Okay, it was more than great. Jake was terrific, so sensitive, and he satisfied some of my wildest fantasies.
And?
And what? Cassidy was really starting to become annoyed. Why couldn’t she just turn her mind off and relax like the other passengers?
And how do you feel about him?
I just told you. This was really too much. She didn’t want to analyze every last intimate detail. They’d had a fantastic night together, and they’d probably have more.
Sheesh! You just don’t get it, sister.
Don’t be so dramatic.
How do you feel about Jake? What’s your emotional temperature?
About a 106. Happy now?
What about you? Are you happy?
I guess.
You just spent the night making love to an incredible hunk and all you can say is, I guess?
What do you want from me?
Maybe some thoughts about the future? Maybe some thoughts about commitment?
It’s a little difficult to plan that far ahead when I don’t know if we’ll live through the next twenty-four hours.
Now who’s being dramatic? You’re avoiding the subject.
So what if I am? Jake and I just met up again. Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be thinking about wedding bells?
You’re afraid to think about him like that, about any man like that.
Cassidy was about to argue vigorously. But then it hit her that she could be remarkably content to live in the moment. She didn’t like to think too much about the future, tending to let each day take its course.
And why do you think that is?
Since you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me?
Because you need to figure this out for yourself.
Cassidy almost groaned aloud. Maybe I just never met the right man, so I never thought about a future with him.
And maybe you couldn’t be the right woman.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Maybe you’re afraid.
Of Jake? Preposterous.
You’re afraid of commitment. Of love.
Disliking where her thoughts led, Cassidy picked up a flight magazine and thumbed through it.
Sure, read the damn magazine and take the easy way out. You won’t find any answers there, you know. Avoid the hard questions like you always do.
Enough already. Cassidy shoved the magazine into the seat holder and closed her eyes. She wanted to find the right man, get married and settle down with a bunch of kids. Someday.
Why not today?
We’re just a little busy avoiding the CIA today.
Why not tomorrow?
Tomorrow we’ll be in Istanbul.
They have weddings in Istanbul.
Very funny. I’ll think about it, okay?
And she would. If not for her sake, then for Jake’s. She didn’t want to hurt him again. Not when she knew how much it hurt to lose someone you loved.
Although Cassidy had never lost a lover that she cared deeply about, her mother had died when she was only eleven, and that loss had left a huge hole in her life. And then her dad had died, too, leaving Cassidy without any other family.
Suddenly it hit her like a lightning bolt. She didn’t want to commit to anyone for fear they would leave her like her mother had left her. Like her father had left her.
About time you figured it out.
Figuring out her reluctance to fall in love was one thing. Overcoming it was another. Cassidy wished she could take back last night. No matter how much she’d enjoyed Jake, she’d had no business making love to him when she didn’t know her own feelings.
What the hell had she done?
Chapter Thirteen
The plane ride from Atlanta to London to Istanbul went without a hitch. Jake wished he could say the same for his and Cassidy’s relationship. While making love to her had been what he’d wanted, his fear that he’d lost her had escalated. She’d pulled back from him, was careful not to touch him, and she rarely shared her thoughts.
Maybe he could blame her behavior on the lack of sleep. They’d flown through seven time zones and had several hours of layovers between flights. They’d been awake for more hours than his fuzzy mind could calculate and had slept at a hotel before meeting with Burak Sansal the next morning.
Luckily the agent was in the phone book, probably since he no longer worked undercover. However, he still insisted on meeting them in a public place and had named the underground cisterns at nine o’clock.
Jake bought tickets to the subterranean attraction, grateful they accepted dollars, since he hadn’t yet had a chance to convert any cash into the local currency. He and Cassidy arrived early and walked down slippery stairs into a dark underground cavern.
Jake took Cassidy’s elbow. “Careful. The steps are damp.”
“It’s kind of spooky.”
Jake overheard a tour operator explaining how the Crusaders had built the underground facility to store water for the city more than a thousand years ago. Large columns that held up the ceiling had been stolen from buildings throughout the Mediterranean. A few feet of water still flowed along the cistern’s bottom, and fish swam by. But Jake was more concerned with searching for another exit than ogling the sights, just in case the CIA had any operatives on their tail. Although he felt sure they hadn’t been followed, he intended to stay cautious, especially since he thought it likely that the CIA would either contact Burak or tail the agent. But hopefully the man knew his spy-craft.
Jake saw no other entrance or exit and no tail. But that didn’t mean their pursuers weren’t there. The boardwalks were crowded with tourists. Guides spoke in many languages. Although colored lights shone on the centuries-old columns, there were a multitude of dark places where someone could hide.
“I wouldn’t mind coming back here someday as a real tourist,” Cassidy murmured as he hurried her along the walkway.
Jake peered at the variety of columns, all from different architectural periods. “Look for a column where the head is upside down. We’re supposed to meet Burak there.”
They’d reached the farthest point inside the cistern before the boardwalk looped back when Cassidy pointed. “There she is. How odd that they’d place a woman’s head upside down.”
“The Crusaders weren’t known for their respect for the ancient Greek religions. They looted Greek temples of material to build here.” Jake frowned. They’d arrived early, but a man wearing dark Arabic clothing and carrying a cell phone looked up as they approached.
