Added to the insult was the fact that the latest affair had been a gift – a way to ensure a business deal went through smoothly.
She groaned, flipped down the seat of the toilet and sat with her head in her hands. Anger coursed through her body, at her husband, at her own stupidity.
Why had she waited until now to do something about Ian’s affairs? Why didn’t she confront him back in the States where they could each engage a lawyer and try to salvage some dignity from the whole mess?
She took a deep breath, then stood and checked her make-up in the mirror. Breathing out slowly, she set her shoulders and fluffed up her hair, before stepping towards the door and wrenched it open.
If she had her time again, would she have done anything differently?
She turned and stared at the face which reflected back at her from the mirror, and then sniffed.
Somehow, she suspected she wouldn’t.
15
The woman strode along the pavement, her hand firmly on the shoulder strap of her bag. She knew the area well, had worked there for several years, and she wasn’t going to start taking chances now.
Her heels echoed off the walls of the buildings she passed, the noise from the main street fading behind her as she walked the familiar route back to the apartment. Her toes rubbed against the cheap leather of her high-heeled shoes, and she cursed as she felt a blister forming. She slowed her pace and changed her gait in an effort to ease the pain, and it was then that she heard the noise behind.
Her heart hit her ribcage hard. She quickened her step, straining her ears to hear over the clack-clack of her heels, cursing that she hadn’t changed into her ballet flats before leaving the nightclub.
She didn’t want to look back. To do so would acknowledge the danger – and slow her pace.
She cried out as her foot caught in a crack between two paving stones, and her heel rolled. The fall caught her by surprise, her elbow hitting the ground painfully as she landed, her legs curled under her body.
Gritting her teeth, she began to stand up, and then saw movement against a wall behind her, her head snapping round instantly.
‘Hello, Francine.’
A smooth voice carried on the breeze towards her, before a small flame shot upwards. She recognised the man’s features in the glow of the lit cigarette.
‘What do you want?’
He chuckled, an eerie sound with no humour, only laced through with malice. ‘You.’
Francine had no time to scream as he launched himself towards her, his hand sliding across her mouth.
The man dragged her sideways, into an alleyway off the main footpath, and then murmured into her ear. ‘I need you to pass on a message for me, do you understand? Nod if you do.’
Francine nodded, her eyes wide open.
‘Good, good. Now I’m going to take my hand away. Don’t scream, understand?’
Francine nodded once more, and then gulped in a deep lungful of air once the man loosened his grip. Bile rose in her throat as his nicotine-stained breath warmed her face, his body odour pervasive, overpowering.
‘I’ve done everything you asked. You’ve got what you wanted.’
He smiled, and Francine felt the shiver start at her blistered toes before it crawled up her spine.
‘I have a message for you to pass on.’ His fingers caressed her jawline, tipping her chin up until her eyes met his. ‘A very special message.’
His hand shot to her mouth once more, crushing her jaw.
Francine wriggled, desperately trying to escape his grip, and then screamed into his skin as the flash of a knife cut through the air towards her.
***
Steve put the phone down and rubbed his eyes. Squinting in the bright early morning light which streamed between the cracks in the blinds, he picked up the documents on the small laser printer, and then turned to Finn.
‘Is Hart back?’
‘Yeah, he and Cynthia got in about fifteen minutes ago. The security guy who was with them said there were no incidents on the way in.’
‘Okay – Hart’s office. Now.’
Finn frowned and followed the other man down the corridor and through to the executive’s room, closing the door behind them.
Ian looked up from his computer screen and glared at the interruption. ‘What is it?’
Steve pulled out a chair and sat down, Finn following his lead.
‘I’ve just been speaking to my contact at Interpol,’ he began. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this Ian, but a body was found early this morning in an alley in Aksaray. It’s been confirmed that it’s Francine.’
Finn watched as Hart leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his body crumpling.
‘They’re absolutely sure?’ asked Ian.
‘Her sister’s just identified the body. She raised the alarm when she didn’t return to the apartment they share last night. I’d passed on Francine’s details to my contact in the hope we could speak to her, but it seems that we were too late. A road sweeper found her at dawn. She’d been left in a doorway.’
‘This just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly did for Francine,’ murmured Finn.
Steve held up his hand to silence him, his eyes on Hart. ‘When did you last see her?’
Ian leaned forward and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand before resting his arms on the desk. ‘The night before Kate was taken. We had dinner at her place.’ He paused. ‘She mentioned that she’d run out of her favourite perfume and dropped a huge hint she expected me to buy her some the next day.’ He sighed, folding himself back into the chair. ‘That’s what Kate was doing when they took her.’
Finn stirred and turned to Steve. ‘What details did your contact give you?’
Steve sighed, and then spoke softly. ‘She was cut. Deliberately. Everywhere. The cuts didn’t kill her – the killer tormented her. The pathologist doesn’t know yet how long she was alive before she was stabbed in the neck. That’s what killed her – massive blood loss from the carotid artery.’
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
Hart raced from the room, and Finn heard the men’s rest room door slam open in its frame before turning to Steve.
‘Hope he makes it to the toilet.’
