by Gayle Lynds
“It says here Charles’s predecessor wrote it inside the book, then smuggled the book out of the library—” Yakimovich stopped, the scytale frozen in midair.
Pounding feet in the corridor echoed loudly against the stone walls. The feet were coming toward them.
Judd pulled out his Beretta and ran toward the door, the only door to the storeroom.
Eva snatched the scytale from Yakimovich’s hands.
“No!” he yelled, reaching for it.
“I’ll send it back to you.” Eva sprinted.
Judd had flattened himself behind the open door. He motioned Eva to stand back beside him.
At his desk, the antiquities dealer seemed unable to move.
“Hide!” Judd commanded.
Yakimovich’s face blanched. He scuttled back among the crates and disappeared.
Suddenly the shopkeeper from the calligraphy store burst through the door as if he had been thrown. His eyes were wild, and sweat poured down his bruised face.
“Help me! Help me!” He ran in among the old furniture.
Light noises of a struggle reverberated from the stone corridor. Feet scuffed and snapped against the floor. There was a loud grunt, then another. The dull sound of something hitting flesh. A swift crack, then another. From the floor?
It was if they were listening to a radio, with the only clue being that some kind of fight was going on. Eva peered at Judd, who had a distant, cold look that sent chills over her skin. Finally there was a horrible quiet.
Judd raised a hand, silently telling her to wait as he stepped to the edge of the doorway. Pistol up, he peered out cautiously. Then he vanished into the hall.
Ignoring his order, Eva followed.
Four men were down. Two were about twenty feet away, bloody exit wounds showing on their foreheads. The other two—Preston and another man—lay close together near Yakimovich’s door. There were no obvious wounds on either.
Instantly Judd kicked Preston’s pistol from his limp hand, then swept it up.
“Dammit, Preston found us again,” she whispered.
He nodded. “We’ll talk about it later.” Looking up and down the winding hallway, he crouched beside the killer. “Check the other guy’s pockets, Eva. Do it fast. We can’t stay here long.”
She knelt. The man had gray hair and a long gray mustache. His face was the color of a roasted almond, the lines deep, the nose prominent. His fez lay upside down beside him. She rustled through the caftan and found only a wallet. Inside was an Istanbul driver’s license for Salih Serin, a credit card in the same name, and a few Turkish lira. The photo on the driver’s license matched the face of the man lying beside her.
“No weapon,” she said. “His name is Salih Serin. He lives in Istanbul.”
“Preston has a pistol and cash, no ID, and a small notebook. He’s pulled out most of the pages, but there’s one left. He wrote, ‘Robin Miller. Book of Spies. All we know is Athens—so far.’ ”
Eva felt a surge of excitement. “Then we have to go to Athens.”
“Yes.” He gave her Preston’s weapon. “If he so much as moves, shoot him. We don’t know about Serin yet, so be careful of him, too.” He tucked the note and money inside his jacket and hurried back into Yakimovich’s room.
Serin moaned and murmured something in Turkish. Opening his eyes, he jerked his head from side to side, panicking, until he saw Preston was lying unconscious.
He looked up at her and smiled. “You are pretty.”
Judd returned, carrying rope and their duffel bag. “The shopkeeper was no help. He’s blithering, scared to death.” As he tied Preston’s hands tightly behind him, he peered across at Serin. “What happened?”
The Turk sat up. “I know those two.” He pointed a thumb down the hall at the prone men. “They are evil. I was back there in a workroom, visiting a friend, and I saw them run past. A long time ago I was with MIT.” He gazed at them and explained. “Our Milli Istihbarat Teskilati, the National Intelligence Organization. So I thought I would see what badness they were planning. By the time I got here, both of them were on the floor with gunshot wounds, and that one”—he gestured at Preston—“had just hurled Mustafa through the door. He and I had a large battle.” He gave a conspiratorial grin. “But I am an old street fighter, and he thought he could take me. Still the weasel managed to whack me a good one just before I got him, and I fell and cracked my head.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “In the old days . . . ah, in the old days I would’ve eaten his gizzard.” He sighed tiredly.
