Burned (Vanessa Pierson series Book 2) (30 page)

Jeffreys’s chauffeured SUV pulled out of Les Ottomans Hotel to turn southwest on Muallim Naci Caddesi, and Fournier followed.

Thirty seconds behind Fournier, Aisha pulled out in a rented Fiat Doblò that was the color of a ripe plum. Shifting quickly to second gear and then third, she was glad for her dark sunglasses that blocked the glare. The sky was covered with clouds, but occasionally the sun broke through; when it did, it glittered off the many ships traveling up and down the waters of the Bosphorus.

She had been up for more than thirty hours, and she was wired and running on empty except for the coffee and cigarettes she consumed nonstop, but she felt no fatigue. It was more like she felt nothing. When she noticed her hands on the steering wheel her fingers reminded her of bones.

The Mercedes-Benz passed the shoreline’s Cemil Topuzlu Parkı and would soon meet the Istanbul 0-1. At that point it could stay on Muallim Naci or follow the 0-1 across the Strait. Fournier kept the
Jetta at a reasonable distance from his target. Aisha prepared to follow whatever way they went.

Yesterday, after she’d spoken to Khoury on the street in Paris, she’d gone to Canard for help.

She focused on the road ahead as the green SUV approached the entrance to 0-1.

It did not turn to cross the Strait. Instead, it stayed on Muallim Naci.

As the three vehicles passed the Marmara Esma Sultan and approached the Four Seasons, Aisha thought about Team Viper holed up in that elegant hotel with a pang of regret. She would be with them if she could, but she would have to go back far enough in time to hide Yasmin somewhere no one could hurt her.

She had her phone with her in the Doblò, but she’d removed its battery to evade tracking. Once, in the lost hours before dawn, she’d even thought about calling Khoury. Instead, she’d poured herself more coffee.

Aisha had made it to Istanbul thanks to Canard. He’d given her a place to sleep for a few hours when she couldn’t go back to her apartment. She didn’t like to use him, but in this case she had no choice. It was Canard who told her about the French special forces team killing the terrorist—and the young woman’s body, now confirmed as Yasmin.

An asset had given her the piece about the tinker. Word was out that he was holed up in Istanbul.

Through a friend in Turkish intelligence, Aisha learned the final piece of the puzzle—the Middle East peace accord that was to be held in secret at Les Ottomans would be led by none other than Allen Jeffreys.

The Mercedes-Benz was slowing and Fournier braked the Jetta in response. Aisha took her foot off the Doblò’s accelerator. The Mercedes with Jeffreys in the back and his security officer in front turned
off to Feriye Lokantası, a restaurant housed in Feriye Palace, a complex of Ottoman imperial buildings near the Four Seasons. Aisha knew that a sultan who ruled the empire in the late 1800s had commissioned it.

Practicing normal tradecraft, Fournier continued past the restaurant. Aisha took the turn, but she avoided driving into the parking lot where the Mercedes now pulled up to the restaurant’s ornate and massive façade.

Aisha parked far enough away so her vehicle would not attract attention, but close enough so she could see what needed to be seen.

It looked as if Jeffreys was going to enjoy a late lunch alone or with an unknown companion on the waterfront of the Bosphorus.

“Eagle is turning southeast off the highway, headed for the waterfront to something called Feriye Lokantası. Looks like an old palace.” Fournier’s voice through transmitters sounded tinny inside the Range Rover. To Vanessa his accent turned Jeffreys’s code name into “Hegle.”

The Turkish driver, Ali, informally on loan from Turkish intelligence, spoke up: “It is a palace, or it was. Now it’s a five-star restaurant.”

“Well, if a man’s gotta eat, might as well do it in a palace on U.S. taxpayer dollars,” Khoury said.

“For all we know it’s a meet and he’s there to get the nuke,” Vanessa said. She couldn’t stop squirming in the backseat. It had begun to drizzle and temperatures were in the mid-forties. Inside it felt too warm and stuffy, and she was breaking a sweat.

Khoury sat next to her, while the expert from NEST, a quiet, slender Indian engineer, sat shotgun beside the Turkish driver. They were parked in the lot of the Four Seasons, waiting to move and take over
for Fournier as soon as they had eyes on Eagle. But Eagle had stopped. Chris and Hays were holding down the fort in the room.

