Covert Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  He hadn’t hurt Todd, he’d just gotten rid of him. Shocking, but efficient.

  She had trouble breathing as she took in how deftly and quickly Hejan had wielded the vicious blade. If she’d stepped in, she could have been seriously injured, or at the very least, she’d have thrown off Hejan’s smooth timing.

  The arms that had held her were gone, and she twisted to face the man who’d stopped her, but there was no one behind her. She scanned the faces of several men who sat alone or in groups, wondering which one had stopped her, but no one met her gaze. All eyes were on Hejan as he crossed the lounge to her side.

  She almost wondered if she’d imagined it—the chokehold, the knife. It was crazy. “I’m sorry,” she said to Hejan, knowing how vastly inadequate the words were.

  The young Kurd shrugged like it was no big deal. The other patrons returned to their revelry. The world resumed spinning.

  She didn’t know what else to say. She reached for the table and pushed it back to line up with the others that ringed the dance floor. Hejan dropped into Suzanne’s vacated chair at the same time Cressida resumed her seat. “I’d offer to buy you a drink,” she said, “but you’re Muslim.”

  He smiled. “I’ll have a gazoz.” He signaled to the waitress and ordered the local soda. Task completed, his gaze flicked down Cressida’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked in a low, raspy voice she could barely hear under the loud music. Todd had hurt him.

  “I’m fine,” she lied even as her hip throbbed.

  He reached into a thin satchel he wore slung across his chest, plucked out an envelope, and handed it to her. “A write-up of my translation and a digital recorder on which I recorded translations of the map in Kurdish, Turkish, Arabic, and Farsi so you can hear the pronunciation. Each language is in a separate file directory so you can easily play the place names for locals when they don’t understand you.”

  “I’ve never considered using a digital recorder like that. I can see how that will be helpful. Thank you.” It was brilliant, actually, but she worried how much it would cost her. “I must owe you for the recorder. They aren’t cheap.”

  He waved her off. “The university provided it. You must return it when you come back next week, or they’ll bill you for it.”

  She let out a small sigh of relief. She’d return it first thing because free was the only price she could afford. “Perfect.”

  Next, he slid a small card across the table. “My brother’s phone number.”

  She tucked the card away, grateful for it. Hejan’s brother, Berzan, had agreed to act as her guide and translator for the week. A guide was vital for this trip because southeastern Turkey—which bordered Iran, Iraq, and Syria, and was far more conservative than the western part of the country—could be considered unsafe for almost any American, especially now, with ongoing fighting with ISIS along sections of the Syrian border. Add to that the fact that she couldn’t speak Kurdish, Turkish, or Arabic, was a woman traveling alone, and her trip was risky at best.

  She’d spent the better part of six months planning this excursion—made thankfully cheaper because she was already in the country for the underwater excavation—and had no choice but to make the trip alone. At one point she’d planned to ask Todd to join her, but that ship had crashed, burned, and sunk. Of course, once she’d learned that he was a thief with shady Jordanian connections, she had to wonder if he’d had ulterior motives for being interested in studying ancient illicit trade routes in Kurdish territory.

  Ian couldn’t believe it. The woman with the mean right hook was the next link in Hejan’s cell. He’d been ready to believe Hejan had only intervened because she needed help, but then Hejan handed her an envelope with a mark on the corner. The signal the envelope contained the microchip.

  Hejan hadn’t told Ian the courier would be unwitting, which meant this woman could well be a true conspirator who’d knowingly accepted the job of delivering the microchip to the leader of a Kurdish terrorist group. It rankled that he’d considered her attractive when it was possible she was a traitor.

  “Are you certain she’s American?” Zack asked through the earpiece.

  “Her accent is American.”

  “That can be faked.”

  Ian studied her again. Turkey had a wide range of ethnic groups with an equally diverse set of physical attributes. The woman’s dark hair and deep tan could easily pass for Middle Eastern. She bore a strong resemblance to the actress Natalie Portman, who, if he remembered correctly, was Israeli. But the way the woman moved, the way she talked, even the way she punched… Her mannerisms were all American. “Not under stress like that. She wasn’t faking; she wanted to stop the fight. No way could she have hidden an accent.”

