The Istanbul Puzzle (26 page)

‘I can tell you his name, if you want,’ I said.

Seconds later, there was a metallic click from the gate. I pushed at it. It opened. The curved roof and walls of the passage beyond were constructed from centuries-old brown bricks. As the gate closed behind us, the light grew dim for a moment.

‘Welcome to St George’s,’ said a disembodied woman’s voice. Lights embedded in the wall lit up. They were blue, tiny, and ran in two inch-apart lines. They drew my eye to the far end of the passageway.

As we walked on I saw the wall on our left was no longer brick. It was made of smoky glass. I could see something moving beyond the glass too. A woman in a long alabaster dress was walking parallel to us. It felt weird, as if we were being shadowed. I stopped. So did Isabel. So did the woman on the other side of the glass.

I’d heard of apartment buildings with electronic concierges, but this was the first time I’d seen one. We’d stepped into a private world of privilege.

‘Follow me,’ the woman’s voice said. She smiled through the glass, turned and walked on. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed she was smiling at me.

‘This isn’t your average crash pad,’ I said.

The door at the far end slid open with a low shusssh, revealing an enclosed circular courtyard that must have been a hundred feet wide, with tiers of reflecting windows in rows above us, and unmarked cream doors at the main compass points.

I looked up. The building surrounding us had six storeys. High above, a white roof like a spider’s web separated us from the sky. A square, smoky glass pillar about six foot high stood in the centre of the courtyard. The pillar had the same blue lights around it as the wall in the passageway.

Isabel led the way, walking briskly. When we’d got about halfway towards the pillar, our feet crunching softly on white gravel, I heard the voice of the concierge woman again.

‘You may view information about this building here. Please say ‘yes’ as you pass, if you would like to know more.’

As we approached the pillar I said yes.

Isabel turned and rolled her eyes.

The blue lights dimmed and became an embedded video screen. A scene of dark water close up, a lake in winter, played on it.

‘The first recorded use of this site was as a temple to pre-Christian gods – nature deities,’ said the voice. ‘The foundations of a man-made pool were uncovered here when the complex was being constructed. Because of this, water pools are a feature in each building.’

Isabel passed the pillar without looking at it and walked down the path to the right, towards the doorway at the end.

As I passed the pillar, the video changed. A hand holding a black-hilted sword appeared out of the water, dripping. I slowed to look at it.

‘Before the first Christian church was constructed in the early 6th century nearby, where St Paul’s is today, there was a temple to the goddess Diana, the huntress, on that site. When the time is right, so the legend says, when he is needed, the once and future King will again come to prominence in this area.’ There was a brief pause. ‘To learn more about this site please say ‘yes’.’

I didn’t say anything. The water scene disappeared. The square pillar became a pillar again.

‘They really overdid the marketing hype here,’ said Isabel, as I came up beside her. ‘Only a few of the apartments have been sold, you know. I think Peter still has this whole building to himself.’ She pressed a silver button on the wall by the cream door. I could feel anticipation rising within me.

The door slid open, to reveal a long, dazzlingly-white, high-ceilinged foyer. Along the walls, on each side, there were four six-foot-high stones that looked as if they’d been brought straight from Stonehenge.

We walked inside. The door behind us shushed closed. At the far end of the foyer were lift doors and an opening that appeared to be a stairway heading down.

An aluminium sculpture, a criss-cross of wires, was suspended inches above a pool of dark water, which dominated the centre of the foyer. At the end of the pool was a cream reception desk, with a man standing behind it.

This was a real show-off space, a way to tell people you could afford all this, just to make your entrance look interesting.

The guy behind the desk was bald and was wearing a tight black short-sleeved T-shirt. He had the physique of a bodybuilder who’d been overdoing the steroids. His skull was slightly elongated at the back. And he looked familiar. Then he raised a hand, motioned us forward.

‘Come,’ he said, in an accent so rough it seemed loaded with gravel. I had no idea where he came from. Eastern Europe, maybe the Middle East.

We passed the pool.

‘Peter is not available,’ said the man, as we came closer to him.

He was looking at us as if we were interlopers trying to gain entry into his high-class nightclub. His head was down, his chin low, his gaze moving between us restlessly.

We stopped a few feet from him. I wasn’t just being paranoid. This guy gave me the creeps.

‘You are?’ said Isabel. She sounded suspicious. ‘I thought this place didn’t have any security staff yet.’

The guard looked at her. His face twisted into a sneer. There was definitely something wrong.

‘Is Peter here?’ I said.

‘I told you, he will not see you. You can email him, make an appointment. Now you must go.’

‘This is a national security matter,’ said Isabel curtly. ‘I need to see him now. You have no authority to prevent me from going up to him.’ She pulled an identity card from her pocket and held it out in front of her.

Then she started for the lifts.

I moved between Isabel and the guard. If he was going to try and stop her, he’d have to go through me first. He turned and raised his hand to the side, as if he was a bus conductor trying to stop people from getting on a bus.

‘This is your last warning,’ he said. ‘You will stop now or you’ll be considered intruders.’

He moved swiftly from behind his desk. I had a sudden sinking feeling. He was holding a black metal truncheon in his left hand. There was an electric blue glow at its tip.