“Are you all right, Mr. Serin?” Eva took his arm as he struggled to his feet.
Judd was suspicious. “There wasn’t any bump on Preston’s head. How’d you knock him out?” He finished binding Preston’s feet together.
“Pressure.” Serin grabbed his own throat, his thumbs pushed deep, then quickly released them. “We learn useful things in the secret service.”
Judd nodded. “Thanks for your help. You aren’t armed, so who shot the other men?”
“Maybe that one.” He gestured at Preston. “I saw no one else. I know those guys. They could have waited until he had no choice and demanded more money—or something else he could not or would not provide.” He shrugged, then scrutinized them. “You are in trouble, yes? I think they were planning to kill you. But you look like such nice tourists.”
Judd only glanced at him. “Come on, Eva.”
“I believe I heard someone mention Athens,” Serin continued. “You wish to go? I know a boat rental place where few questions are asked. I can take you in the boat to a small airport south of here where the owner and I are friendly. Perhaps it would be good for you to slip out of Istanbul before this one”—he pointed at Preston lying hogtied on the stone floor—“gets free, or someone else is sent to take his place. I am a poor man now. You could pay me well. Perhaps you are glad for the assistance of someone who knows the terrain.”
Worrying how Preston had found them again, Eva looked at Judd. Her inclination was to accept the offer.
Judd made a decision. “You won’t mind if I check you for weapons.”
Serin threw up his arms, the sleeves of his caftan billowing down past his elbows. “I insist.”
Judd patted him from his neck to the soles of his feet, paying particular attention to his armpits, lower back, thighs, calves, and ankles.
Finally Judd said, “All right. Let’s go.”
Serin rushed ahead, trying doorknobs until he located a closet. Judd found rags inside. Stuffing one into Preston’s mouth and tying another around it, he left the unconscious man bound tightly in his ropes.
“You didn’t kill Preston,” Eva whispered as they hurried after Serin.
“I thought about it. But he’s unarmed, apparently doesn’t know where The Book of Spies is in Athens, and anyway, he’s out of commission long enough for us to get away.” He hesitated, then admitted,“ And I have enough blood on my hands.”
42
The April daylight was fading, the lavender colors of sunset spreading softly across the indigo-blue Sea of Marmara. In the vast Istanbul marina where Salih Serin had taken Judd and Eva, waves lapped boat hulls and ropes rattled against masts.
Judd took up a position fifty feet away from Eva and Serin, observing as Serin negotiated in Turkish with a stooped youth for the boat they had selected—a sleek Chris-Craft yacht powerful enough to make the journey easily and outrun other small vessels.
Judd was on his mobile with Tucker. It was about eleven A.M. in Washington, six P.M. in Istanbul. He described the events in the Grand Bazaar. “Preston found us again.”
“Dammit. What in hell is going on? There’s no way anyone could’ve gotten the intel on my end . . .” There was a pause. Tucker sounded worried as he continued, “I’ll think about it. Go on. What else did you learn?”
Judd repeated the information in Preston’s notebook. “See if you can track down who Robin Miller is. I’m wondering whether she might be the blond woman Eva saw with Sherbac
k in London. Remember, The Book of Spies might’ve been in the backpack he left with her.”
“NSA is monitoring the two numbers you got off Sherback’s phone. I’ll let you know instantly if we get a hit.”
“Good. Eva’s going to translate the rest of the message on the leather strip as soon as we’re alone. Supposedly it says exactly where the library’s location is hidden inside The Book of Spies.”
“Langley had that book in storage three years.” Tucker sighed with frustration. “I take it you’re leaving for Athens?”
“Immediately. I’m not going to tell you exactly how we’re planning to get there.”
He watched as Serin jabbed a thumb toward the yacht, the darkening sky, and the boat merchant, at last extending both palms up in a gesture of attempting to be reasonable. Serin had told the boat merchant he was going to insist they receive a large discount, since so few people wanted to rent at night. His animated face showed deep enjoyment in the haggling.
“A damn good idea,” Tucker said. “Stay safe.”