“I am Burak Sansal,” he introduced himself, and offered Jake his hand to shake. He kissed Cassidy on the cheek.
“Donna told us you worked with my mother.”
“Yes.” Burak leaned over the railing and stared into the water. “It would be better if you let the past alone.”
“Donna is dead.” Jake thought it best to be blunt.
“I am so sorry to hear that. She was a good agent, as was your mother.”
Cassidy spoke softly as tourists walked around them. “We’re afraid we will be dead, too, if we don’t figure out what’s going on.”
“How can I be of help?” Burak asked.
Jake handed him the pictures from the box Cassidy had found in her father’s attic. “Do these pictures have any special meaning to you?”
Burak took his time studying each face in every picture. He paused over the happy one of Jake’s parents, then moved on. The next picture showed two strangers, one passing an envelope to the other. Burak’s hand trembled as he studied the picture.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
“There are some secrets one never forgets, even after almost thirty years. Your mother once told me she’d discovered a Russian mole in the CIA.”
“Who?”
“She died before she could tell me his name. But I suspect he is one of the people in these pictures and that he killed your mother to keep his secret. If the mole is still alive, still a double agent, that is the rea
son Donna was killed. It is why you are being followed.”
Jake had thought he’d long ago gotten over the pain of losing his mother. But now, to hear the reason for her death, that she’d been betrayed by a mole, made him more than angry. While he and his sisters had grown up without their biological families, this traitor had gotten away with murder. And now that the traitor was coming after Cassidy and him, he had to be stopped, so his mother could finally have justice, so his country could rid itself of a spy, so he and Cassidy could be safe.
Jake looked at the old pictures and wished the people in them could talk to him. Burak had been their last lead. They had nowhere else to go. They couldn’t go to the CIA. How could he trust anyone in the agency when he had no idea of the mole’s identity?
“The people that I recognize in these pictures are dead—all except Ari.”
“Ari?” Cassidy prodded.
“Ari Ben Goldstein. He was an agent in the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence agency.” Burak handed the pictures back to Jake. “He worked closely with your mother. She may have told him her suspicions about the mole’s identity.”
Jake carefully put the pictures away. “Do you know where I can find Mr. Goldstein?”
“He still lives in Israel but…”
“But what?”
“You’re going to have to sneak into the country.”
“Why?” Cassidy asked.
“I still have my sources. Your fake passports have gone out on the wire. Our border patrols and the ever-efficient Israeli patrols will be happy to turn you over to your CIA.”
“What do you suggest?” Jake asked.
“You’re going to have to trust me.”
Cassidy frowned. “And why should we do that?”
Jake answered for Burak. “Because we have no choice. This is his country, and if he wanted us dead, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”
“You are an astute man, Mr. Cochran. I believe your mother would have been well pleased with her son.” Burak walked a few steps with them. “I will make the arrangements. You have money?”
“Yes.”
“A weapon?”
“No.”
“Return to your hotel. You will be contacted.”
Then Burak slipped away into the crowd, leaving Jake and Cassidy alone in a strange city, halfway around the world, dependent on strangers to help them.
THEY RETURNED to the hotel looking like Americans. With the aid of Burak’s friends, they left in Arab clothing. Cassidy’s hair and all of her face except her eyes were hidden beneath a head covering, a veil and a long flowing robe.
Someone took their pictures and assured them they would have new passports with different names before they left Turkey. A man gave Jake a loaded gun with two extra clips of bullets. In return Jake handed over a wad of cash, and the business transaction was complete. Cassidy hoped they could trust Burak’s judgment. She imagined the CIA might offer a reward to anyone for turning them in. Or worse, that one of these people was another double agent.
As usual Jake seemed calm, taking the new people in stride, adapting to the situation as if he’d been born to be a spy. Cassidy had expected Jake to pull back into their former more businesslike arrangement, but Jake had surprised her. He wasn’t about to let her forget they’d made love, telling her with his hot looks and intimate glances that he’d like to share more.
Once again she realized that Jake was no longer only a friend, nor was friendship all that he wanted. He wasn’t retreating from what they’d found together. She was.
He was pushing her on every level—mental, physical, emotional—and while it made her very aware of him, she didn’t know what she wanted. So she’d pulled back until she could decide if she wanted a permanent relationship with a man of Jake’s intensity. They were so different. She tended to live in the moment. He planned years into the future. And he’d made it quite clear that he was planning on having her in his future, while she didn’t know if she’d ever feel comfortable with him again.
Is that what you want? Comfort?
I don’t know what I want.
You owe it to yourself, and to him, to figure it out.
Now isn’t the time. We’re in a foreign country, about to sneak into another one illegally. I’m wearing foreign clothing, traveling under a fake name.
And what do any of those excuses have to do with your feelings for Jake?
We could die tomorrow. I can’t think under this kind of pressure. We’re isolated. Alone. We really only have each other to trust.
And who would you rather be here with? Who else can you trust?
