Lourds yelped as Kristine pulled him up by his trapped arm, his wrist still bent in the form of a dying swan. A few of the passers-by saw what was going on and backed away. Lourds staggered ahead of Kristine – if that was really her name – as she pushed him forward. Black spots danced before his eyes and he felt certain he was going to pass out.
His thoughts raced. He had always been like that. No matter what happened to him or around him, his mind worked to ferret out answers to puzzles. The young woman’s stalking and kidnapping of him – he didn’t want to think this might be the prelude to a murder – was certainly something he hadn’t expected to face upon his arrival in Istanbul. It was a puzzle, all right, possibly a lethal one. He needed to find a way out.
‘Are you positive you have the right person?’ Lourds asked.
Kristine twisted his arm and increased the pain for a moment.
Lourds’ knees wobbled and very nearly went out from under him. Sweat broke out across his face and he blinked back tears.
‘Silence, Professor. We do this quietly and we do it quickly. Talking is not an option.’
A bear-sized man wearing a Green Bay Packers football jersey stepped towards Lourds. A large woman and two cub-sized boys trailed in his wake.
‘Hey, buddy,’ the bear-sized man said with an American accent, ‘you okay? Need some help?’ He glanced at Kristine. ‘Hey, miss, if you need some help with your dad, I’d be happy to do it. I’m a paramedic.’
Dad? Lourds thought in mortification.
‘A lot of guys get sick overseas their first time,’ the big man said. ‘They can’t handle the local hooch so well.’
Damn that wine. Lourds thought he must reek of it if this guy had noticed the smell. But the man wasn’t quite the paramedic he thought he was if he couldn’t tell the difference between someone in pain and someone who was wasted.
‘We don’t need any help,’ Kristine replied smoothly, giving Lourds a shove. ‘My father and I are fine. Thanks for the offer.’
‘You ask me,’ the man said, ‘your dad doesn’t look so fine.’ He took another step towards them and reached for Lourds.
Hope sprang up in Lourds as he realized they were starting to draw attention to themselves. Surely someone would call the police. The police in Turkish tourist areas were abundant and meant business. When they showed up this whole situation would be resolved. He only hoped his arm wouldn’t get broken in the meantime.
Kristine didn’t even bat an eye. She slid her other hand up to join her first on Lourds’ wrist. Smooth metal caressed his palm but he had no clue what it was. Then she forced him to lift his arm and point it at the man. A harsh click sounded from under his hand and was followed by an eerie humming noise.
Two thin cords suddenly ran from Lourds’ hand to the bear-sized man. It looked a bit, the professor thought vaguely, like Spider-Man shooting his webbing.
The bear-sized man looked down at the wires protruding from his chest and abdomen. ‘Ow!’ he yelled. ‘What the hell did you just do?’
Lourds wanted to tell the man that he’d done nothing, but he knew Kristine would damage him for breaking her rules about talking. The bear-shaped man reached for the wires.
Then he started convulsing, twitching, and jerking. His head shook back and forth violently.
‘Hey, Mom,’ one of the cub-shaped kids said. ‘Dad’s breakdancing.’
‘He hasn’t even been drinking this time,’ the other cub put in.
‘Harold!’ the large woman exclaimed. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get back over here and leave those people alone. Harold! Are you even listening to me?’
Harold quit convulsing, twitching and jerking. He fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He tumbled forwards and lay spread-eagled on the concrete. A waiting cab braked to a sudden halt only inches from him.
‘Harold!’ the woman screamed.
‘Dad!’ the cubs screamed.
Other people started screaming. The level of general confusion escalated to the point that Lourds was suddenly lost in a sea of upset people. If Kristine hadn’t been holding onto his hand with such dogged purpose, Lourds felt positive he could have escaped.
‘Oh my God!’ the big woman yelled, pulling at the wires in her husband’s chest. ‘He’s killed my husband! That man’s killed my husband!’ She pointed accusingly at Lourds.
‘No,’ Lourds protested automatically. ‘No, I didn’t! It was – urfff!’ Pain stole away his breath and he nearly dropped to his knees again. Kristine kept her grip on his hand and grabbed his collar as well.