“Tell me again why we don’t have visual, Hays?”

“Sorry, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Now it was Hays who sounded tinny. “Unfortunately, I can’t just pick up a feed here like in London or Paris, but give me a few minutes, I’m working on it.”

“Lots of important people go to this restaurant,” Ali said. “I’m sure they have a camera or two, but VIPs sometimes prefer to meet where they can have privacy, so maybe not.”

“There goes Fournier,” Khoury said, tracking a white Jetta on the highway.

“I’m turning around,” Fournier said in response to Khoury.

“Okay, guys,” Hays said. “You should be able to communicate between vehicles now.”

Vanessa shifted consciously toward their vehicle’s radio transmitter.
“Bonjour?”

“Oui,”
Fournier said.

“Can you head back and find somewhere to park inconspicuously on the other side of the restaurant?”

“
Oui
, I should be able to do that. There’s a wharf and a park, some parking areas beyond the palace complex.”

Vanessa felt Ali’s eyes on her in the rearview mirror and Khoury asked her quietly, “You want to fill us in on what you’re thinking?”

She nodded. “We can move closer to the restaurant so we at least have visual of the front. Fournier can move so he’s not conspicuous, but he can easily pick up Eagle again when and if he heads back to Les Ottomans.”

Within minutes, Ali found a parking spot between the Four Seasons and Feriye Lokantası, where the Rover was discreet at the same time it offered a clear view with binoculars to the waterfront side of the restaurant.

Seated at a table by a window, Jeffreys was just visible through glass.

“Who’s he with?” Khoury asked Vanessa, who shifted to try to gain a clearer view. “Can’t see from here,” she said. “Hays?”

“Don’t know,” Hays said over the transmitter. He’d managed to gain access to two exterior security cams. The first camera surveilled the main entrance to the restaurant, the second overlooked two rear exits. “It almost looks a little bit like his security guard, but I can’t tell for certain.”

Now Chris spoke up, apparently off of his latest round of phone calls. “The Israelis have checked into Les Ottomans,” he said.

Vanessa hunched back in her seat. “Pretty soon we’ll have everyone and everything but the nuke.”

—

SEVENTY MINUTES LATER
it was Vanessa who blurted out the news, “Eagle on the move again!”

The man from NEST sat up abruptly in the front seat and Hays confirmed Vanessa’s call by radio. “Roger that, got Eagle and his security guard on cameras, they are exiting through front doors.”

“Kahretsin,”
Ali said with a groan. He started the Rover but stayed in place.

“Briefcase?” Vanessa asked. Even with the binoculars she could not get a full view of the front entrance.

“Eagle still has the briefcase,” Hays said. “And it’s still skinny.”

“
Allo
, are you hearing this?” Chris asked over the radio.

“
Oui
, got it,” Fournier said with a huff of air that sounded a lot like smoke exhalation to Vanessa. When this was all over, she told herself, she’d savor a few more cigarettes and then quit for good.

“We don’t know who he met for lunch . . .” she said, uneasily. “Hays, you still tracking his phone?”

“Yep. Signal loud and clear.”

“What if he dumps it?” Khoury asked.

“Then we will have eyes on him,” Hays said.

Just then Ali accelerated, guiding the Range Rover out to the highway. Vanessa felt a surge of anxiety. She wouldn’t be able to relax again until the op was completed.

Hays confirmed that Eagle’s green SUV was heading back toward Les Ottomans. Fournier chimed in that he would pick up their trail after giving them space to pass and stay ahead of him. Ali pulled out to follow, at least until they were sure Fournier had Eagle covered.

Vanessa couldn’t shake the queasy feeling in her abdomen. Details kept swirling through her thoughts. After a minute, one of them popped out at her.

“Hays—what did you say before about Eagle’s son? ‘Do they clone their young?’”

“Well, yeah,” Hays said, his voice crackling a bit through the transmission. “Because he looks just . . .
shit
.”

Chris jumped into the conversation now. “Get a camera on the pool, now, Hays.”

“I’m on it, but Baby Bird’s not there,” Hays said, his voice rising half an octave. “Maybe he’s in the sauna again?”

“Damn it!” Vanessa slapped the back of the NEST guy’s headrest and he jumped. “Baby Bird’s not in the pool or the sauna because he’s in the car. He’s in the SUV. It’s Baby Bird, not Eagle!”

