He tried waking her up again, to no avail. He put a pillow under her head, then sat down on the floor beside her—then he heard some commotion outside the cabin.
He got to his feet and put his ear to the door to listen. He could hear the voice of the conductor knocking on the door of another sleeping compartment, announcing apologetically that they were just checking if the passengers were alright. The woman who had seen him fighting with Taymoor must have reported it, just as he’d feared.
He didn’t have time to lose.
He pulled back the bedding on Nisreen’s bed, lifted her off the floor, and set her down on the bed. He then tucked her in, making sure enough of her face was showing so there was no question that she was a woman. Then he stripped down to his long, white tunic and ruffled up his bed. He turned off the lights just as the knock came.
He left the conductor to knock again and then, in a tone of feigned grogginess, cleared his throat and said, “One moment,” before cracking open the door slightly.
Light broke into the room, illuminating the beds and Nisreen’s face. In the narrow corridor outside, the conductor was standing close to the door, looking in. A security guard was behind him and, farther back, Kamal could make out the curious face of the elderly woman.
He inched back to avoid giving her a clear look at his face in case she could identify him. He also didn’t want to give the conductor too close a look at any of the swelling and bruising he could feel on his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked, raising a hand to shield his eyes and narrowing them as if he was bothered by the brightness, and speaking in a low tone as if he didn’t want to wake Nisreen up.
“Profuse apologies, effendi,” the conductor said, “but a passenger reported seeing a fight in this carriage, and we’re just making sure everyone is safe.”
“We didn’t hear anything,” he half whispered, edging back into the darkness to give the conductor a clear view of Nisreen. “My wife felt a bit unwell during dinner—I think it might be the winding climb up the mountain, she’s not used to it—so we turned in early.”
The conductor peered in, giving the scene a quick study. Kamal’s body language and his facial expression rushed him on. To further move him along, Kamal said, “I appreciate your diligence. I’m sure you have everything well in hand.”
He moved sideways, as if preparing to close the door. The conductor hesitated, then demurred and gave him a polite nod. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, effendi. May you both wake up in good health.”
“A pleasant night to you, too.”
Kamal shut the door quietly, then locked it. He stood with his ear to the door, trying to hear what was being said. He held his breath as he heard murmurs of deliberation between the conductor and the old woman, but then she said that she didn’t get a clear enough look to know if he was one of the men involved in the fight. She added that it had been so quick and so intense that she hadn’t really had a good look at either one of them.
He heard them shuffle away from his cabin and then knock on the next door.
He breathed out.
He’d dodged that bullet—for now. But he knew how these things played out. The conductor would be thorough. And at some point, most likely before they reached Vienna, they would find Taymoor’s cabin empty. And that would lead to all kinds of questions. Questions that might lead to a second sweep of the train—one they might not be able to dodge as easily—or a security cordon once they rolled into Vienna.
He needed Nisreen to wake up soon.
57
There were no further knocks on the door that night, but Nisreen hadn’t woken up either. Whatever Taymoor had given her was evidently potent and long-lasting. She was breathing regularly and yet completely unresponsive. Kamal stayed up throughout the night, by her side, checking on her, sporadically trying to wake her, then sitting back and watching with rising trepidation as first light crept out of the darkness and the sky turned gradually brighter.
Vienna was close. They were scheduled to reach the city at nine fifteen that morning, after breakfast. Nisreen was still out when he heard the bell announcing the meal and other passengers shuffling outside their cabin. He began to fret about what he would do if she were still unconscious when they reached the station.
The train glided across the broad plains that suckled on the Danube River before following a deep mountainous pass through the snow-capped limestone peaks of the easternmost edge of the Alps. Kamal sat there in silent contemplation as the dramatic scenery unfolded before him, his mind springing back to what he and Nisreen had read about what had taken place there in 1683. As the train powered through the lush highlands of the Vienna Woods, he imagined the thick forests teeming with Ottoman troops, Polish hussars, and all kinds of fighting men on foot and horseback, moving around like chess pieces before launching themselves into the massive bloodletting that would turn the ground red, and he felt a disturbing shiver. He’d soon be throwing himself right in the thick of it.
The temperature warmed up with the rising sun and the drop in altitude as the train snaked its way down to the edge of the foothills and approached Vienna. Kamal’s trepidation grew with each advancing mile, spiking once the train broke into the suburban sprawl of the big city. His imagination conjured visions of what the city endured during the siege.
The Habsburgs had turned their capital into the most modern fortress city in Europe. It already enjoyed a favorable geographic setting, with the Danube River providing a natural barrier to the north and east. By 1683, it was surrounded by a ring of twelve bastions linked by fifty-foot walls. A sixty-foot-wide ditch fronted the walls; beyond the ditch, triangular advanced gun emplacements called ravelins provided the first line of defense and kept the attackers at bay long before they could threaten the city’s walls.
To face the Ottoman attack, the Viennese had mounted over three hundred cannon on the ravelins and bastions. From there, they had a clear field of fire over any approaching Ottoman troops. It would be next to impossible for a conventional assault to breach the walls. The invaders’ cannonballs wouldn’t be able to bring them down. But the Ottomans were no fools. And they had also learned a few lessons from their earlier attempt, in 1529.