No one. Oh, she had friends, neighbors, co-workers, but no one with whom she could share her fears, her needs, her dreams. She’d become so independent that she’d ended up alone. And never had she felt more alone than with Jake right beside her, holding out his hand. It seemed a big decision to reach out and take it.
But she wanted his touch, so she took his hand and clung to him for a moment before forcing herself to let go. They’d been warned not to show any affection in public, as this was not Islamic custom.
She would adapt to the unfamiliar customs and the strange clothing. Until now she’d never realized that in this part of the world, showing one’s wrists or ankles was considered provocative. Although Turkey was a modern Islamic country where women had the right to vote, attain an education and divorce their husbands, many followed the old customs. Right now she appreciated the anonymity, as well as protection from the heat, the garb gave her. The loose clothing was cool under the hot sun as she and Jake followed their Arab guides into a car with dark-tinted windows.
They drove through crowded city streets to a busy port. Istanbul was the only city in the world that spanned two continents. Divided by the Bosporus, a body of water that led from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, the western side of Istanbul was European, the eastern Asian.
The busy port was crowded with cruise ships, merchant liners, fishing boats and ferries. Americans and Europeans mixed among the dark-skinned dark-haired Turks, some of whom wore Western suits and ties, while others wore Arabic garments like their own.
Their car stopped at a ferry that carried vehicles on one level, passengers on another. Cassidy couldn’t read the ship’s name due to the Cyrillic lettering. One of their guides pressed her new passport into her hand and urged her up the gangplank.
Cassidy’s feet seemed rooted to the tarmac as dread washed over her. She had the oddest premonition that once she stepped onto that ferry, her life would be in grave danger. A cloud passing over the sun changed the sparking blue Bosporus waters to a sinister gray. But it was the chill wind and an overly curious gaze from a man standing on the deck that held her still as a statue.
Jake bent his head close to hers and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Does Burak have anyone on that ship who is supposed to help us?” Cassidy asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, some man was staring at me.”
“Okay. Change of plans.” Jake shook hands with Burak’s friends, then escorted Cassidy up the gangplank, where they handed their tickets to a steward. They entered the ferry, and Jake led her to the nearest rest room. “Change back into your Western clothes and wear the red wig.”
Cassidy did as he asked, glad Jake trusted her instincts. Another man might have insisted that her premonition and the man showing too much interest were just products of an overactive imagination.
When she met Jake, he, too, had changed into slacks and a shirt. He wore a baseball hat over his forehead. “Let’s get off this ship.”
There was only one passenger gangplank, but Jake had spied another one for the crew and supplies. They took a stairwell down two decks and simply walked off the ship, ending up back on the dock with their limited luggage.
Jake hefted his duffel over his shoulder and led her away from the ship. He cast a seemingly casual eye over several sailboats available for charter.
While Jak
e made arrangements with a sailboat captain, Cassidy watched the ferry they were supposed to have taken slowly leave the dock. First the gang-ways were pulled in, then the lines cast off. A tug came alongside and a man jumped off it and onto the ferry. Cassidy wondered briefly if that was standard operating procedure, but then Jake called her to inspect a sailboat’s cabin with him before finalizing the deal.
The cabin looked fine, if cramped. A queen-size bed dominated a tiny room with a ceiling so low Jake couldn’t even stand straight. They had their own sink and shower and a closet in which to stow their belongings. “It’s fine, but won’t we miss the connection to Mr. Goldstein that Burak set up for us?”
Jake stowed his gear. “We won’t take this boat all the way to Israel. We’ll stop in Kusadasi—”
“Where’s that?”
“Still Turkey, but the Asian side. We can pick up one of the larger ferries there, okay?”
Before Cassidy could reply, a far-off boom thundered across the bow of their sailboat and bounced down the forward hatch. Jake and Cassidy scrambled through the galley and into the cockpit. The source of the explosion was immediately clear.
The ferry they should have taken sat in the middle of the harbor. Flames flared out the windows, and ugly black smoke poured into the sky.
Lifeboats were being lowered, but too slowly. Passengers were jumping into the sea to avoid the flames.
On land people crowded the docks, sirens blared, and Jake grimly took Cassidy into his arms. She shivered, knowing they could have been among those poor souls, hating that they might never know if the explosion had been an accident or something much more sinister. Could someone have wanted them dead so badly they would kill innocent people?
It took hours to rescue the living and retrieve the bodies, more hours before tugs towed the smoking hull away. Cassidy couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Although they’d escaped the horror of the explosion, she’d never forget the carnage, the stench, the deaths.
Finally the harbormaster cleared other boats, the cruise ships first, then commercial vessels and finally the pleasure yachts like their sailboat. Their captain set sail at dusk into the Golden Horn, a natural channel. They passed under the Ataturk Bridge and entered the Sea of Marmara, using both motor and sail to navigate through the crowded harbor. Old monuments and the new part of the city with its shopping streets, theaters and large hotels gave the city a quality of solidarity, as if it would stand forever through the centuries. Lights made the spectacular domed Hagia Sophia, Suleymaniye and Blue mosques look like picture postcards, and as dusk fell over the city and onto the water, the Islamic call to prayer could be heard.
The Hidden Years Page 17