He tried to struggle, but to no avail. The girl knew what she was doing.
‘Move, Professor Lourds,’ she ordered. ‘As amusing as it would be to watch you get arrested for this, I have plans for you.’
A million questions flooded Lourds’ mind, but he didn’t ask any of them. He kept moving, mostly in a straight line, out into the next street.
‘Can you see me?’ Kristine asked.
Lourds hesitated, remembered the orders not to speak, and looked back over his shoulder at his captor.
‘Can you see me?’ Kristine repeated.
‘No,’ Lourds answered. ‘No, not well. It’s an awkward angle.’
‘Shut up,’ Kristine said to him. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
Lourds shut up. He glanced back at the bear-shaped man and saw with relief that the man was starting to stir. He looked incredibly confused. Lourds knew exactly how he felt.
Behind the downed paramedic, three men were shoving their way through the crowd. They pointed at Kristine and Lourds and then reached inside their suits. That wasn’t, Lourds decided, a hopeful sign.
Kristine cursed and Lourds couldn’t help but think the young woman had quite the mouth on her. ‘I’ve got company,’ she said. ‘Three men.’
Then the men brandished weapons. The flesh and blood barrier separating them from Lourds and the young woman evaporated. Pedestrians and cab drivers screamed in terror. People dived for cover among the cars and kiosks.
Kristine yanked Lourds into motion, pushing him across the street at a run. A car swerved to avoid them, crashing into one of the parked cabs. Lourds’ boots crunched over shattered glass that sprayed across the street from the crash. He hoped none of it had managed to injure anybody – including him.
‘No,’ Kristine retorted angrily, though Lourds hadn’t said a word, ‘I don’t know who they are. Evidently your little surprise party has a leak somewhere. Where’s that car?’
She yanked Lourds to a halt, nearly choking him on his own shirt. He gagged reflexively. To his right, a silver SUV squealed round a corner, barrelling straight for them. Pedestrians tried to get out of the way, but one of them was too slow and the vehicle collided with him, knocking him to the side. He rolled, then staggered to his feet, clutching his arm.
Lourds cursed in three languages, remembered that he wasn’t supposed to talk, then realized he was probably going to get that broken arm, thanks to his lack of control. He braced himself for the excruciating pain. Instead, the SUV skidded to a halt in front of Lourds and Kristine. The passenger door swung open and a hulking man reached out and caught Lourds by his shirt front.
‘Get in,’ Kristine ordered, pushing him from behind.
The hulking man yanked Lourds into the SUV as if he were weightless. The professor banged his knees against the transom, but the pain was only an echo of what was being done to his wrist. Unable to keep his balance, Lourds tumbled into the vehicle and sprawled on the floor.
Twisting his head to see who his new captor was, Lourds looked at the big man just in time to see the top of his left ear explode in a crimson burst. Blood speckled the window behind his captor, a window that now had a thumb-sized hole punched through it.
‘They’re shooting at us!’ Lourdes screamed.
More bullets tore through other windows and the sound of bullets rang out against the SUV’s body. The big man pulled a machine pistol from under his suit jacket. He pushed Lourds’ head into the carpet with one hand while he aimed the machine pistol with the other.
‘Smart guy, isn’t he?’ the hulking man asked. He returned fire as blood streamed down the side of his face and neck.
‘He’s a university professor,’ Kristine said. ‘I don’t think he can help himself.’ She threw herself into the SUV, stepping on Lourds’ butt and spine in the process. She slapped the SUV’s driver on the back of the head. ‘Go!’
The SUV jerked into motion. Tyres squealed in protest and fought for traction. Lourds’ face banged against the floor as the vehicle bounded over an obstruction. He hoped it wasn’t another pedestrian. Another fusillade of bullets took out the SUV’s rear window. Chunks of safety glass sprayed over Lourds. For the first time in months, he regretted longing for some enterprise as exciting as his search for Atlantis.
Memories of all those near-death experiences that had accompanied the excitement flashed through his head. What the hell was I thinking?
