At the bottom is what looks like a suburban finished basement.
Still no sign of Penny.
In the corner, one of the Guards bends over what looks like a stove, holding a tiny metal pot.
With agonizing clarity, Connor’s remembers his anti-interrogation training down on the Farm. Acid. Hot lead poured on bare skin. Even plain boiling water can do terrible things to human flesh. He wishes he still had those white pills. A quick fistful and no power on earth could make him speak.
A thirtyish, dark-eyed woman in a tasteful violet turban and matching silk tunic is poised at a glass table in the center of the basement, her hands steepled in front of her.
There is a sweet scent of roses.
And . . . coffee?
* * *
U.S. CONSUL GENERAL’S RESIDENCE, ISTANBUL
19:39 LOCAL TIME
“Excuse me, sir, ma’am.” One of Moe Sokolof’s bodyguards hurries into the living room of the CG’s residence. “The driver asked me please to inform you that if the car doesn’t leave soon, it won’t be possible to get to the Kempinski on schedule.”
Carolyn Sokolof nods. “Thank you, Ahmet. I’ll let my husband know.”
Brenda is bent over her BlackBerry, nursing a glass of ginger ale. She’s changed into another, more formal black pantsuit, black ribbon pinned beside the flag pin on her lapel. “I just heard from Frank Lerman. Winthrop’s already on his way to the keynote. Security precaution. That bomb scare in Kadıköy is making security extra jumpy.”
“How thoughtful of Mr. Lerman to let us know after we waited twenty minutes.” Carolyn slides her feet back into her heels and looks up as her husband comes hurrying in. “Moe, where’ve you been?”
Moe holds up his phone, looking dazed. “There was a call to the consular emergency line about half an hour ago. Just made it up the ladder to me. Mary Reid, one of the tourists affected by the Kadıköy bomb scare, reported that a girl who joined her tour bus in Cappadocia identified herself as Penny Kessler, and then disappeared, pursued by the motorcycle bomber.”
“What?”
“That’s insane,” says Carolyn. “Why are they even forwarding that kind of craziness to you?”
“They managed to get a photo from one of the other tourists on the bus.” Moe grimaces. “It does look kind of like the girl in the flag photo. You knew her, Bren. What do you think?”
“It can’t be.” But Brenda takes the phone.
Ginger ale and glass shards splatter on the carpet.
* * *
BÜYÜKDERE AVENUE, ISTANBUL
19:41 LOCAL TIME
The taxi bumps away from the skyscrapers of the Maslak financial district, down the slope to the glitzy coastal hamlet of Tarabya and the outcropping at Kalender.
Penny fixes her eyes on the horizon, fighting the car sickness. Zach has bummed a cigarette off the driver, and clovey smoke fills the cab.
They pull up on the coastal road, beside the high walls of the Huber Mansion.
“Burada mı?” asks the cabbie incredulously. He nods at the empty road. “There’s nothing here, abi.”
Zach gestures toward the wide sweep of the Bosphorus. The slow sunset settles in broken pinks and scarlets across the face of the water. “Romantik.”
Penny and Zach step out into the fresh breeze as the cab speeds away.
Penny looks up at the mansion’s forbidding wall. “What now? Do we just go introduce ourselves to the guards at the gate?”
“Pretty much.” Zach shrugs. “Getting in isn’t the tricky part.”
43
* * *
CLUTCHING AT SNAKES
HUBER MANSION, KALENDER, ISTANBUL
19:43 LOCAL TIME
“Mr. Beauregard. Thank you for coming.” The Turkish woman doesn’t rise. “How much sugar do you take?”
Connor stares. “Ms. Palamut?”
“Please, sit. Sugar. In your coffee.” Melek gives him a mild hostess smile. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried Turkish coffee?”
Connor perches on the edge of one of the wooden chairs. His voice comes out hoarse. “I only arrived in Turkey yesterday, ma’am.”
“Melek Hanım?” One of the guards hurries down the stairs.
Melek looks exasperated.
