Alex felt a ripple of revulsion as he looked at the man. Kemal was right, the panderer enjoyed what he did. “I’m not interested in your—”
“Don’t be hasty. I have something special for you.” Adnan crooned. “A lovely little girl with long, golden hair and skin like velvet. Melis has tiny little breasts and just the hint of her woman’s fleece.” Irmak paused before announcing triumphantly, “Eleven years old and she’s almost a virgin. Where can—”
“Christ!” Alex had a bellyful of him. He was abruptly on his feet and around the desk. “I don’t want to screw one of your victims, you son of a bitch.” He spun the chair around, grabbed the pipe out of Adnan’s hand, and jerked the cord loose from the ruby-colored bowl. “But I do want to know how to find the Gypsy.” He placed one knee on Irmak’s genitals, letting them bear his weight. Ignoring Irmak’s screech of pain, Alex wrapped the glittering gold-flecked cord around Irmak’s neck and pulled it tight. Irmak made a gurgling noise in his throat, his pudgy fingers tearing futilely at the cord. “I want to know very much.” Alex twisted the cord another turn, and it sank deeper into the rolls of fat. Irmak’s mouth opened and his eyes bulged. “Tell me,” Alex said softly.
“I—can’t. I—” The cord tightened again, cutting off Irmak’s helpless sputtering.
“You’re really very good, Karazov.” Kemal was gazing with cool objectivity at the cord looped around Irmak’s throat. He leaned leisurely back and flung one leg over the arm of his chair. “But may I point out he can’t talk with that garrote around his neck?”
“He can nod.” Alex smiled savagely down into Irmak’s livid face. “Are we going to talk?”
Irmak nodded frantically.
“And are you going to tell me where to find the Gypsy?”
Irmak nodded again.
Kemal’s foot swung lazily back and forth as he smiled admiringly at Alex. “Excellent. Truly excellent.”
Alex loosened the cord.
Irmak drew a long-starved breath, his massive hands clutching at the cushioned arms of the chair. “You’re a crazy man,” he squeaked. “You almost killed me.”
“The Gypsy.”
“I don’t know . . .” Hoarse words tumbled out as the cord began to tighten again. “As Allah is my witness, I don’t know where to find him. But I know many people. I may be able to find out.”
“When?”
“Soon. Tomorrow.” He looked down at the cord around his neck. “Yes, tomorrow.”
Alex studied his expression. The man was too frightened to lie. Irmak really didn’t know where the Gypsy could be found. He unwound the cord and cast it aside before removing his knee from Irmak’s genitals. “I’m at the Hilton. Call me.”
Irmak nodded, his expression surly as he rubbed his neck with one hand while clutching at his genitals with the other. “You hurt me.”
“I intended to hurt you,” Alex said. “I enjoyed it. When you enjoy something, you look forward to doing it again. You might remember that.” He moved toward the door. “Come on, Kemal.”
Kemal slowly rose to his feet and followed him. “I couldn’t have done better myself,” he murmured. “I’m beginning to think we’re true soul mates, Karazov.”
“I’m not going to forget this, Kemal.” Irmak glowered at him across the room as he massaged his throat.
“Forgiveness?” Kemal looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “When has there ever been any question of forgiveness between us, Adnan?” He followed Alex from the office and closed the door behind him.
“I’ve probably disrupted your business relationship with Irmak,” Alex said as they started down the hall. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Kemal smiled placidly. “As a matter of fact, I was just computing how much it was going to cost you. After all, Adnan and I go way back.”
“How far?”
“I was only eight when Adnan took me to his bosom,” Kemal said lightly. “I had run away from my home, but Adnan understood perfectly what every child needs. He gave me food and a bath and another, even more luxurious home—in the Harem.”
Alex’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, yes, I was the sweetest little plum in Adnan’s basket of child whores. I was as good at that as I am at everything else.” Kemal shrugged. “However, I felt I wasn’t really cut out for the occupation, so I ran away when I was fourteen and found another profession that would keep me safe from Adnan and give me independence. Independence is very important, you know.”
