Trojan Horse (37 page)

Just then her mIRC-app chimed. She opened the secure message and read. Aiken was now known to have flown to Prague where he’d rented a car. An Iranian man had been found murdered in his apartment. Interpol was considering whether this was connected to events in Geneva because a young, rather tall Western couple had been seen by neighbors leaving the scene. They matched the description of Aiken and Dr. Haugen.

She wasn’t dead after all. That was a relief. But had they killed the man? If this was one of their abductors they should have simply called the police and told their story. Unless . . .

Edinfield needed to do something, and quickly, before this fiasco spiraled out of control. First, she sent an alert to her offices in the region, advising of the situation and that the couple likely possessed highly sensitive information. They were to closely monitor events and police alerts, extend all cooperation to local authorities to assist in finding them, even to act on their own as circumstances dictated.

Her deputy was included on the alert and she sent him a separate message assigning him as coordinator of activities, to brief her every two hours on events. Then Edinfield typed her reply to the message she’d just received.

Subject: Jeffrey Daniel Aiken

Local police should be advised that it is likely the man seen fleeing the murder scene is the above subject. He should be detained and held so we can question him. If Dr. Daryl Haugen is with him she should be held as well for her own protection.

A. Edinfield

PRAGUE

CZECH REPUBLIC

12:21 P.M. CET

A
hmed had been too exhausted, physically and mentally, to do anything after the two Chinese men had left. Finally, he’d cleaned up before leaving the dead Karim in the apartment. He’d been careful to wipe everywhere he thought he might have touched. He wondered how long it would be before the body was found. A long time he hoped.

On his way to his apartment he’d stopped for lunch, trying to clear his head, thinking how he was going to report all of this to Hamid. The best scenario would be for the Chinamen to catch and kill the couple and while he thought that very likely he couldn’t think of any way he’d learn about it early enough to help him.

What he needed was rest. A long rest. And a good story. The unvarnished truth was of no help to him.

After his fifth cigarette and fourth cup of espresso he decided to go home, no closer to an agreeable account of recent events than when he’d first sat down. As he entered the building he found it unusually quiet. He glanced at the dirty Armenian’s door but the man didn’t stick his head out as usual. Probably upstairs somewhere.

Ahmed hesitated at his apartment when he realized the door had been forced. Perhaps the Chinese had done it. He entered cautiously, then closed the door behind him. Stepping out of the kitchen was a very neat, rather diminutive, bearded man dressed in a dark gray suit with an open-collared blue dress shirt. “Do not be concerned,” he said in Farsi, in a voice Ahmed was certain he recognized. “Take a seat. We must talk.”

“Hamid,” Ahmed whispered, suddenly more frightened than he’d ever been before in his life.

Hamid waited until Ahmed was seated on the small couch. He pulled a chair over and sat on it carefully. He examined Ahmed head to toe before speaking again. “I’m General Hamid,” he said. “I require a detailed report from you. I want to know how you managed to get your two most valuable agents killed and how both the woman and the man you took managed to escape. I want everything, no tales. Most of all, I want to know why I’ve been compelled to expose myself like this to pick up after you.”

Ahmed’s mouth was suddenly so dry he couldn’t swallow. He tried to speak and couldn’t. Finally, his voice coming out more as a croak, he poured out the story without embellishment. It took most of an hour, and once he had to get water from the kitchen but finally it was done. He closed his eyes waiting for judgment.

“These Chinese men, you really think they’ll kill the couple?”

“I hope so. Mostly they want their computers.”

“Your courier, this Saliha, she is on her way, you say?”

“Yes,” Ahmed said quickly. “She has the code on a key chain and is flying to Ankara as we speak.”

“What schedule does she follow once there?”

Ahmed had questioned Saliha about this repeatedly until he was certain he knew every detail. “She will arrive late this afternoon and go to her mother’s house. I have the address. She will spend the night since she has a very long drive across eastern Turkey the next day. As soon as the rental agency opens she will pick up a car and be on her way. She takes different routes so as not to establish a pattern. I’ve insisted on that. She will cross the border around sunset tomorrow and make the transfer an hour or two later. She has done this many times before without incident.”

“There was no trouble with her?”

Ahmed paused, then said, “No, of course not.”

“Tell me.”

Ahmed licked his lips, then told Hamid what had happened, how much he’d had to promise to get her to go.

“She is not reliable this time; that is what you are telling me?”

“I . . . I think she is. She has always done what I’ve told her in the past.”

“This woman, she is your lover?”

“It seemed the best way to tie her to me.”

“Of course. And she is ugly so it has been a great sacrifice for you.”

“No . . . no, she is not unattractive, I admit.”

“It is vital this code gets through tomorrow night. The Zionist dogs and American infidels are trying to sabotage our program even as we sit here. We must make certain she is successful. You understand?”

“Yes. I can call her, tell her—”

Hamid raised his hand. “Don’t be any more foolish than you have already been. Call her? What will that accomplish? No, we must go to Turkey, make certain this happens. You understand?”

Ahmed nodded.

“Good. Collect your things.”

Wu leveled the SportCruiser LSA at 1,500 meters. He scanned the controls, then took in the vista all about them. Clear flying from here to Ankara, though they’d not arrive until after sunset. He would be landing in twilight so there was no margin for delay. His primary concern was a headwind, which would not only slow them but might require a stop for more fuel.