This time, they left their bases much earlier in the year. The invading force—well over a hundred thousand men—were camped outside Vienna by mid-July. And even though they rained cannon fire on the city daily, they weren’t relying on their artillery. Instead, they had brought along a small army of sappers. Five thousand of them, many of them Christian slaves, were quickly put to work digging a veritable maze of trenches and tunnels to the defensive walls of the city. Using underground mines, the Ottomans began to chip away at the fortifications with the intention of creating a large breach and using the collapsed wall as a ramp through which to storm the city.
Rasheed’s suicide bombers would ensure their success and pave the way for the slaughter and enslavement of all those trapped inside.
A low moan brought Kamal out of his reverie, and he felt a stirring next to him. He sprang across the small cabin to Nisreen’s bedside and laid a gentle hand on the back of her head.
“Nisreen?”
She moaned again and took in a deep breath, then turned her head slightly, the pained expression on her face giving the impression that it was as tiresome as moving a ball of lead. Then her eyes cracked open, barely at first, then squinting groggily, clearly disturbed by the onslaught of light.
“What did … Kamal?” she mumbled.
“I’m right here, hayatim,” he said, stroking her hair softly. “I’m right here.”
Clarity slowly seeped into her face; then the numbed tranquility was swatted away by a sudden burst of dread. “Taymoor. What’s going on? Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” he told her. “He’s no longer a problem.”
“What did you do? What happened?”
He ran through what happened before moving on to the more pressing matter of what might be awa
iting them at the train station. He helped her straighten up and gave her some water. She said she felt foggy-brained and stiff and wanted to understand what Taymoor had done to her to knock her out. She thought she remembered him pressing something against her mouth and nose, and some kind of nutty smell. Kamal knew it had to be an earlier, perhaps more potent form of an anesthetic that they’d used in the Hafiye on occasions when they’d needed to grab a suspect.
There didn’t seem to be any lasting damage, and Nisreen was regaining her focus, which was all that mattered. The train was now moving slowly through the city, and Kamal saw the old defensive walls that had kept the Ottomans at bay all those years ago slip past their window. They were inside the old city now, and he needed Nisreen to be sharp if there was trouble waiting for them at the terminus.
His fears were confirmed as the train pulled into Sultan Majid Central Station and took its pride of place on a central platform in its cavernous hall. Kamal edged up to the side of their cabin’s window and leaned right up against the glass. The scene on the platform was busy and chaotic. A throng of people were waiting to greet the arrivals, including the swarm of porters and small merchants jostling for position. Among them, Kamal spotted the conductor conferring with a clutch of uniformed Zaptiye officers.
One of the officers sent the others trotting off up and down the platform. They were shouting out commands and using their whistles to round up other policemen.
“Bok,” Kamal cursed. “They must have discovered that Taymoor is missing.”
Kamal knew how precisely the Ottomans ran their rail networks. The conductor would have questioned the empty cabin and sounded the alarm after being unable to find its occupant on board.
“What does it have to do with us? Can’t we just walk away like it has nothing to do with us?”
Kamal’s frown deepened. “He sat with me at the dinner table after you left. We were there for a while talking. The stewards and other passengers would have seen us. The moment they stop us, we’ll be suspects. We don’t even have any identifying papers.”
“So we let them arrest us, and then we use the incantation to jump back a month, a year—back to a safe time. We’re in Vienna now; that’s what matters.”
“They’ll most probably separate us,” Kamal said, “and we don’t know this city. We don’t know what was here a month or a year ago. If we jump, we run twice the risk of landing somewhere fatal. Besides, I don’t want to risk us doing it apart or ending up in two different places. I don’t want to lose you.” There was little choice. “We have to go,” he added. “Fast. Before they can set up.”
He grabbed their small suitcase and waited by the door, listening to ascertain if the coast was clear, while she slipped on her shoes and adjusted her kaftan and her scarf. When she was ready, he cracked the door open and peered out. A clutch of passengers were at the end of the carriage, making their way off the train.
“Come on,” he told her.
“Wait,” she said as she grabbed his arm before he could open the door. “What if we do get separated? We need to have a plan. Just in case.”
Kamal’s mind hurtled ahead. “We’d have to jump back and meet there.”
“How far back?” She pulled her sleeve up to expose the tattoos on her forearm and pointed at the Palmyrene words for the various numbers they’d chosen. “All the way?”
“No. We’d land during the siege. We’d be trapped inside the city.”
“Then how far back?”
“I don’t know. A week. Ten days. Doesn’t matter.”
“Ten days then.”
“Okay.” He was feeling the urgency to move. “Let’s just not get separated, okay? Come on. We have to go.”
They slipped down the corridor and joined the other passengers.
At the narrow landing by the exit door, Kamal spotted two policemen on the platform, by the steps of the carriage. They were checking the papers of those disembarking and questioning them, causing a small backup.
He stepped back to get out of their line of sight, then looked around for another exit.