Before she can speak, the guard bursts out in a flurry of low Turkish. Emotions flicker across Melek Palamut’s mobile features: astonishment, triumph, caution. Then, with regal gentleness, she gives a brisk order. She turns back to Connor. “Anladınız mı?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am?”
“Of course not.” Her smile is tight, voice dry. “Christina never wanted you to understand.” She looks up at the stairs behind him. “How much sugar, Mr. Beauregard?”
* * *
ORTAKÖY, ISTANBUL
19:45 LOCAL TIME
The Consul General’s black SUV and identical follow car race up the coastal road toward the Kempinski.
Secretary Winthrop’s voice comes through the speaker of Brenda’s BlackBerry, conciliatory and assured. “That’s simply not possible.”
“Mr. Secretary, I saw the photo myself. She’s sunburnt, and her hair’s different, but it’s Penny. I’m sure it is. And that means that an hour ago, she was alive, and in Istanbul.”
“You’re sure a dead girl is alive? Brenda, you’ve got to understand how this sounds.”
“Sir, the photo—”
“Frank Lerman’s taken some people to go check it out.” Winthrop’s voice sharpens. “And I have to ask you to stop chasing ghosts and do your job. The NATO Summit is wheels up in half an hour. We simply can’t afford this kind of distraction. I certainly can’t.”
Brenda exhales. “Yes, sir.”
“Am I on speaker? Can Moe hear me?”
Moe Sokolof leans forward. “Yes, Mr. Secretary.”
“When you arrive, I want you both to come directly to my suite. I’m hearing from DC that we may be looking at some last-minute adjustments.”
* * *
HUBER MANSION, KALENDER, ISTANBUL
19:48 LOCAL TIME
The small door in the high seafront wall of the Huber Mansion complex swings open. Four Presidential Guards escort Penny and Zach as they cross the grassy compound into the dark leafy shade, toward a low brick outbuilding.
“We’re here to see Melek Hanım,” says Zach in Turkish. “Not tour the parking lot.”
One of the guards gestures down the stairs. “She is waiting.”
Penny glances at Zach. “What if it’s a trap?”
“Kind of late to worry about that.”
“Penny?” shouts a familiar voice from below. “Is that you?”
Penny plunges down the stairs two at a time.
Connor, wrists unbound, is sitting at a table with Melek Palamut. Two tiny cups of Turkish coffee steam in the fluorescent glow. His face crumples. “They got you.”
She rushes up to him. “Are you okay?”
“You’re just in time, Penny.” Melek stands up. “And this is Mr. Robson, no?”
Connor recoils. “What’s he doing here?”
Melek gives a gracious nod. “Mr. Robson, I believe we met at the German Ambassador’s Labor Day reception.”
Zach slips seamlessly into diplomat mode. “I’m honored that you remember, Melek Hanım.”
“Türk kahvesi?”
Zach smiles. “Çok şekerli olsun.”
“You have a sweet tooth,” observes Melek. “And you, Penny? You look exhausted.”
Penny stands straighter. “No, thank you.”
One of the guards locks the door. There are six of them, all heavily armed.
“Now,” says Melek, resuming her chair, “please sit. I’d like to discuss the future.”
Penny tries to mask terror with sarcasm. “Are you going to read our future in the coffee grounds?”
Melek actually laughs. It makes her look more human, and about a decade younger. “I don’t have time to waste on theatrics, Penny. Sit.”
P
enny and Zach obey.
Melek folds her hands. “Are you familiar with a woman at the CIA who calls herself Christina?”
“Why?” asks Connor.
Melek levels a hard stare at him and Penny. “Because earlier today, she asked me to kill you both.”
Penny and Connor exchange a glance.
“My faith teaches that if you take a single life outside the strictures of the law, it’s as if you’ve killed all mankind. And to save a single human life is to save all humanity.” Melek tilts her head. “We must all learn to temper our ideals with practicality. Belief is no magic pill against hard choices. But I’ve never taken a life. I’d prefer not to start today.”
Penny crosses her arms. “That sounds awfully sanctimonious coming from the woman who threatened to torture me yesterday.”