The Sea of Marmara
With Serin at the helm, the yacht cruised through the night, heading south-west across the Sea of Marmara. A wind had arisen out of the north through the Bosporus Strait, whipping the sea and making for a bumpy ride. They had progressed some ten miles, eaten fish sandwiches bought in the marina, and adjusted to the boat’s rough rhythms.
Judd was confident they had not been followed to the Istanbul marina, but still he found himself peering back to where the city’s lights spread across the horizon. He studied the traffic—fishing boats, cargo ships, and behemoth oil tankers and container ships, all blinking with lights. The great inland sea was a busy thoroughfare linking the Black Sea in the north to the Aegean and Mediterranean seas on the south through the Dardanelles Strait. None of the other boats seemed to be pacing them.
“Where exactly are we heading?” Eva raised her voice to be heard over the wind, sea, and motors.
Despite a bench seat directly behind them, Serin stood at the wheel, Eva beside him, where he had invited her. A low windshield partially protected them. Judd stood behind the bench seat, gripping the back with both hands. Eva’s midnight-blue jacket was buttoned up to her chin, and tendrils of her long black hair had fallen out of the knot at the nape of her neck. Windblown and rosy-cheeked, she looked quietly happy. As she turned to listen to Serin, Judd was struck by how much he liked her, liked being with her. Then he remembered the role his father had probably played in her imprisonment for manslaughter. He gazed away.
“South of a big city called Tekirdag,” Serin yelled, “and north of a little village called Barbados. We are going to the Thrace part of Turkey, on the Europe side of course.”
Serin held the wheel confidently in his brown hands. He was a little shorter than Judd, but broader, with thick muscles. He appeared nonchalant and self-satisfied. At the same time, there were signs of his past—the athletic way he moved on the boat and the flashes of intense acuity in his gaze. If he had not already said he had been a member of the national government’s tough MIT, Judd would have suspected some sort of similar background.
“An old comrade of mine has a private airstrip,” Serin was continuing. “We will be there in about three hours.”
Judd saw they were doing a good thirty-plus knots despite the waves. Speedy, with two powerful inboard engines, the Chris-Craft was a stunner. Belowdecks were fully appointed staterooms, a salon, and a galley.
“You’re not taking us through the Dardanelles?” Eva asked. “We’d pass the ruins of Troy if you did, and we’d be much closer to Athens.”
“Too dangerous. The strait is narrow and crowded. It twists itself this way and that. Besides, the current is unusually swift.”
“What do you do with yourself when you’re not ferrying people in rented boats?” Judd asked.
“Ah, that is a long story. To make it short, I am what you call a jack-of-all-trades. I am hired to guide, to guard, and to deliver important items. I have a reputation, you see. I am trustworthy. And you two are very important items and now know I am trustworthy also. What about you, Mr. Ryder? You have not told me anything.”
“We’re tourists, just as you thought.”
“You are trying to fool an old dog, but I know all the tricky tricks. I am curious. What is wrong with curiosity, I ask you?” His loud voice sounded hurt. “At least explain this thing called The Book of Spies. Entertain me while I work so hard.”
Eva laughed. “It’s an illuminated manuscript from the sixteenth century. A one-of-a-kind book and very valuable. It’s been lost. We’re trying to track it down.” She glanced back at Judd. “I’m getting tired of shouting.”
“So this book is in Athens, and you wish to find it. It is part of some big business deal?” the Turk coaxed.
“Why would you think we’re involved in a business deal?” Judd asked.
“I had hopes it would make you much money, and then you would come back to Istanbul and hire me again. Is it for this book your lives are in danger?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” It seemed like innocuous enough information, Judd decided.
Serin glanced over his shoulder at him, frowning. And as he turned back, he wiped his face. The wheel spun out of his other hand. Serin grabbed the steering again with both hands—too late. The craft lurched from side to side, the waves pounding, the wind screeching. Banging down hard in the trough of one wave, the yacht lifted sharply on the crest of the next. Water drenched them.
Eva reeled as Serin fought to control the yacht, but it slammed and torqued violently. One of her hands slipped from the safety handle on the console. The boat heaved to the starboard, tossing all of them. But Eva’s foot slid, and she fell to her knees.
