Книга - Double Blindside

Double Blindside
Don Pendleton


STONY MANOperating undercover at the President's command, the expert soldiers and cyber techs of the Stony Man team fight for freedom and the rights of the innocent, opposing terrorism in all its deadly forms wherever the need arises.NUCLEAR JEOPARDYThe killing of U.S. operatives in Turkey threatens to jeopardize U.S.–Turkish relations. Committed to putting an end to the murder before another agent is assassinated, Phoenix Force heads overseas, only to discover the dead agents are just the beginning. Extremists have stolen nuclear devices and set targets in both Turkey and America. With the countdown to D-day already started, Phoenix Force must race to stop the bombs from detonating in Turkey while Able Team must do whatever it takes to neutralize the threat in the U.S. Failure is simply not an option.







NUCLEAR JEOPARDY

The killing of US operatives in Turkey threatens to jeopardize US–Turkish relations. Committed to putting an end to the murder before another agent is assassinated, Phoenix Force heads overseas, only to discover the dead agents are just the beginning. Extremists have stolen nuclear devices and set targets in both Turkey and America. With the countdown to D-day already started, Phoenix Force must race to stop the bombs from detonating in Turkey while Able Team must do whatever it takes to neutralize the threat in the US. Failure is simply not an option.


THERE WAS NO MISTAKINGTHE DRIVER’S INTENTION

A panel truck came roaring out of a side street and sped directly at the Turkish secret service vehicle. The driver was using the truck as a guided missile. And the target was Phoenix Force and Agent Kartal.

If the SUV had been stationary the impact would have been worse, but Kartal managed to boost the power, stamping on the gas and sending the SUV lurching forward. The truck slammed into the rear quarter of the SUV instead of full-on. Still, the impact spun the SUV in a half circle, glass shattering and spraying inside the passenger compartment as the car rocked violently, wheels lifting off the road for seconds. The impact drove the lower section of the wheel well into the vehicle’s tire.

“Two inside,” she called out. “They’re showing weapons.”

“Move,” McCarter ordered. “Everyone out. Fast!”


Double Blindside

Don Pendleton







Contents

Cover (#u77f725fa-8dbf-5625-b4f2-460ed2372ae1)

Back Cover Text (#ub3213307-538f-56b7-9058-200340f51f76)

Introduction (#u85823ca2-18bf-5f04-89b4-ca374c8d851a)

Title Page (#u2c59a714-77f0-588c-9ec2-bc86229dc1b1)

PROLOGUE (#ub6cd8343-d63b-5f11-a491-6a84ba23f82d)

CHAPTER ONE (#uccea04e4-1c57-5087-96a0-53741c389583)

CHAPTER TWO (#uc1a21b83-7710-5c5d-ab92-4b0723fde1af)

CHAPTER THREE (#ub1a5084c-887d-52bf-a4bb-4a7bc8565d31)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uf51a2646-81de-53ef-8cec-1911df979a5c)

CHAPTER FIVE (#uc972710b-7dbe-5aac-81ff-4afa46c5cffd)

CHAPTER SIX (#ue5f2d4c6-d514-5c7e-abcf-80752f7ffd86)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u26e345d1-2666-526a-80fa-982a087ccc04)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u75970f39-6714-5f2b-9333-1e04d4153156)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#ulink_7e080259-afde-575a-a771-291909898bd6)


Istanbul, Turkey

Phil Makerson slowly made his way along an empty street awash with rain. The sky was so dark with clouds it might have been midnight rather than early evening. The downpour was so intense the drains could not keep pace and there were sections of the sidewalk where the water overflowed. There was no air movement, so the rain fell in vertical sheets. Rainstorms in Istanbul were rare, especially at this time of year, but this one had come swiftly and with a vengeance.

With no protective clothing, Makerson’s suit was soaked. He didn’t seem to notice as he made his way along the uneven pavement. Thoughts spinning inside his head, his mind was on other things. So much had happened in the past few hours that he was having trouble keeping it all in some kind of order. And on top of that he was hurting. His body was aching from his encounter with the man he knew as Axos; the son of a bitch had been trying to kill him. Makerson was sure of that. He might have succeeded if Makerson hadn’t landed that lucky—and he considered it lucky—blow with the heavy lamp he had managed to grasp. He had lashed out, catching Axos a solid blow across the side of his skull. Thinking back, Makerson was sure he had heard something crack when the lamp connected with Axos’s head. The moment Axos went down, Makerson had vacated the run-down apartment, making his exit out onto the street.

His head was all over the place as he struggled to make sense of the recent events. Axos had been trying to kill him; Makerson had no doubts about that. The blood and bruises on his face and throat, the ache in his ribs, proved the point. Axos’s unprovoked attack had taken Makerson completely off guard, and he was convinced he would have ended up dead if he had not fought back.

The only reason for the attack had to be that his cover had been exposed. Makerson had been undercover for a couple of months and, contrary to his usual care, he had somehow let his guard slip. He had become too comfortable in his role and now he was paying for it.

Makerson took that on board. He needed to get clear so he could pass along the information he had gathered. He was hoping that Berna Kartal, the female Turkish agent he had been working alongside, had managed to stay safe. Between them they had gathered a dossier of information on their target. Though Kartal had assured Makerson it was safe, he had backed up their findings by sending data to his laptop in his New York apartment. It had been a way of getting the data away from Özgürlük, the Turkish group under investigation.

Makerson had decided not to contact Kartal. He didn’t want to put her in danger. All he wanted now was to escape before Axos’s partner, Kristos, recovered and set off in pursuit.

He was unfamiliar with his location. Istanbul was a sprawling city that transitioned between the ancient and modern. And he had not had the time to become too familiar with the metropolis. All he knew for certain was his proximity to the water. In the hazy distance he could make out the lights of the port area.

Images of his dead partner forced their way into his mind. Jerry Callender was a good man who had been slaughtered and left in a pool of his own blood. Gutted like fish on a slab. Callender had been killed in the same room where he had been held. The image refused to fade. Makerson could still see the shock on Callender’s bloody face. Those pictures would be with him for a long time.

Only if you get clear, he told himself. So quit feeling sorry for yourself and keep moving.

He sheltered under the sagging awning of a closed store and pulled out his sat phone. He knew there was plenty of power. He just hoped the signal was strong enough to reach the man he was calling. From Turkey to the U.S. He picked up the sound of the line engaging, heard the tone and then a familiar voice.

“Makerson? What the hell…?” The voice belonged to Redman, Makerson’s contact. Not the most diplomatic of men.

“Callender’s dead,” Makerson said. “I managed to get out, but I have a feeling I won’t be alone for long.”

Redman, for once, was out of words.

“They made us,” Makerson said. “I don’t know how, but they knew all about us. Wanted to find out how much we knew.”

“Where are you? Let me send a retrieval team. Get you to a safe place.”

“Right now I wouldn’t know who to trust, and I have a feeling those bastards are close. Just listen. Our intel was sound. The group is working on something that will affect our assets in Turkey and the U.S. They have something planned. We didn’t have time to get any more details before they hit us. I put everything I had in a text on my cell and sent it to my personal laptop in New York.”

“Phil,” Redman said, “let us bring you in.”

Makerson heard the soft growl of a powerful engine close by. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw a high-end SUV crawling along the shadowed, rain-swept street. For a brief instant he felt panic, then a sensation of calm washed over him.

“No time,” he said. “No more time.”

The SUV accelerated, bearing down on him like a gleaming black monster.

“Phil?”

“Özgürlük,” Makerson said. “They call themselves Özgürlük. And I think they might have nukes.”

Makerson broke into a run. He was unarmed, his weapon having been taken when Kristos had overpowered him. His cell had been taken, too, but he had managed to snatch it from the table as he’d made his escape. He had to get rid of the phone. It would hold the details of his call. If Kristos took it he would know Makerson had called America.

He crossed the street, heading for the far side where the black waters of the Med shone in the near darkness. As he ran he fumbled open the phone and stripped out the SIM card. He snapped it in two and stood on the edge of the quay. Throwing the broken SIM out into the water, he tossed the rest of the cell.

He heard the rising howl of the SUV’s engine as it picked him up in its headlamps. The high bulk of the vehicle bore down on him with such speed Makerson stood no chance. The solid front of the SUV slammed into him, the impact taking Makerson off his feet and flinging his shattered body into the air. He landed with brutal force, unable to move as the SUV came on and ran over him, leaving his crushed body lifeless on the rain-sodden ground.




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b58c5df9-3c31-5853-b3b2-f80cc09d87c3)


Stony Man Farm, Virginia

David McCarter, the commander of Phoenix Force, was already seated at the conference table in the War Room when the rest of the team entered. The lean, tanned Briton, casually dressed as usual when off duty, set a chilled bottle of Classic Coke in front of him. He watched as the group filed in and took their places at the table.

Hal Brognola, the director of Stony Man Farm, placed a stack of folders on the table as he sat. He had a resigned expression on his face that warned the assembly they were not about to be overjoyed at what he had to tell them. Last into the room was Aaron Kurtzman, the Stony Man cyber boss.

“This doesn’t suggest we’re about to play happy families,” McCarter said.

Barbara Price, the honey-blonde, attractive mission controller, said, “On the button as usual, David.”

“Comes naturally.” McCarter grinned. “Like second sight. I know what’s coming.”

Since stepping up to take command of Phoenix Force, the Briton had maintained a confident, often brash character. Out in the field, when the time came for holding a team together, there was no one better than David McCarter. He knew Brognola was about to spell out the upcoming mission and, as always, McCarter was more than ready to take it on board. That didn’t stop the irrepressible man from making his flip comments. The former SAS officer had a forceful personality that was hard to ignore. His irreverent humor vanished when Phoenix Force became involved in official business; then he became a skilled fighter with few equals.

With everyone settled, Brognola distributed the folders, sliding one along the table to each man. With that done, he leaned back in his seat and unwrapped one of his trademark cigars and clamped it between his teeth. No one could recall the last time he’d actually smoked one of them. He simply chewed on the cigar, using it like a tobacco-based worry bead. As head of the Farm, Harold Brognola had plenty to be worried about.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes as the teams absorbed the contents of the files.

“Two undercover agents killed?” Carl Lyons, the Able Team commander, queried. Powerfully built, the blond former LAPD cop was a full-on, no-nonsense fighter who seldom took prisoners unless there was a good reason to keep them alive. “In Turkey?”

Rosario Blancanales, Able Team’s infiltration specialist, followed up. “Both teamed on the same investigation?” Nicknamed “the Politician,” Blancanales had the skills and confidence of a negotiator coupled with his enduring combat qualifications.

Calvin James added, “Hell of a security breach.” The black Phoenix Force warrior was tall and leanly powerful. A former Navy SEAL, the Chicago-raised man was also the Phoenix Force medic. James was ferocious in battle, never giving an inch, yet in the aftermath would give as much of himself again to tend to a wounded individual—friend or foe alike.