“Yes, very important.”
“I thought you’d understand. And money is the ultimate independence.” Kemal opened the wrought iron front door and they stepped onto the street. “Someday I shall have a great home, big as a palace, and live like a caliph. I’ve decided I’m going to be the most independent man in this hemisphere.”
“I’m surprised you don’t say the world,” Alex said dryly.
“I’m a realist,” Kemal told him. “And a realist sets one goal at a time. Today the hemisphere, tomorrow the world.”
“Was Irmak lying about being able to find out where to contact the Gypsy?”
“Possibly, but you scared him shitless. He’s not a brave man.” For an instant Kemal’s smiled faded. “Except with helpless women and children. Then he roars like a lion.” He shrugged. “But Adnan may come through for us. Meanwhile, I’ll be diligently searching for another lead. Don’t worry, together we will persevere until we get what you want.”
Alex believed him. He had discovered a core of steely toughness and keen intelligence lay beneath Kemal’s lighthearted facade. He also found he was beginning to like the scamp. “I have a friend arriving tomorrow. I’ll need a house. A very safe house. Can you help me?”
“Of course. Have I not put myself at your disposal? Any particular location?”
“Just untraceable and unapproachable without warning.”
“I know a few such places.”
“I thought you would.”
“Anything else?”
“Since I have to wait around for Adnan’s call tomorrow, it seems I have an evening on my hands. Would you like to show me something of your Istanbul besides that damn bicycle shop?”
“It was a very fine bicycle shop,” Kemal protested.
“A very expensive one, at least.”
Kemal’s brow knitted thoughtfully. “There’s a club that has a band that plays great American rock. I like American rock. I play Bruce Springsteen all the time on my Walkman. The Boss is one great musician. I’m a great musician myself, and I know.”
“Rock. Just what I wanted to hear in exotic Istanbul.”
“You will like it. Trust me.” Kemal’s lids lowered and his long, dark lashes half veiled his eyes. “But my time is very valuable. I have exams this week and I’m sacrificing my study time for you. You will pay, of course.”
Alex should have expected it. At this rate, he might be the one who made Kemal the richest man in this hemisphere. He sighed resignedly. “Of course.”
Chelsea and Caitlin entered the elevator and the doors slid silently closed.
“Now you know what to do?” Chelsea asked. “After the mystery minx and I leave the john, you wait five minutes and then go to your own gate. Jonathan will meet you there with your papers and carry-on luggage.”
“I should know. You’ve gone over it enough times.”
“Sorry. I guess I tend to be a little overprotective.”
If Caitlin had not been so nervous, she would have smiled at the understatement.
“Jonathan is meeting us in the lobby. He decided it would be safer for us to hire a mega limousine for the entire crew so that you could become lost in the mob.” The doors slid open and Chelsea stepped out of the elevator. “Now, remember to move slowly and casually; body language is everything when you—”
“One moment, Mademoiselle Vasaro. I need a word with you. I am Raoul Dalpré.”
Caitlin stopped short, her glance flying to Ledford’s partner
. When he had stood next to Krakow he had appeared rather commonplace, but now he exuded an aura of power and authority. His gray silk tie gleamed icy cool against the impeccable tailoring on his dark blue suit. Icy. The word suited him, she realized. Pale face, cold gray eyes, beautifully manicured, soft-looking hands . . .
Jonathan was suddenly there beside them. “I explained to Monsieur Dalpré that we had to leave for the airport, but he insisted on seeing you, Caitlin.”
“It will take only a few moments,” Dalpré said.
“We don’t have a few moments,” Chelsea said briskly as she gripped Caitlin’s arm and started across the lobby. “You’ve chosen a bad time. Come on, Caitlin.”
“We can talk while I walk you to your car.” Dalpré fell into step with Caitlin. “I understand you’re responsible for bringing the Wind Dancer to France, mademoiselle.”
Jonathan said quickly, “I explained why the—”
“And that your associate, Monsieur Karazov, left Paris immediately after the theft. Where did he go?”
