Byzantine Gold (25 page)

Chapter Fifty

“Well?” Maksym asked. He worried when Rana hadn’t seen the couple the week before. He spent the last few days trying to come up with an alternate plan to the room service ploy. Time was of the essence now. In three weeks, the recovery project would break until the next dive season.

“She showed but he didn’t,” Rana said and tossed her purse into the corner of the salon’s sofa.

Finally, good news. “Did you talk to her?”

Rana sighed one of her
put upon
sighs and plopped down onto the sofa. “Yes, you told me to speak with her. It was nearly noon when she came. Hanging around the casino waiting for her is tiresome. I do not like it.”

“Stay on topic, Rana. What did you talk about?”

“She said she came to arrange a suite and special dinner for the man you call Vadim. His birthday is next Saturday.”

“What day is she planning to have this celebration, did she say?”

“Saturday, I just told you.”

“Not her usual day off.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, I’m thinking out loud. It means she’s gone to extra trouble to exchange her dive schedule. Those teams generally keep to a specific schedule for health purposes. The second man who usually sits with them at Ada’s, was he with her today?”

Rana shook her head.

Maksym liked what he heard more and more. The second agent hadn’t been with Vadim and Dashiell when Evgeniy saw them at the casino. If he wasn’t with her today, Maksym suspected for some reason Atakan felt no threat while at the hotel. Good.

“She was...” Rana paused. “I’m looking for the right word. She was...bubbly,” she said with a grin, pleased she’d hit on the right word.

Maksym swallowed wrong and choked on his vodka. A coughing fit ensued and Rana jumped up to slap him on the back. After a couple useless whacks, he waved her away.

“I’m fine,” he managed still coughing sporadically. “Bubbly huh? I never imagined Vadim with a bubbly woman. That wasn’t my experience with Dashiell.” The memory of her tied, spread-eagled and naked on his bed, her fear-filled eyes as he brought the knife to her skin made him smile. She wasn’t so bubbly that night.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Rana said and pulled a long, thin box from her purse and handed it to him.

“What is this?”

“Open it, Maksy.”

He did. Inside was a twenty-four carat gold, serpent link necklace with a St. Christopher pendant. “It’s very nice. Turn around and I’ll hook it for you.”

“This is a Christian saint. I don’t wear such things. I have my nazar boncugu.” She jiggled the chain with the blue glass bead attached to the strap of her purse. “This is yours. I bought him to protect you against the illness that troubles you and help you get better.” She stepped to Maksym’s side again. “Turn and I’ll do the clasp for you.”

A thousand saints can’t make me better.
“Rana, it’s a sweet gesture but if you noticed, I don’t wear jewelry. If I did, I don’t think any saint would be pleased to be seen on my neck.”

A worry line creased her forehead. “I cannot take it back. The lady in the shop warned me. It was expensive. Now you will be angry I wasted your money.”

Maksym dropped the necklace into the box and set the box on the bar. “I’m not concerned over the cost but where did you get the money? I only gave you two-hundred Euros to entertain yourself with at the casino.”

Rana shrank back from him and refused to look him in the eye.

“Rana...”

“I lost the money you gave me in the slot machines. I saw this in the window of a jewelry shop last week. It was still there as I walked to the dock. I wanted it for you so much, so I used your credit card.”

“You took my credit card from my wallet?”

She shrank further away, out of arm’s reach and nodded. “I wanted to buy it when I first saw it but didn’t have enough Euros. I knew two-hundred wasn’t enough and took your card before I left, while you were talking to Evgeniy. Don’t be mad, Maksy. I’m sorry. What I did was wrong, but--” Tears welled in her eyes as she explained.

He raised a hand to hit her and then dropped it to his side. She’d invaded his privacy and stolen his credit card. He should hit her. But, at the end of the day, what did it matter? His cards were no doubt flagged by the Turkish authorities. They’d know for certain he was in Cyprus. He had to assume Atakan already expected or smartly accepted the possibility. It didn’t make much difference if he definitely knew. If the knowledge kept Vadim and Dashiell from celebrating next Saturday, then he’d go to plan B. He just had to come up with a plan B.

