The Thieves of Darkness (26 page)

In a quick motion he grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, his gun aimed at the man’s head.

“Paranoid?” Michael said as he looked down the barrel.

“What the hell are you doing here? I could have killed you. If Iblis sees you…”

“Not a chance,” Michael said as he stepped into the room. “I paid a delivery truck to back me right into the garage. I came straight up the service elevator, making sure every camera along the way was obscured.”

“What are you doing here?” KC emerged from the far dining area of the apartment in her T-shirt.

“I think we have to run through everything, both jobs, to make sure we’ve got everything covered.” Michael tried to keep his focus off her attire. “The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that our prep time is next to nothing, and we could be rushing into hell if we’re not careful.”

“My end’s covered,” KC said defensively.

“Really,” Michael said as he looked at the unopened blue bag on the floor. “How do you even know how it works if you haven’t tried it out?”

“Like I’ve had a chance,” KC said. “Busch just got here.”

Michael walked into the room. “Let’s order some food and go over this.”

“I said, my end’s covered.”

“Yes, you did, but we’re still going to go through it,” Michael said slowly. “Both your job and mine.”

“I know I’m suggesting this a little late,” Busch interrupted, “but maybe we should try to find Cindy and Simon. He’s got to be holding them somewhere near.”

“How?” KC turned on Busch.

“If we tried to follow him, he’d know.” Michael said. “He’s not stupid. They could be anywhere.”

“Where does he live?” Busch asked.

“Give me a little credit,” KC shot back. “You don’t think I’ve already tried to find him? He’s a goddamned ghost, always has been.”

“Sorry,” Busch said, his hands raised in surrender. KC and Michael were more alike than either wanted to admit.

“He’s got my sister, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know,” Busch said calmly as he sat in a suede club chair and put his feet on the ottoman, “and he’s got Simon.”

“Stay focused, guys,” Michael said, his voice filled with optimism. “We need to be thinking on the palace and Hagia Sophia. Once we have what he wants, what he needs, he’s not going to screw up his chance of getting his precious objects.”

“And you’re just going to turn these two things over to him?” Busch asked.

Michael remained silent as he looked at his friend.

“What does that mean?” KC asked, looking back and forth between the two. And then it dawned on her. “Don’t even tell me you’re screwing around on this. You can’t keep these artifacts even if it’s Simon’s wish. It’s not your call to make. This is my job, I call the shots. This is my only family.”

“Relax. I’m not—”

“Don’t tell me to relax. It’s an old sea chart and a damn stick. I don’t care what they’re worth. They’re not worth my sister’s life. If we need to trade them to get her and Simon, then we trade.”

“KC.” Michael leaned forward. “Everything is—”

“Don’t ‘KC’ me, I don’t want to hear that ‘everything is going to be all right’ speech, I’m not a child. I know what we are up against and what we are about to do. Don’t forget we are doing this to get
my
sister. And if we have to give them the chart, that’s what we are going to do.”

Michael was doing everything in his power not to launch right back at her.

“Who the hell are you to start to say what we are going to do and not do?” KC continued.

“What the hell do you think we are doing here?” Michael finally responded, his voice rising. “Why do you think I’m doing this? I don’t give a shit about what we’re stealing, I care about getting two people back safe. And that’s what we’re going to do, but we’re not going to do a thing until I’ve gone over every single detail of both jobs.”

“You know, I have a little experience at this,” KC said defiantly. “I’m not the one who was convicted and sentenced.”

“No.” Michael could no longer control himself and lost it. “You were the one caught and sent to prison to be executed. What a short, ungrateful memory. Remember, I am not the one who needed to be saved.”

“You know what? I can do this myself.”

“You couldn’t steal a simple letter without getting sentenced to death.”

“Oh, my God.” Busch erupted out his chair. “The two of you go back to your corners.”

KC and Michael fell silent, watching the bear of a man turn about.

