30 Pieces of Silver (36 page)

* * *

The floorboards creaked as Rebecca and Davidson followed the merchant, who beckoned them deeper into the warehouse. He seemed the witch luring Hansel and Gretel into her oven. Only it wasn’t candy he used as bait, but sparkling engagement rings. At the far end of the room, a case glittered with gold, silver, and platinum.

Davidson squeezed her hand. He was ready, but she wasn’t when a glint caught her eye. It took another second for her to realize it was a knife.

Rebecca didn’t have time to scream as it came stabbing toward her, but she didn’t need to. Davidson deflected the blade, then jammed his palm into the assailant’s nose. Blood splattered as the man’s nose cracked.

Another two men jumped from the shadows, blissfully unaware that Brandt and Svengurd were only seconds from crashing through the windows. In a shower of glass, the soldiers descended from the roof.

Rebecca almost felt sorry for the thugs. Sure they rolled tourists, but now they were up against the world’s best. Davidson shouted in Turkish for them to surrender, but they charged forward. Even the guy with a broken nose.

She squinted. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

Svengurd took out his man instantly, but Brandt’s had a gun. The sergeant used a chain as a whip, backing him off, then a well-placed blow to the trachea, brought Brandt’s assailant down. Three men in three seconds. It was a new record. The merchant tried to sneak out, but Davidson caught him.

“
Take me to your boss,” Brandt said as a fourth as-yet-unseen man threw a knife that sank into the sergeant’s thigh.

Without hesitation, he jerked the blade out, and with a fury she hadn’t seen before, Brandt went after him. Even though the thug had two knives, it was the sergeant who had the advantage. A slash flailed open the man’s chest. As blood gushed, the sergeant stabbed the man’s knee, dropping him.

The sergeant had the blade to his neck, glaring at the merchant. “I will ask one last time. Take us to your boss, or this will get very messy.”

The merchant’s eyes dilated to black. “
Ya. Ya
.”

With careful precision, Brandt drew the blade across the man’s throat. Rebecca gasped, but should have known better. The sergeant hadn’t cut the jugular, but simply left a bloody line in the skin. The street thug would be marked by this quest. As they all were.

CHAPTER 21

Turkish Market

Brandt watched Svengurd kick in the door, shoot the first person that came at him with the stolen forty-five caliber handgun, then plug the second guy in the arm, spinning him around. Not the reflexes of a traitor.

For the first time since the Budapest ambush, Brandt had hope that he was wrong about the corporal. Maybe the Knot really was just that lucky.

Davidson’s aim with a knife turned out to be as precise as his sniper rifle. The blade nailed the third bodyguard in his gun arm. The automatic weapon clattered to the floor.

So basically the only thing left for him to do was escort Rebecca into the room. Brandt had wanted to stash her with Lochum and Lopez, but time constraints overrode safety. They had to maintain the element of surprise.

“
Kim o kaba yap sen planya sen ol
?” the greasy boss asked.

“
I’m going to make your bottom line look very attractive,” Brandt answered as he unrolled a wad of hundreds. American hundreds.

The boss’ eyes darted to the cash, then to his downed men. He tried a slick move of pulling a hidden gun, but Svengurd already had a muzzle against his temple. The boss didn’t need to know they only had two more bullets.

Handing Rebecca off to Davidson, Brandt sat down opposite the man. “Fazil, you know who and what my team represents. I know who and what you represent, so why don’t we cut the crap and start bargaining.”

The boss yelled in Turkish at the merchant, who was too busy sobbing to answer. Brandt let this go on for a few moments, then kicked the desktop.

“
Are you ready, or would you like to be another man down?”

“
What does Special Forces want with one such as me?” the man pleaded, acting the small-time hustler rather than the medium-scale arms dealer he truly was. There wasn’t a month that Fazil’s name didn’t pop up on Interpol’s Middle East person-of-interest bulletin.

“
I need four automatic weapons, preferably American made, but we’ll take Israeli or German, but no Russian-issued, even specially modified. They need to have been field used, not just tested. Nothing off the assembly line. Five hundred rounds each, plus three side arms and one sniper rifle.”

Davidson added, “A Varmint A4, but if you can’t get one then a Bravo-51, but only if it comes with enhanced night-scope range.”

Fazil leaned back in his chair, spreading wide his arms. “Is that all?”

Brandt shook his head. “Actually we want a total of fifty grenades. Ten Flashbangs. Twenty concussives. The other thirty, whatever you’ve got in the warehouse.”

“
You cannot be serious, my friend.”

Svengurd cocked the gun as Brandt spoke. “Deadly.”

“
But…” Sweat trickled down the man’s double chin. “But you have an American consulate just down at the river, and your Air Force base is but a two-hour drive south.”

“
Look, since the IRA and Basque Separatists called cease-fires, you’ve got to be hurting. I know you won’t deal with the jihadists, so your business has been drying up. Just take our cash and look the other way.”

Fazil leaned forward, cupping his hands on the stained desk calendar. “Then you must look. How do I know this is not a sting operation? How do I know you are not working with Interpol?”

Brandt shrugged. “I guess the only way to prove it is to kill you and move onto our next supplier.”

The man’s flushed cheeks blew in and out as he weighed the risks and gains of the proposal. “Those others will charge you twice as much,” he finally said. “And then tell al- Qaida exactly where you are.”

That was more like it
, Brandt thought.

Time to start haggling.

* * *

Lochum fidgeted in the backseat of the Audi. Why had Rebecca been included in this outing while he languished, being babysat by Lopez? The Latino leaned back in his seat, reading a map of Istanbul. He had paid a child on the street ten American dollars when it was worth less than two cents. Lochum did not like the man’s attitude or his three-days-without-a-shower odor.

