Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  Kemal shook his head. “No, this is yesterday evening’s newspaper. It says the Black Medina has forbidden the meeting and threatens reprisals if it takes place.”

  “Very clever,” Alex said. “I suppose the British lion is bristling?”

  Kemal nodded. “And so are the rest of the heads of state.”

  “Ledford wanted to force all of them to come or run the risk of being charged with knuckling under to the terrorists?” Caitlin asked.

  Alex nodded. “And by having the Black Medina threaten the conference, it supposedly shows the Black Medina fears a united Europe and looks upon it as a threat. Even if Cartwright has no intention of going along with Krakow’s plans, she’ll have to show up now.”

  “Ledford took a chance.”

  “Not much of one.” Alex looked at Kemal. “I’d bet Krakow issued a statement to the effect that he and his followers would be at the meeting but he would understand if any of his illustrious guests chose not to attend.”

  Kemal nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Which means Krakow won’t be held responsible if anything happens at the conference. After all, he did urge them to stay away.”

  “Then you think the Black Medina will attack the conference?” Kemal asked.

  “What do you think?” Alex folded the paper and tossed it into the jeep. “A few selected deaths at the conference would throw Europe into a panic.”

  “And might be the final impetus to put Krakow into a position to seize power,” Caitlin murmured.

  Kemal made a face. “I guess this means I’ll have to go to work. I’ll take over the job of watching the palace tomorrow from Haman. But for this sacrifice you will have to promise to invite me to dinner every evening to save me from my cockroaches. I’ll make my report and then sing you songs and—”

  Alex interrupted. “When they open the house, try to get in and look around.”

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  “Paintings. Statues. I don’t think they’ll be there, but we have to make sure.”

  “I’ll make sure.” Kemal’s tone was surprisingly serious. “And I’ll call my friend at the airport and have him be on the alert for Ledford.”

  “And once you start watching the house, I don’t want you to come to the cottage again.”

  Kemal’s face clouded with disappointment. “No?”

  “Why can’t he come?” Caitlin asked.

  “I understand.” Kemal grimaced. “He’s afraid while the cat watches the mouse hole, other mice will be watching the cat. He doesn’t want me to lead them to you.” He shrugged and gestured airily. “He’s right to be cautious. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m a tiger, not a mere cat. I can devour all the mice with one great gulp.”

  “It sounds a bit gory,” Alex said dryly. “Not to mention giving you a bellyache. Let’s just confine your activities to watching the mouse hole. We’ll meet you every evening at sundown in the covered bazaar at the Street of the Turban Makers.”

  “If you insist,” Kemal sighed. “My cockroaches were getting lonely anyway.” His gaze went to the mountain and then to Caitlin’s face. “Did you have success?”

  Caitlin smiled eagerly. “More than I dreamed.”

  “That is good.” He studied her face and then smiled. “Yes, very good. You are much more relaxed.”

  She flushed and lowered her eyes as she began to unstrap her backpack. “Sien mien?”

  “Second sight.” He turned, walked to his own jeep, and got in the driver’s seat. “I will meet you back at the cottage. You must pamper me tonight if I am to sacrifice myself to such pedestrian work as watching the palace.” He started the ignition and backed up. “By the way, Alex, you know I must charge you for the rental of this jeep and my own inconvenience.”

  “I assumed I’d be receiving a bill.”

  “A steep one.” He smiled with satisfaction. “After all, knight errantry does not come cheap.” He turned the jeep and roared off in a cloud of powdery snow and gray-white dust.

  Caitlin carefully placed her backpack containing the tablets on the floor of the back of the jeep. “I guess it’s starting, isn’t it?”

  Alex slowly nodded. “I can still get you out of here.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Bull!” His tone was so violent, she looked up at him, startled. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You still have roots. Cling to them, for God’s sake. Look, you may not want to talk about Vasaro, and that’s fine with me.” Alex took a step forward. “But Vasaro is a part of you. It’s broken and burnt, but it’s still a part of you. You can’t live without roots.”

  “You do.”

  “Because I’ve never had any. You’re different. You need—” He broke off and slung his backpack into the jeep. “Let’s get the hell back to Istanbul.”

  Caitlin got into the jeep. “What about Abdul Kasmina?”

  “How could I forget your welfare case? You won’t mind if we don’t take him back with us and adopt him?” He backed the jeep and turned it around. “We’ll stop in the next town and talk to the authorities about the bastard.” He stepped on the accelerator. “I’ve thought of a way to speed up the process of deciphering the script. The National Security Agency has a new computer that deciphers symbols as well as letters. It’s still classified, but we could ask Jonathan to pull some strings and get them to send it to us. It might take years to make sense of those tablets otherwise.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to work it.”

  “I’ve dealt with cryptograph computers before. I could teach you.” He didn’t look at her. “I’m not trying to take over. It’s just a suggestion.”

  If the machine would help to speed up the translation of the tablets, she would be an idiot to refuse it. Although the tablets had no connection with the news Kemal had brought them, his words had given her the feeling time was running out. “Thank you,” she said formally. “I’d appreciate your help in getting the computer.”

  “I’ll call Jonathan as soon as we get back to the cottage. He may need time to twist a few arms.”