“The President feels the same way,” Brognola said. “He’s already had talks with the Turkish president. There’s a lot at stake here, people. So he’s passed it along to us. Wants to keep it under the radar, if possible, until it’s sorted.”

“Nice of him,” McCarter said. “Question is why?”

“The bottom line seems to indicate a conspiracy aimed at disturbing the U.S.-Turkish alliance,” Rafael Encizo said, tapping his copy of the file. “No definite proof but an overall suggestion. And we can’t ignore the reference to possible nuclear ordnance mentioned in the reports. Some kind of blackmail threat.”

The Cuban had an earned reputation as being one of the most skilled knife-fighters around and had a fertile, probing mind. He was tenacious, a relentless fighter who never backed down. He still bore the scars from a term in Cuba’s infamous Principe prison before he made his break for freedom to the U.S.A. He had never forgotten his imprisonment, the memory still in his mind and the physical scars on his body. One of Encizo’s proudest moments was when he became an American citizen. His commitment to Phoenix Force was one of the ways he offered his thanks.

“Nor should you,” Brognola said. “Turkey has been a U.S. ally for a long time. That relationship has come under attack on a number of occasions. Their location puts them in a delicate position and the U.S. doesn’t want to lose that advantage. However, certain groups in the country don’t like the closeness to us. They make their feelings known whenever the opportunity comes up. But the suggestions in the report veer toward more than just protest groups and staged rallies. Top of their agenda has been the removal of our base at Incirlik.”

“By nuclear blackmail?” Thomas Jackson Hawkins said. “That seems to be coming through pretty damn strong.”

“Trouble with threats is they can end up turning into the real thing,” James noted. “Especially if they’re in the hands of extremists.”

“So are we taking direct action?” Hawkins asked. A Texan, the youngest Phoenix Force member was former Delta Force and was rapidly developing into a seasoned veteran. He still had moments of unrestrained enthusiasm that got the better of him, but his military experience and fighting skills had made him a valuable asset to Phoenix Force.

“Rein it in, cowboy,” Gary Manning quipped. The brawny Canadian fighter held the distinction of being Phoenix Force’s demolitions expert. Former RCMP, Manning had extensive knowledge of global terrorist groups. “Your time will come.”

“From the little intel we’ve received, there’s a group organizing itself for some kind of extreme protest,” Brognola continued. “There was a name in the transcripts that came up a number of times. Kadir Polat is a Turkish national. He’s a guy who wants to be counted when it comes to opposition against our presence in the country.”

Brognola glanced down the table to where Aaron Kurtzman, head of Stony Man’s dedicated cyber team, sat quietly in his motorized wheelchair. The big man had been crippled from the waist down a number of years back when Stony Man Farm had been hit for the first and only time. Despite his disability, Kurtzman had proved himself countless times by providing information that assisted the Stony Man field teams. His ongoing mission was to maintain his department as the best around, and to offer the Stony Man teams the ultimate in backup. Kurtzman was never more at home than when presented with a complex technical problem. If there was a need for something, Kurtzman would find the solution. His understanding of the internet was matched only by his innate curiosity and the need to keep learning.

“Getting into Makerson’s laptop gave us the opening we needed,” Kurtzman said. “That guy had put down everything he’d sourced—names and locations and images he’d captured on his cell. He’s left us a hell of a legacy.”

Kurtzman used the remote he held to bring up the information on the wall-mounted plasma screen. The data Makerson had gathered had been assembled into understandable order and the Stony Man teams were able to follow it clearly.

“The first image is Kadir Polat himself.” Another image flashed on-screen. “Then we have this guy—Hakan Kaplan. Polat’s second in command and lifelong personal friend. Makerson has him down as the harder man of the two. Both these guys are part of Özgürlük. Pretty well are Özgürlük. It’s Turkish for freedom, for those interested. Nice little choice of words. Their politics are well-known, and on the surface they appear as people with grievances concerning Turkey’s involvement with the U.S. and NATO. Makerson had tracked them both to meetings with other activist individuals.”

Kurtzman clicked to a second image of Polat. It showed a close-up of the strong-faced, good-looking man, his dark eyes seeming to actually stare at everyone in the room. The effect was unsettling. The man had a head of thick black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. The set of his lips showed a hint of a smile.

“Polat. Early forties. A devout advocate of Turkish withdrawal from NATO and involvement with the U.S. His opposition is on record and he openly defies the elected government. He’s highly visible. He criticizes the elected government for being a sycophantic ally of the U.S. He is,” Kurtzman added, “an extremely popular guy. Has an immense following and the backing of influential people in business and politics.”

Barbara Price studied the face, admitting to herself that Polat was more than just good-looking. There was something in his dark eyes that could easily have been tantalizing. Maybe it was the light olive complexion. His black hair. The way he stared into the camera lens. The mesmerizing expression in the deep pupils…

The Stony Man mission controller mentally shook herself, hoping her brief lapse had not been noticed. Price was no giddy schoolgirl. What the hell was she thinking? A faint warmth crept across her cheeks. She was a woman dedicated to her work and not the kind to be easily seduced by a simple photograph of an attractive man. She became aware again of Kurtzman’s voice as he explained more about Polat. She realized she had zoned out for a few moments and pulled herself back to the present.

“Polat’s background tells us he comes from a wealthy family. Extremely wealthy. And I emphasize wealthy. The Polat dynasty goes back decades. Very traditional Turkish. They own businesses around the country, including a shipping line. They have homes in Turkey. A villa on the Costa Brava. Run aircraft like normal people run cars. And there’s an ocean-going cruiser Kadir keeps moored in the harbor outside Istanbul.”

“Married?” McCarter asked casually.

It was an innocent question on the surface, but when Price caught the Briton’s gaze she could see a thin smile edging his lips.

“Just filling in the background.”

Dammit, she thought, had he noticed?

“No,” Brognola said. “Though he has been linked with some well-known women.”

“Interesting,” McCarter said. “Quite a bloke, then.”

Price felt a flash of anger at his remark. She pushed it out of her mind instantly. She realized McCarter was simply teasing. He was well-known for his dry wit and the pointed way he could deliver his sly retorts.

“So what’s Polat done that gets him in this report?” McCarter asked, his attention back on Brognola. “Is he suspected of being involved in the deaths of the agents?”

“Lots of suspicion,” Brognola said. “No hard proof. But Polat is smart enough to stay in the background and surround himself with people to make his history interesting.

“Polat has a younger brother who is involved with Özgürlük. Amal Polat. He has the family money behind him and a rep as a hothead. He’s twenty-four years old but still has the willful attitude of a teenager.”

They went over the files again, taking in the data that applied to each team.

“This is one of the good guys,” Brognola said, nodding at the cyber boss. “To be politically correct, one of the good girls.”

Kurtzman brought up another image on the plasma. This time a young female. She was strikingly attractive. Her fall of thick black hair framed an oval, mobile face. She had large brown eyes and a full mouth, light brown skin and dark brows.

“Now, she is interesting,” Encizo said. “And she’s on the side of the good guys?”

“Agent Berna Kartal,” Brognola said. “And, yes, she is. Kartal is an agent with the NIO—the Turkish National Intelligence Organization, aka secret service. Early thirties. Did a couple of years in active military service when she was eligible. Her current assignment is investigating Özgürlük. She had the local contact with Makerson and his partner until they disappeared. The next time she saw them was in the morgue. Dead agents push this a step up the ladder.”

“So what’s the bottom line here?” Lyons said.

“Polat is suspected of having a desire to push his group further along the dissent road. Behind the outer charm he’s funded rallies expressing dissatisfaction with American presence on Turkish soil. He has the ear of powerful Turkish groups who also have big money behind them. Industrialists. Old-time Turkish families, like his own, who would prefer nothing better than for the country to be free from foreign influence. And there are groups within the Turkish government who have the same feelings. Kartal believes there may also be some military backing coming via General Demir Marangol.”

The next photo showed a thickset man in a Turkish military uniform bedecked with ribbons. The man’s broad face stared out of the picture with a belligerent scowl. His dark eyes and thick mustache gave him a powerful expression.

“Marangol. Old family friend of the Polat dynasty. Also extremely pro–Turkish independence. Makes no bones about his feelings. Wants his country independent of foreign influence. Has a lot of power behind him in the military.”

“So no solid evidence of anything except hot air?” Lyons growled.

As always the Able Team leader was not shy about expressing his opinion. Carl “Ironman” Lyons saw everything in black and white; there was good and there was bad. It was advisable to remain in the good guys’ camp if Lyons was on your case; he tended to subscribe to the school of “shoot first, worry about the questions later.”

Lyons had little concern over criminals’ rights. He was fair, but had no time for tolerating bad behavior. He’d undergone paramilitary training in preparation for antiterrorist missions. Though he had not had any military service, Lyons had worked in the LAPD as a detective sergeant. Since becoming the leader of Able Team, Lyons had gained on-the-job experience in the fight against terrorism.

“No. Speculation by the carload, but no positive proof. Until recently,” Brognola said. “Kartal’s report backs up what the dead agent, Makerson, sent to his home laptop. The first time there’s been anything except a great deal of hearsay.”

“Enough to move on?” Encizo inquired.

“When an investigation ends up with two agents dead, it becomes a possible threat we can’t afford to ignore. Enough that the President has called in Stony Man and sanctioned a mission to follow through on what he’s been made privy to. His advisers have given him background on the Turkish unrest. The President has taken it on board and told his people to keep an eye on the situation. But behind closed doors he felt there was enough to give Stony Man a mandate to investigate further without the State Department blocking his way. He considered all the options and there was enough to cause him concern. It seems that at one point his advisory briefings postulated at the hint of some actual physical strike against U.S. interests in Turkey.”

Brognola looked around the table. “And a veiled hint that a similar incident could take place here, on U.S. soil, to back up what Özgürlük is threatening. Now, this may be nothing more than some Turkish half-assed bullying. But when U.S. agents are murdered—agents investigating Turkish agitators advocating the removal of our base at Incirlik—it all starts to take on a shadow of reality. The deaths have been kept out of the spotlight. No point in allowing press hype to muddy the waters.”

“With the background of NATO and the American presence in Turkey,” James said, “I have to say we do need to follow through.”

“The President doesn’t want to be caught on the back foot if something does happen,” Brognola said. “Turkish stability needs to be maintained. There’s a lot at stake with our base at Incirlik and the NATO alliance. Anything that might upset it at all needs to be eliminated. These days there are too many groups wrangling for position. And U.S. influence is constantly under fire from various involved parties.”

“These alleged strikes…” McCarter said. “Do we have any idea how they might be formulated?”

“At this point we’re guessing in the dark. That’s why we need Phoenix Force presence on two fronts. Turkey and London.”

“What’s in London?” McCarter asked.