He glanced through the window of the opposite exit door. There was no train on the tracks alongside the ones they were on. He stepped across to it and tried the handle, but it was locked.
He muttered a curse.
“What?” Nisreen asked.
“It’s too late. We’re boxed in.”
58
Kamal led Nisreen back to the other end of the carriage, moving at a fast clip.
Shielded from view by the accordion wall, they crossed the interconnecting gangways and stepped onto the dining car. It was empty, and the tables had been cleared after breakfast. Kamal sped up, cutting through its central aisle, Nisreen right behind him. They were almost through when a steward appeared from the far doorway, carrying a tray of cutlery.
He paused when he saw them heading toward him, an uncertain expression on his face. Kamal tried to defuse it with a placid smile.
“The dining car is closed, sir—” Then his eyes noted the suitcase in Kamal’s hand. “Ah, you must be looking for the exit. It’s back there.”
He was holding the tray with one hand and gesturing toward the other end of the carriage, behind them.
Kamal slowed down but didn’t stop moving. “Is it? Well, I’m sure we can get off from here, too. We’ve come all this way.”
The steward hesitated, an unnerved tightness overcoming his face. “I’m afraid you can’t leave this way, khawaja,” he stammered. “It’s only for staff and—”
Kamal hadn’t stopped moving forward, with Nisreen right behind him. The steward inched backward, intimidated by his pushiness. Then something lit up in his eyes. Kamal’s body language, the edge in his tone, the anxiousness across Nisreen’s face.
He understood.
“Khawaja, please,” he said as he faltered back, “I don’t mean any offense.”
Kamal pushed forward. “None taken.”
The waiter edged sideways between the backs of two chairs to let them through.
They burst through the doorway and into the small kitchen, where a chef was busy marshaling a young man bringing in a carton of eggplants.
“Excuse me, ustaz,” he said—but Kamal had no intention of pausing. He ignored him and kept moving, leading Nisreen past the delivery boy, who squeezed aside and almost dropped the carton.
They reached the exit door. Another chef, a large man with meaty arms, was standing at the foot of the steps, supervising two other young men who were offloading more produce from a simple, uncovered horse-drawn cart pulled up alongside the train. Kamal peeked out the doorway. They were at the front of the train, with only one service carriage between them and the locomotive. A bearded gray-haired man, probably the food trader, stood by the front of the cart, paperwork in hand.
“Hey,” the first chef called out from behind. His call alerted his colleague below, who turned and spotted Kamal and Nisreen huddling by the doorway. The beefy chef’s expression skipped from cordial to curious to suspicious, his stance tightening up in anticipation of a confrontation.
Kamal knew he must have seen the Zaptiye officers trotting up and down the tracks. Any chance of slipping away unnoticed was pretty much gone.
“Stay close,” he said as he bolted off the train.
The chef moved to block his path, but Kamal shoved him back before blowing past him. The older bearded man by the cart tensed up to face him, but he was too lethargic and slow for Kamal, who grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and flung him aside before leaping onto the reach plate and clambering up to the wagon’s seat.
“Come on,” he called to Nisreen, extending his hand.
He pulled her up just as a whistle rang out behind them. Kamal didn’t turn. He just released the brake handle, grabbed the reins, and gave the single horse a smack and a loud “Ha” to spur it forward.
The horse flicked its ears back, leaned into its harness, and launched itself. With police shouts and whistles echoing around
them, the wagon hurtled down the platform, sending passengers, porters, and traders scurrying out of its path. By the front of the locomotive, Kamal spotted two officers rushing over and pulling their handguns out of their holsters. He steered the horse away, and the wagon cleared the front end of the train just as the first shots rang out.
“Get down,” he shouted to Nisreen as he flicked the reins and yelled out to energize the horse further. The wagon hurtled through the service road, past a number of stalls and into the main concourse, sending people and goods flying out of its path. Policemen were converging from all corners and chasing after the wagon. Kamal kept spurring the horse forward while scanning the large hall frantically, looking for a way out.
The main entrance to the station was up ahead, backlit by the low sun outside. Kamal gave the horse another flick of the reins and steered it there. The entrance consisted of two side passages on either side of a bigger opening that seemed high and wide enough to fit the wagon.
They charged through it at full speed, only to emerge onto a colonnaded portico at the top of a monumental flight of stairs.
“Hang on,” Kamal yelled as the horse burst through two columns and bounded down the stairs, the wagon clattering down behind it, cartons of produce flying off it while a trail of shouts and whistles chased it out.
The street outside the station was chaotic and crowded with cars, taxis, and horse-drawn carts ferrying all kinds of goods. The wagon hit the ground unscathed and charged toward them. Kamal spotted an opening between two cars that looked wide enough. He guided the horse toward it, but, just as it was cutting through, another car came up on the inside lane behind them. Kamal pulled back hard on the reins just as the car’s driver slammed on the brakes, but neither of them was fast enough to avoid the collision. The wagon almost cleared the car, but the hub of its rear left wheel slammed heavily into the car’s front fender, tearing through it with a loud metal crunch. A loud snap followed a second later as the axle broke, and the wagon immediately began to wobble wildly.
Empire of Lies Page 37