‘Yeah – that hit him hard, didn’t it?’
‘So what else did your contact tell you?’
Steve stood and paced the room. ‘The cut marks on Francine’s body – the police have seen them before. A while ago, but they’re too similar to discount.’
‘A contract killer?’
‘Mm. And someone who enjoys his work.’
‘Any idea who?’
‘All the signs point to a man called Yusuf.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘No – you wouldn’t unless you worked in this part of the world. I’m waiting for some more information to come through, but in the meantime, go and find Cynthia. I want her in the room when we speak to Ian again.’
***
‘What’s going on?’ said Cynthia, as she followed her husband into the room. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Sit down.’ Finn pointed to the chairs next to Hart’s desk. ‘Both of you.’
He waited until they’d settled, Cynthia frowning at her husband as he dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of his mouth and then reached across his desk and pulled a glass of water towards him.
‘Okay,’ said Steve as they watched him expectantly. ‘Listen up. We’ve received some information from a contact of ours, and we have a problem.’
He set out two black and white photographs on Ian’s desk and pointed to the first one.
‘Do either of you recognise this man?’
Cynthia frowned. ‘That’s the man who came to the apartment last night.’
‘What?’
Finn looked at Steve, then back to Hart and his wife. ‘You actually met him?’
Hart nodded. ‘That’s Claude van Zant.’ His lip curled in
disgust.
‘What did he want? Why did he come to your apartment, not here?’
Hart shrugged. ‘I think he worked out you’d stop him if he tried.’
‘Too right,’ said Finn, cursing the ineptness of Hart’s security detail at the compound, and Hart’s stupidity for not mentioning the visit sooner. ‘What did he say to you?’
‘That I’d have to go through with the deal. He said that Kate’s life is in danger if I don’t.’
Finn cursed under his breath.
‘Anything else?’ asked Steve.
Hart nodded and took the photograph of Kate from his pocket. ‘He gave me this.’
He turned the photograph on the desk until Finn and Steve could see it.
Finn exhaled, swearing under his breath, and noticed that Cynthia’s face had paled.
‘But you knew he was dangerous, didn’t you Hart?’
Hart shook his head. ‘Not at first, no.’ He glanced at Cynthia. ‘That’s the truth, I swear.’ He rubbed the back of his neck before continuing. ‘When he approached me six months ago, he introduced himself as van Zant and said he represented a small organisation in the Mediterranean who are interested in the system I’d been working on for the Turkish military.’
‘Who is he really?’ asked Cynthia, taking the photograph from her husband and frowning.
‘Yusuf,’ said Steve. ‘Possibly more dangerous than his boss. He’s the henchman for the organisation. Does all the wet work.’
‘Wet work?’ said Cynthia, her brow creasing.
‘The killing. Probably killed Francine.’ Finn paused and glared at Ian. ‘And he’s the one who has Kate.’
Cynthia put her hand to her mouth and slowly shook her head. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘They must want the parts badly,’ Steve said to Finn, then turned back to Hart and shrugged. ‘Most people who meet Yusuf don’t survive long.’
Hart shivered. ‘I had no idea.’
Steve pointed to the second photograph.
‘What about this man? Have either of you met him?’
The picture showed a man in his late teens with jet-black hair leaning against an old army vehicle, a rifle slung over his arms. The picture had been taken while the vehicle had been parked under the shade of trees, the dappled light casting shadows across the man’s face.
‘I don’t know this man.’
Finn pushed the photograph to one side and placed a photocopy of a newspaper clipping on the desk, a grainy photograph of a man walking through a train station concourse set next to a short report about a car bombing in the 1980s.
‘And this man?’
Hart frowned. ‘I’m not sure – he’s changed his appearance here, hasn’t he?’
Finn looked over his shoulder at Steve, who nodded.
‘It’s a few years older. It’s estimated he was in his mid-twenties when this was taken nearly thirty years ago. No-one’s got a photograph of him since – he’s been extremely careful. We think he may have had more plastic surgery since then, particularly the nose,’ he said.
‘Do you know his name?’ asked Cynthia.
‘It’s Kaan. We think he’s Yusuf’s current employer.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Cynthia. ‘I mean, how bad is this?’
‘No-one knows his real name,’ said Steve. ‘Kaan seems to be as close as anyone’s going to get based on the intel available. Some say he’s Syrian, others that he’s Kurdish. Most of our contacts believe him to be using the Kurdish rebel cause as an excuse to start his own battle with the Westernised end of the Mediterranean.’
He passed a folder of newspaper cuttings and intelligence reports to Finn who began to flick through them. ‘I’m amazed we have any photographs of him.’
‘He sees himself as a freedom fighter,’ said Steve, ‘so at first he wasn’t adverse to a bit of publicity for his cause.’ He pointed at the newspaper clipping in Finn’s hand. ‘That’s the last known photograph of him – taken thirty years ago.’
Cynthia turned to her husband, tapping the edge of the photograph with a manicured nail. ‘Why can’t you just give him what he wants? Sign the deal.’