Brognola slid a sheet of paper across for him to read.

“Kartal picked up on some mention of Özgürlük’s banker in London. The guy who collects money. Passes it out when the organization needs funds. Makerson had the NSA run some phone intercepts and he liaised with Kartal. Between them they got a location for this guy, Aziz Makar. And phone transmissions from another London address. Could be a safehouse. It’s a starting point for a look-see while the Turkish end is being checked out at the same time.”

“We ran the address. Tracked it down through local admin for property tax they pay in the UK. House is owned by a guy called Stanley Rimmer. His bio has him down as a landlord on a few properties. Tracking back through his transactions, we came to a dead stop with the real owner of the house.”

“The Polat group?” McCarter said.

“Way down the chain,” Kurtzman said. “A long chain, but if you’re in there, the truth will come out.”

“More to it, though?” McCarter said.

Brognola smiled at the Briton’s grasp of the detail.

“Money in the deal was paid via Aziz Makar. Our Özgürlük paymaster.”

Brognola waited to see if anyone registered the word and was not disappointed when Hawkins tapped the file in front of him.

“It’s in the file,” he said. “The organization fronting the opposition to the U.S. in Turkey and the hinted-at American strike—Özgürlük—keeps showing.”

“Based on intel from Makerson and Berna Kartal’s own file, I had my people run a deep trawl across the internet,” Kurtzman said, joining the ongoing conversation again.

Deep trawling was Kurtzman’s way of saying his team had dug their way into sites both open and secret. In Kurtzman’s eyes, if information was available, whether he got it by fair means or foul, the need was there. It was seldom the Stony Man cyber team failed to come up with the goods. When Stony Man got caught up in missions where lives and security were the main factors, Kurtzman threw rule books out the window. He hated protocols that might deter weaker individuals. They were knocked aside by Kurtzman and his people. To him the protection of America, the SOG teams and that often sneered-at word justice were more important. Aaron Kurtzman dedicated every waking hour to maintaining the integrity of his department and his people.

“The NSA has picked up recent phone chatter involving Özgürlük. This group might have money behind them,” Kurtzman said, “but they don’t have a monopoly on staying totally undercover. They are not very sophisticated when it comes to covering their tracks. We picked up traces of communication between various individuals. Once we located cell phones from the numbers Kartal and Makerson identified, it wasn’t all that difficult to expand our lists and start tracking messages.”

He put the text messages on-screen—most of the originals had been in Turkish, so Kurtzman had pulled in Erika Dukas, one of the translators Stony Man occasionally consulted. She had taken the messages and fed them through her computer, translating and creating English versions. Passed back to Kurtzman, the messages had been incorporated into his files.

“Lots of talk back and forth,” Kurtzman said. “All about logistics. Supply. Locations. This last one will interest Able. You people may recall the late Jack Regan. Arms dealer who was killed a while back. Now we have his successor, a Mexican named Pablo Gutierrez. He’s picked up some of Regan’s old clients. The Echelon listening device picked up some vague chatter with Gutierrez’s name attached to a couple of emails from our Turkish dissidents. Something about a deal with a Russian—Gennadi Antonov. Vague. No specifics, but Antonov is suspected of ties to former Russian military.”

“Where does he hang out? This Regan clone?” Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz, Able Team’s electronics expert who had been silent for most of the meeting, asked.

“Miami.”

Blancanales scanned the messages on the plasma screen.

“That damn name again,” he said. “Özgürlük. It’s like a secret handshake for these guys. But unfortunately for them, not too secret.”

Brognola said, “Okay, people, time to saddle up. Look into it. If it doesn’t pan out, no harm done. But if there’s solid evidence, you know what to do. We don’t dare miss this in case it is real.”

There was a brief silence as everyone around the conference table had a final run through their files. A few more questions were put forward until they were all satisfied for the moment.

“Anyone like to hear an idle thought?” McCarter said as everyone started to move.

Brognola turned his attention to the Phoenix Force leader. McCarter never had idle thoughts.

“Go ahead, David.”

“This is just rambling. If Özgürlük does turn out to be really running this threat to blackmail us and it doesn’t work and they set off a nuke close enough to damage the Incirlik base—what about the nukes already stockpiled there?”

“Ouch,” Hawkins said. “Damn, how would that work? I mean would they go off, as well?”

Manning said, “If they’re not actually armed, maybe not. But radioactive material could be leaked.”

“I’ll get my team to look into that,” Kurtzman said.

Lyons said, “Time to update the President, Hal. He’ll need to take some kind of action over this.”

“Alerting the base would be in the cards,” McCarter said.

As the teams filed out, Brognola watched them go, his mind already turning over what McCarter had said. The Briton had been right on the button. If the suggestions about nukes were true, with the bottom line being a detonation, the situation would go quickly from bad to worse. Apart from anything else, a strike against Incirlik would make a hell of a statement. It would hit the U.S. hard, dent its pride and take out a strategic factor in the area. The anti-U.S. brigade would get what it had wanted for a long time and Özgürlük would strengthen its position.

If a dissident group wanted maximum publicity for their aims, a high-profile strike against a major target would be the way to go. Small incidents were not very productive, but a massive hit would focus attention. It would focus in on U.S. military presence across the globe. And collateral damage didn’t bother the perpetrators any longer—9/11 had set the benchmark.

“So we have to work out whether this Özgürlük deal is a scare tactic or the real thing,” Encizo said as he exited the room. “We need to understand if these people are just faking or genuinely willing to set off a nuke on an American base in Turkey.”

“And on U.S. soil,” Lyons said.

* * *

BARBARA PRICE, IN HER usual efficient fashion, went about organizing travel arrangements for the teams. Able Team’s was an easy option—simply having one of the on-site vehicles prepared while Lyons and his partners gathered their weapons and IDs. Fixing things for Phoenix Force took the bulk of her work. Via Brognola’s clout with the President, travel for McCarter and company was arranged on an Air Force transport on a regular flight across the Atlantic to the UK, then a switch to a similar flight from Lakenheath across to Incirlik, Turkey. For once, the odds were in her favor and the influence of the Commander in Chief allowed her to complete the arrangements within a short time. She was not made aware of any persuasive arguments the President might have used, and in truth she didn’t care. Price only wanted the end result for her people.

If fate had decreed a different direction for her, Barbara Price could have made her living as a model, even a movie star. She had the looks: honey-blonde, with an athletic, slim figure and penetrating blue eyes. Behind the glamorous appearance, she had a keen, insightful brain that had led her to a position within the NSA, where she was in charge of analyzing SIGINT and HUMINT data. Her skills with the reclusive signals and human intelligence arm of the NSA had kept Price busy, but not exclusively satisfied.

As he’d worked at selecting personnel for the newly created Stony Man, Hal Brognola had met the young woman and was so impressed with her intellect that he considered her as a replacement for the deceased April Rose, the Farm’s original mission controller. When Brognola approached her and offered her the job, Price, who was disillusioned with NSA internal political squabbling, was intrigued by his offer. It hadn’t taken her long to realize she was being given the opportunity to join a special department.

Once on board, Price became aware of the Special Operation Group’s unique setup. It was ultrasecret, manned by the best in every field, from Brognola down to the operatives who ran the day-to-day workings of Stony Man. The secret nature of the unit meant Price’s personal life became almost nonexistent. It didn’t put her off. The people she came to see as her family were enough to satisfy her. The job kept her involved day and night. She built strong relationships with the teams who roved the globe fighting all kinds of threats and menaces. In truth, Price’s life was full. She was committed to it, and committed to having her concerns over Phoenix and Able. She fully understood the situations they found themselves in and had made it her responsibility to ensure they received the best backup she could offer.

McCarter had assigned Manning and Hawkins to the UK detail, while he, Encizo and James would go on to Turkey to head up that end of the assignment. Manning and Hawkins would join up with the rest of the group if their part of the mission could be completed in time.

It wasn’t a regular contrivance to split Phoenix Force, but given how the information had come through, a two-pronged investigation would be appropriate for the initial probe.

As Phoenix Force was being flown in by the USAF, they were able to travel with their weapons. Once they left the Incirlik base, matters might be different and they would have to check with the Turkish Secret Service, with whom they would be working, on the ability to retain their arms.

Price handed out documentation packs with her usual operational ability.

“And don’t go spending your pocket money all in one go,” she said lightly. “I expect receipts for everything. They will be checked.”

It was her usual banter, part joke, part serious because she worried about them once they were in the field and, as professional as she was, Price had more than a passing concern for their safety. It didn’t matter how many times the Stony Man combat teams departed, she experienced the same feelings and would not be settled until they all returned safely from their missions.

On this mission the results of failure were almost beyond belief. Barbara Price had been with Stony Man long enough to accept the reckless behavior of extremist groups. They took on board what they wanted to express and disregarded the wider impact of the damage they might create. In this case, Özgürlük appeared to be playing an extremely dangerous game. One that involved the possible detonation of a nuclear device on their own soil.

Would they do it?

Could they risk affecting a part of Turkey with radioactive poison simply to gain their demands? From past experience, Price knew the answer. The madness of extreme threats had no limits. It had been postulated before. And it would be again if the Turkish fanatics—and Price had no hesitation using the word—went to the logical conclusion of their game.

Nuclear bombs in Turkey and even in the U.S.

A double threat.

One that could easily come true if the Stony Man teams didn’t neutralize it.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_2cc0a383-3d2d-55d6-94dd-5f4e620ad15f)


Istanbul, Turkey

Senior Agent Cem Asker of the Turkish National Intelligence Organization—Milli İstihbarat Teşkilati—shook hands with the three members of the American team. He had been advised the Americans were to be afforded all possible courtesies as representatives of U.S. Intelligence. His orders had come down from the highest source possible in the Turkish government. Issued by the president himself. There were to be no questions about the team. No obstacles were to be put in their way as they launched the probe into the suspected security breaches that involved both Turkey and the United States. The courtesy also extended to the weapons the men had brought with them.

Asker was a dapper man in his early forties with a neatly trimmed beard. He gave the impression of being organized and precise. He had arranged for additional seating to be provided for the three men when they were shown into his office. He waited until they were ranged in front of his desk before he sat himself.

“It would appear a little churlish to welcome you to Istanbul so casually,” he said. “You are not here to enjoy a vacation.”

McCarter said, “And we are not here to override your authority, either, Agent Asker. Our aim is to hopefully stop whatever is going on that might affect Turkish security.”

“And American interests, as well,” Asker said keenly. “Both countries are involved. And as NATO also has an interest in the matter, there is a further urgency.”

“It’s complicated,” McCarter said.

When Phoenix Force had landed at the American base at Incirlik, it was more than apparent that a terrorist attack on the massive base would have a debilitating effect on the American presence in the country. Apart from the military hardware, there were some 5,000 U.S. personnel and family members stationed at Incirlik. Not to be overlooked was the stockpiled nuclear ordnance, there in case the unthinkable happened and American bombers needed to be launched. The commitment to the protection of U.S. interests and the readiness of the American military had been and still was a matter of much debate.

