Byzantine Gold (28 page)

“I told you to bring the woman,” Lokman said to Binici. When Binici didn’t answer, Lokman insisted, “Speak to me. I asked you a question.”

Binici didn’t move.

Lokman quickly glanced at the store and back at Binici, as he swung the backpack around in front of him.

“Go,” Dag ordered.

The three rushed forward, weapons fixed on Lokman.

Lokman drew a short-barreled rifle from the pack.

“Drop it.”

Atakan watched Lokman’s eyes flicker from the captain’s face to the Mehmetcik pointed at his chest. Lokman swiveled a fraction to the right the barrel of his rifle moving toward Binici.

Dag saw it too. “Take the shot.”

In an instant, a spray of pink filled the air from the sniper’s headshot. Lokman’s body hit the cement before the spray dissipated. 

Iskender’s team joined Atakan, Dag, and the third man on the team on the patio, the other two terrorists in shackles. Lokman’s rifle and backpack were gathered and put with Yildirim’s and Ulvi’s in a spare duffle bag. 

Binici’s guards ripped the tape from his mouth, cut the flex cuffs off and used the steel ones, cuffing his hands behind him until they got him to the jeep where he’d be chained again. The two vans that had been used to stop traffic pulled into the station. Yildirim and Ulvi were loaded into separate vans. The three prisoner transport vehicles left for the base.

“Any problems getting them secured?” Dag asked the leader of Iskender’s team.

He shot Dag a smug smirk. “You should’ve seen the surprise on their faces. They just looked wide-eyed at us and froze. I have more difficulty taking my boots on and off than we did taking them.”

A typical hot, end of summer day in Cyprus and they were all sweltering under their helmets. The others removed their helmets to wipe sweat from their faces and necks. Atakan had his helmet half off and then stopped. He’d promised Charlotte he’d keep it on while he was out of the Land Rover and in the open. 

“And the shop owner?”

“He was all right with our presence, especially after I explained who we were arresting. I can’t say he’ll be all right once he’s sees this mess,” the team leader said, tipping his chin at the body and the large amount of Lokman’s blood covering the patio.

Atakan sidestepped a trail of blood that inched close to one of his boots.

“You two will stay behind to assist with this scene and see to the disposition of the body,” Dag said.

A transmission from the divers confirmed Havva Pelin was taken into custody without incident. Two naval officers would accompany her to the army base where she’d be interrogated and imprisoned until transport to Turkey.

“I understand you wish to sit in on the Pelin interrogation,” Dag said to Iskender.

“Very much so.”

Dag nodded, and then turned to Atakan. “Do you wish to be present at hers or Binici’s? I would think his since your investigation revealed his true identity and led to his apprehension.”

“You’re right. I want to sit across from him. Knowing I am responsible for him spending the rest of his life in prison, it will give me pleasure to have him see my face every time he looks up.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Today was Vadim’s birthday. The Dashiell woman told Rana she arranged for a suite at the hotel and planned on spending the day with him there. The plan played into Maksym’s hands.

“Rana, come here. Sit.” Maksym pointed to the stool by the salon’s bar. “Today is very important. I want you to listen well. You’re to do what I say, no matter what happens.”

“You’re going to tell me something I won’t like. I know it.” Rana huffed and sat on the stool next to him. A pout started and then disappeared before her lips completely pursed.

She was finally catching on to how much he disliked that particular habit of hers. It was a hell of a time for her to figure it out, he thought behind a faint smile.

“Evgeniy is dropping me somewhere and coming right back to the boat. If I have not returned by three this afternoon, the two of you are to leave and sail to Kusadasi.”

“Without you? No.”

Easy to read Rana, the wheels of her mind were spinning at warp speed. Maksym didn’t have time to answer the dozen questions he knew were forming.

“Yes, without me. If I have not returned by then, I am not coming back.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Maksym held up his hand and cut her off. “Rana, I told you from the start I had unfinished business here. Today, I will put an end to it. The point is—you must go.”

“But you might return, yes?”

“The odds are slim. I’m not counting on making it to the boat.”

Evgeniy had bribed a room service waiter at the hotel who was the same approximate size. The waiter had sold him a spare uniform and agreed to provide a cart with a bucket of champagne. That exchange cost Maksym five-thousand Euros, it cost him an extra five-hundred for the same waiter to check the reservation book to see which suite they’d have.