Caitlin shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. Perhaps back to Switzerland. He has a home there.”
“You didn’t inquire? I fine that odd. What if you had needed to contact him?” Dalpré paused and then said softly, “He is not at his home in St. Basil. I took it upon myself to verify that fact.”
“No? Well, I’m sure he’ll be in touch.” Caitlin’s pace quickened as they neared the glass doors leading to the street. “Alex is rather unpredictable.”
“Monsieur Andreas tells me you’re returning to Vasaro today.”
“That’s right,” Caitlin said. “Do you have any problem with that?”
“Not unless you decide to disappear like Monsieur Karazov.” Dalpré smiled coldly. “I admit that would displease me exceedingly. I do not—”
“Oh, look, they’re loading the luggage into the limousine.” Chelsea pushed Caitlin out onto the street. “We’ll have to check and make sure the porters haven’t missed anything.”
Dalpré followed them to the limousine. “I have a car down the street. Why don’t I take you to the airport, Mademoiselle Vasaro?”
“That wouldn’t be convenient. I’ve already made arrangements for us to be met by VIP personnel when we arrive at the airport,” Jonathan said. “Good-bye, Dalpré.”
“You seem eager to be rid of me, Monsieur Andreas.” Dalpré smiled thinly. “And, as I recall, you weren’t very cooperative when I tried to assure the safety of your property. Perhaps you should have listened to my advice.”
“Perhaps.” Jonathan’s tone was noncommittal. “Don’t you have anything else to do but question my cousin? Besides the Wind Dancer, I believe there are a number of other stolen art objects you’ve failed to recover.”
Dalpré stiffened. “That’s hardly my fault. My hands are tied without a closer unity between governments.” He turned back to Caitlin. “You’re taking the two o’clock flight to Nice?”
“Yes.”
“Then may you have a safe flight. I’m sure I will see you again. Good day, mademoiselle.”
He turned and walked down the rue de Castiglione.
Caitlin released her breath in a relieved rush.
“The iceman cometh,” Chelsea muttered.
Caitlin nodded. “Do you think he suspects I’m not going to Nice?”
“Maybe.” Jonathan shrugged. “But he can’t know for sure.”
“Pull the hood of your cape forward to shadow your face.” Chelsea stepped back and looked at Caitlin critically before nodding. “I think that will do. That rose and cream plaid was a good choice.”
“I don’t exactly fade into the woodwork.”
“We don’t want you to fade away. We want everyone to remember you.” She adjusted the rose-colored fringed tassels over Caitlin’s shoulders. “Or at least the cloak. You have the dark blue jacket in your duffel?”
Caitlin nodded.
Chelsea nodded to the limousine. “Then let’s go. It’s show time.”
When Caitlin arrived at the airport in Istanbul, Alex met her at customs and took her quickly to the house he had rented on the Bosporus. “Home,” he announced as he held open the front door. “An Englishman and his wife have gone back to London for a visit, and Kemal managed to sublet it for me. Those French doors over there lead out to a postage-stamp-size garden. The gate has a foolproof security system. Two bedrooms, a living room and dining room combination, an office, and a bathroom. Tub, no shower. Not luxurious but adequate.”
Caitlin didn’t know what she had expected, but it was not this cool English gardenlike room. After all the exotic splendor of minarets and domed mosques on the way from the airport, the Western decor was both comforting and refreshing. Delicate violets imprinted the pale background of the chintz cushions of the couch and the large easy chair facing it. A long breakfast bar with four high stools cushioned in the same violet-patterned chintz divided the small living area from a tiny kitchenette. Two fair-haired children beamed at her from the framed photograph on the corner of the breakfast bar. “Nice. This Kemal you told me about must be a miracle worker.”
“He’s fairly incredible.” He set her two suitcases down. “He said he buried the paperwork on the lease so deep it would take an earthquake to unearth it and the telephone is still in the owner’s name. I’ve arranged with the desk at the Hilton to continue to accept messages and we’ll retrieve them every morning. Any correspondence for us will go to the American Express office under Kemal’s name and be picked up by him and brought here.” Alex went to the casement windows. “There’s a good view of the Bosporus from here.” He opened the windows and cool air rushed into the room. “And five times a day you can hear the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from that minaret in the distance.”