It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to visualize the damage even a small nuclear device could do. Substantial American and other lives lost. And millions of dollars of equipment destroyed. A big victory for Özgürlük.

“It is complicated indeed,” Asker agreed. “Which is partly why I have asked Agent Berna Kartal to join us. Her association with your people has placed her at the forefront of this matter. I am sure she will be able to assist you greatly.”

“Any help we can get,” McCarter said, “will be welcome.”

“Berna Kartal is a very experienced agent.”

“Always handy to have experience,” Manning said. “If it’s the right kind, of course.”

“Please do not concern yourself with that,” someone said from behind the seated Phoenix Force operatives. “My experience is extensive.”

Phoenix Force turned in unison and saw the young woman who had stepped into Asker’s office. She was five foot eight. With her dark hair held back from her face, her high cheekbones and generous mouth only added to her natural beauty. Her eyes scanned across the Phoenix trio, searching and curious; there was an intelligence there that told them this young woman was not making a casual statement about her abilities. She wore all black, shirt and pants, and had a holstered Glock 9 mm pistol on her right hip. As she moved into the office to take a chair beside Asker’s desk, a faint smile edged her full lips.

“Do I pass?” she said.

“Not judging,” Encizo said graciously. “Just appreciating.” The Cuban’s easy manner was at its most disarming.

Kartal smiled and placed the folder she was carrying on the desk.

“I’m sure Senior Agent Asker has expressed our condolences over the deaths of your colleagues,” she said. Her English was good, with barely an accent. “May I add mine? I knew both of those men, especially Makerson. He was an extremely capable agent.”

McCarter nodded. “You shared your information?”

“Yes. We both felt there was something to be concerned about involving Özgürlük. Although we had gathered data, it was… I believe you would say…all up in the air?”

“Difficult to make sense of?” James suggested.

“Exactly. Many individuals and messages. But nothing any more solid than that.” Kartal leaned forward and opened the file, turning pages. “I take it you have all read the information?”

“Yes,” McCarter said. “Our own people looked into the background and used their own system to dig deeper.”

He slipped out the file Kurtzman had prepared and placed it beside Kartal’s. She spent a little time going through it, comparing the information with her own, and nodding as she read the data.

“It is extremely extensive. How did you get all this?”

“By using the best facilities around,” McCarter said. “Let’s just say if it’s out there, our people will find it. I can’t say any more than that.”

“Much of what is in here tallies with what Makerson and I had suspected.”

“It seems we are already in your debt,” Asker said.

“No point scoring,” Encizo said. “All we want is to put a stop to whatever Özgürlük may have planned.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Kartal asked.

“As you know, two of our team have gone directly to London,” McCarter said. “They’re going to take a look at the lead you offered there. See what they can come up with. In the meantime we need to run down your intelligence here, Agent Kartal.”

“Please, my name is Berna. Agent Asker will tell you I am not very strong when it comes to formalities.”

Asker managed a strained smile. “That is very true. Agent Kartal, it seems, is more at home with your casual American ways.”

“Fine by us,” McCarter said.

He quickly offered their cover names and sensed that Kartal seemed more relaxed with that.

“Please make use of Agent Kartal’s office,” Asker told them. “I am sure you have much to discuss. I am not being inhospitable, but my position means I must divide my time between the many other agents in the department. We have other problems to deal with.”

“No need to apologize,” McCarter said. “We’ll keep you updated.”

Kartal led them from Asker’s office and through the busy department to her own office at the other end. It proved to be slightly larger than Asker’s, with a wide window overlooking the city. A ceiling fan provided a stream of cool air. On a cabinet against one wall a coffeemaker bubbled quietly. As Kartal slid behind her tidy desk she waved a hand at the machine.

“Help yourselves,” she said. “I cannot offer you traditionally made Turkish coffee because that has to be prepared by the cup and takes a long time. But the coffee in the machine there is quite acceptable.”

James smiled. “We have someone back home who brews coffee so strong it would leave a scorch mark on your desk.”

“Mine is strong but not that strong.”

James stepped up and poured cups for each of them, passing them around.

Taking one of the cups, Kartal watched with a faintly amused smile on her lips as they each tasted the brew. The reaction was interesting.

“Just remember not to drink too quickly,” Kartal said. “In Turkey we prefer the grounds to be quite coarse and they should be allowed to settle in your cup. Try not to swallow them.”

“Thanks for the advice,” James said.

McCarter and Encizo tried their own cups.

“Tell me the truth,” she said.

“Beats instant. I’ll give you that,” McCarter said.

Getting down to business, Kartal noted, “Makerson and the other agent had gathered background on Özgürlük that details their possible intentions. The information about the chance they are ready to actually use nuclear devices was uncovered shortly before their deaths. My own feelings are that finding that possibility triggered a reaction and pushed Özgürlük to murdering them.”

“You have no positive evidence as to who was responsible?” Encizo said.

Kartal glanced at him, her smooth brow furrowing.

“What Constantine suggests,” McCarter said, using Encizo’s cover name, “is that you have suspicions but not enough to move on.”

Kartal agreed. “We have nothing more than, as you say, suspicion. My feeling is Özgürlük is aware we are powerless at this time.”

“And?” Encizo said.

“And it makes me angry.”

“And…?”

“And it makes me determined to find a way to stop Özgürlük.”

“That wasn’t hard, was it?” Encizo said.

Kartal smiled. “Are you always so…so…?”

“Irritating?” McCarter said. “Not all the time.”

“Just most of the time,” James added.

The casual banter helped to break any strain over the meeting, and Kartal relaxed visibly. They spent the next couple of hours going over all the information they had, pooling everything. Kartal was not shy in sharing her own views. She was able to match anything Phoenix Force said.

“In the morning,” Kartal said, “we can formulate a plan of action. But now you must be ready to relax after your long journey. Have you somewhere to stay?”

McCarter nodded. “Accommodation has been reserved for us at a hotel in the city.”

“Give me a little while and I will drive you there.”




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1d9f8ede-e466-5e4f-ba93-750ab9672d59)


Thirty minutes later Phoenix Force had loaded their luggage into the rear of the large SUV Kartal had been assigned, and she rolled out of the NIO compound.

“It will only take us twenty minutes to reach your hotel,” she said. “You do realize where you stay is a very expensive place.”

James said, “Our organizer always makes sure we get the best.”

“So it seems.”

The streets were busy with traffic and the sidewalks congested. Kartal knew a shortcut to the hotel. It took them away from the main stream of traffic, allowing them a relaxing drive as she negotiated the city. She pointed out landmarks as she drove, showing sections of the old city and comparing it to the modern buildings. Istanbul struck Phoenix Force as a city of diverse contrasts.

“A beautiful city,” James noted.

“I love it,” Kartal said, unashamedly proud of it.

“Is it where you were born?” McCarter asked.

“Yes. I grew up here and spent my childhood in it. And now I am lucky to be working here.” She hesitated. “The city is in the stages of bringing in the modern without losing too much of our historical past. It creates difficulties as this is achieved.”

Kartal eventually eased off the main route and picked up the side roads she would be using. She plainly knew her way around Istanbul. It was a pleasant enough drive for Phoenix Force after their long flight from the U.S.

Pleasant, that is, until someone decided to use them as target practice.

The panel truck was old, the paintwork faded and the bodywork battered and rusting. It came roaring out of a side street and sped directly at the NIO vehicle. There was no mistaking the driver’s intention. He was using the truck as a guided missile—and the target was Phoenix Force and Kartal.

If the SUV had been stationary the impact would have been worse. Kartal managed to boost the power, her foot stamping hard on the gas, sending the SUV lurching forward as she caught sight of the approaching truck. The vehicle slammed into the rear quarter of the SUV instead of full-on. The impact spun the SUV in a half circle, window glass shattering and spraying inside the passenger compartment as the car rocked violently, wheels lifting off the road for seconds. The impact drove the lower section of the wheel well into the vehicle’s tire.

“Two inside,” she said loudly. “They are showing weapons.”

“Move,” McCarter ordered. “Everyone out. Fast!”

The rocking SUV began to settle. Phoenix Force exited as quickly as possible, clearing the immediate scene and pulling out their weapons.

Berna Kartal hit the ground running, immediately moving around the SUV, her Glock targeting the truck as she spotted movement behind the cracked windshield.

The truck’s passenger door was kicked, the metal protesting where it had been buckled from the impact. A dark figure pushed out through the gap, a subgun clutched in his hands. The guy dropped to a crouch as he cleared the panel truck, the muzzle of the weapon rising. He fired quickly—too quickly to acquire a solid target. His burst of autofire sent 9 mm slugs into the SUV. As the guy altered his stance he fired again and his second burst missed James by inches. The black Phoenix Force member twisted his lean body aside, swinging his own weapon on line, and put two 9 mm slugs into the shooter. They hit high, one punching into the chest area, the second catching the guy in the shoulder. He was turned around by the impact, slamming into the side of the truck, then bouncing off and falling.

McCarter saw the driver emerge from the opposite door, the SMG in his hands rising.

Kartal had already leveled her Glock, triggering a pair of fast shots that punched through the door window, throwing glass fragments into the guy’s face. He reacted, still coming, and Kartal fired again. Her shot came a second before both Encizo and James fired. The driver’s body jerked under the impact of multiple shots, blood staining his shirt as he fell back and slammed down hard on the road.

McCarter moved toward the stalled panel truck, angling his Hi-Power to line up on the windows. The interior was empty except for the scattered trash that littered the floor. “Clear,” he said.

James and Encizo checked the area, weapons held ready. “I think we’re good,” James confirmed.

The others relaxed.

“Nice shooting,” Encizo said to Kartal.

The young woman offered a fleeting smile. “Not my best. Took three shots.”

“You got a result,” McCarter said. “That’s the important part.”

Kartal gestured at James and Encizo. “With help. Thank you,” she said.

McCarter gestured for Kartal to take a look at the downed men. She stared at their faces, moved, then returned to take a closer inspection of one of them.

“This one is still alive. I will call for assistance. The dead one…you know, he looks familiar to me,” she said. “But I can’t be certain for the moment who he is. When we get identification, perhaps we can find out who did this.”

“Something is already telling me who,” McCarter said.

Kartal glanced at him, realization dawning.

“Özgürlük?”

“I don’t know anyone else in this town we might be in line to have upset.”

McCarter didn’t say a great deal more. He would hold his judgment until he had solid facts. Yet he did have the sneaking suspicion that Phoenix Force’s presence was already known to unfriendly forces. They had barely set foot on Turkish soil and were already under attack.

It did prove one thing to McCarter. The Özgürlük problem had, for him, just been pushed up the scale. If people were ready to kill them, the probability had just been made a reality.