“You.” Busch pointed at KC. “We’re all pissed and frustrated. Quit taking your anger out on the people who are here to help you, and keep it focused on Iblis—he’s the cause of this, not Michael. Why is it that we can so easily lash out at the ones we’re close to yet we keep our mouths shut at the people who really piss us off?” Busch shook his head, his anger escalating as he turned to Michael. “And you, Mr. ‘We have to keep our heads clear and straight,’ take some of your own damn advice for once. We’ve got a lot of shit to review, I’ve got a wife and family at home, and I plan on seeing them again, so we’d better not screw this thing up.” Busch’s face was red with rage. “And last but not least, I’m goddamn hungry and I want some food.”

* * *

I
T WAS FOUR O’CLOCK
. They had spent the last three hours running over every minute detail of both jobs. Michael knew KC was a thief, and he suspected she was good or Simon wouldn’t have been involved with her, but Michael didn’t know how good and questioned her relentlessly on every “what if” scenario, upsetting her no end. Fortunately, Busch stayed between them, ever the mediator.

The contents of Bora Celil’s letter floated about in Michael’s head, his words of warning to Piri Reis ringing in his ears. They weren’t just warnings to Piri, they were warnings to all. Iblis wanted this rod for a reason, and Michael feared that the reason went way beyond its commercial value. KC would be the first person to hold it in five hundred years, and it was an object that had been hidden away for a reason, an object that had been feared even by the corsair Kemal Reis, one of the most feared men of the sea. Michael finally banished the matter from his head, as it was fogging his concentration; it was already hard enough to focus after his recent fight with KC.

Michael looked at KC, who was busying herself with the machine he had built for her. He could see the focus in her green eyes as she disassembled the contraption; he watched the gentle curves of her lithe frame, agile and strong as she packed up the blue bag.

“Iblis is going to watch KC,” Michael said as he pulled Busch aside. “Paul, you have to follow him; don’t let him out of your sight. I’m afraid as soon as she emerges from Hagia Sophia, he is going to grab the rod from her and probably try to grab her too.”

“Don’t worry about her. She can take care of herself.” Busch looked KC’s way. “But I’ll watch her back, just in case. What about you, though?”

“What do mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re the one running into a palace filled with 750 of the world’s movers and shakers. You’re the one with the far tougher theft, if you ask me. And one other thing…”

“What?”

“What if we underestimate Iblis, what if he goes for the chart? What if you run into him, who’s got your back?”

“Look, worry about KC for me. I’ll take care of myself.”

“That’s what you always say, and then you know what happens? I practically have a heart attack trying to save your ass.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Michael said, slapping his friend on the arm.

Michael walked to the window, where KC now stood looking out at her destination, her mark, Hagia Sophia, the late-afternoon sun dancing along its enormous dome.

“I’ve got to go,” Michael said softly.

KC turned and looked at him, a world of emotion passing between them.

Michael looked at KC. “You be careful,” he said.

KC stared back into Michael’s eyes. “You too.”

“Guys.” Busch snapped his fingers, breaking the moment as he held up his watch. “Time’s a-wasting. The drama between the two of you is getting ridiculous. You both know what you’re doing. I’ll have Iblis in my sights the whole time. Let’s get this done so we can leave this place for good. Capiche?”

T
HE VAULT DOOR
silently swung open, the light of the room dancing on its brushed-silver surface reflecting back along the dark wood walls. Iblis walked into the room dressed in a classic Armani tuxedo.

Cindy stared at him from her vantage point on the leather couch, where she sat watching TV and sipping a Diet Coke as if she were in a living room instead of a walnut-paneled prison. Iblis walked across the room to the cot and checked the nearly empty IV bag. As he looked down on Simon, he was surprised to find him staring up through half-mast eyes, his head subtly moving side to side.

“Mmm, didn’t expect to find you awake,” Iblis said in his deep voice.

Simon didn’t respond, his eyes intermittently drifting shut as he tried to focus.

Iblis changed the IV bag, tossing the nearly empty one into the wooden trash can. “Now, don’t you slip into a coma and die on me, at least till I’m finished with you.”

“He needs a doctor,” Cindy insisted.

Iblis ignored her, turning and walking over to the mirror on the far wall. Looking at himself, he brushed the brown hair off his unlined, tan forehead and pulled the lapels of his black jacket, smoothing out the shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Cindy asked.

“I’m going to a party,” Iblis said as he straightened his tie.