Khoury turned toward her briefly, his gaze bullet hard. “They switched places at the restaurant. Phones, too.”

“I didn’t get a close-up of his face,” Hays said, almost moaning.

“Ali,” Vanessa pressed, “could there be another exit we didn’t know about? Underground? You said it’s an old palace—”

“It had concubine quarters,” Ali said, his voice dark. “Sultans often had tunnels built between their residence and other parts of the compound so they could move around and . . .”

Fournier’s radio had been silent for the past minute, but now he said, “I’ll track the SUV the rest of the way and see who gets out and where. You try to figure out how to pick up Eagle again.”

“Shit,” Chris said. “We’ve lost him.”

“Do we have Baby Bird’s cell phone?” Khoury asked, sounding as if he knew he was grasping at a straw. “Maybe Eagle took it with him?”

“No and no,” Hays said.

Vanessa buried her face in her hands. “He’s off the grid now and we let him walk away.”

The Galata Bridge, spanning Istanbul’s Golden Horn, which separated the old, historic center of Istanbul from the rest of the city, shimmered just ahead. To Aisha the vision was familiar and yet, time after time, it took her breath away.

Reluctantly, she returned her focus to the bright blue Ford Fiesta now driven by Jeffreys. He was slowly approaching the Golden Horn and the old city beyond. And actually, she had to admit he was doing a fair job of navigating Istanbul’s ubiquitous traffic jams.

She glanced over at her phone and loose battery on the passenger seat next to her. Abruptly compelled by the realization she might not be able to complete what she wanted to do on her own, she scooped them up and managed to clip them back together using her free hand. When she pressed the power button the phone shivered to life and the bars showed a strong signal.

She opened her window to the cold and drizzle—the clouds had socked in, and the rain was turning to snow as the temperature dropped. She held up the phone and snapped a photo of the bridge ahead. Not allowing herself to waffle, she pulled up Dawood’s private number and sent him the photo. She disconnected the battery once more and tucked it into her pocket, along with her phone.

“As-salam alaykum . . . as-salam alaykum
 . . .”
As Aisha whispered she nodded rhythmically, slowly. The simple chant kept her grounded. She did not let her thoughts move to Yasmin. She did not think any more about Dawood. She did not allow herself to dwell on the fate she desired for those responsible for hurting her sister.

She had learned many ways to get what she wanted.

And she had also learned that Allah had His own designs and she was no more than a grain of sand in His plan.

Aisha had no doubt that Jeffreys was a bad man with dangerous aims. Not after she witnessed his trick at the restaurant. Team Viper had missed it, but Aisha had seen it with her own eyes. And now she was so wired that she could not close her eyes, not even if somebody knocked her unconscious.

While waiting for Jeffreys outside the restaurant, she had used a trick of her own, a habit that served her well on surveillance ops. She stayed awake and focused by flicking her gaze between foreground and background—the primary and surrounding areas.

And so she’d immediately noticed the door in the building next to the restaurant nosing open just twenty-five meters or so away from where she was parked. Jeffreys emerged, sans his briefcase and sunglasses and jacket. He’d walked intently to the group of cars in the lot and he’d gotten behind the wheel of the blue Ford.

Even with her habit, luck played a huge part in spotting Jeffreys as he made his move. Aisha had thanked Allah at least two dozen times and remembered Yasmin—she was so devout she never missed a call to prayer, even during the worst bombings and shellings in their neighborhood.

Sweet Yasmin,
okhti al-jamila
, beautiful sister
.

Along with a constant stream of other vehicles, the Ford Fiesta crossed the bridge over the Golden Horn and Aisha followed not far behind, alert for her target’s next move in the dense traffic. She would not make the same mistake as Team Viper.

Jeffreys continued as quickly as the dense, sometimes stop-and-go, traffic would allow onto Ragıp Gümüs¸pala Caddesi. She did, too. The cold penetrated the car. She loosened her scarf but left it draped around the neck of her leather jacket. Not visible beneath the jacket, the small holster and the Glock pressed against the small of her back. It had been easy to get—one call to a man who knew a man.

The Ford Fiesta turned onto S¸eref Efendi Sokak and slowed to almost nothing. Traffic throughout the city was a nightmare of manic drivers and incessant honking.