The short ride to Phoenix Force’s hotel had suddenly become a protracted event.

Turkish police arrived in force and a crowd gathered. Before they showed up, Phoenix Force put away their weapons and offered no resistance when the cops did arrive. Kartal took charge, advising McCarter and company to stand down while she used her NIO status to manage the situation. Watching her, McCarter was especially impressed by her management skills. She dealt with the local cops, using her NIO credentials and her not inconsiderable talent for defusing matters.

“Medical help has been summoned,” Kartal said. “Recovery vehicles, as well.”

Phoenix Force stayed close to the NIO SUV. They remained passive, but every one of them scanned the crowd and watched for any follow-up to the attack. The volatile crowd surged back and forth, held back by armed Istanbul cops who had no problem using force to restrain anyone overstepping the line that had been invisibly drawn. It became noisy and at times there was a feeling of danger in the air.

The Turkish cops displayed an aggressive attitude toward anyone who made any show of resistance. A few arrests were made when passion took over from common sense. A police van was summoned and restrained onlookers were taken away.

“This place is hot,” James said, referring as much to the agitated crowd as the weather.

“You got that right,” Encizo said. He had spotted more than one raised fist aimed in their direction. Angry faces. Loud voices. As was usual in events such as this, emotion took control and pushed buttons. Calm took a backseat.

Kartal took a moment to rejoin them.

“Not the best introduction to my country,” she said. “I apologize.”

“No need. Has it occurred to you, the way this attack came so quickly, that our presence is not so secret?” McCarter said.

Kartal nodded. “That is what concerns me most. How you have been identified so easily. This attack was no random incident.”

The wail of another siren reached them as a large black SUV nudged its way into view, police having to force the crowd back. It had the NIO symbol on the doors. When it stopped, Senior Agent Cem Asker climbed out and made his way to where Phoenix Force and Kartal stood. His face was grim.

“What happened here? This is not good,” he said as he faced them. “How could this have happened?”

“Easily answered,” Encizo said. “Someone was in the know about us being here. To the point where they even knew the vehicle we were in.”

“Doesn’t that suggest something to you, Agent Asker?” McCarter said tautly. “This was supposed to be a covert mission. How the hell did information get out so damn quickly?”

Anger flashed across the man’s face. “Are you saying there is a leak within the NIO?”

“I’m saying that it’s likely someone else knows we’re here. And I can tell you for sure it didn’t come from our organization.”

Asker bristled. For a moment McCarter thought the man was going lash out. His expression betrayed his thoughts. Then Asker stepped back physically and mentally. His face relaxed.

“Yes, you have a point, Mr. Coyle,” he acknowledged, using McCarter’s cover name. “A valid point. I apologize for my attitude. The situation is difficult. When I return to NIO I will initiate an investigation into how your being here has been compromised. I am glad none of you was injured in any way. May I say I am impressed at how you handled the situation? And you, Agent Kartal. You displayed your usual competence.” He inspected the damage to the NIO vehicle.

“The damage has affected the rear wheel, sir,” Kartal said. “It cannot be driven. This vehicle will need to be removed for repair.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Pushed the bodywork into the tire,” McCarter said, stepping in to back up Kartal. “Cut into the rubber.”

Asker peered at the damaged section of the NIO vehicle. His manner indicated he knew very little about the mechanics of them.

“Not going to get us very far,” James noted.

“New wheels?” Encizo suggested.

“I can arrange…” Asker said.

“No need,” McCarter said quickly. “We can deal with this ourselves.”

“You must allow me to help.”

“Agent Asker, you have your department to look after, as you told us earlier. We have this covered,” McCarter said. “We can organize a rental vehicle to get around in. Less noticeable than one of your official NIO cars. No offence, Agent Asker, but we try to work without too much fanfare. A vehicle with the NIO brand on it doesn’t help.”

Asker seemed ready to resist and for a moment McCarter felt the man was going to argue. He seemed to be having a problem controlling his emotions.

“Very well,” he said finally, his voice tight as he held himself under stress. “If you insist. My orders were to accommodate you, so I will. Agent Kartal will be able to help you to find a suitable vehicle.”

“Of course, sir. I am sure Mr. Coyle has made the right decision.”

A frown darkened Asker’s face before he regained his composure. He seemed to be having a troubled moment.

“Yes, well, of course. I will leave you to your new team. Please keep me informed of your progress,” Asker said to McCarter.

“Oh, you’ll be hearing from us,” McCarter said forcibly.

Asker went to speak to the attending Turkish police officers before returning to his own SUV and driving away.

“That was tense there for a moment,” Encizo said. “Asker got a little uptight.”

“That he did,” McCarter said.

He glanced across to where Kartal was checking the panel damage to their SUV. He noticed the way she had been watching Asker, and the tight set of her face suggested there was a lot going on inside her head.

“I hope I did right,” she said, crossing to join him.

“Just fine,” McCarter said. He couldn’t hold back a grin. “You catch on quick.”

“I believe I understand. You do not want any more vehicles from the NIO.”

“We leave the NIO, pick up a shortcut and that truck still found us,” James said.

“Too bloody easily for my liking,” McCarter said. “Found us like they knew exactly where we were.”

“Tracked us?” Encizo offered.

Kartal’s face paled as she became aware of the implications. “But we never stopped once after we left the department. Are you saying a device was planted at NIO?”

“Tell us different, Berna, and we’ll listen,” James said.

They waited until the tow trucks showed up to remove the two vehicles. The ambulance had arrived and was dealing with the casualties. By this time the crowd had had its fill of rubbernecking and most of them had moved on. One police cruiser remained.

An empty passing taxi had been flagged and Phoenix Force transferred its bags to the trunk. Kartal told the driver to wait. He didn’t mind as they were already on the clock.

McCarter strolled casually across to take a look at the damaged NIO vehicle as it was being hoisted onto the tow truck. He made a show of inspecting the damage, peering beneath the SUV.

Kartal had a final few words with the local cops before they climbed into their cruiser and drove off.

“I will have so much paperwork to complete,” Kartal said.

“Cops are the same wherever you go,” James said. “They have a thing for statements.”

“And when you get down to it,” McCarter said, “just don’t mention this.”

He opened his hand to show them the three-inch-square black box he had located under the SUV.

“A tracker,” James said.

“Sends out a signal to a locator unit,” Encizo said. “Tells them where you are.”

McCarter took it and turned it over. A red indicator light was blinking. He flicked a small plastic switch and the light shut off.

“Magnetic base,” he said. “Sticks to any metal surface. There will probably be a locator unit in that panel truck they towed away.”

“This was on the side of our fuel tank,” McCarter said.

Kartal’s expression revealed her thoughts. “You are saying this was placed at NIO?”

“Couldn’t have been anywhere else. The minute we drove out of the gate we never stopped moving,” James said. “Had to have been already in place.”

“Not your fault, love.” McCarter smiled. “But it tells me we have enemies closer than we thought.”

“You were with us, too,” James said. “In the same danger we were.”

“Part of the package,” Encizo said. “You are now officially on the hit list.”

“We should go,” Kartal said moments later. “It will be a little more peaceful at your hotel.”

“You think?” James said. “Let’s hope there isn’t a welcoming committee waiting there, as well.”

McCarter said, “Hold that thought.”

He took out his sat phone and called up Stony Man. When Price answered, he quickly brought her up to date with the current events.

Price listened in patient silence.

“And how long have you been in Turkey?” she said when he had finished.

“I know. Fast turnaround on this one.”

“You sure you’re all okay?”

“Fine, love, but I have a little job for you. Cancel our current hotel. Find us another and book us in.”

“You think the opposition might know where you were going to stay?”

“They found our car. So I’d rather not find out if they had our hotel under surveillance, as well.”

* * *

THE STONY MAN call came less than twenty minutes later, Price updating McCarter on their accommodation status.

“You’re booked in,” she said, offering McCarter the hotel details. “Unless your Turkish sparring partners have access to Stony Man, you should be clear.”

“Good,” McCarter said. “Efficient as ever. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Make sure you do.”

McCarter beckoned and they all piled into the taxi. He told Kartal the new address. She relayed this to the driver and they drove away from the scene.

“Can you find out where the wounded guy was taken?” McCarter asked. “In case we need to talk to him later.”

“Yes, I can do that. Do you believe he will give you anything useful?”

“It’s always worth a try,” McCarter said. “If you don’t ask questions, you won’t get answers.”

“A logical line of thought, boss,” James said in a tone reminiscent of Mr. Spock.

“Star Trek,” Kartal said lightly.

“Ah,” Encizo said, “the global reach of American culture.”

“How does it sound in Turkish?” James said.

“If you check your hotel TV, it could be showing.”




CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_94667019-fc44-5f43-ba03-c0ebc510897e)


The hotel was large and close to the water. Part of a global chain, it was the sort of place that had lots of rooms and guests. The taxi pulled up to the entrance and the three Phoenix Force men hauled out their luggage and followed Kartal inside. She confirmed the rate and McCarter handed her the cash to pay.

“Perhaps I should call back later,” Kartal said once they’d checked in. “Allow you to settle. It will give me the chance to change into something a little less dramatic.”

She left them, picking up one of the taxis waiting outside.

“I don’t have any objections to the way she dresses,” Encizo said as they made their way to their rooms.

“This thing you have about women in uniform, carrying guns…” McCarter said. “I think we need to talk about it.”

They took the stairs to their floor, parting company as they located their individual rooms. Even in the comparative safety of the hotel, the Phoenix Force commandos made sure security was on their minds, each keeping a handgun close. They had agreed to meet up in the cafeteria after freshening up.

After a quick shower and a change into fresh clothing, McCarter used his sat phone to contact Stony Man again and spoke to Brognola.

“Hell of an introduction to Turkey,” the big Fed said.

“Not the first time we’ve had a warm welcome,” McCarter reminded him.

“So, what happened?” Brognola asked. “You got any suspects?”

McCarter laughed. “How about the NIO? They’re the only ones who knew we were here. As far as we’re aware.”

“They were supposed to be the only ones aware of your presence in Turkey. Big agency. But it’s not unknown to have leaks in large organizations. We should know about that. This Özgürlük deal is a Turkish phenomenon. Nationalistic fervor can turn up in surprising places. And so can prying eyes and ears.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“Not really. Just aware.”

“Hal, I’m already aware we are in a tricky position here.”

“Just saying stay alert, David.”

“Concern noted.”

“Any doubts about your Turkish lady cop?”

“I think she was as surprised as we were when it happened. I’m just glad she’s on our side. She handles herself pretty well.”

“My suspicious nature warns me to remind you to keep watch until you’re one hundred and one percent sure.”

“Don’t worry, Mother, we will. You have any results from Gary and T.J. yet?”

“Still waiting.”