  Twenty feet away, the pretty traitor tucked the envelope into her purse. The packet stuck out of the small bag, easy picking for a brush drop.

  Ian spoke softly into his drink. “Can’t get a read on this. It’s so…blatant.”

  “Get her picture so it can be run through the known associates database.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. He’d been at this far longer than Zack and didn’t need to be told his job. Rookies. “Already sent it.”

  Hejan and the woman chatted for several more minutes, then she yawned and glanced at her watch. Hejan nodded and stood. She caught the eye of her blonde friend and waved.

  The blonde smiled and returned her attention to the American man she’d cozied up to. It was odd that the blonde hadn’t checked on the brunette after the fight.

  The brunette wore a short, midnight-blue dress with a snug top cut low enough to reveal that impressive cleavage. She draped her purse over her shoulder just as a man walked by and bumped into her. The bag slipped and dropped to the floor.

  She bent to retrieve it with reflexes that showed she hadn’t had much to drink. While she bent over, Hejan got a prime view of her ass while Ian got a glimpse straight down her top. He corrected his initial assessment of her cleavage from impressive to downright spectacular, but a quick glance at Hejan revealed the man’s gaze was fixed on the fallen purse, not the blatant display.

  Yeah. Hejan had definitely passed her the chip, and now he was worried.

  She slung the long purse strap across the opposite shoulder so it crossed her chest and wouldn’t be easy to dislodge again, then she swept her long hair off her neck and twisted it in a knot that somehow managed to stay up without a fastener.

  With her hair up, her high cheekbones became more prominent. She went from being simply pretty to…well, something more. Irrelevantly and involuntarily, he found himself wondering about her eye color.

  Focus, dammit. The microchip is now in play.

  Hejan and the woman headed for the exit, but not the main one, which emptied onto the busy Antalya street. No, they went through the hotel entrance. The woman had a hotel room?

  Shit.

  “Grab her drink and see if you can get a print,” Ian instructed Zack. “I’ll follow and get her room number.”

  She had a microchip that held information wanted by at least three countries and two terrorist networks. Ian couldn’t lose her. If she managed to pass it up the line, then a terrorist organization would have access to the funding they needed to plan and implement a major strike. Ian’s orders were clear: follow the chip, but if there was any chance he’d lose it, take out the carrier by whatever means necessary to stop the data from reaching the group leader.

  His primary goal was to intercept the chip, identifying the group leader was secondary.

  Hejan was playing a dangerous game, and unwitting or not, the woman was in it up to her beautiful unknown-color eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Cressida led Hejan past the elegant flight of stairs in the center of the hotel lobby to her ground floor corridor. She hadn’t planned on taking him to her room, but it had been hard to hear in the nightclub over the loud music, and she needed to go over the recordings and map with him, to make sure she understood both the translation and how to use the ph
rases he’d recorded for her.

  Inside her hotel room, Hejan turned nervous. Very nervous. When she asked him what was wrong, he shrugged. “When you are east, especially near the border, never enter a bedroom with a man. It will get you in trouble.”

  Something in the way he spoke sent a chill up her spine.

  He must have seen the fear in her eyes, because he paused and cocked his head, staring at her with uncharacteristic directness. In the several times they’d met over the last two weeks, he’d almost never looked her in the eye. He pulled a pendant from his neck and placed it over her head. “This will protect you. Wear it always. Promise you won’t take it off.”

  Cressida lifted the necklace, still warm from Hejan’s skin. The symbol was a Turkish evil eye, similar to the ones she’d seen in every tourist shop and outdoor market, but prettier, more elaborate. Not just blue-and-white glass but metal filigree holding polished, shaped glass. “It’s beautiful.” She started to take off the necklace. It was different and obviously special. “Hejan, I can’t—”

  He stopped her before she got the chain above her ears. “No. You need it. It will protect you. But keep it hidden. Next to your heart. Only show it to my brother.”