“
What did I tell you about the door handle?” Lopez asked as he eyed the professor in the rearview mirror.

He had not even realized that his hand was upon the metal latch until the soldier said something. His claustrophobia was acting up. The air was stale inside the car, but Lopez refused to open the windows. They were trapped in this glass and steel box.

“
Brandt gave me permission to put you in the trunk, dude.”

With reluctance, Lochum laid his hands in his lap. He could not be sure Brandt had not given that order and that Lopez would not carry it out. But the corporal opened the trunk anyway.

“
I have done as you asked!” he said, too high-pitched for even his ear, but he feared Lopez was making good on his threat.

“
Don’t pop an aneurism. They’re back.”

The sound of a bag being thrown into the trunk proved the swarthy man correct. The passenger doors opened, and the rest of the team tumbled in, almost jubilant. Davidson was all smiles and even Brandt’s black eye seemed less black. Svengurd passed off a handful of weapons to Lopez.

“
Oh, yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Come to Papa!”

Lochum was not quite sure where the corporal was stashing them, but the guns disappeared instantaneously. Rebecca slid into the seat beside him, equally happy. Somehow she had changed out of the classic skirt and blouse outfit he had picked out and was now in chinos and some knock-off Juicy Couture T-shirt. He knew he never should have let her out of his sight.

Brandt turned around, but when Lochum went to interrupt, the sergeant did the strangest thing. He smiled. A full ear-to-ear smile.

“
My dear Dr. Archibald Lochum, where is it that my team and I can take you and your esteemed colleague, Dr. Monroe?”

Lochum had to swallow his argument. “The Hagia Sophia would be quite appreciated, Sergeant.”

“
Lopez, you heard the man. The Church of Wisdom.”

Everyone was thrown back as Lopez laid down rubber skidding out of the parking space. Lochum did not know what had happened in the warehouse, but it certainly seemed to invigorate them all.

Which was quite good. For what he planned would take all their skill, whether they wanted to give it or not.

* * *

Rebecca found it odd that they were all sitting at the rooftop café of the Blue Hotel, having a seemingly carefree brunch. The place was crammed with both locals and tourists. A couple from Sweden pored over a map of the city, while a large family from The Philippines tried to ask directions to the Royal Palace from their waitress. Excitement filled the air as everyone made plans for their day under the warm Istanbul sun.

With all the men’s injuries, her group certainly never could have passed for casual tourists, so Davidson had gotten creative with their covers. He transformed his team of commandos into a heavy metal band, sightseeing before their gig tonight. At first she had been skeptical about the idea. These guys looked nothing like a band, until she saw the result.

Rebecca grinned as she realized Brandt could pull off heavy eyeliner as well as he did a leather skirt. His black eye was covered by makeup, but his split lip had been accentuated by lip liner. He proudly wore a bloody bandage over his thigh where the knife wound was, but given the rest of his apparel it just looked like part of his wardrobe.

There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind. He was the lead guitarist.

Clearly Svengurd was the band’s bassist, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that contrasted nicely with his spiked, stark blond hair. Lopez was the archetypical drummer. He had that energy about him that spelled an early death. Davidson was the perfect geeky keyboardist.

Much to Lochum’s consternation, Rebecca had been transformed into their Gothlike lead singer. Given the fact she almost never wore makeup, the three layers of mascara and black lipstick felt awkward, but when Rebecca looked in the mirror, she had to agree that she was ready for the stage.

Given how beat-up they looked, a hungover, road-weary metal band turned out to be the perfect cover. Sure they attracted more attention in their flashy garb, but strangely people actually paid them less heed. Before, when they made their way to the hotel as a collection of five men and one woman, people would give them second and even third looks trying to figure out the dynamic. Were the men gay, and she their beard bride? Was Lochum the father? You could see the questions in their eyes.

Now, however, passersby surveyed them, realized they were a band, and then moved on without another thought. Rebecca had never really understood the concept of hiding in plain sight before, since most of what she sought had been diligently hidden, but now she got it.

The professor was the only holdout. He refused to don any clothing that might be considered hip, but didn’t every band need an uptight manager? To this Lochum filled his role perfectly in his button-down Etro shirt and perfectly pleated slacks.

When Brandt laid out his plan to complete some reconnaissance before entering the Hagia Sophia, the professor had thrown a tantrum loud enough to impress a hypoglycemic five-year-old, but once the food arrived he quietly indulged in a slice of pistachio baklava.

The other men had ordered heartier courses. Brandt dove into a serving of
lahmajan
, a type of lamb potpie. Davidson had gone heavy into the sweets. Name the pastry, and the private sucked them down. Right now he slathered sour cherry preserves over an already heavily sweetened Turkish almond cookie.

But Lopez and Svengurd were going head-to-head for the gluttony award. Between them was a pile of dishes heaped with Turkish specialties. Soujouk sausage with shredded potatoes filled one platter, while another was piled high with
manti
, a type of beef-stuffed pasta. The third held over a dozen skewers of chicken kabobs. The last plate seemed to have a combination of all the meats along with all the breads and all the spices they had seen down in the Bazaar. This one appeared to be the favorite.

“
This food rocks,” Lopez slurred between bites. “Two thumbs up.”

The other men heartily agreed as they shoved in another mouthful. She shook her head and went back to her own
acma
bread. Nearly a croissant, the
acma
pastry had a heavier, muskier flavor which she wasn’t too fond of, but the
kashkaval
cheese more than made up for any taste deficit. This cheese had been made from sheep’s milk, then aged ninety days to pure perfection. Served with cinnamon
salep
, a light tea drizzled with honey, this was the best breakfast she’d had in months.