It was remarkable that the trail led back to Turkey of all places. He wondered if that was a good omen. Certainly expectations would be high for his success. While he had a strong signal he took out his cell phone and called his father, Mei Zedong in Beijing, who answered at once. Wu reported what had happened, leaving out the concierge.

“Turkey, you say? That is something. Fortune is with us. I’m giving you a number. This man is well connected. He can track cell phones, gather information, tell you almost anything you need to know. His tentacles are everywhere, and he is the one who wants these computers. You understand?”

Feng, Wu thought. From what Wu understood there was nothing in the world secret from Feng’s people. If something existed in a computer he could get it.

“I understand.”

“Take care.”

Wu waited an hour before calling Feng, time for his father to have reached him. When they spoke he gave him all the information he had—names, cell-phone numbers, addresses. “I will need everything you can get from this information if I am to recover those items for you.”

“You will have it before you land. Good hunting.”

At the Prague airport Ahmed and Hamid learned they had missed the earlier flights to Ankara. The next wasn’t until 5:25 that evening. Hamid booked it, then had Ahmed do the same. He didn’t want the records to show them traveling together. They’d changed planes in Munich and that was where the trouble began. During the wait, security flooded the waiting areas of the airport. Sniffer dogs were brought in. Passengers were told to stay where they were.

“What is going on?” Ahmed asked.

“It appears there has been a terrorist threat.”

“Not by us.”

Hamid looked askance at him. “Don’t ever say such things.”

The first phase of the delay lasted over an hour. Hamid watched the unfolding confusion with dismay. Though he anticipated their connecting flight was being held on the tarmac, this was eating into valuable time. They should have arrived in Ankara around midnight and at the girl’s location two hours later. That would have been ideal, to catch her in the dead of night. Now this.

“What will they do?” Ahmed asked more than once, feeling foolish but unable to help himself. Hamid had no way of knowing what was going to happen.

“Who can say? They will let us move on when they are ready.”

But instead of ending, the crisis only escalated. As the delay entered the third hour, the public-address system ordered everyone to exit the terminal. Every passenger was to reenter and clear security again. The passengers from Prague and other connecting cities were enraged. They’d been screened before boarding and had never left the secure area. Why should they be screened again?

But there was no reasoning with authorities, certainly not German ones. Hamid and Ahmed joined the wide column of passengers that spilled into the area beyond the X-ray machines and body searches.

“What is this about?” Ahmed asked someone, as if another passenger would know more than they did.

“ETA, I hear.” ETA was the Basque terrorist network. It typically bombed and shot Spanish police officers but from time to time it showed its reach by planting a bomb in a European city. Of all the nights for ETA to make such a ploy—this couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“ETA,” Ahmed told Hamid.

Why not?
Hamid thought.
But they have no finesse.

ANKARA

TURKEY

7:17 P.M. EET

S
aliha’s mother was delighted to see her as always. But not long after her daughter had arrived, she asked if anything was wrong. Saliha had never come back so quickly from a trip.

“You are nervous. What is it?”

There was no question of telling the truth. The burdens of her life were almost more than she could bear. To share her problems would be needlessly cruel, however. It was her duty to lift the load from her mother.

“I am just tired. And I have this for you.” She handed her all the money she would not need for the trip.

“So much? Can you afford this?”

“Yes, I can afford it. I had no time for gifts. But I’ll get them something before I come back in two or three days.”

“Your being here is all the gift we need. Rest. I will have dinner soon.”

As the girls played, frequently glancing at their older sister to be certain she was watching everything they did, Saliha thought about her situation again. Clearly, time had run out for her in Prague and with Ahmed. She’d never been so frightened as when the American had her. Her instincts told her he was a good man but he’d been a desperate one and even good men do terrible things when they must.

She wondered how his chase had ended. Had he found his wife? Was she alive? Unharmed? Then she smiled grimly. Was his story even true? Maybe he was a Mossad agent after all, or CIA. There was no way to tell with those people. They were crafty, able to fool you into thinking they were someone else. She’d heard the stories since she was a little girl, seen the Turkish television shows. She knew she’d been very lucky to escape and was proud of herself for taking the risk when the opportunity had presented itself.

As for Ahmed, perhaps it was best she not try to collect her final payment. He probably wouldn’t pay her anyway. Still, she didn’t like the idea of giving up on the money. She’d taken, was taking, enormous risks for it. And he’d threatened her. She didn’t like that. When a man treated her like that her instinct was to do the opposite.

So on the flight she’d considered not even delivering the thumb drive. Which was worse? Take it into Iran and hope Ahmed had not sent word ahead to have her arrested once she was across the border? Or throw it away and never return to Prague?

How many choices did she have? If she betrayed Ahmed, how far would he go to punish her? Would he find her in another country? She couldn’t dismiss the possibility. He was some kind of secret agent, he had contacts outside of Prague; if he made it his business to find her, could she hide well enough? And how long a memory would he have? Could she ever feel safe? What about her family?

Just how important was what she did? Would they want to kill her to keep her from telling anyone about it? Ahmed had kidnapped the woman and her husband. At least she was more inclined to accept that as truth. Wouldn’t he kill her? If not him, then others he knew.

She reviewed her options anew. She wasn’t going back to Prague. The city wasn’t big enough for her safety. Some of the girls she’d worked with were living in other cities in Europe—Rome, Paris, Berlin. She’d made no special effort to stay in touch but she had talked with two or three over the last few months. Better to visit one of them, get a small wardrobe, calm down, plan her next step. Yes, that was the better way.