“Threatened, Penny. But I never touched you.”
“Only because you didn’t get the chance!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve got a question, ma’am,” says Connor, his hand in the air.
Melek’s mouth twitches. “You really don’t have to raise your hand.”
Connor lowers it, ears red. “What are you doing taking orders from CIA?”
“I’m trying not to.” Melek takes a deep breath. “Christina is attempting to blackmail me. I would prefer she didn’t succeed.”
One of the guards sets down a coffee by Zach, and a water in front of Penny.
“I see, ma’am,” says Connor. “And you figure if she wants us dead, we must have something on her.”
“Just so.” Melek takes a sip.
“And you think we’ll tell you?” says Penny.
“I suspect it is a question of giving, not telling. I know Christina tried and failed to kill two of her own citizens. Yet neither of you, Penny and Mr. Beauregard, are of particular importance—your word alone would carry very little weight. So whatever it is she wants hidden, you must have some kind of proof. And that proof is what I need. Along with her title, and her full name.”
“You know, I’ve read the dossier on you, Melek Hanım,” says Zach. “They’re right. You are the intelligent one.”
Melek looks neither flattered nor annoyed; her voice is neutral. “I’ve read your dossier, too, Mr. Robson. Christina told me you were a terrorist sympathizer, working with the Hashashin. Yet it very much appears that prior to the Embassy bombing, you were also cooperating with the Kurds. Clearly, you’re not a man of God. So far as I can tell, you act neither from madness, nor principle, nor duress. So you’re acting for gain—or possibly revenge. Given Christina’s interest in you, I take it your efforts have met with some success.”
Zach smiles.
“But,” says Melek, “your willingness to come here tells me that you haven’t yet got what you wanted.”
“So you won’t let us go unless we tell you what Christina did?” says Penny.
“The proof you hold can buy you life or it can buy you death. Frankly, I think my offer’s the better of the two.”
“What if we do give it to you?” Zach doesn’t touch his coffee. “How do we know you won’t just kill us anyway?”
“I swear on my father’s life.”
“That isn’t good enough,” says Zach.
Connor meets Melek’s eyes. “You know what happened in Kadıköy, ma’am. And so do all the hundreds of other people in that parking lot. Even Christina can’t hide the truth much longer. There are too many loose ends. The world is going to know that we survived. It’s one thing to be a murderer. It’s another for everyone to know you are. Especially if you don’t want to implicate your father.” Connor takes a deep breath. “You can’t afford to kill us.”
Melek sets down her coffee. “Your line of reasoning is not without its flaws, Mr. Beauregard. You assume that my guards shooting foreign spies who attempted to break into a presidential residence in the wake of a devastating terrorist attack would reflect badly on me. I encourage you to rethink that assumption.”
“It would still be very messy for you, and for your father,” says Penny.
“A week of rain will wash away your little mess. Your country does not want another stupid war.”
Penny tries another tack. “You know we can’t go to the media with this—who would believe us?”
“Who indeed?”
“So why murder us?” Penny switches into Turkish. “Is that really what you want right now? Don’t we all need less killing? Don’t we all want peace?”
“You presumptuous child,” Melek replies in the same language, quiet and calm. “You think you know everything about my situation, don’t you?”
“I . . .”
“You think because you can read our newspapers and watch our television, because you come and stay in my country for a few weeks, you understand? You really think you’re ready to play this game?”
“I’m not playing games.” Penny looks Melek square in the eye. “I told you. I’m not a spy. I’m not even a diplomat. And I’m not a child. I may not understand your country, but I care about this place and these people. Killing us won’t make anything better. It just makes you as bad as Christina. I sure wouldn’t want to be like her. And I definitely wouldn’t want to do her dirty work for her. Do you?”
Melek is very still.
Penny switches back into English. “You can get us inside the Kempinski, can’t you?”
“A police launch is at the Tarabya pier,” says Melek. “If you give me what I need.”
Penny looks to Connor. “What do you think?”
Three deep lines crease Connor’s forehead. “I can’t.”
“Connor, Christina tried to murder both of us!”
