Another window opened up showing the back of the truck where the group under electronic surveillance milled about.
'Are we getting digital images?' Samantha asked.
'Every time I get a face,' another of the women said. 'I've got fourteen so far.'
'Excellent job. Thank you.'
'Yes, ma'am.' The young woman kept working, efficiently alternating between the mouse and the keyboard.
The computers instantly shot every scrap of information the team gathered to a secure holding area. Nothing remained on the machines operating Room 59.
Samantha continued studying the windows. Reading the body language of the men, the way they reacted to one another within the group, it became easy to tell who was with whom.
At that point Epsilon, which had a better straight-ahead view of the back of the truck, revealed the cargo.
'Freeze Epsilon,' Samantha ordered.
The image suspended.
'Can you magnify that?' Samantha walked to the pull-down screen and studied the image more closely. She could almost make out the image with her naked eye.
'Magnifying.'
'Can you clean up the image?'
'Somewhat.'
'Please do so.' Samantha remained conscious of the time passing, but if she was right about the item in the image, they'd made a significant — and unexpected — find. 'Is Red Team in place?'
'Red is in place,' a strong male voice answered in her earpiece.
Samantha couldn't immediately identify the agent. The possibility existed that she'd never worked with him. Room 59 was set up that way. Only Kate knew who all the players involved in an op were; she put the teams together.
'Good to have you, Red.'
'Affirmative. Good to be here. The troop size looks bigger than what we were told to expect.'
'Yes.'
'The backup plan is to destroy the contraband, not confiscate it. We are locked and loaded,' he said.
'Wait for my go, Red. We have an unexpected problem.'
'Affirmative. Red on standby. Can you identify the problem?'
'The cargo isn't drugs,' Samantha answered. 'It's ordnance. Destruction of the contraband isn't going to be possible at this point.'
The image on the wall screen smoothed out and clearly showed an M-4 assault rifle. That, Samantha knew, was an American-made weapon.
'Does someone want to tell me how the Yanks lost a truck full of weapons?' Samantha asked.
No one had an immediate answer.
6
Ajza stared at the M-4 assault rifle in Hasan's hands. A shipment of drugs presented one problem. Customers only got harmed one at a time, and most of the time using the drug didn't leave anyone dead.
Guns killed a lot of people at one time.
And the crates in the back of the truck promised to hold a lot of guns.
Mustafa smiled.
'You see?' Hasan asked. 'My good fortune is now yours.'
Ajza knew that Mustafa had a buyer somewhere. If that was the case, he planned to get something back for his trouble. His group was already well equipped. They didn't need the guns.
So who did?
'You are satisfied?' Hasan asked Mustafa. 'That they are all here and in good shape?'
'I am. You would not betray me, Hasan.'
That was true, Ajza knew. If Hasan did, Mustafa would kill him. Mustafa would have no choice. As a broker and dealer in Istanbul, he couldn't afford to let anyone get the better of him.
For the first time, Ajza regretted not having a wire or a radio on her person. Someone back at Home Office needed to know about this. The Americans needed to know about this.
Hasan jumped from the back of the truck and closed the door. 'Then our business here is done, Mustafa. May your path prove fruitful.'
'And yours.'
Hasan and his group walked toward the harbor.
'Now,' Mustafa said as he turned to his men, 'who can drive this truck?'
The men looked at one another. Most of them didn't drive. They'd lived in the city all their lives and seldom went anywhere they couldn't walk. Cars were too expensive, and the Turkish authorities kept track of vehicles.
'I can.' Radiating arrogance, Fikret strode to the truck, opened the door and pulled himself up into the cab.
Ajza watched helplessly, uncertain what to do. Mustafa wouldn't let them know where the weapons were going. He maintained his secrets from the rest of the group. Once those weapons disappeared, she wouldn't know where they were.
Fikret started the truck. The big engine rumbled and Fikret smiled broadly at the others. However, Ajza could tell that the revs were too high.
When Fikret let out the clutch too quickly, the truck lurched forward, snorted belligerently and died with a shudder. He tried twice more, and the results didn't change.
'It's this truck.' Fikret banged the steering wheel with a big fist. 'It is an abominable beast. There is something wrong with it.'
Mustafa wasn't happy. 'There's nothing wrong with the truck.'
'There is, I tell you.' For the moment in his embarrassment, Fikret had forgotten himself. But he recalled his station almost immediately. His face blanched. 'Forgive me. I spoke in haste.'
Mustafa turned back to face the others. 'Can anyone drive this truck?'
Heart beating too fast, Ajza stepped forward. 'I can.' Her pulse throbbed in her neck and at her temple.
'You?' Mustafa studied her with hard eyes.
'Yes.' Ajza had been among them for almost three months. She'd gotten in as a thief, run afoul of one of Mustafa's operations and sold her services to him. The chauvinistic culture of Turkey precluded women from holding many positions of importance in the community, but crime was an equal-opportunity employer. Mustafa recognized that women's capabilities — in some areas — outdid men's. That line of thinking had placed Ajza in the op in the first place.
A woman's ability to drive a truck, however, obviously hadn't occurred to him.
'I learned to drive my father's truck,' Ajza said. That was almost the truth. Her father had taught her to drive, but that was in Leicester, not in one of the towns along the Syrian border as she'd claimed. 'He had no sons. What he needed done when he could not, I did.'
Mustafa still stared at her.
'Perhaps letting her try would not be so bad,' Nazmi suggested. 'Surely she can do no worse than Fikret. And we can't leave the truck sitting here.'
Fikret cursed Nazmi from the truck cab. This only made the other men laugh.
Mustafa gestured toward the truck. 'Go.'
Ajza climbed onto the running board and opened the door. Fikret didn't relinquish the wheel. He glared at her and breathed his sour breath over her.
'Let her drive,' Mustafa commanded.