“Okay, talk to you if and when something happens,” McCarter said, knowing that sooner or later something would.




CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_82f680c5-d76a-512c-aed6-18d24d4d5f55)


Sea of Marmara

“There is no easy way to tell you this,” Hakan Kaplan said. “Amal is dead. He was killed by the Americans when his team attempted to neutralize them. Salan was wounded and taken prisoner.”

Kaplan waited for Kadir Polat’s reaction and was surprised when the man failed to do or say anything.

Sitting at his desk on his cruiser, Polat shifted his gaze to look beyond the open window to the glittering sea. Sunlight danced across the waves. He saw nothing but emptiness. The death of his younger brother had affected him more than any outward sign might show.

Like a movie played in reverse, he saw the images that took Amal from manhood to his teen years, then beyond to when he was a child. Always at Kadir’s side. The tie between them had strengthened as they’d grown. Amal had always been the impulsive one. Always ready to take risks. His older brother had been forced to step in on many occasions to pull Amal out of dangerous situations. Amal’s recklessness was part of his character and no matter how many times he placed himself in danger he would do the same thing again and again.

* * *

WITH THEIR PARENTS having died while both Kadir and Amal were young, it had been the elder brother’s responsibility to look out for Amal. Being the heir to the Polat dynasty had made it easier. There were always advisers around, people to watch over the young brothers. As the years passed and Kadir assumed full control over the family businesses, he remained aware of his family responsibilities. Family was important in Turkey. Kadir never forgot that.

He’d spent time with Amal. He’d indulged the young man. He knew he’d taken that indulgence too far at times, but his love for his younger sibling had been too great. There were times he’d had to bail Amal out, rescue him from the escapades of youth. If it wasn’t the fast cars Amal drove, it was the young women he always seemed to hang on his arm. No matter how many times problems came along, Kadir had cleared the way for Amal.

It helped that as well as being ultrawealthy, Polat was a well-liked man. His power and influence had grown over the years and he’d used his position to get Amal out of his various scrapes. Living in such luxury as the Polat dynasty offered, Amal had grown into a good-looking, intelligent young man. But he’d never moved on from adolescence. He’d simply enjoyed the good life. The money. The trappings of wealth and the lack of responsibility.

With Kadir involved in the growing Özgürlük organization, Amal had found himself being pushed aside to a greater degree. Özgürlük had become Kadir Polat’s passion. His need to free Turkey from the grip of America and the base at Incirlik increasingly devoured his life. For the first time since childhood, Amal had felt himself being pushed into the shadows.

He’d realized that to regain his brother’s attention, Amal had to insert himself into Özgürlük. He might not have fully understood his brother’s politics but he quickly grasped that Kadir was becoming a national figure. The rallies and the constant meetings with important people appealed to Amal. He’d understood the meaning of celebrity. He’d joined in with Kadir’s new obsession. He met the people involved.

And he’d allowed himself to be caught up in the heady atmosphere of the crowds. The eager men who wanted to become part of Kadir’s army, the willing participants clamoring to use affirmative action on behalf of Özgürlük. He’d allied himself to the cause, finding this new experience liberating, and he’d understood Kadir’s anger when it was learned a team of Americans had been assigned to work with the NIO in an attempt to disrupt Özgürlük’s plans.

The Özgürlük inside man at the NIO had given out details of the arrival of the Americans, and Amal had put himself forward as part of the hit team preparing to strike at them.

The operation had been devised in haste. The moment the Americans arrived at the NIO, the Özgürlük insider had planted a tracking device on the official vehicle assigned to the team. Amal and his partner had waited in their battered pickup until the Americans were driven out of the NIO building. With the tracking unit working, it was not difficult to pick up the NIO vehicle’s location.

It had seemed such an easy operation. They would trail the NIO vehicle until a moment presented itself. They would ram the vehicle and fire on the Americans.

It had been a poorly conceived plan, Kadir knew, badly executed, and this time Amal’s cavalier disregard for his own safety had cost him his life.

* * *

AT TWENTY-FOUR years old he was gone. Everything taken away. And his older brother was left with a yawning chasm of blackness. No more Amal. No smiling, handsome young man with a wild enthusiasm for life—and the loyalty to Özgürlük that had taken him to his death.

Özgürlük. Freedom.

Amal had achieved his own freedom in a perverse way. He no longer had to suffer the denials of Turkey’s political and military alliance with the Americans. His passion to sever the links binding the country to U.S. needs had cost him his life, and Kadir Polat would not allow that to go unavenged.

“How did you find out about this?”

“I spoke to some of the others. The younger ones Amal was friendly with. They told me he had volunteered when the operation was planned. Amal was eager to prove himself to you. To show he was not worthless. The younger recruits kept everything to themselves. I think it was a group effort to show their loyalty to Özgürlük.”

“Amal had no need to prove himself,” Polat said. “He was my brother. That was all I needed to know.”

“He was young, Kadir. He thought he needed to take that step,” Kaplan said. “I know that was not what you wanted. But you know how he was. Impulsive. Ready to go ahead and show you how smart he was.”

Polat understood. His younger brother had lived in his shadow for so long. Always eager to please Kadir by doing something reckless.

That wild streak had never left him. It had stayed with him all through his young life, and in the end it had killed him.

“Will you bring Amal home for me?” Polat said quietly. “Arrange things quietly?”

Kaplan nodded slowly.

Polat knew he would not need to ask again. His mind was still coming to terms with his loss. The full force would come later. Most likely when he was alone at night. The time when resistance was low. When the shadows held a thousand images and the silence the whispers of lost voices.

One thing Polat knew for certain. His brother’s death would not be forgotten. He would see to that. The Americans would pay a heavy price. Their interference in Özgürlük’s plans had to be stopped. Too much had already been invested in the program. Many people and a great deal of money. The whole thing had a momentum of its own now. Piece by piece, matters were coming together. Özgürlük was close to initiating its strike. A plan that would play havoc with Turkey and its relationship with the U.S. He had a meeting that day with other members of Özgürlük’s committee. That meeting would put into motion critical operations. Operations that would start the countdown…and once that was done, nothing would be allowed to interfere.

Özgürlük took precedence over all other considerations. Even the death of his brother would be sidelined until such time as it became acceptable. Polat struggled to push Amal’s death to the back of his mind. He wanted his revenge against the people who had killed Amal. He understood that in time he would have that revenge. But first the operation had to be carried forward regardless of personal grievances.

Polat reflected how swiftly life could change. How with a single act the tracks of existence could be wiped away. Earlier that day Amal had been alive and obviously eager to take on his covert mission. Now, hours later, that young life had ended and Polat had to carry on as if it had not taken place.

“See to it Amal is taken somewhere safe and looked after. Do this for me.”

“Of course. It will be done, my friend.”

“And find out about these Americans. The ones who murdered him. Be assured it was murder. I will accept no other explanation.”

Kaplan nodded. “I understand. Our people within the police department will help. I will arrange it. I will inform you as soon as I have anything useful.”

Polat stood, moving from behind his desk. He clasped Kaplan to him, the contact solid.

“Always at my side, Hakan. With advice and friendship. Now I need your strength more than ever.”

“And you will have it. Go about your business with the committee. There is a great deal to finalize. Much to coordinate with our friends in America. I understand this will be hard for you, but it needs to be done, Kadir. If we lose our timing now, it may be too much for us to regain the balance.”

Polat did not need telling. He understood the implications of failure at this time. His personal feelings had to be put aside. His people and his country were the most important considerations right now. The long-term planning could not be compromised. As things began to slip into place, keeping the momentum was vital.

“You go,” Polat said. “Use whoever you need. Recruit if you have to. And do not worry about money. It is there for you to take.”

* * *

POLAT’S CAR WAS waiting at the quayside when he left the cruiser. He sat in the rear, his hands resting on his lap. He looked out the side window, seeing very little as the car eased out through the gates and picked up speed. In the front sat the driver and an armed bodyguard. They had a twenty-minute drive ahead of them. During the drive no one spoke.

Thoughts rolled back and forth inside Polat’s head. What he would say at the meeting. The logistics of the merchandise to be moved into place. How he would arrange the funeral of his brother… Polat could not quell those thoughts. No matter how much of the burden Kaplan handled, Amal had been his brother and the active memories refused to go away. Those thoughts plagued Polat to the point where he almost missed the sound of his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing briefly at the caller ID as he activated the call.

It was General Demir Marangol, a member of the Turkish military, and one of the high-ranking Özgürlük group members.

“I learned about your brother’s death a little time ago,” Marangol said. “Accept my sympathies.”

“Thank you, General.”

With that out of the way, Marangol moved on quickly to the reason he had called.

“Is it true one of our people was wounded and taken prisoner?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Salan.”

“He must not be allowed to give away any information. This is understood? At this stage that is vital. We must protect ourselves. Can you have arrangements made that he will be silenced?”

“It will be done, General.”

“Good. Remember I can step in if need be.”

Polat knew Marangol meant every word. The man was strictly military. Down the line. There was no left and right in Marangol’s world. He walked the center. Polat felt a momentary pang of jealousy, wishing he could maintain such a posture himself.

“The offer is appreciated.”

“We will meet on your boat later to review matters,” Marangol said. “No mistakes, Kadir.”

The cell went dead. Polat had been dismissed. Marangol had the unfortunate habit of treating everyone as if they were one of his lowly military recruits. It seemed he was never off duty. There were times he forgot who Polat was and spoke to him with familiar contempt.

Polat pushed the thought away. He had too much to concern himself with to be overly worried about Marangol and his ego.




CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_a10dc435-0f89-52e0-ad43-d788666fd6a2)


The truck pulled in at the service entrance to the hospital, and two figures dressed in the standard green uniform of ancillary workers climbed out. They both had identification cards hanging around their necks and were wearing latex gloves. They opened the rear of the truck and maneuvered a large wicker basket on wheels to the ground. It contained piles of folded towels and sheets. They pushed the basket in through the rubber doors leading to the ancillary department.

It was late, almost nine o’clock at night, and the department was quiet. They rolled the basket through the department unchallenged and entered a service elevator that accessed all floors. The men talked between themselves as they emerged onto the floor they wanted. At the reception desk they asked for the linen supply section and were directed along the corridor. They carried on until they reached the section they wanted and pushed through the swing doors.

Once inside, they reached into the basket and threw the sheets and towels to the floor. Resting in the bottom of the basket was a pair of AK-47 autorifles and two canvas bags. The bags were slung across the men’s shoulders and the AKs were quickly checked and made ready.

Emerging through the door, the men walked along the semilit corridor until they came to a junction. It was obvious they knew where they were going as they chose the left junction.

They were halfway along the corridor before they encountered anyone. A nurse, studying a patient chart, glanced up as the men appeared. She stared at them, surprised at what she saw. She was given no chance to warn anyone. One of the men produced a handgun from beneath his uniform top; it was a bulky weapon made larger by the suppressor screwed to the end of the barrel. The pistol fired twice, making a comparatively quiet sound. The 9 mm slugs hit the nurse in midchest. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, blood blossoming on the front of her uniform top.