“You sound like a real estate salesman.” She turned to look at him. “It took us a long time to get here. Were we being followed?”
“I don’t think so, but I wanted to be sure. Your bedroom is the one on the left.”
“Who were you afraid was following us? Ledford?”
“Perhaps one of Ledford’s men.”
“Was that who was following us in Paris? The man in the red shirt?”
“God no,” he said, stung. “Do you think I’d have let you stay with me if there had been that kind of danger to you?”
“I don’t know. Would you?” Her tone was cool as she turned and moved toward the bedroom he had indicated. “Who was following us in Paris?”
“CIA. They were no threat to you.”
“But you made sure that I didn’t suspect anything, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to rock the boat. Everything was going well and I didn’t want anything to upset you and make you back out of the deal.”
“I doubt if I would have pulled out at that point.” Caitlin smiled bitterly. “You had me blind and dizzy during those weeks in Paris.”
“I was pretty dizzy myself.”
“But not blind. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you, Alex?”
His lips tightened, but he said quietly, “Yes, exactly.”
“Are you going to tell me why the CIA was following you?”
“Do you care?”
“No, I’m just curious. You can understand that. You’re very curious yourself.”
“Yes, I can understand curiosity.” He turned, then picked up her suitcases and carried them to her bedroom. “Get unpacked. I’ll make coffee.”
“You’re not going to tell me any more of your secrets?”
“It’s a waste of time. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.”
Wariness flickered in his expression. “Why?”
“Because I want to know you.”
“You do know me.”
She shook her head. “No, I only thought I did. But you knew me, didn’t you? I became more vulnerable to you than I’ve ever been to any other human being because you knew
which buttons to push. That’s why you were able to manipulate me, Alex.” She shivered. “You know this world and I don’t. I need to know how it works. I need to know how your mind works.”
“Evidently not very well lately.” He shrugged wearily and set her suitcases down inside the bedroom. “Hell, maybe you’re right. I’ll call you when the coffee is brewed and you can come in and interrogate me to your heart’s content.”
Alex leaned back on the cushions of the couch and smiled sardonically at her. “Well?”
Caitlin looked down into the depths of her coffee cup. “Why does the CIA follow you?”
“To protect me.”
She glanced up at him skeptically.
He shrugged. “Oh, not because they’re overly fond of me. They hate my guts.”
“Why?”
“I’m a loaded pistol pointed at McMillan’s head.”
“Who is McMillan?”
“Rod McMillan is very high up in the CIA. Among other projects, he oversaw the activities of the department that arranged my exit from Mother Russia.” Alex took a swallow of his coffee. “There are a good many honest and patriotic men who work for the CIA. McMillan’s not one of them.”
“He’s crooked?”
“Dirty as they come.” Alex shrugged. “Maybe at one time he was straight, but by the time I knew him he was using his position and the information the Company gathered to line his own pockets and make himself a very rich man.”
Caitlin lifted her cup to her lips. “Go on.”
“You want it all? Very well, when I first started working for the CIA I was under no illusions about McMillan, but I didn’t care. The Company paid me well, they kept me from being sanctioned by the KGB, and they let me work my puzzles with no interference. McMillan promised me after ten years they’d relocate me and let me live my own life. It was a good deal.”
“So why did you leave?”
“Something happened. . . .” He shook his head, his eyes bleak. “I don’t think I’ll tell you about that. It would make me a little too vulnerable to you at the moment. I find I do have some sense of self-preservation left.” He sipped his coffee and set the cup back down in the saucer on the table. “Anyway, something happened and I knew I had to get away from the job I was doing. However, if I left the department, McMillan threatened to cancel my protection. I knew I wouldn’t have lasted six months before the KGB chopped me. So I had my own puzzle to solve. How to keep McMillan from using me, without ending up dead meat.”
Reap the Wind Page 27
