“Security people are heading for the stairs,” said Rockman. “They don’t know yet where the gunfire was. Your nurse is coming back — up the corridor at the left side of the station.”
“Pinchon, bring him to the elevator,” said Lia, moving to the corner of the hallway. “Hit him with the Demerol and make sure he’s out.”
Lia saw the nurse running toward her in the comer mirror at the ceiling. She put her gun in her left hand, watching the woman with one eye and glancing down the hallway with the other. As the woman came around the corner, Lia threw her body around and kicked out the nurse’s legs. Then she leapt over her and smacked the back of the head, knocking her out.
“I’m sorry,” Lia said, making sure the woman was out.
The fire alarm began to sound.
“Security people are checking each floor,” said Rockman. “You have about three minutes, maybe a little more.”
The elevator was just arriving. Pinchon emerged from the room with Asad’s driver in his wheelchair. He sprinted down the hall with Reisler in pursuit. An old man appeared in the doorway of one of the rooms; Lia raised her pistol and shooed him back inside.
“Go! Go!” yelled Reisler.
Pinchon barreled into the elevator. Lia reached into the one next to them and released it. She bumped Reisler getting into the car with Pinchon. The doors closed. It seemed to take forever before the car started downward.
“Get the gown off!” Lia barked at Pinchon. “Go, come on.”
Pinchon was already fumbling with his clothes. Lia grabbed at the collar and helped, buttons popping as she pulled.
There was blood on the wheels. Lia took the gown and started sopping it up.
“Let me,” said Pinchon, dropping to his knees next to her. “You hide the guns.”
“There are two security people in the lobby,” warned Rockman. “They’re looking at the elevators now.”
Lia glanced at the panel. They’d just passed the second floor.
The driver of the Mercedes tapped nervously on the side of the door, keeping time to a song Dean couldn’t hear. Dean walked past him, making sure he was alone in the sedan.
“Charlie, they’re in the elevator,” said Rockman. “They need you — fast.”
“On my way,” said Dean, turning around. He walked to the Mercedes and rapped on the car window.
The driver glared at him, then reached for the door. The bodyguard had his pistol in his hand, but before he could even point it in the American’s direction, Dean put a bullet an inch and a half above his nose.
Lia stood behind Reisler and the wheelchair, holding the .22 down at her side as the doors to the elevator opened.
“Here we are now, almost home,” she said in Turkish, mimicking the translator’s accent as closely as possible as they started from the elevator. The security people glanced at her, then at the “patient” in the wheelchair. Lia saw from their eyes that they sensed something wasn’t right, but they weren’t quite sure what it was. She flicked her left hand behind her, keeping the pistol hidden.
“Dur!” said one of the guards. “Stop!”
In the next second, something exploded in the elevator — the small flash-bang grenade Lia had tossed a second before. Everyone dropped to the floor — except Lia, Reisler, and Pinchon, who began running for the door. Lia dropped two more small grenades — they were about the side of cigarette lighters — and a second loud explosion and bright flash rocked the lobby. Smoke spewed behind them.
Through the door, Lia turned to her left and started to run. A horn sounded to her right. She turned, and saw a Mercedes.
Charlie.
CHAPTER 23
Istanbul lay at the intersection of two continents; historically it was the crossroads of several great civilizations. For Tommy Karr, this meant one thing: great food.
And lots of it. He began with a plate of
“Almost seems a shame to bother them, huh?” Karr said to the waiter, picking up his fork. “Maybe I’ll just eat around them.”
“Tommy, can you talk?” asked Sandy Chafetz from the Art Room.
Karr waited for the server to leave, then prodded one of the fish. “You’re sure you’re dead, right? If I talk to you, will you answer?”
“Two cars have pulled up a block from Asad’s safe house,” said Chafetz. “Can you check them out?”
“On my way.” Karr rose, digging into his pocket for some Turkish bills.
The waiter came over immediately.
“I’m afraid I just realized I have another appointment and I’m a little late,” said Karr. “Think I could get the fish to go?”
CHAPTER 24
Asad bin Taysr welcomed Marid Dabir with a hearty hug, taking his arm to lead him into the small room where they could sit alone. It was his practice to show people he despised as much kindness as possible. It kept them off balance.
“I heard that you were injured,” Dabir said, gesturing at the bandage on Asad’s head. “I feared our meeting would be delayed.”
“It’s of no consequence. An unfortunate mishap.”
Asad offered his guest some of the water he had been drinking, along with a plate of Syrian figs. They sat next to each other on the couch in the Turk’s small room.
“It has been a long time,” Asad told his visitor. “Quite long.”
“Not of my own choosing.”
“The Sheik sends his blessings.”
Others might honor Asad by calling him “sheik,” but there was only one man in the world Asad would refer to by that name. Dabir knew instantly that he was referring to Osama bin Laden, and bowed his head.
Such a show, thought Asad. As if the man had no vanity or ambitions. But he wasn’t fooled.
Three years before, Marid Dabir had been as close to bin Laden as Asad. But Dabir’s ambitions to succeed the great leader had caused so much division among the al-Qaeda followers that finally the Sheik had given him tasks far from the leadership circle in Pakistan. Dabir, stubborn as always, went on his own initiative to Europe, settling in Germany and starting his own organization there. In doing so, he ignored the networks others had already established. It was rumored that he had done this elsewhere as well, though Germany was where he was based.
And now he was back in the Sheik’s good graces, an important part of the plan for the second offensive