‘I can’t, not now that I know he lied about who he was. I originally thought he was from another department in the Turkish military. If I sold him the parts now, it’d contravene EU and UN sanctions on what components can be sold for weaponry outside of approved government contracts. The fact that I know van Zant, or Yusuf – whatever he’s called – will use it to finish building a weapon which is banned, and that he’ll probably use it – I just can’t. It’ll destroy the business, and I’ll end up in prison.’
‘I can’t believe you put Kate’s life on the line for a quick tumble in the sheets and a business deal!’ snapped Cynthia. She stood and walked towards the door, jerking it open. ‘You’re pathetic.’
Finn and Steve remained silent after the door slammed behind her. Hart managed to appear contrite before turning to the two men.
‘What do we do now?’
‘There’s that ‘we’ again,’ murmured Finn.
16
Finn looked over his shoulder as the door opened, and Steve walked in, followed by an older man of medium height, black hair shot with grey clipped close to his scalp, and keen brown eyes.
He wore a tan coloured suit, polished brown shoes, and a frown across his face.
‘Gents, this is Emrah Ahmed, Turkish Military Intelligence,’ said Steve.
‘Hang on,’ said Hart. ‘I thought we weren’t involving the police?’ He turned to Steve. ‘Why wasn’t I consulted on this?’
Emrah crossed the room, pulled out a chair and sat down, leaned forward and glared at Hart.
‘Sir, you lost the right to be consulted the moment you chose not to alert us to the fact you have been communicating with a known terrorist.’
‘Emrah has been assigned to the case. My contact with Interpol has managed to persuade the Turkish authorities to allow us to work with them,’ explained Steve.
‘You had better bring me up to speed,’ said Emrah. ‘Quickly.’
After listening to Finn and Steve run through the facts, Emrah held up his hand.
‘How are you going to persuade him to hand over the woman?’
‘It’s clear we’re dealing with a complex personality,’ said Steve. ‘Kaan is highly educated, very intelligent and probably very charming when he wants to be.’
‘Or when he wants something,’ said Hart.
Steve nodded. ‘He’s probably been planning this for a long time. Doing his homework on the business, waiting for an opportunity to use you.’ He turned the page of the report he’d been sent. ‘The problem we have,’ he said, ‘is that someone with this sort of personality has no morals. Which puts Kate’s life at risk if we don’t do what Kaan wants.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hart.
‘What he means,’ said Finn, ‘is even if we hand over the parts, Kaan will kill Kate.’
He stopped pacing, crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Hart. ‘We have to come up with a way to rescue her, while Kaan thinks we’re still negotiating.’
Emrah coughed. ‘I’m sorry gentlemen, but what makes you think you will be conducting any rescue?’
Finn frowned, and then pointed at himself and Steve. ‘Because that’s what we do.’
‘You are on Turkish soil. And I am running this investigation.’
‘With all due respect,’ said Steve, holding up a hand to interrupt Finn’s protests, ‘we’ve already made a hell of a lot of progress before I called you. Finn’s been working all hours tracing leads and following them up.’ He pulled up a chair opposite the intelligence officer. ‘Not only that, but she’s an American citizen, not Turkish.’ He leaned back and pointed at Finn. ‘Having an ex-FBI hostage expert involved in the search for one of their own? That’s got to count for something, right?’
‘Not only that,’ said Finn, ‘My specialisation is hostage rescue. Not negotiation – rescu
e.’
Emrah snorted, and then looked at Steve. ‘This is the man who fell to pieces three years ago and is only here today because you were his babysitter, isn’t that right?’
Steve left his seat the moment he saw Finn move. Before he could reach the intelligence officer, Steve had him in an arm lock against the office wall.
‘Now is not the time,’ he hissed in Finn’s ear and let go.
Finn exhaled, turned his back on Emrah and walked to the middle of the room, his hands on his hips.
Steve checked he wasn’t going to have second thoughts, and then sat back down. ‘That was uncalled for, and you know it.’
Emrah raised his hands to placate Finn. ‘It was, I apologise.’ He turned back to Steve. ‘But you see my point? He is unpredictable.’
‘You provoked him,’ said Steve. ‘I’ve been working with this man for a long time. I’d trust him with my life – and have. If we’re going to have any success in finding Kate alive and well, then rescuing her, I want Finn on board.’ He raised an eyebrow at Emrah. ‘Well?’
The intelligence officer balled his hand into a fist and tapped it on the arm of the chair, assessing each of the men in front of him.
‘Alright. But you report to me at all times, is that clear?’
Both men nodded.
‘Alright,’ said Emrah and stood to leave. ‘I will begin to mobilise a team of investigators and review what you’ve found out so far.’ He checked his watch. ‘I will telephone you in three hours for an update.’
Steve showed him to the door, then closed it and turned to face the room.
‘Okay,’ said Finn, approaching Hart’s desk, ‘now we’ve got that out of the way, how are we going to deal with this?’
Hart took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. ‘If we give those parts to Kaan, it’ll be the tipping point for this part of the world,’ he said. ‘It’ll be the last thing needed to tear apart the Middle East and this side of the Mediterranean.’
Two FBI thrillers: Before Nightfall and Mistake Creek Page 10
