The sandwich, like the computer time, was an extravagance. The cybercafé’s food prices were high, but most people in Bucharest did not own computers. A lot of them did, however, own curiosity about the Internet and were willing to pay for the chance to learn about it.
All of the tables were taken. Lizuca had experienced a two-hour wait before one of the computers freed up. The décor was simple: garish neon lights twisted into a circuitry pattern and posters of American movies featuring cutting-edge computer technology. The Matrix shared space with Johnny Mnemonic and all three Terminator movies. Models of spacecraft, past and present, hung from the ceiling from thin monofilaments.
Before she’d gotten the job at OneWorld NewsNet, Lizuca had saved her tips from serving and some of each paycheck as a maid in
one of the big chain hotels to spend time on the computers. She’d known she was preparing herself for another job and that it would take the skills she learned while surfing the Internet to get that job. But she’d also known that her mother would have scolded her for being so foolish with her money all the same. There were too many mouths to feed, and the computer time would have been viewed as a waste.
At the time, Lizuca had felt guilty about her once-a-week indulgence. She’d only allowed herself two hours a week. Any more than that and the guilt would have been too much to bear.
She watched the search function she was using as it crawled through OneWorld NewsNet’s video and stills archives. If Danielle thought that a picture or information about the man in the photograph she’d sent might exist there, Lizuca was willing to bet that it did.
She took another small bite of the sandwich, relishing the smoky taste of the grilled Gouda cheese. She tried not to feel guilty, but she did. Not only could she not afford to eat like this, she couldn’t afford the high calories either. Her mother would be all over her about her spending habits as well as her chances of some day attracting a husband.
Lizuca wanted to go to the United States. She’d seen so much of the country in the films she watched. She thought that it must be wonderful to live there, to have so many opportunities for a career, for friends, and—yes—for a husband. Personally, she preferred the lean-hipped young men in the American jeans commercials.
Working with Danielle Vinchenzo, Lizuca felt certain, would provide her with that chance. That was why she was willing to undertake the risks she was now taking.
The program she used now was a variant on a hacker’s packet sniffer. The utility was like a bloodhound, searching for bytes that corresponded with the bytes in the digital picture from Danielle.
Staring at the screen, Lizuca suddenly became aware of a figure standing just over her shoulder. Reflected in the computer monitor’s screen, the man wore a black hoodie and wind pants. He kept his hands tucked in the front pocket of the hoodie.
Fear rattled through Lizuca, freezing her in place like a mouse in an owl’s gaze. She didn’t know what had brought the fear on, but the feeling was a primeval thing that wouldn’t be denied.
Wraparound sunglasses hid the man’s eyes under the shadow of the hoodie, but his lower face was revealed enough so that she was certain he was handsome and that he was someone she had never met before.
“Lizuca Carutasu,” he said softly.
Unable to speak, Lizuca turned to face him. Her heart hammered in her chest. What was it about the man that made her so afraid? She didn’t know.
Casually, he took his left hand from the hoodie pocket and flipped his hand over. Lizuca saw a picture inside a plastic pocket protector wrapped around his wrist. It was a copy of the one she wore on her OneWorld NewsNet ID every day. There was only one place he could have gotten that picture.
Adrenaline flooded Lizuca’s body even before the man drew the silenced pistol from his hoodie with his other hand. She stood and shoved herself out into the aisle between the tables, knocking over drinks and spilling food trays as she went.
Turning the corner at the end of the counter, Lizuca aimed herself at the door to the kitchen area, thinking she might at least have a chance if she could only make it to the alley.
The other café patrons must have noticed the man with the pistol then because they all yelled and screamed and started to scatter as he ran after her in a long, easy stride. He moved confidently, casually, like chasing someone down to kill was something he did every day.
The exit door had a shiny metal surface, so Lizuca saw herself running toward it. She also saw the elongated form of the man standing behind her, drawing the silencer-equipped pistol up smooth and steady. She reached for the door, mewling in fear.
Then something slammed into the back of her neck. Bright red blood sprinkled the metal surface of the door. She couldn’t breathe and her legs turned leaden. She managed one more step, then a blow caught her in the back of the head and hurled her face first into the door. Surprisingly, she felt no pain, but she had no strength left either.
Two more blows struck her as she slid toward the floor. She was gone before her body hit the tiles.
19
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1324 Hours
The fire raged out of control, twisting through the guts of the building near Sanliurfa’s downtown sector. Flames licked outside broken windows like the tongues of maddened and hungry beasts knowing they were on the verge of breaking out of the cage that held them. Black smoke stained the sky, looking like loose stitches in a blue funeral shroud.
As the private driving the Hummer rolled the vehicle