  She hesitated.

  “I will be insulted if you refuse,” he added.

  Put that way, she didn’t really have a choice. She was worried about this trip; a good luck charm might be the only thing that would put her mind at ease. She turned away from him and tucked the pendant between her breasts. With the long chain, it rested on her breastbone, hidden even with the low cut of the cocktail dress.

  She led him to the couch and plucked the digital recorder from the envelope. They spent the next thirty minutes going over the recordings and digital file organization, making sure she knew how to use the recorder and could find the proper language when she needed it.

  Task completed, she rubbed her tired eyes as Hejan folded his copy of the map he’d translated. The late night had caught up with her, and she was unable to stifle a wide yawn.

  Hejan stood. “I’m sorry I was late, and now I’m keeping you up even later when you have an early flight.”

  “It’s okay. I’m so thankful for your help and for arranging with your brother to be my guide.”

  Hejan frowned. “I forgot to tell you—there was a problem with Berzan’s work schedule. He is trying to trade shifts so he can take you south toward Cizre tomorrow evening, as planned, but if he cannot, you won’t be able to set out until Tuesday morning.”

  She tried to hide her disappointment. She’d just have to roll with it. She needed a guide, and Berzan was available and cheap, even if she had to wait a day. “Where does he work?”

  “On the Lake Van ferry—”

  There was a sharp pounding on the door. “Cress, open up! I need to talk to you.”

  Shit. Todd had found her hotel room. Could this night get any more ugly and complicated?

  She was about tell him she would call security if he didn’t leave, but Hejan slapped a hand over her mouth, shocking her with his quick, physical reaction. He pulled her back, away from the door. “No. Letting him know you are here will only add to your troubles—and mine.”

  She studied Hejan. He looked worried. Really worried. But then, he’d pulled a knife on Todd only…what, forty-five minutes ago? Was he afraid Todd had returned with the police?

  She had no idea how the Turkish police worked. Just because no one in the nightclub had seemed to care didn’t mean it wasn’t a big deal. Hell, in the US, she was fairly certain bouncers would have detained Hejan until the cops arrived.

  “You should go,” Cressida whispered, nodding toward the sliding glass door that led to the patio by the pool. The hotel had been an extravagant expense, the only room in Antalya available at the last minute when her flight had been switched to six o’clock in the morning. That had forced her to take a room in the city because the water taxi from the island didn’t run early enough for her to get to the airport on time. Now she was glad the resort had given her a room with poolside access.

  “I can’t leave, not with that man at the door,” Hejan said. “He’s dangerous.”

  “Todd isn’t—”

  Hejan merely touched his neck and looked at her pointedly, reminding her that Todd had shoved a table into her side.

  Yeah, she didn’t really know what Todd was capable of. Hard to believe she’d lived with him for months and had even thought herself in love with him.

  “Go. Out the back,” Hejan said. “Go to the airport.”

  She shook her head. “I should call the police.”

  “If you do, they may wish to detain you—and me—for questioning. You’ll miss your flight.”

  Shit. Hejan had a point. She couldn’t afford to reschedule, and Todd, of all people, knew that. He knew she’d gutted her savings for this trip and what it meant for her dissertation.

  Hejan grabbed the digital recorder from the coffee table and shoved it into her hands. “Go. Now. To the airport.”

  She rubbed her eyes as Todd pounded on the door again. Hejan was right. Forget the expensive hotel room with the bed she hadn’t even slept in. If she left now, she could avoid Todd and all the trouble he could bring crashing down on her. She needed to leave for the airport in a few hours anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to get a ton of sleep. And with Todd at the door, she’d get zero sleep.

  She padded silently into the bathroom and grabbed her bag of toiletries. Back in the main room she crammed it into her suitcase. She tucked her evening bag and digital recorder into her larger purse. She hadn’t bothered to unpack anything else. She glanced down at the tight cocktail dress. Not exactly something she could wear in eastern Turkey without getting into trouble, but she’d have hours to change at the airport.