The men didn’t break stride as they walked by the body. The shooter kept the pistol in his hand in case they encountered anyone else. They saw no one.

The corridor branched off at the end and again the two men changed direction without pause. The man with the pistol put it away so both hands were free to hold his Kalashnikov.

The corridor ahead of them ended after thirty feet. There were doors on each side of the corridor. Midway along, two uniformed city cops stood guard at one of the doors. They reacted when they saw the armed men approaching.

The AK-47s rose and the loud hammering sound of autofire filled the corridor. The cops never stood a chance as twin streams of jacketed slugs ripped into them. They were knocked back by the impact, bodies punctured by the slugs. Their bloody corpses slammed to the floor.

One of the men raised a foot and kicked open the door. The room inside, with a shrouded light, was empty except for the motionless figure in the bed. Monitoring equipment showed lights and a number of tubes were attached to the patient.

Standing side by side, the intruders trained the AK-47s on the figure. They opened fire and triggered their weapons until they snapped empty. Brass casings littered the floor around them. The shooters ejected the empty magazines. They took fresh ones from the shoulder bags and reloaded. While one man guarded the door, the other took out the pistol again, walked to the side of the bed and fired two shots into the head of the man in the bed. It was an entirely unnecessary action; the man on the bed, resting in a spreading wash of blood, had been shot almost to ribbons by the sustained AK-47 overkill.

Together the men left the room. Already alarms were sounding as they moved along the corridor. From their bags they produced smoke canisters. Activating them, they dropped them on the corridor floor. Thick smoke began to rise and fill the corridors. The men dropped more of the canisters as they proceeded to their escape route.

They pushed through the fire escape door, emerging on an iron landing, and made their way down the ladder. When they reached the bottom they made their way to the far corner of the hospital grounds, pausing only long enough for one of them to take out a remote unit. He flicked the power switch and waited for the light to come on. He thumbed the button. The van they had arrived in was suddenly engulfed in an explosion that blew it apart. Flame and smoke rose in a cloud. Pieces of bodywork were thrown into the air.

As the debris fell back to the ground, the two made their way to the trees that edged this section of the hospital grounds and concealed the AK-47 rifles, the pistol and the bags that had held their weapons in the undergrowth; they would eventually be discovered, but by then the assassins would be long gone. The latex gloves and the hospital uniforms were removed and dumped. The men wore casual civilian clothing underneath.

Three streets away a nondescript Fiat sedan sat at the curb outside a closed store. The keys were already in the pocket of one of the men. They climbed in and drove away. Behind them in the distance could be heard police sirens approaching the hospital.

* * *

AHALF HOUR LATER Kartal received a call informing her that the man wounded in the attack on Phoenix Force had been killed during an armed strike at the hospital where he was being treated. She was with Phoenix Force at their hotel and immediately passed along the information.

“Great,” McCarter said. “These buggers don’t waste time. They’re bound and determined to keep us in the dark.”

“Didn’t want anyone talking,” Encizo said.

“They are organized,” Kartal agreed. “Able to buy whatever they need. People. Weapons.”

“Well,” McCarter said, “we’ll have to see about that. But tomorrow, how about we go take a look at Mr. Polat? Time we sussed out our enemy.”




CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_1057c971-4a73-5e6d-b8e5-d129dae4a357)


London

Tak Kumad had just shot two men and was on his way to kill a third.

His agenda was firmly set out. It was to clean up matters relating to Özgürlük to make certain nothing could be traced back to the organization and hinder the progress of the operation. His orders had been specific; and Tak Kumad followed his orders for the client he was working for.

It was his job.

He was an assassin. His current assignment was to locate and eliminate the three men who had turned against Özgürlük and betrayed the organization.

Kumad had already visited the apartment where two of the men had been staying. He’d caught them both and placed 9 mm slugs in their skulls before they’d been able to do a thing to prevent it.

With that part of his assignment over, Kumad moved on.

Aziz Makar was Özgürlük’s banker. He handled all the money the group used and collected. And, as with a number of terrorist organization bankers, he was based in London.

Makar had decided to go into business for himself by cheating Özgürlük out of millions of dollars. To add to Hakan Kaplan’s problems, two of his trusted lieutenants had also joined forces with Makar to work a deal that would give them the chance to fleece the organization out of even more money.

Kaplan’s betrayal by Egemen Binice and Bora Terzel had been a bitter blow. He had championed the pair since they had first joined the organization, not realizing their enthusiasm and dedication to Özgürlük had been false from the start.

Binice and Terzel were cousins. In their late twenties, they were minor criminals, having spent most of their teen years committing small crimes for little reward. They considered themselves smart, a cut above the lower Turkish criminal element, and they possessed sharp minds always on the lookout for a chance to make a score. Unfortunately they always seemed to miss the best opportunities.

Until they’d learned about Özgürlük. A drinking friend, himself on the criminal fringe, had made mention of the organization in passing. Binice and Terzel had listened to what he’d had to say, and when they were on their own again, decided it was worth looking into.

They’d picked up on one of the public meetings in the city, went along and afterward made contact with the man they soon found out to be Hakan Kaplan.

Now, one of the many talents the cousins possessed was the ability to be extremely persuasive and willing to commit to a cause. They’d learned about Özgürlük and its aims, though at that stage they were not privy to the underlying intentions of the group. They were willing and eager recruits, listening to the party line and proving themselves by performing the tasks offered to them. Over a few months the cousins had insinuated themselves deeper into Özgürlük.

Anyone who had come in contact with them and listened to their talk had been convinced of their usefulness to the organization.

Whenever they were in the presence of Özgürlük’s people higher up the ladder, they performed as expected, and because they showed their compliance with the policy, their involvement became deeper.

While Binice and Terzel professed commitment to Özgürlük, they were, in truth, simply looking for opportunities to make money.

It hadn’t taken them long to see how Özgürlük put cash out to anyone who showed genuine interest. They’d realized the organization was pretty well loaded. The top man, Kadir Polat, had money in spades, to say nothing of the money being donated by sympathizers. It hadn’t taken the pair long to learn about the man, his business holdings that raked in millions, his property, cars and planes—even a luxury cruiser he used like a floating HQ.

While maintaining an interest in the organization, the pair had been gathering intelligence, watching and listening at every opportunity. Hakan Kaplan had taken a liking to the young recruits and had offered them more and more responsibility as the weeks went by.

They’d been assigned to Polat’s cruiser on a number of occasions. Their duties consisted of making sure guests were supplied with food and drink, and keeping things running smoothly. Their service offered them a chance to pick up snippets of information as drink often loosened mouths and they learned valuable details.

It was about this time that Hakan Kaplan, convinced the pair was genuinely part of Özgürlük, had taken them aside and, in the presence of Polat, filled them in on the organization’s long-term plan. Not to simply create unrest and agitation, but to do something that would throw the country into confusion and, as the main thrust of the plot, to damage the American presence in Turkey.

Their indoctrination took a couple of weeks and Binice and Terzel, realizing it was becoming deeply involving, had upped their act and made it clear they were on board.

When Kaplan had eventually broached the real reason, despite their act, Binice and Terzel were almost caught off guard.

Polat and Kaplan were proposing to blackmail the Americans by threatening to detonate nuclear devices. One at Incirlik. The other to be transported to America.

After the revelation, Binice and Terzel had readily endorsed and volunteered any and all assistance; they had realized an opportunity presented itself. Hakan Kaplan, by this time convinced of their loyalty to Özgürlük, had enlisted their help in taking control of the nuclear devices being delivered by the Russian, Gennadi Antonov.

This encounter had brought them into contact with Aziz Makar, the moneyman, and the pair, spotting the man’s discontent at having to handle so much money, quickly moved in.

Makar might have been in charge of the Özgürlük finances, but he was not personally wealthy. His skill with money had brought him little for himself. Binice and Terzel had spent their lives assessing and playing other people’s emotions. And that was how they’d manipulated Aziz Makar.

Their persuasive manner had drawn him in. He’d worked a few small withdrawals, and his new partners had taken it and used it to feed a new account, well out of the reach of Özgürlük. The ease of the operation encouraged Makar and he’d devised other ways to move and lose donated amounts. With each success Makar began to increase the amounts. Polat and Kaplan were so involved in the main operation they had little time, or opportunity, to be aware of what was happening. Money was coming in and going out on a daily basis, and only Makar, safe in his London office, had any real grasp of how things were. The thousands became hundreds of thousands and then Makar, flushed by his success, had made his major error when he’d earmarked a couple of million for siphoning.

Unbeknown to the duplicitous trio, their scheme to take Özgürlük’s money had been discovered and the information passed on to Hakan Kaplan.

Kaplan had initially refused to accept the news, but his source was impeccable. A bank teller loyal to Özgürlük had discovered the cash movements and checked it out. When the discovery was verified, Kaplan was informed. The bank official initiated a full trace and the extent of the theft was revealed. The trail led to accounts opened by Binice, Terzel and Makar. Following disbelief and embarrassment that he had been taken in by the three men, Kaplan had the information kept quiet so he could deal with the three. Loyalty to the cause had taken a backseat, smothered by deceit and pure greed. Ignoring the reason behind Özgürlük’s existence, the trio had given in to their base emotions.

Having been put in the picture, Kaplan took control and made the decision that the traitors would not be allowed to escape. He set in motion the means by which he would exact his revenge.

Revenge. Retribution. It had to be done. Betrayal required closure. Allow people to steal from you and it diminished your standing. The scales had to be balanced. With all that was going on, Özgürlük’s reputation needed to be put on firm ground—and allowing a pair of petty crooks to sully that reputation was unthinkable.

* * *

KAPLAN HAD MET Tak Kumad in a busy Istanbul café. They’d sat at a table, outside, the sun high overhead. They could have been any Turkish customers, drinking small cups of aromatic coffee and discussing anything.

But they were discussing something far deadlier than the price of food or the results of the international football match that had taken place the previous night.

They were arranging how Binice and Terzel would pay for their treachery. The moneyman, Makar, would be dealt with as a separate matter.

“This must be painful for them before the final bullet,” Kaplan said. “I am not normally a vengeful man, but those two have manipulated me. Made me look a fool. So my heart seeks a way to make them suffer.”

“As God looks down on me, I promise you suffering for them both,” Kumad, the assassin, said. “By the end they will welcome my final bullet.”

“Should I ask how you will achieve this?”

“Do you recall Alexander Litvinenko? Former Russian SSB officer. He left Russia to avoid being prosecuted for his stand against the Russian Secret Service. He was given asylum in the UK and continued as a journalist writing about the behavior of the Russians. He wrote books condemning their actions. He became ill in November 2006 and died three weeks later. It was confirmed later that he had died from being poisoned by polonium-210. A very lethal radioactive compound. Most likely put in his tea. It is undetectable in that condition, but works very well on the immune system, or so I have been told.”