“Are you angry with me, Maksy?” Rana swiped at the tears that ran down her cheeks.

“No, but leave me alone for awhile. I have to think.”

#

“At least we know for sure. Thanks for letting me know, right away,” Atakan said and disconnected from the call.

He turned to Iskender. Refik had left them alone in his office to speak in private with the Ministry unit in Istanbul.

“That was Halim. They got a hit on one of Tischenko’s credit cards,” Atakan told him.

“Where?”

“He used it in a jewelry shop in Famagusta this morning.” Relief filled Atakan. He’d feel better if he knew when Tischenko planned to make his move, but just knowing this was where it would end felt damned good.  

“Tischenko never struck me as a jewelry kind of man. I guess he’s turning into a peacock in his middle age.”

“Oh, I suspect he’s always been a peacock. Remember that bizarre mural on his bedroom wall at his compound? Where he had David’s painting of King Leonidas at Thermoplae copied but with his face as the king?”

Iskender rolled his eyes, a half grin on his face, then said, “It was odd, yes. First time I’d seen anything like that.”

The two were quiet for a long moment, knowing the move was Tischenko’s. All either could do was remain alert and wait for what was destined to come.

Iskender broke the silence. “You don’t appear too worried. You look almost relieved.”

“I am. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder.”

Chapter Fifty-One

Atakan waved to Charlotte as she headed toward the showers, her last dive of the day finished. She hadn’t brought the subject of Tischenko up in the three days since Atakan told her his presence in Cyprus was confirmed. She’d taken the news better than he expected but still not well. She absorbed the information without any outward display of emotion, putting on a brave face for his sake. From her demeanor, he knew how hard she fought to not let the worry and anxiety show or intrude on their time together.

Over the past few days, her fear surfaced in little ways. She wasn’t her usual talkative self, nor had she eaten a normal meal, picking at tiny morsels of food on her plate. She jumped at the slightest noise when they were at Ada’s. Nothing he said could alleviate her worry and he didn’t try, other than to tell her only once,
All will be well. I love you, so it is incumbent upon me to make certain you are not disappointed should Tischenko confront me.
That had earned him a fragile smile.

“Binici left in a hurry, carrying his laptop. He’s headed toward Ada’s,” Iskender said as he closed the door to Refik’s office behind him.

Atakan moved from the window where he’d been watching Charlotte and sat at the desk.

“Let’s hope we get a break and he mentions who’s here with Omar,” Atakan said, opening his laptop. “No way Lokman came alone. He brought a crew. If they’d give us a hint where they plan to meet Binici, I’d settle for that right now.”

Iskender slid a chair next to Atakan where they both had a view of the monitor. He’d also brought his laptop to run checks on any useful information they obtained as it came across Atakan’s computer.

“It’s clear from their most recent phone conversation Lokman is controlling the situation. Intelligence reports always indicated Binici led his cell,” Iskender commented.

“I wonder if there was a mini coup in his absence.” Atakan shot Iskender a nasty grin. “Even terrorists have bad days.”

“Think Lokman is sleeping with Havva Pelin? If he is, then she might be here too.”

“Good question.”

“Every bomb we’ve linked to him shows her as the delivery person. I’d love to get my hands on the witch. I’d enjoying sticking one of those bombs up her skirt.”

“Does she wear skirts?” Atakan asked, mildly curious if female terrorists anywhere wore skirts other than the few women suicide bombers who dressed in traditional chadors. He didn’t think female terrorists would wear anything deemed fashionable, fashion being anathema to their narrow view of social structures. Chadors didn’t count. Religious garb wasn’t fashion.

“I was in Ankara when she planted that bomb in the shopping mall injuring dozens, a mother and infant in her carriage seriously,” Iskender said. “You and Charlotte were on vacation visiting her parents.”

“I read the story in the Chicago newspapers.”

“Our unit got to see a copy of the mall surveillance video from a friend in Intelligence,” Iskender said, logging onto his computer. “She wore a skirt then. I imagine in their camp she wears the standard terrorist quasi-military outfit with ugly boots.”