  At the sliding glass door, she tugged at the secondary lock, a metal peg in the frame, but it was stuck. Hejan pushed on the door, taking the pressure off the peg, and plucked it from the hole. The door slid open without a revealing squeak. A low brick wall with a gate separated her private patio from the pool area.

  Hejan unlatched the gate and held it open for her but didn’t follow her through. She looked at him in question.

  “I will deal with the man at the door.”

  She frowned. Hejan didn’t even know who Todd was, let alone why he’d assaulted her. She thought of how quickly Hejan had produced the knife and couldn’t suppress the small shudder that swept through her.

  “No,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Hejan shook his head. “Leave, Cressida. Now. You don’t want to be here.”

  His eyes flattened and the congenial tone of voice disappeared. Had she imagined it? She’d hired Hejan as translator through the local university affiliated with the dig. It had been fortuitous that he was from Van and had a brother who could translate for her when she arrived. But she didn’t know him. Was he the simple farm boy relocated to the big city, as he claimed?

  Did it matter when she had a newly violent ex-boyfriend pounding on the door? She needed to get away. She would check in for her flight and wait behind security, where Todd couldn’t reach her.

  Ian tucked farther back into the shadows of the pool area as the woman paused to talk to Hejan. Then, with her suitcase in one hand and a purse over her shoulder, she crossed the pool area at what appeared to be the maximum pace the tight cocktail dress and low heels allowed.

  He whispered to Zack, “She’s got her suitcase and is headed your way. Alone.”

  “Where’s Hejan?”

  “He stayed in her room.” Ian crept along the pool perimeter, following at a distance. He pressed against a low wall as she paused to retrieve her key card to enter the hotel from the pool area. This time of night, the rear door was accessible only to hotel guests. Unfortunately, Ian hadn’t been able to snag a key and would have to circle around.

  “I see her,” Zack said a moment after the woman entered the hotel.

  Ian jumped the fence and entered the
building through the nightclub. He skirted the busy dance floor and headed for the hotel lobby.

  “She just stepped out to the front driveway.”

  Good. That meant the coast was clear for Ian to enter the lobby without being spotted.

  Ian entered the opulent, brightly lit lobby. Through the glass door, he caught sight of the woman as she wheeled her bag to the front of the wide, circular drive.

  “You want me to tail her from here?” Zack asked.

  Ian hesitated. It could take her some time to get a taxi. “Wait with her. I need to talk to Hejan.”

  “Roger.”

  He turned to go to the woman’s room but paused midstep when Zack said, “She’s talking to the doorman.” A moment later he added, “She slipped him some money. He’s nodding and waving to one of the waiting cars.”

  Shit. Go after her or Hejan?

  “The car is pulling up. What should I do?”

  He had no choice. “Follow. Don’t lose her.”

  “I won’t.”

  Ian darted down the long interior hallway, then paused at the intersection with the wing where the woman’s room was located. A quick glance revealed an empty, quiet corridor. He treaded silently on the expensive Turkish carpets and came to a dead stop when he reached her room.

  Motherfucker. The door was ajar. A foot protruded through the opening.

  “Zack. We have a problem. Do not, under any circumstance, lose sight of the woman.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ian pulled his Sig and shoved open the door. A man lay just inside the door in a pool of his own blood, glassy eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling.

  Chapter Three

  “Her name is Cressida Porter. She’s in Turkey on a student visa,” Ian’s boss, Stan Mott said, when Ian called him less than an hour later.

  “Where is she now?”

  “She went straight to the airport,” Stan said.

  “Is she flying to Van?”

  “Yes. I’ve got Zack booked on the same flight.”

  “This is my op, Stan.” Ian stifled a curse. It had been necessary for Zack to follow the woman while he stayed back and photographed and searched Hejan Duhoki’s body, but Zack was backup on this. Hejan had been Ian’s asset; no way would Zack take the lead.