Now he had kidnappings, bullets and people screaming again.
What the bloody blazes had gone wrong? This wasn’t supposed to be happening like this! Dammit, he was supposed to be having fun!
Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia
United States of America
15 March 2010
Special Agent in Charge James Dawson stood in front of an immense high-definition wallscreen and glared at the events unfolding at Ataturk International Airport. Wounded people flopped on the ground and blood streaked the concrete. And every one of them endangered the career he’d built up over the last seventeen years.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, he growled to himself. It was supposed to be a cakewalk. Easy in, easy out. No muss, no fuss.
They’d replaced the limousine driver with one of their assets. The three men who’d chased the SUV on foot and shot up the airport couldn’t be linked to the Agency even if they got picked up by the police – whether they were still alive or merely corpses. They’d been hired through a blind. That at least gave him enough room for denial in case anything came home to roost. But he’d planned on the op being invisible, not deniable.
Several technicians hunkered over their computer workstations at the table behind him. Dawson felt them waiting expectantly for his commands, just as they had on previous operations.
‘Give me the best image you have of the woman with Lourds,’ Dawson ordered.
Immediately, a section of the wallscreen separated from the ongoing live action. A split second later, the image of the young woman filled the space. Due to the last-minute notice they’d had of the assignment, the team had barely managed to change the chauffeur and hack into the airport’s security camera systems. It would have been much easier to take Professor Thomas Lourds while he’d been in the United States. Exactly why his boss wanted to detain the professor, much less take him out overseas, remained a mystery to Dawson. He didn’t plan to ask for answers, though. Dawson’s advancement had relied on doing whatever his superior wanted without question.
In the wallscreen image, the woman appeared concerned but not totally surprised.
Had she been expecting interference? Dawson wondered. Or was she just that confident about her skills? He watched her navigating through the crowd, then shoving Lourds into the SUV.
‘If she’s that good,’ Dawson wondered, ‘why don’t we know who she is?’
‘We’re searching, sir,’ one of the female techs replied. ‘If we knew where to search first, we could get the name sooner.’
Onscreen, someone inside the SUV fired a machine pistol in controlled bursts. Two of the three pursuers went down, as well as a handful of innocent bystanders.
Dawson cursed again. Whoever had Lourds was as determined to get and keep the professor as Dawson was.
‘Keep looking,’ Dawson snapped. ‘She must have picked Lourds up somewhere on the way to Istanbul.’ Otherwise this other team would have spirited the professor away earlier. Knowing why everybody wanted the professor would have been useful. ‘If these people had had a team in place in Boston, this woman wouldn’t have been the only person picking Lourds up. Rerun the part where she takes control of Lourds – where she grabs his hand and forces him to follow her.’
Another section opened up on the screen. Footage of the grappling move filled the space.
‘Enhance that,’ Dawson ordered.
The image magnified.
Dawson immediately recognized the hold. ‘She knows martial arts. Plus she’s not looking out for the police, which makes me think she’s not wanted in Turkey at least. She’s good at close-contact work. She’s cool under fire. C’mon, people, we’re looking for someone on a short list somewhere. Someone this good, someone female, can’t be that hard to find. She’s got to be a pro.’
Onscreen, the two pursuers on the ground weren’t getting up. Blood soaked the front of their shirts and pants.
Idiots! Dawson thought. They didn’t even wear Kevlar. Of course, no one had had any reason to expect what had taken place. It was supposed to be a simple pick up, not a fire fight. He focused on the SUV fleeing down the street.
‘Can you get the car registration?’ Dawson asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Another section of the wallscreen opened up and showed an image of the SUV’s rear. The magnification increased steadily until the number could be read.
‘Who owns that vehicle?’ Dawson asked.
‘Checking now, sir.’
Furious, Dawson paced the floor. He felt for his cellphone inside his jacket just over his heart. He resisted the impulse to see if his supervisor had called. The phone was set to vibrate not ring so only he would know a call was coming through. He stopped himself from pulling the phone out. He would have known if it had rung. For the last eight years, he’d been aware of the instrument and how closely it tied into his rapid advancement.