  Ferrazo had seen that man before.

  He slowly straightened away from the brick wall of the shop across from the palace on the Street of Swords.

  He watched the curly-haired young man toss a laughing remark over his shoulder to an older man standing on the bed of the truck before setting off across the courtyard. He looked to be more boy than man, and his stride held a youthful exuberance. His lips pursed, and he began whistling a Bruce Springsteen song Ferrazo vaguely recognized. “Glory Time” or “Glory Days” or something. He stopped by the fountain to balance the small, elegant table more securely on his wide shoulders and then strolled leisurely up to the front door of the palace.

  Yes, Ferrazo knew he had seen the man before; that face was too memorable to forget.

  Two days earlier he had seen the cocky bastard in the doorway of a coffeehouse down the street from the palace, and today he was delivering furniture from the warehouse where Ledford had ordered it stored when he had purchased the house over a year before.

  Coincidence?

  Ferrazo didn’t believe in coincidence.

  He leaned back against the wall again and crossed his arms across his chest.

  He had been about to give up his surveillance for the day, but now he would wait for the man to come out of the palace.

  “Why don’t Turkish men wear those fez hats you see in the films?” Caitlin idly asked Alex as she watched the crowd of passersby streaming by the fabric stall. “I guess when I first came to Turkey I expected whirling dervishes and women in veils.”

  “The fez was outlawed in 1926 when Turkey began looking to the West instead of the East for role models. The convent in Konya where the religious ceremony of the whirling dervishes took place closed in 1925. I believe once a year they still perform in a gymnasium somewhere in Konya, but I doubt if it still has any mystique.” Alex’s tone was abstracted as his gaze searched the crowd for
Kemal. “And Turkish women in the cities are some of the most liberated in the world. It’s only in the rural areas you find women still veiled and subjugated.”

  “Which says a good deal for city life.” She looked down at the richly embroidered velvet she had been fingering. “Kemal should have been here by now.”

  “He’s only fifteen minutes late. He said he had to go back to the warehouse with the delivery crew.”

  “Why don’t you think the artworks are in the palace?”

  “It would have made sense to transport them out of Europe to Turkey, but Ledford would never have left them in an unguarded house.”

  “Then they could be somewhere else in Istanbul.”

  “We’ll see when Ledford appears on the scene.” He nodded to the length of burgundy velvet in her hands. “Do you like that?”

  “It’s very beautiful.”

  “Let me give it to you.” He turned to the bearded merchant behind the stall.

  Her hands immediately fell away from the velvet. “No, thank you.”

  “For God’s sake, it’s only a bit of cloth. I want to give you something.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to give to you. Is that so strange? Heaven knows, I’ve taken enough from—”

  “There’s Kemal,” she interrupted. “He looks very pleased with himself.”

  “What’s unusual about that?” Alex asked sardonically. “What would be really uncommon is for Kemal to look shy and retiring.”

  “You know you like him.”

  “He knows I like him. The scamp thinks he can charm the birds from the trees.”

  “Well?”

  Alex smiled reluctantly. “He’s right.”

  “He’s grinning from ear to—oh, my God!”

  Alex stiffened as he saw her expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Beyond him.” Caitlin couldn’t get the words out of her stiff lips. “In the crowd behind him.”

  Alex whirled around, his gaze searching the mass of people thronging the bazaar. “I don’t see—”

  “I’m sure I saw—he was there, I tell you. The picture you showed me. I know—Ferrazo!”

  The next few moments were a blur of sight, sound, and touch.

  The metal gleam of the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her head.

  “No!” Alex turned, pushing her down, hitting the stall as they fell to the ground.

  The fabric vendor shouting as his bolts of satins and velvets tumbled from the cart.

  The boom of the shot echoing through the bazaar.

  The sickening thud of hard metal on soft flesh.

  Alex’s gasp of pain as he fell on top of her.

  Screams of the people in the crowd as they scattered wildly in all directions.

  Warm blood. Not her blood. Alex’s blood!

  Panic tore through her. Alex’s blood . . . pouring from his temple.

  She couldn’t see Ferrazo. But that didn’t mean anything. With so many people milling in the street, he could be close, coming toward them, almost on top of them.

  Caitlin frantically began dragging Alex’s limp body around the corner of the fabric booth. The bearded vendor was crouched on the ground and immediately began to scream at her in Turkish.

  “Shut up!” she said fiercely as she pushed the vendor aside. “Can’t you see—”

  She stopped wasting her breath. The man clearly couldn’t understand her. She ignored him, cradling Alex’s head on her breast. Was he still alive? She had held Katrine like this on that nightmare drive to the village. Katrine with a bullet in her temple . . .

  “Caitlin!” Kemal’s voice.

  “Here,” she called. “Be careful, Kemal.”

  “He’s gone. He ran away after he fired at you.” Kemal was kneeling beside her, his gaze on Alex. “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. She reached out and grabbed a length of satin from the tumbled disaster of the cloth bolts on the ground and began to carefully dab at Alex’s temple. “There’s so much blood. . . .”