“Is this what you would propose for our friends?”

“I have been able to obtain some. Only a small amount,” Kumad said. “That is all it will take.”

Kaplan thought it an ideal way to repay Binice and Terzel.

“They would not die immediately?”

Kumad smiled. “No. The full effects would run over a few weeks. But initially they would become extremely ill. Skin affected. Loss of hair. General lassitude.”

“How would you give it to them?” Kaplan asked, his interest piqued.

“In a similar fashion,” Kumad said. “I have spoken to a friend in the business and he has instructed me how to do this.” He smiled at the thought. “A very smart man who has been in the business for a long time.”

“And has he used this polonium-210 himself?”

Kumad nodded. “Oh, yes.”

When Kaplan picked up his coffee again he hesitated. “It would be as simple as putting it in a cup like this?”

“Don’t be concerned. I did not bring a sample with me.”

“I want this done quickly.”

“Then all I need from you is a timetable of where Binice and Terzel can be found. Once I have that, I can make my arrangements.”

They concluded their meeting after finance details were completed.

Kaplan felt satisfied. He had cleared the way for a matter of honor, Turkish-style, to be carried out. With Binice and Terzel dealt with, the episode could be forgotten and he could concentrate on the Özgürlük campaign.

* * *

TEN DAYS LATER Kumad received a call from Kaplan.

“It has been reported to me that Makar is becoming a nervous man,” Kaplan said. “I believe he may be regretting his involvement with Binice and Terzel. Remember he knows a great deal about Özgürlük. As banker he has been responsible for moving around money. Most important, the payment for the devices from the Russian. We cannot risk anything going wrong at this stage. It’s time he was retired. Better that way than risk additional problems. Deal with him but make sure you bring his computer back with you. Understood? Above everything, that computer must be returned into our safekeeping.”

“Understood.” Kumad brought up the other business he was involved with. “Did you know Binice and Terzel are in London? At one of our emergency apartments?”

“Yes. I sent them there to keep them away from everything here. They believe they are being given a reward for the work they have been doing for the cause. I told them I needed them to oversee a project that is coming off in London. Their arrogance is amazing. They truly believe that while they have stolen money from us I am rewarding their loyalty. I told them to take a break while the project is being set up. Your treatment seems to be working well. In the last week they have started to look unwell but have said nothing because they have no idea what is happening. Tak, as much as I would like to have them suffer even more, I think it is time to cut short their suffering. We have enough on our hands with other, more important matters. Would you agree?”

“It would complete our deal and close it nicely.”

“See to it.”

* * *

KUMAD KNEW LONDON WELL. He visited often. He enjoyed the rush of the big city, the busy pace. The fact that for the most part he could come and go as he pleased. Anonymity was a useful thing for someone in his profession. Although security, as in any large city, had been increased, London was still an easy place to get around. The busy streets, full of people going about their business, were comparatively safe. Armed police were in evidence, but with such crowds it was easy to lose himself. He was, on the surface, simply a citizen going about his business. He posed no threat to the watchful eye.

With Binice and Terzel taken care of, all that remained was for him to handle the banker. Kumad saw no problems there. Makar would not offer any kind of resistance. He was just a money mover. Not a trained gunman.

Sitting in a small café that served real Turkish coffee, Kumad considered his options. Makar would not be in his office until morning. It was just after nine o’clock in the evening, so he would have to wait until the man came to his office for the next day’s business. As he drained his cup, Kumad decided he may as well return to his hotel and get some sleep. Nothing was going to happen until the next day.

At his small hotel in Bayswater he had a shower, cleaned his pistol and made sure the magazine was fully loaded. Then he went to bed and got a solid night’s untroubled sleep. He knew that Makar never opened his office before nine thirty.

He was in another café across the street from Makar’s building, having breakfast and keeping an eye out for the man, when Makar stepped out of a London cab, paid the driver and went into his building. He carried an attaché case that would most likely contain his laptop. Kumad finished his food and coffee, paid and left the café.

He walked along the street before he crossed it and eased into the alley a few doors along from Makar’s building. The rear area was quiet and Kumad made his way to the wooden gate that would lead him to the back of Makar’s property. He had been here before and knew all the access and exit points. There was a brick wall with a timber gate. Kumad pulled on a pair of latex gloves, slipped the latch and stepped through, closing the gate behind him. There was a small yard leading to the metal stairs, which in turn led to the upper floor. At the top was a metal door that gave access to the interior. From earlier visits, Kumad knew that Makar kept the door unlocked during the day; the man had a fear of being trapped inside a locked building and turned the key when he arrived each morning. He didn’t worry about anyone breaking in to steal because there was never money on the premises. Everything Makar did was via his computer; he brought his expensive laptop with him each day and took it home at night. The office setup was nothing more than a front for Özgürlük.

The door in front of him let Kumad take the short passage to Makar’s office. He took out his sound-suppressed pistol and eased off the safety. He could hear Makar on the phone and waited until the man finished his call. The moment Makar replaced the receiver, Kumad pushed open the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and walked across the room to stand at the desk, extending his arm, the pistol inches from Makar.

Makar stared at the black muzzle, then at Kumad.

“Who are you?” He had never met Kuman before and would have no idea he worked for Özgürlük. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to close your account. The same as I’ve done for your two partners,” Kumad said and pulled the trigger.

It was a close shot, the skin around the wound peppered with powder and scorch burns. The back of Makar’s head blew open, depositing brain and skull matter on the high seat back. Makar’s head bounced against the seat, then forward. The phone rang at that moment. The sound startled Kumad for a second. He recovered, putting away his pistol. He closed the laptop and disconnected the cables. He turned and disturbed items in the office to make it appear as though someone had broken in. He didn’t believe the actions would fool the authorities for long but it was no more than a distraction.

The phone stopped ringing

With the laptop under his arm he pulled the office door almost shut, made his way out of the building the way he had come in. A couple of minutes later he slipped back onto the street, walking calmly, and merged with the pedestrians on the sidewalk. He had already removed the latex gloves by then.

Kumad returned to his hotel, packed his carryall, with the laptop under his clothes, and made a quick call.

“Your appointments went well?” Kaplan said. “No difficulties?”

“None.”

“You found the laptop?”

“Of course.”

“Then I will see you when you return.”

“Yes.”

Downstairs, Kumad checked out, paying his account in cash, and walked to the nearby multistory car park where his rental sat. He took a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and pulled them on before he unlocked the vehicle, placed his bag in the trunk and slid behind the wheel. He was always careful not to leave any prints behind. There were too many ways to be identified these days, so covering his tracks was something he did as a matter of course.

He started the engine.

And that was when it came to him as he stared at his hands gripping the wheel.

The shell casing.

He had not picked up the spent bullet casing from the floor of Makar’s office. The ringing of the phone had distracted him and his mind had been occupied with other matters.

The casing.

A small item in itself, but one that could become important if it was found. Because there would most likely be a print on it from when he had loaded the pistol’s magazine. When he loaded his magazines he used bare hands. In the past he had found using latex gloves to be a problem; twice the thin latex had been snagged by the loading slot of a magazine, tearing off a piece of the rubber and becoming jammed in the spring mechanism. Something as small as that could have interfered with the action of the magazine, causing a misfire. Since then, he had always worked barehanded—he compensated for that by never, ever, leaving behind a spent bullet casing.

Until today.

A stupid error on his part. One that could have repercussions if it was found.

Kumad considered the implications of identification that would place him at the scene, making him the number one suspect. He valued his anonymity, but he was not stupid enough to believe he was not on a database on some computer. And via that identification came the possibility he could be linked to Özgürlük.

He sat in the car and considered his options. Foremost in his thoughts was protecting his identity. In his line of work, remaining anonymous was vitally important. He needed that status to stay as it was. If he was identified as the man who had assassinated Makar, then his usefulness in the future would be compromised.

Kumad turned off the engine and took a fresh pair of latex gloves from the glove box. He climbed out and locked the car. He exited the car park and began the return journey to Makar’s office building. It would take him about a half hour. He did not hurry.

First he would check out the area. See if there seemed to be any unusual activity around the building. If the police were there he would walk away. By then it would be too late for him to recover the casing and he would need to leave London as he had planned, and as quickly as possible.

He realized there was no other way he could handle this. If the police found the casing, which they undoubtedly would, the process would begin. It would take time, and during that time Kumad needed to get as far from the UK as he could. There were many places he could go. Give himself time to cover his tracks and establish a new identity. He had the money to do it; his profession paid him well, and Kumad had always been prudent when it came to spending the contract fees he gathered. With money he could purchase any of the documents he needed. Some minor cosmetic enhancement would also help. His fingerprints were another matter—but that was something he had been thinking about for some time. He could not change them but he could have them removed so that problems such as this would not occur again.

There were so many ways the authorities could check out evidence nowadays. A fingerprint, any small piece of evidence, could be passed from country to country, logged into electronic search engines. Cooperation between law-enforcement agencies extended globally. A single item could be passed around quickly, checked and rechecked, throwing up answers in a short time.

Kumad needed to retrieve his bullet casing before it was found.

When he walked by the alley to Makar’s establishment he didn’t stop. He carried on until he was satisfied it was safe. Observation of the street showed no unusual presence in the area. It was a busy London high street, lined with stores and populated by large numbers of people, somewhere unusual activity would be noticeable. And a uniformed police presence would be almost impossible to conceal.

He realized the longer he delayed the more likely Makar’s body could be discovered. If he was going to retrieve the shell casing it had to be now. He was aware of the risk but in reality he had no other choice. If the police found the shell casing and a check for fingerprints proved positive, the matter could escalate. Kumad did not underestimate the skill of police procedures. And he could not allow any investigation to tie him to the Turkish organization.

He turned around and calmly walked back to the alley, moving quickly and making for the access stairs to Makar’s building. He pulled on the latex gloves as he headed to the stairway.

At the top of the access stairs he opened the door and stepped inside the building.

He moved into the corridor where Makar’s office was situated.

And that was when it all went wrong.




CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_d9867c3a-b3a5-53b2-95d7-476b27da173c)


London, earlier that day

Gary Manning watched the rain streaking past the window of the USAF transport as it touched down at RAF Lakenheath and rolled along the runway. The base was host to a large American contingent. Strings had been pulled to get Manning and Hawkins onto British soil without fanfare. The presence of the Stony Man operatives had not caused much of a ripple on the aircraft, which was making one of its regular supply runs.

The President had spoken to the echelon of the Air Force, requesting their assistance in a security matter that touched on NATO safety and an overspill into Turkey. There might have been a collective intake of Air Force breath because of the President’s involvement, but in the end his request was agreed to.





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