‘The SUV’s licensed to a messenger and courier service in Istanbul,’ one of the technicians said. ‘Strait Messengers. They’re located near the Galata Bridge in the Eminonu District.’
Dawson didn’t know where the Galata Bridge was or how many districts there were in Istanbul. All that mattered was that his people could find the location.
He paced the floor some more, weighing his options. He refused to panic. His mentor hadn’t chosen him because he froze under pressure.
‘Get the address to Red Team,’ Dawson said. ‘If this vehicle wasn’t stolen and those people kidnapped Lourds, they may take him there. And if they don’t, someone there may still know where the professor is. Tell them to find Lourds for me, or find someone who knows where he is.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Angrily, Dawson raked his gaze over the images of the woman, the dead men and the fleeing SUV. He was behind in the chase, but he wasn’t out of it.
His phone vibrated over his heart. He took it out before it could vibrate again and answered, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Jimmy,’ the smooth, cultured voice said, ‘I’m in my office watching the news, putting together my notes for the Middle East conference coming up. CNN just came on with a breaking story about Professor Thomas Lourds being involved in a shooting at Ataturk International Airport.’
‘Yes, sir. We’ve got eyes on the situation.’
‘Nowhere in Professor Lourds’ background did I see that he had any military training or connections with the Turkish army. Or any army.’
‘No, sir, but he was an Eagle Scout.’
‘I suppose that would be helpful if he needed to start a fire, work out which way north was or help someone across the street.’
‘Some Eagle Scouts are trained to shoot, sir.’
‘I’m fairly confident that such a background wouldn’t enable Professor Lourds to evade the men you sent after him.’
Dawson’s face grew hot. ‘No, sir.’
‘You wouldn’t have sent someone who would heavy-handedly take him in a frontal assault. From the looks of things on CNN, there are a lot of wounded and possibly some dead people at that airport.’ Although the man’s words were damning, the flat New Hampshire accent remained even. ‘In short, this is an international incident. Was this your plan?’
‘No, sir. This was not in the plan. It happened in reaction to an outside party we didn’t know was in play. Things escalated when that outside party took Lourds before we could get to him. We tried to get him back. Those shooters won’t tie back to the Agency or to your office.’
‘That’s good to hear, Jimmy. Really fine. But it appears you’ve lost Professor Lourds.’
Dawson stared at the rear view of the fleeing SUV. ‘Not yet, sir. We’ve identified the people who took the professor. We’re going after them.’
‘All right, then. You’re showing initiative. That’s what I like to hear. You’ve always been a man I could trust to get results.’
Pride swelled Dawson’s chest.
‘As I told you earlier, Jimmy, this business is important. Vastly important. I would like very much to speak with Professor Lourds some time in the near future.’
‘You will, sir.’
‘Then I’ll leave this in your capable hands. Get back to me when you’ve got this thing sewn up.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Vice-President.’ The click of the broken connection sounded in Dawson’s ear. He returned the phone to his pocket.
‘Sir,’ one of the technicians said.
Without turning back to face them, Dawson said, ‘This had better be good news.’
‘We’ve identified the woman.’
Dawson stared at the woman’s image on the wallscreen. ‘Tell me.’
‘She’s a member of the Irish Republican Army. Allegedly.’
That, Dawson decided, didn’t make any sense at all. Why would the IRA be involved in this?
‘We’ve got a helicopter team in the area, right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Get them in the air. Feed them the information about the SUV and let them find it.’ Dawson forced himself to let out a breath. Maybe the op was running a little hot, but it was still going to be over in a few more minutes.
Feneryolu Cd
Yesilkoy District
Istanbul, Turkey
15 March 2010
Rubber shrieked and the SUV’s transmission strained. Lourds could hear the scream of abused metal beneath his position on the vehicle’s floor. His stomach twisted as the SUV lurched and seemed to go airborne for a moment. His head slammed into the floor, then into the metal seat anchors ahead of him. He tasted blood from his split lip. Horns blared all around them.
The man in the front passenger seat swore in Farsi. The driver was asking for divine guidance in the same tongue. The hulking brute with the shot-off ear laughed in a deep rumble.