“God forbid we interfere with your social life,” Cindy said. “How long are you going to hold us?”

Iblis turned. “If all goes to plan, you’ll be out of here by three o’clock tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to kill us?” Cindy asked with mock courage.

“Not unless I change my mind, but who could hurt a cute face like yours?” Iblis smiled coldly, his eyes not showing a hint of humor. “Then again, if your sister double-crosses me…”

“What if Simon gets worse?”

Iblis looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. “Got to go. It’s going to be a pretty spectacular night, lots of stuff going on, don’t want to be late,” he said, more to himself than to her, as he walked back to the giant vault door.

“Where’s the party?” Cindy couldn’t help asking.

“Nice place, a palace actually, called Topkapi. I’ve got a little rendezvous planned.”

“Really, with whom? You and my sister going out for a night of crime?” Cindy said in a voice filled with disdain.

“Actually, I’m going to see her boyfriend, Michael St. Pierre.”

Michael ran up the hill, the envelope of night embracing him as he stayed within the shadow of the trees. A neoprene satchel of supplies was strapped over his right shoulder and bounced against his hip with every stride. He had never used the black scuba-dive bag on land, but figured it would help keep his tools dry in the cistern with its double-wide seals. Strapped about his waist were a flashlight and his knife, while an empty leather tube was strapped across his back, awaiting his hoped-for quarry. He had hiked up from the train tracks that sat above the road that wrapped the tip of the Golden Horn, which overlooked the Bosporus.

The forty-foot rear wall of Topkapi Palace loomed at the crest of the hill 150 feet above Michael, casting its giant shadow over him like a beastly challenge. Constructed five hundred years earlier, its position was the most strategic in Constantinople, overlooking and defending the sole waterway to the Black Sea while offering the perfect vantage point for monitoring Asia on the far shore and any enemies looking to attack. But since the fall of the Empire, since the end of the sultans, there were no more sentries looking for interlopers, no more threats, no more enemies looking to penetrate the great palace, only daytime tourists watching the passing ships.

“Couple hours, we’ll be done,” Michael said into the small microphone
that was joined to the headset hanging on his ear. “We’ll have your sister and Simon back by tomorrow. You okay?”

“I’m good. I must say I’ve never done anything like this before.” KC’s voice came clear as crystal through his earpiece. She sounded focused and upbeat.

“You told me you’ve been doing stuff like this for years,” Michael joked.

“Not with a voice of reason in my head.”

“Don’t let me be your conscience.” Michael continued hiking up the steep hill.

“That is the last person you need as a conscience,” Busch’s voice cut in.

“You sound a little winded there, Michael,” KC said. “Kind of like when I beat you in basketball.”

Busch laughed. “You never said she beat you in basketball.”

“Whoa, she didn’t.” Michael arrived at the base of the forty-foot wall, coming out of the darkness. “Enough chatter for now.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started yapping,” KC said.

“He gets a little sensitive when he loses,” Busch added.

Michael flipped off his radio, looked up at the wall that loomed above him, and began to climb.

KC
WALKED ALONG
the cobblestone walkway of a huge garden with a camera strung about her neck; she carried the three-foot blue duffel on her shoulder and an oversized black Prada bag in her left hand. She was dressed in stylish tight black pants and a form-fitting dark top. Her blonde hair was brushed out and golden under the nighttime lights of the commons. Looking every bit the tourist, she stopped occasionally to take photos of the tremendous Hagia Sophia, which filled her line of sight. Lit for the night, its four minarets appeared to be standing guard around the ancient domed structure.

Honeymooners sat on a bench lost in the deep kiss of a new life together. KC couldn’t help staring as she walked by, the thoughts of love and marriage alien to her, something she thought she would never
experience. And while it had been fate’s fault, while she had used the excuse of Cindy and caring for her to avoid falling into a relationship, she could blame only herself now. She had turned her back on Michael, told him she couldn’t find it in her heart to carry their relationship on.

And as she thought on it, she knew it was fear, fear of commitment, fear of finding love and happiness that had compelled her to tell Michael she couldn’t fill the shadow left by his wife. It was the reason she had exploded at him earlier; her anger was at herself, at her situation, not with him.