Although they were still about 1.5 kilometers away, Aisha knew Jeffreys’s destination: Büyük Çars¸ı, the Grand Bazaar. With more than sixty covered, winding streets and alleys, and three thousand shops and stalls, and secretive hans, it was the perfect place to covertly hand off a package.

By the time he led her to Tavuk Pazarı Sokak, they were only paces from the bazaar.

Jeffreys managed to park on a side street between Tavuk Pazarı and Çars¸ıkapı.

Not as lucky, Aisha left her vehicle double-parked in a driveway about seventy-five meters away. As she crossed the street, she imagined the car would be ransacked and towed before she returned. Had she locked the doors? She didn’t remember—she was determined she would not lose him in the crowd.

Carrying the thin briefcase, Jeffreys entered the market, moving with surprising speed through the tall, imposing gate called Çars¸ıkapı.

Aisha pulled the scarf over her head and wrapped it loosely around her hair, and she passed beneath the gate into the dark, cool world of the Grand Bazaar.

For a moment, while she adjusted to the change in light, she thought that she had lost him. But then she saw that he had turned right on a street famous for its jewelry. He stood half a head taller
than most of the local men. She followed, using the top of his head as a beacon. He took another turn, heading down a smaller street filled with fur and leather stands. Hanging back so she would not get made, Aisha followed.

She realized with surprise that she was holding the phone in her pocket as she moved. She pulled it out along with its battery. As she walked, she slipped the battery into the back of the phone and clicked the cover into place.

When she pressed the green button, her phone whirred on.

Jeffreys slowed ahead, staring at a shop that sold shoes and boots.

He picked up speed again, and Aisha did the same. He glanced around and over his shoulder several times, and she wondered if he now sensed her presence. More than once, she pulled back, ducking into an alcove to avoid detection. He turned again, cutting left for a minute, then right, and he continued this way so it seemed at times he was leading her in circles. She kept up, moving with him into increasingly dark and remote sections of the mazelike market.

Suddenly she felt vulnerable and uncertain. What if she couldn’t stop him? Without another thought, she selected her most recent call and clicked resend.

He picked up almost instantly and Aisha felt a pang of emotion at the sound of his voice. “Dawood, I stayed on his trail after you lost him at the restaurant.”

He inhaled sharply. “I got your photo and I’m on my way. Where are you now?”

“The Grand Bazaar. Go in through Çars¸ıkapı. Follow the street where they sell all the leathers. Keep moving toward the middle of the bazaar.”

“What are you doing, Aisha? Don’t make it worse.”

“Pass the big street with all the flat woven carpets, Halıcılar, and look for Acı Çes¸me Sokak—”

“We’re already over the bridge, and will be there soon. Please wait for us.”

“Just listen. He’s right ahead of me. I think he’s headed for the Zincirli Han. Swear you’ll get him for me, and for Yasmin.”

“I swear,” he said. “Just stay safe, we’ll be there soon. It will be okay.”

“No . . .” She shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her. “But I will get justice and you will get the bomb.”

And then she clicked off, sliding the Glock from its holster, following Jeffreys around a sharp turn that led into the narrow, tree-lined interior of Zincirli Han—with its old and beautiful two-story building of red plaster and tile.

She was just in time to see him follow a dark, very heavyset man into one of the rooms at the opposite end of the main courtyard. The tinker. She knew him only by description and by a handful of poor-quality photographs, but he was very distinctive.

She moved around the covered walkway, making her way less directly to the same doorway. She now held the Glock ready, in both hands. When she was in position to see what was going on, she inched her head around the edge of the door.

The heavyset man was squatting beside a large case about the size of a medium suitcase. He opened it as if he were offering up great treasure. He seemed to look to Jeffreys for his approval.

Aisha took a quick, cold breath. From what she could see, the case held a device encased in dark metal. It was roughly the size of three shoeboxes set side by side. She recognized the spark gap—it was the same as pictures she’d seen from La Défense.

The device itself resembled the schematics Khoury had shown Team Viper.

She was staring at the suitcase nuke.

Her shoulder pressed to the wall, a small chip of plaster fell to the
ground. Both the heavyset man and Jeffreys looked simultaneously toward the doorway where she stood. The heavyset man pulled something dark and shiny from his boot and Aisha fired at him instinctively—just as she saw the dull metal of the gun in Jeffreys’s hand.