Unable to see her, Lourds didn’t know what Kristine was doing. He lifted his head and wiped blood from his mouth. Crimson stained his fingers.
Someone, and he was fairly certain it was Kristine, kicked him in the head.
‘Look out!’ one of the men yelled.
‘I see it!’ the driver yelled back.
The SUV jarred violently, shuddered almost to a stop, then – with a lurch and a whirlwind of screaming metal – the vehicle continued more or less on its way.
The hulking man reloaded his machine pistol with practised ease. He was either stoned on something or had a death wish, Lourds decided.
‘Bleeding wankers,’ Kristine said in disgust. This time Lourds detected the Irish lilt in her voice. She’d obviously been hiding that, too, while pretending to be the awe-struck fan.
Lourds squirmed a little and struggled to move, to bring the woman into view.
Kristine leaned over the back seat for a moment, then returned with a pistol in her fist. She snapped off the safety and worked the pistol with obvious familiarity.
The hulking man stopped laughing.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Kristine demanded.
‘Of course,’ the man in the passenger seat said. ‘Everything is going according to plan.’
‘Really?’ Kristine’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
This was no kid, Lourds realized. She wasn’t at all what he’d thought she was. He wondered how old she really was. She looked about nineteen, but that made him wonder how she could have learned all she’d done today in such a short lifetime. Lourds guessed she was in her mid-twenties at the latest. She had a definite accent of the Emerald Isles in her voice now, but he could tell she hadn’t used it for some time. Her American accent had been flawless. She must have lived in the States for a while. Either that, or she had Oscar-worthy acting skills along with her martial arts training. And lots of target practice. The gun in her hand was rock steady.
Who was she? And how could he escape her?
‘Was it in your bloody plans for those men to show up and start shooting?’ Kristine demanded.
The men in the front remained silent. The driver’s lack of response was for the obvious reason. It took everything he had to dodge the cars as the van screamed down the roadway. Again and again, the SUV swerved, sped, slowed and jumped. Only occasionally did the vehicle hit something, and then never more than a glancing impact.
‘No,’ the hulking man said.
‘Then why were they there?’
‘Our prize is more popular than we anticipated.’ The hulking man shook his head. Blood droplets from his damaged ear spun into the air. ‘It doesn’t matter. Your part in this is done.’
‘Not till I get the other half of my fee,’ Kristine said.
While they sparred, Lourds considered his chances of escape. If he were Harrison Ford in an action picture, he could stand, elbow the hulking man in the face, then open the door and leap out onto the roadside without picking up more than a few scratches from the impact. Sadly, Lourds knew he was no Harrison Ford. He’d break something if he leapt from a vehicle moving at this speed – possibly even his neck. The impact with the pavement would probably skin him alive. And one of the vehicles they were weaving through might run over him. However, judging from the carnage they’d left behind at the airport, he figured he was a dead man if he didn’t do something to change his situation soon.
Nobody was paying him any attention. Maybe it was time to try something.
He’d played soccer since he was a boy. He still played on a university team and joined pickup games wherever he had the opportunity. He was in shape and he was fast. He shoved himself into a crouching position, succeeded in standing on his tangled feet, and slammed his head against the vehicle’s rooftop almost with enough force to knock himself out.
Not exactly what he’d planned, but it was something.
‘What do you think you are doing, pencil neck?’ The hulking man reached for Lourds.
Fuelled by adrenaline and operating on instinct, Lourds shoved an elbow into the hulking man’s face. He’d hoped to knock him out: the blow succeeded only in tearing off another chunk of the man’s tattered ear.
Roaring with pain, the man clapped a hand to his head and swung the machine pistol at Lourds. The barrel struck Lourds’ head with enough force to make him see stars. Unfortunately, the weapon also fired. Reeling from the noise and the pain, Lourds staggered back. The car swerved. Lourdes glanced at the driver. The back of the man’s head had been ripped away. Blood covered the shattered windshield. As Lourds watched in horror, the dead man fell forward over the steering wheel. The horn blared and the SUV swung wildly out of control.