn’t have tried to get her myself.”
“You did the right thing,” Henri said. “It was three against one. And they were armed. You’d have had no chance.” No one said anything for a long moment, then Henri continued. “We found this at the scene of your abduction.” He reached into the bag and extracted Jeff’s laptop bag. “We’ve assumed it was either yours or your partner’s.”
“It’s mine,” Jeff said. “I could use it right about now.”
Henri glanced at Spyri, who shrugged. He handed it over to Jeff, who took it with alacrity. He’d lost his cell phone during the abduction and never expected to see his laptop again. He removed the computer and flipped open the screen.
“We’ll leave you for a bit, Mr. Aiken,” Spyri said. “If I hear anything, anything at all, I’ll let you know at once.” He glanced at the female officer, indicating she was to remain. She nodded in understanding.
Outside in the hallway Henri leaned against the wall and let out a deep breath. “Rough,” he said when Spyri had closed the door. “I’ll be tagging along for now,” he said. “I’m the Interpol contact at UNOG and I’ve received instructions to stay on this until she is recovered.” Spyri nodded. “Don’t look so grim,” Henri said. “You did your best.”
“I don’t feel any better for it.”
“I understand but you’ve got one of the two who were abducted. That’s better than anything you could have hoped for a few hours ago.”
Once the WiFi connection was established, Jeff immediately sent a message summarizing events to Frank Renkin in Langley, copying it to Graham Yates at Whitehall. Frank replied at once.
Good to know you’re with us. Our best wishes for Daryl’s safe return. Get some rest.
Frank
Suddenly overcome, Jeff placed his face into his hands in thought and exhaustion.
“Can I get you something, sir?” the woman asked from her place.
“No. I’m . . . just tired is all.”
“We have somewhere you can lay down. I think it would be a good idea.”
“Not yet. Thank you.”
He went back to Frank’s message and hit “reply.” He asked for his assistance, unofficially if necessary.
I understand. If a friend can’t go to the wall for you at this time what’s he good for? You know I’ll do what I can. Just be discreet. I’ll get back to you ASAP. Don’t do anything foolish.
Frank
Next, Jeff sent a message to Bridget Evans, Daryl’s best friend at the National Security Agency where she’d once worked. Worldwide electronic surveillance and encryption were their specialty. To his relief he received an immediate message of sympathy and assurance that she’d do what he asked. “But it’s my job if you aren’t car
eful,” she’d written.
Jeff closed the computer. “I’d like to go back to my hotel room, if that’s all right. There isn’t any point in my hanging out here from what I can see.”
She stood up. “You’re feeling all right, then? Shock can linger.”
“I’m fine. I’d just like to get out of a police station and into a warm bed. I need to sleep and turn my mind off.”
The woman nodded, stood up, and went out into the hallway. There she found Spyri, who was saying good-bye to Henri. He returned to the common room. “You’re quite sure, Mr. Aiken?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is now a police matter. I need to get some rest and I have to contact her family yet. I’m not looking forward to it.” Actually, Jeff had no intention of contacting Daryl’s family. He’d let her do that once he had her safely back.
“Very well,” Spyri said. “Officer del Medico will drive you to your hotel and see you to your room. I will be in touch when we have any word at all.”
It was not yet lunchtime when Jeff entered the ultramodern hotel room. Spyri had placed a uniformed officer out in the hallway as a precaution. To Jeff’s surprise, he found it somewhat comforting to be back. It reminded him of a happier time, not that many hours ago, when his own world had been safe and he’d been with the woman he loved. It also seemed to him he could smell Daryl’s fragrance, though he realized that was foolish. The room had been cleaned, the large bed freshly made. A light jacket Daryl had left out was now neatly folded atop her suitcase. He lifted it lightly and held it to his nostrils. There it was, her scent. He had smelled it.
Jeff placed the laptop on the desk and plugged it in to recharge. When he and Daryl had first moved in together she’d written a program that allowed the other to track his or her cell phone. That way they always knew were the other was. Since they traveled so often they’d found it a convenience. Plus, if either lost his or her cell phone, which Jeff had a tendency to do on occasion, they could find it.
He launched the app and his heart sank when he saw there was no signal from her phone. He checked for his own. The same. The phones weren’t just off since they were programmed to report their position every fifteen minutes even when on standby. They were destroyed.
Next, Jeff checked messages and found none relevant. Though he had no appetite he picked up the room-service menu, used the telephone, and placed an order. He’d need the energy.
While he waited for the food, he stripped off his soiled clothes and stepped into a very hot shower. He let the water play over his body as he tried to control his thoughts. The last time he’d done this, Daryl had joined him and the memories were still vivid.
He stepped out of the shower and as he toweled off he inadvertently caught a look of himself in the large mirror. There was a bruise along his entire right side, two dark bruises on his face, as well as a number of small cuts and lacerations. He’d taken a beating.
He brushed his hair, then his teeth, and just as he put on the oversized bathrobe the doorbell chimed. He let the waiter carry his meal in and place it on the small table in front of the large window with two facing chairs, signed for it, then closed the door. He checked for messages again.
Nothing.
Jeff sighed, turned on the television for noise, then listlessly ate the meal, forcing himself to nearly finish the plate. Afterward he placed the tray outside, closed the door, then checked again for messages.