  The vendor began to berate her again, and Kemal turned and shouted something at him in Turkish that caused the man’s eyes to widen with indignation. He shut up, rose to his feet, and stalked away.

  “McMillan . . . no police.”

  Caitlin’s gaze flew to Alex’s face. His eyes were open and his lips were forming words. She leaned closer to him.

  “McMillan. Doctor . . . tell him . . . Ferrazo.” Alex shut his eyes and, unconscious, slumped on his side.

  Unconscious but alive!

  Relief took away her breath and made Caitlin feel light-headed.

  “The police will be here soon,” Kemal said urgently. “Should we move him?”

  The bullet had grazed Alex’s temple, but it still might be dangerous to move him. What did she know?

  Yet Alex had said no police.

  “Can you carry him?”

  Kemal nodded. “Of course. I am very strong.” For once the air of bravado was entirely gone from his speech as he gathered Alex’s limp body in his arms. “You lead the way and keep an eye out for the police. Once we’re out of the bazaar, I’ll show you a few side streets that should be safe. Your house?”

  Caitlin rose to her feet and watched as Kemal struggled to his feet with his burden. “Where else?”

  It took Caitlin four phone calls to Langley, Virginia, before she was finally put through to Rod McMillan. Once she reached him, she didn’t waste any time.

  “Alex Karazov has been been shot.”

  A silence on the other end of the line. “Dead?”

  “No, but he needs medical attention and he doesn’t want the local police involved.”

  “He’s still in Istanbul?”

  “Yes.” She told him briefly what had happened. “He said to tell you it was Ferrazo.”

  “Give me the address there.”

  She gave him both the address and directions.

  “I’ll have someone there in forty-five minutes.” McMillan paused. “You’re Caitlin Vasaro?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get the hell away from him.”

  Her hand tightened on the phone. “What?”

  “First that mess at Vasaro, and now this. You’re a target. I don’t want Karazov near you, dammit.”

  Caitlin hung up the receiver without replying.

  “Someone is coming?” Kemal came out of Alex’s bedroom carrying a basin of water. “He’s still unconscious.”

  “McMillan said he’d have someone here in forty-five minutes.”

  “That’s good. It was Ledford’s man?”

  “Yes, his name is Ferrazo. They . . . think he was the one who killed my mother and Peter Maskovel.”

  “And shot the pretty girl in the picture?”

  Caitlin nodded.

  “A bad man.” Kemal carried the basin to the kitchenette and dumped the bloody water in the sink. “It is my fault. I led him to you.”

  “He might have found us anyway.”

  Kemal shook his head. “I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t even realize I was being followed.” He set the basin on the sink. “Maybe I’m not as wonderful as I always thought. What a sobering realization.”

  “Everyone is entitled to a mistake.”

  “Not one like this.” His expression was uncharacteristically grave. “You could have died. Alex almost did. I am sorry, Caitlin.”

  “It’s done. Now we have to get to work and set it right.”

  He smiled crookedly. “You’re very forgiving.”

  She hadn’t been forgiving to Alex, she realized suddenly. She had told him the blame was her own for what had happened at Vasaro. Yet in her heart she had not allowed herself to believe it because she had been unable to bear the sole guilt.

  I need to give you something.

  Alex’s words just before she spotted Ferrazo came back to her. Well, he had given her something. He had almost given his life for her and still might die because he had tried to save her.

 
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I’m not at all forgiving.”

  She turned and walked across the room into Alex’s bedroom.

  Alex didn’t regain consciousness until after four o’clock the following morning. Caitlin was dozing in the chair beside his bed and suddenly came awake.

  Alex was staring at her, his blue eyes glittering in the lamplight.

  “Hello.” She shook her head to clear it of the remaining remnants of sleep. “You’re going to be fine. The bullet only grazed your temple, which was serious enough. The doctor said it was the equivalent of a hammer blow. You have a concussion and should stay in bed for the next week.”

  “Ferrazo?”

  “He disappeared into the crowd after he fired the shot.”

  “You told McMillan?”

  She nodded. “He sent the doctor.”

  He smiled faintly. “With all possible speed.”

  “He told me to get away from you.”

  His smile disappeared. “The hell he did. Forget it. I couldn’t let you leave now. It wouldn’t be safe. You’ll have to stay until it’s over.”

  She was silent for a moment before asking, “How do you feel?”

  “Like my head’s going to explode.”

  She shivered. “It almost did. I kept thinking of my mother . . .”

  “Katrine . . .” Alex didn’t say anything for a moment. “In the morning I want you to call Jonathan. Don’t say anything about this business tonight, but tell him I think the United Europe meeting may bring Ledford out in the open, where we can grab him. I may need his help on the spot.” His eyes closed. “And stay close to the cottage until—” He stopped.

  “Until what?”

  “Give McMillan time to do Ferrazo.”

  Do Ferrazo? Ah, he meant give McMillan time to have Ferrazo killed. She shuddered at the stark brutality of the words.

  Alex must have sensed her revulsion, for he opened his eyes again. “Necessary. He’ll try again.”

  “I’m not arguing. I think the world may get along very well without Ferrazo.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Alex’s face before a weary smile touched his lips. “Maybe you have a place in my world after all.”