Maksym worried either Vadim or Dashiell, whichever one answered the door, would recognize Evgeniy from the one time he went with Rana to Ada’s. Evgeniy altered his appearance as much as possible without surgery. Instead of shaving his head daily, he let it go and dyed the fuzzy start of a brush cut black. He let his mustache grow in, which was blonde like the natural color of his hair so it was dyed too. They added black frame, clear lens glasses. His startling blue eyes had always attracted attention especially from women. As a final touch, Evgeniy volunteered to wear brown contacts, which Maksym wouldn’t have done, even for good money. He cringed at the thought of putting anything in his eyes even eye drops. He’d had to rely on lubricant eye drops while a military diver, having suffered corneal irritation a number of times from the mask anti-fog solution.

The room service ruse was good, Maksym didn’t doubt he’d succeed at killing Vadim. Whether or not he’d kill Dashiell, he hadn’t decided. The shots would bring hotel security. There wasn’t much chance he’d escape. If he didn’t get to an exit, he’d shoot it out and they’d kill him in a hail of gunfire, kind of like John Dillinger, the American gangster. It was a fitting end, better than cancer.

Rana’s soft voice interrupted his musings. “You believe this is the last we’ll see of each other, these moments we are sharing now.”

He nodded.

To his surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, she bent her head and brought his hands to her face. She kissed the palms. He stiffened. The gesture was so unexpected, so oddly gentle and kind, Maksym was briefly at a loss as to what to say or do.

“Don’t,” he told her, pulling his hands from hers as she looked up.

He handed her the envelope with bank paperwork and cash. “I have deposited seventy-five-thousand Euros into an account, in your name at Vakif Bank, in Kusadasi.” He ignored her loud inhale and removed the cash from the envelope. “There’s ten-thousand here. This is for Evgeniy. Do not give it all to him until you are safely returned to Kusadasi. Keep it hidden. If he bothers you in any way on the trip, tell him he must leave you alone if he wants the rest of his money.”

Maksym grabbed the edge of the bar to stay seated. She’d thrown her arms around his neck and pressed hard against him. Rana was neither a large woman nor a strong one but the force of her actions almost knocked him off the stool. It shamed him to think he’d grown so weak. 

She buried her face in his hair and said. “I don’t want your money. I want you. Maksy please, let’s leave. Forget the business that brought you here. We’ll be happy. You’ll see.”

Her shoulders shook with her tears that dampened the hair by his ear. He peeled her arms from his neck, pushing her away as he did so he could stand.

“Maksy...”

“Promise me, you’ll do as I told you. Three o’clock, you must go.”

She wiped at her tears with her fingers and back of her hands but refused to answer.

“Rana, if I must, I will have Evgeniy take you to the airport and put you on the next plane to Kusadasi.”

“I promise.” She hugged him tight and kissed him deeply then blinked back more tears and gave him a watery smile. “Until this afternoon...when I know—” She touched her palm to her heart. “We’ll be together again.”

“Sure, until then. Now, go hide the envelope and money and find Evgeniy. Tell him I’m ready to go.”

#

Charlotte tried to brush as much of the wax residue as possible from her hair. A good shampooing would wash off the stickiness left behind that the brushing didn’t get. She used more wax than her instructors did to keep her sword from moving too much or falling when she danced. She replayed
Tribal Dream
, or as she referred to it, her sword song, and hummed along while she brushed. She waited for Atakan to finish his shower so she could take one.

Atakan had been impressed with how she’d managed to dance and have the scimitar-style sword stay in place...
for the most part
. There was a dodgy moment or two when the sword started to spin twice as fast as she spun. The thicker underside of the sword was the waxy edge that stuck to her hair. It stayed on her head, but she wasn’t adept enough to control the spin. Because it was a dancer’s prop, the blade side was shorter, lighter, and dulled to not be dangerous. But she wanted to look more professional when she danced and a crazily whirling sword took away from the image. She’d slid her hand up, twisting it in an exotic Egyptian like gesture to stop the spin before the sword went airborne. Atakan thought she practiced the maneuver and assumed it was part of the routine.
I like that cabaret thing you did where you snaked your hand along your face to halt the sword.
She didn’t tell him any different.

He had the sword set aside on the desk, her costume off, his clothes off, and both of them rolling around the bed before the song ended. 

The water in the shower shut off and the glass door creaked as Atakan stepped out.

He poked his head out from the bathroom, towel drying his hair and asked, “How did you get the sword past airport security? The luggage goes through an X-ray machine.” Then he ducked back inside.

“I was afraid baggage security would confiscate it. Instead, I ordered it online and had the company mail the sword to camp.”

There was a knock at the door. Charlotte was naked under her short kimono. She double-checked the robe covered her important bits and then went to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Room service.”