Still nothing.
He tried desperately to think of what else he could do. Rest, he decided. He could rest. He moved the computer to the bed and placed it beside his head, activating the chime and turning the volume all the way up. He lay back and closed his eyes, doubting he could sleep but within seconds had fallen into a restless black hole.
25
ISTANBUL, TURKEY
RED DRAGON RESTAURANT
YEDEK REIS SOKAK 13
KAVACIK MH.
11:52 A.M. EET
Rush hour was beginning and Wu Ying glanced across the terrace. Located atop a five-story building, his restaurant delivered a commanding view of the ancient city. The terrace was more than half full, a welcome sight as the weather had recently been cold. The Red Dragon was noted for its outdoor dining. In the near distance was the blue Bosporus, looking more inviting from here than it did on close examination. Flowing from the Black Sea into the Mediterranean, with the effluent of this metropolis of 12 million, it was an all but open sewer.
Today promised an early spring. Wu wondered if it would take or if winter would return. He glanced at the azure sky but found no answer there. Buds were thick on the carefully tended potted shrubbery, a handful of flowers revealing the first signs of blossoming. A good sign.
Customers had come out today to take in the view and enjoy his fare. There was laughter and the steady chatter of any successful restaurant, music to an owner’s ears. Still, they were dressed warmly against what could on occasion be a chilling breeze from off the water.
The kitchen behind Wu was a zoo right now, contrasting sharply with the controlled pace and casual elegance of the terrace. The waitresses were dressed in body-hugging red cheongsam dresses embellished with elaborate golden embroidery. These had a closed neck and short sleeves. On their trim bodies the sight was subtly erotic, as the original designers had intended. His waiters were all young, slender, handsome men brought from mainland China, like all the staff. Everyone and everything was efficient. Wu would have it no other way.
Originally from Shandong Province, China, he’d lived in Turkey for nearly ten years now. Besides the Red Dragon, he also owned the Great Wall in Ankara, and he divided his time between them. It was in Ankara where Wu had his residence, a modern condo situated above the city’s chronic pollution. He had good managers at both restaurants but experience had proven they both required his attention.
Wu lit a cigarette near the railing so the sea breeze would carry away the smoke. This was Turkey and every adult and half the children smoked, it seemed to him, but enough antismoking tourists frequented the Red Dragon to make him cautious.
Wu watched an American couple across the terrace laughing. Each was overweight and their voices dominated the eating area. His father had told him that in time he’d likely resettle to America or perhaps Vancouver in Canada. Wu wondered if he’d like it. The thought of living in either place repelled him. But the Chinese were world settlers, more widespread than the Jews or Armenians. His time would come, he knew.
He reminded himself that he’d not expected to like Turkey. When his father first told him this was where he’d start the family business Wu had been miserable. Not even Europe, he’d thought. He’d expected France or one of the other Western countries. In the worst case, he’d thought he’d end up in South America, Rio or Buenos Aires. But Turkey!
It was neither East nor West. It was Muslim as well. He’d pictured himself living behind a guarded wall, cut off from a sterile city, unwelcome and alienated.
The reality had been the precise opposite. Turkey might be Muslim but it was a nominal designation. They didn’t take it that seriously despite its overtly Muslim president. The ruling Justice and Development Party was traditionally conservative and presented a public secular face. It was a mixed-race nation, a unique melting pot in which the Middle East, Central Asia, Southern Russia, Greece, and central Europe had intermixed. Istanbul in particular was a city that took its pleasure seriously, which was why the capital had been moved to dreary Ankara. Wu had found a wonderful life in Istanbul.
And being part of neither Europe (though a member of NATO) nor the Middle East, Turkey was uniquely positioned as the crossroads for this vast region of the world.
Li Chin-Shou came out of the double doors, carry ing a large tray of steaming food and headed toward the loud Americans. Perhaps thirty years old, he was remarkably fit and played his part well. As he set the plates down for the approving couple, he glanced about the terrace, taking it all in.
Though trade with China had increased this last deca
de and there were more Chinese here than ever it was not possible for Wu to move about Istanbul unnoticed. The Chinese had been in Istanbul for more than a thousand years but they were still a small minority. Unless you worked for the Chinese government in some capacity or operated an export import business, it was assumed you worked in a Chinese restaurant. So it was, the world over.
And that was just fine with Wu. The less attention he drew, the more he fit a stereotype, the easier his life was. He drew the last of his cigarette, then held it in his hand until he could dispose of it. Every smoking customer, it seemed to him, casually flicked their discarded butts over the railing. Each day he had one of his staff apologize to those who lived below before cleaning up the litter.
His father had known what he was doing. Istanbul was a world banking center, appreciated by the Arab oil moguls and international traders of all sorts. From here, Wu could safely and discreetly distribute the family’s growing fortune. No less than once a year he returned to Beijing to visit his family, always returning with a stash of American dollars and euros. China might be a growing economic and military power but its future was uncertain. Every family of prominence planted adult children out of the country to establish roots and to squirrel away the family fortune.
And from here, he had ready access to Europe. It seemed, as well, that all those who really knew what was going on found their way here. The name players on the world stage rarely landed in Istanbul but the second-tier players, the money and power brokers, all did, most having a second home here. This was the true crossroads of the world, the gateway between East and West, as it had always been.
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