Instantly Judd snatched her arm, locking his other hand on to the back of the bench seat, trying not to lose his balance, too.
As the boat continued to rotate back and forth, up and down, the wet steering wheel whirled through Serin’s grasp.
The boat pitched hard again, banging and yawing. Judd lost his grip. His hand slid uncontrollably across the moist seat back, and he stumbled. Eva fell halfway over the boat’s side, pulling him with her because he would not let her go. One more lurch, and both would be hurled into the black churning water.
His heart thundering, Judd looked back, searching for a way to save them. Instead he saw something else: Serin was not panicked, not even worried as he clinically noted their life-threatening situation. The icy intelligence in his gaze told Judd he could easily let them fall overboard and would abandon them. Was that what he had planned all along?
“You bastard!” Judd yelled. “Why are you doing this!”
Serin blinked. He looked off into the distance, then back at them. He seemed to decide something. Giving a small nod, he fitted his hands into the spokes of the steering wheel. His caftan sleeves fell back, showing the cording muscles. Shoulders hunching, he poured strength into dominating the yacht.
Slowly the boat’s heaving eased. Judd yanked Eva back onboard and pulled her to his chest. Chilled and furious, he wrapped his arms around her. She resisted only a moment, then held on for dear life. He kissed her hair. She burrowed deeper. Then he slid his hand inside his jacket and yanked out his Beretta.
He released her and rolled free, aiming the pistol up at Serin.
43
Eva was watching, stunned. “Judd, stop!” Black hair blowing around her face, she scrambled toward Serin.
“No, Eva. Come here!” Judd ordered as he sat on the seat behind Serin and slid to the side where he had a fuller view of the man’s profile and a safer distance. He steadily pointed his Beretta at him.
Her eyes wide, Eva grasped the arm of the seat and pulled herself around the rocking yacht.
“What did I miss?” She fell in beside him.
Serin’s fez was gone, and his almond-colored features had shifted, revealing a depth of something Judd could not quite name but felt in himself and did not like. Someth
ing predatory. Serin’s facial skin seemed different, too, and Judd had a sudden insight the man was in disguise. A hell of a good disguise, with skin dye and some of the new manmade materials that, when smoothed on skin and allowed to dry, puckered the surface and formed deep crevices. The large nose could be fake, too.
“This has been what we in intelligence call a movie,” Judd explained to Eva grimly. “It’s a setup that looks and feels completely real.” He gestured with his pistol at Serin. “Tell her,” he ordered.
There was no hesitation. “I have rules,” Serin said over the noise of the engines and wind. “They are inviolate. My employer agreed to all of them. One of them is I do wet work only on people who shouldn’t be breathing, and I’m the one who makes the decision. My employer was convincing about both of you, so I agreed to the job. He ordered Preston to create a movie in which you’d believe I’d be useful to help you get away. So when Preston realized you were in Yakimovich’s storage room, he eliminated two of his people and called me in.” He hesitated.
“Go on,” Judd said.
“At that point I took over. But when you arrived I began to wonder. The people I wipe aren’t solicitous of an old man. They don’t inquire about his well-being. You were prepared to scrub Preston if he moved because he’d tried to do the same to you earlier—but you were just as willing to wait to find out whether I was a threat. Evil people murder first and don’t bother about questions. All of this meant I needed to find out more. Were you trying to kill my employer and steal some big business deal as he contended? Finally I learned you claimed to be treasure hunters chasing a chimera, some old manuscript called The Book of Spies. That did not fit the profile my employer gave me. Then I looked back at you, Judd, and lost control of the wheel. My specialty is in making hits look like accidents, so I’d planned to erase you out here. Losing control of the boat presented an elegant opportunity. They are few.”
“Why did you change your mind?” Eva said.
“Because, God help me, I know human nature—in my world it’s nasty, corrupt, and mean. You aren’t, so in the end I had to believe you. I’ll tell you now I’m glad.” He looked at Eva. “You remind me of my daughter. You’re about the same age, and both very pretty in similar ways. According to the photo I was given, your true hair color is red. Hers is auburn.”