Charlotte peered through the peephole. The room service waiter had his face turned slightly so she only had a view of his profile. She peered down and saw the cart had a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice with a linen napkin over the neck, flutes and a small bowl of strawberries. Tempting as it looked, they hadn’t ordered anything.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong room,” she said through the door. “We didn’t order champagne.”

“It is a birthday surprise from a friend,” the waiter said.

“Who’s at the door?” Atakan called out from the bathroom.

“It’s room service. I think Iskender sent a bottle of champagne for your birthday.” Charlotte opened the door and stepped back to let the waiter roll the cloth-draped cart into the room.

“Where do I sign?” she asked. She’d put the gratuity on the bill.

“No need to sign, madam. The sender has taken care of everything,” the waiter said and popped the cork, replacing the bottle into the bucket. “Good day.” He nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Charlotte looked over the bowl of fat strawberries. When she reached to pluck one out the cart rocked. “What the hell...”

Tischenko rolled out of the other side of the cart and leapt to his feet, a gun in his hand.

“No!” She immediately covered her mouth knowing her cry would bring Atakan.

“Charlotte...” He didn’t finish as he stepped into the bathroom doorway, a towel around his hips. His clothes lay on a side chair while his gun lay in the soft holster on the nightstand out of reach.

“Vadim,” Tischenko said and smiled. “Nasty scar. My doing?” He pointed the barrel of the auto to the still pink scar on Atakan’s shoulder.

“You used to be a worthy opponent. I see age has made a coward of you. You can only challenge unarmed men now,” Atakan prodded.

“You think I am troubled by your insults? I am not. I am troubled that you still breathe. And, I am a little bit troubled that, once again, I will not have the chance to rape your woman. No time, I’m sorry to say. The shots will draw security. Therefore after I kill you, I will kill her.”

Tischenko pointed the gun at Atakan’s heart.

At the same time, Charlotte shoved the cart into Tischenko’s side. He stumbled to the right and fired. But Atakan fired first. In the few seconds when Tischenko wavered from the cart hitting him, Atakan had grabbed his gun, shooting while it was still holstered.

Tischenko’s round struck the bathroom doorframe. He didn’t get a second round off.

Atakan shot twice. The first round struck Tischenko in the solar plexus. The second hit just above the heart as he collapsed. His gun bounced from his hand across the floor toward Atakan who recovered it and threw it onto the bed.

Charlotte hurried over to Atakan. “Are you hit?” she asked running her hands over him.

“No, he didn’t miss by much. But, he missed.”

“Oh my God, when Tischenko fired and you dove to the side, I thought he’d shot you.” Her panicked breathing refused to slow and it felt like her pounding heart wanted to escape her chest.

Then the hotel door burst open and Rana rushed into the room. She threw herself on top of the dying Tischenko. Tears poured down her cheeks and onto Tischenko’s shirt. She alternately held his face in her hands and spoke in rapid-fire Turkish and then laid her head on his chest again.

Her pounding heart and panic forgotten at the sight of the revealed relationship, Charlotte moved to stand next to the couple. She wanted to kick Rana in the ribs for pretending to be a friend. If she’d never met Rana, Tischenko wouldn’t have known about the hotel room. Atakan almost died today because she’d foolishly told Rana her plan for his birthday.
Bringer of bad luck
.

“You should be sailing away. I said leave me.” A wet cough racked Tischenko and he spit blood.

“I could not leave without you so I followed you.”

Tischenko touched a bloody hand to her face and then ripped a necklace with a medal from his neck. He put it in Rana’s palm. “I told you the saints do not like me,” he said with a ragged breath.

“Maksy, you cannot die. I will not allow it.” More of Rana’s tears fell, wetting Tischenko’s face.

“He’s almost dead now. He’s bleeding to death internally. One of those bullets had to have hit an artery,” Charlotte said, taking perverse pleasure in telling Rana the terrible information.

Tischenko struggled for breath, a raspy sound coming from him as he tried to inhale. The rasp turned to a gurgle and then he was silent.

The sound of running feet came from the stairwell end of the corridor.

Rana cried out and snatched Tischenko’s gun from where Atakan had tossed it on the bed. She was in mid-turn towards him when Charlotte grabbed the sword from the chair and swung it down on Rana’s forearm.

A jumble of sounds filled the air, simultaneously, or so it seemed to Charlotte. A sickening snap and instantaneous scream came from Rana, men shouting for Charlotte to drop the sword, Atakan telling them he was a Ministry agent in Turkish. In the distance, a police siren wailed.