“It isn’t that.” Connor takes a deep breath. “Penny, if I tell—you’ve got to understand. I took an oath. If I betray Christina to a foreign power . . .”
“So she pays a price for what she did!”
“It isn’t for her.” Connor swallows.
“Jesus Christ.” Zach shakes his head. “Death’s staring you straight in the face, and you still don’t dare break the rules, do you? The good little soldier. What is it with you assholes? They wave a flag in front of you, and you’re so damn hypnotized you forget to act in your own best interest.”
“I know the difference between what’s right and what’s convenient. And that has nothing to do with Christina’s rules.” Connor turns to Penny. “When I gave you those pills, my conscience told me it was wrong. But I followed orders and did it anyway. When I tried to take you to that safe house, I knew in my gut that it was wrong. But I followed orders and did it. Our choices add up to who we are. And I chose wrong.” He squares his shoulders. “Not anymore. If we give up everything good about who we are, what are we even fighting for? Fuck Christina. She deserves to pay for what she did. But I won’t sell her out to a hostile foreign power. Because if you think Zach could cause trouble by blackmailing the CIA, imagine what Ms. Palamut could do.” His eyes are bright in the gloom. “If you want to tell her what you know, I won’t blame you—”
Penny’s throat feels like it’s closing. “Connor . . .”
“Really. I won’t. You’re a civilian. You never asked for this—you shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself.” He scrunches up his face. “But I won’t do it. I can’t.”
Penny says nothing.
Melek watches them both.
“Her full name is Christina Ekdahl,” says Zach. “She bought bombs with U.S. tax dollars and used the State Department as cover to ship them to the Hashashin.” Zach takes a swig of his coffee. “Then the Hashashin used one of those bombs to blow up the U.S. Embassy. I’ll give you specs and numbers, if you want.”
Melek smiles. “That’s more like it, Mr. Robson.”
“Actually, since I’m leaving government service, there’s really no need to use my cover name. After all, I’m confident we’ll be working very closely over the next few years.”
“Indeed?” Melek raises an eyebrow.
Zach grins
, triumphant and cocksure. “My new consulting firm is about to be awarded quite a number of intelligence and security contracts. As soon as the NATO wonks finish brokering that Syria deal.”
“In that case, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. . . . ?”
“Cabot. Jack Winthrop Cabot.”
“Winthrop?” says Melek.
“Cousins.” Zach shrugs. “He got the rich dad. I got the brains.”
Penny feels as if she’s going to be sick.
“I’m sure we’ll have a great deal to discuss, Mr. Cabot.” Melek turns to Penny and Connor. “But I believe I promised Penny a ride to the Kempinski.”
Zach leans back in his chair. “I think that would create unnecessary complications.”
Melek’s expression doesn’t change. “How so?”
“This doesn’t have to be embarrassing for any of us. Dye Mr. Beauregard’s hair, and you’ve got your Kadıköy motorcycle bomber. CIA’s already repudiated him as a traitor. He was even captured on the scene.”
“Not the bad guy, huh?” Penny feels her cheeks go hot. “I wish I’d pushed you out of the helicopter!”
Melek conceals her look of surprise, but not quite fast enough.
Zach continues, “And everyone already knows Penny’s dead. Send the body back to Ankara. How is anyone ever going to prove it wasn’t always there?”
“You bastard.” Connor tries to get up, but two Presidential Guards hold him down.
Melek has eyes only for Zach. “And may I ask how you know the hair color of the Kadıköy bomber, Mr. Cabot?”
“I was on the scene.”
“You certainly were.”
Goose bumps rise on Penny’s arms.
Melek leans forward. “My people identified you from the CCTV in the Kadıköy ferry terminal.” Her gaze slides over to Penny. “You, too. That’s three lira you owe the Istanbul Municipality.”
Zach leans forward, voice suddenly rough. “Have you told . . . anyone?”
“Not yet.” Melek raises her eyebrows. “But it seems courteous to give Secretary Winthrop fair warning before we release the information to the press.”
Liar's Candle Page 27