“Charlotte once told me,
don’t blow smoke up my skirt.
Let me just say, I wasn’t blowing smoke. I was only trying to placate her to avoid an argument,” Atakan clarified. Iskender nodded in understanding, having been in that position himself with women and from what Atakan knew, more than once. “If you do have the opportunity to stick a bomb up Havva’s dress, it would give new meaning to the Americanism.”

For a fleeting moment, he thought about how callous the comment sounded. She was a woman, after all. As fast as the thought came, he shrugged it off.

In the military, he’d had the opportunity to observe the interrogation by their Intelligence Unit of several terrorists caught inside Turkey. Three were male and from different Lebanese organizations. Two were women, Palestinians. The men were tough and resisted questioning, but ultimately gave statements. He remembered the look in their eyes. There was fire in them, a passionate, unflinching belief in their cause.

With the women, it was less remembering the look in their eyes and more a case of never forgetting. When you looked in their eyes, you saw a cold determination that went well beyond passion for the cause. Eyes empty of emotion, empty of humanity. It was like staring into a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

One of the officers from the unit told him women terrorists were the worst to deal with especially in a hostage situation.
Once a female terrorist decides she is willing to kill the hostages, she will. There is no negotiation, only death for someone.

Havva Pelin was a remorseless, cold hearted terrorist who didn’t give a whit about the innocent people those bombs hurt. She deserved no sympathy. 

Atakan turned from the computer. “I’ve only seen Pelin in intelligence photos. But I think she must change her appearance with ease. She’s been able to cross the border from Iraq without getting stopped by our border agents.”

“True. In the Ankara video, she didn’t look like any of the few pictures we have. Her best feature is big tits. Her face, from what I saw was horsy, but I hate to insult a noble beast. I’d say she resembles those boots her type stomp around in.”

Atakan huffed in agreement. “Big tits can only compensate for so much. Sooner or later, you’ve got to look up.” He sat straighter. “Binici has logged on. You ready to check the IP Lokman is sending from?”

“Ready, Halim is standing by at the office to run the search.”

What is so urgent I needed to contact you immediately?
Binici wrote.

We need to meet. We’re tired of you avoiding us.
Lokman responded.

I told you it is difficult for me to get away. I am kept busy in the conservation lab when I am not diving.

I don’t care. Find time. Turgay says you have a day off once a week and we have waited a week to see you.

Turgay? You have him watching me? Let me speak with him.

He’s not here at the moment.

“Turgay? Think he means Turgay Yildirim?” Atakan asked, turning to Iskender who was busy typing. “He’s from Binici’s village.”

“It’s a good bet it’s Yildirim. I’m sending a message to Halim to email our photos of Yildirim. What a stroke of luck if we can get Binici, Lokman, and Yildirim.”

“How long before Halim gets the IP info?”

“He said to give him a few minutes.”

Atakan nodded.

Tomorrow is your day off. We will wait for you at the BP station. Be there at noon.
Lokman demanded.

“BP stations,” Atakan said.

“On it. What do you want to do if Halim locates where Lokman is sending from? If we can get the police there in time, they can hold him for us.”

“That gives us two birds in the hand...Binici and Lokman.”

“We take them to the military base. I’m sure we’ll find a way to persuade them to reveal where Turgay and the others are.”

The headache that started the night before raged full force now. Atakan pushed the painful distraction from his thoughts and concentrated on Iskender’s suggestion.

“It’s a good idea, but I think we need to weigh what we gain against what we risk. If we take them now, whether or not they talk to us, when Lokman doesn’t return, Turgay and the rest will be half way to their rat’s nest in Qandil before we can get to them.”

I cannot come tomorrow. I have a prior commitment.

Break it.
Lokman ordered back.

I cannot. These plans were made days ago.

What plans are more important than ours? Is it the woman you speak with all the time in camp?

Yes, she is an American journalist sympathetic to our goals.

Bring her.

No.

Bring her. We wish to meet this journalist.

No.

Bring her or I’ll have Goker send a message on your behalf to meet you immediately. He’s watching the camp even now. I’ll have him pick her up for you.