The screen on Henry’s left showed the exterior of a Turkish Ministry of Public Health laboratory. Henry was waiting for an official courier to appear. The man would be carrying a signed and stamped report from the forensic pathologist, Dr Illiyc, who worked on the building’s third floor.

The practice of hand delivering pathology reports of special significance dated back to an earlier period, but was still in use, despite the availability of computer networks that could transmit the information in nanoseconds. There were still cases where a state prosecutor, senior police inspector or government department simply didn’t want a report transmitted electronically.

The practice was limited now, used in very special cases only.

This was such a case. The forensic pathology report for a new plague victim, an ambulance driver who had been within feet of a victim, and in his community for the last two days, had just been completed. What Henry needed to know was if this driver had died from the new plague virus too.

Because if he had the Turks were going to have to quarantine a lot more people. Otherwise, this virus was going to spread like fire in a tinder-dry forest.

I felt stupid. Real stupid. Of course he’d be armed. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Isabel turned and clasped her hands in front of her.

She was pointing something that looked like a gun at the guard. It was a gun.

‘Stop now. Put your hands above your head,’ she shouted.

The guard grinned.

The end of the device he was pointing at me was glowing brightly. It did not look pleasant. I wasn’t scared though. I was angry.

Then, one of the elevator doors behind Isabel opened soundlessly and I struggled to grasp what I was seeing: it was Peter, holding another of the blue-tipped devices. The gears in my mind turned slowly. This would be no polite confrontation. He was a traitor. He could do anything now.

He stepped out of the elevator. My mouth opened to warn Isabel, but as her name came out, an arc of blue lightning reached from Peter to her, and she crumpled like a rag doll, twitching spasmodically as the blue light flickered around her like ball lightning.

Peter was smiling. The bastard!

Isabel was jerking, as if she was having an epileptic fit. Her gun fell from her hand. I did the only thing I could think of.

I raced towards the security guard, my fists up. If I could only knock that taser from his grip.

He must have heard my thoughts, because he lifted the taser just at that moment. A blue flash filled the air.

And all my thoughts disintegrated. There was just pain. Muscles contracting. Cramps. Shock.

Then I was lying on my back, jerking, stabs of agony piercing me. The taser had turned my muscles into burning jelly.

I heard voices, felt my legs move. Someone was binding them together! I tried to kick out to stop them. Instead I jerked convulsively, my muscles cramping. Dread raced through me. What was going to happen?

I felt hands turning me on my side. I saw Peter wrapping black tape around Isabel’s arms, pinning them behind her back. She was mouthing something I couldn’t hear. Then I was pushed over. I couldn’t see her any more.

‘You deserve your fate,’ said a man’s voice. My arms were being taped. I was being dragged by my feet, my muscles still jerking. Where was he taking me?

To the pool!

I made a desperate attempt to kick my assailant. But my foot just jerked in the air again. And before I could think of what else to do, I was at the edge of the pool. The water had a sickly, ozoney odour.

‘You do it, Peter,’ said a gravelly voice.

‘I will.’ Peter’s voice was firm, as if he was agreeing to make tea.

I turned my head. Hatred boiled inside me. How could that bastard have betrayed Isabel like this? He must have been in on Alek’s death. I wanted to knock the smug expression right off his face.

But he was standing over me, looking down at me. And I was all trussed up.

‘You should have drowned under Hagia Sophia,’ said Peter. ‘Now you will drown here.’

Like being in a car crash, time slowed. I knew what was coming, knew it was going to be bad, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

He put a sticky plastic tape over my mouth. I could taste the glue. I tried to jerk again, but my head dropped back on to the marble floor. I actually saw stars. Then I opened my eyes. The ceiling seemed strangely near. I was breathing way too fast, through my nostrils. My chest was heaving in and out.

I could feel the edge of the pool against my left shoulder. I needed to roll back. I turned my head. The rest of my body wouldn’t respond. Then it jerked. Then it stopped.

I looked around, wildly. My eyes weren’t focusing properly. Then I saw Isabel was on the ground, trussed up near the desk. She was staring at me. Her eyes were wide and wild. She had black masking tape over her mouth too. Her body had stopped jerking. I saw horror in her eyes. She knew what was about to happen.

My head turned again. All I could see was the glistening blackness of the water, a great beast with a dark mouth waiting for me.

The initial effect of the taser shock had almost worn off. My muscles had stopped jerking. But with my hands pinned behind me, and my legs strapped together with tape, and someone pushing me in the side, all I could do was jerk spasmodically. And I did, even as my body turned slowly towards the water.

And then a vision filled my mind. My body lying on a shelf in a morgue, the way I’d found Alek, cold, blue-veined. I tried to shout, scream, plead. Then I stopped. There isn’t much you can scream with tape over your mouth.

‘You should have stayed away,’ said Peter, bending down over me. The next push he gave would send me into the water. ‘You should have given up. I warned you.’

I breathed hard through my nose, filling my lungs. Then again. Peter smiled at me. I looked away. I could feel the dark presence of the water.

I turned my head. Isabel had rolled on her side. Our eyes met. Her expression said
I’ll get the bastards if I can
.

‘Do it,’ came a voice. Not Peter’s. ‘We have to go down.’

He pushed me. I tumbled over.

There was an enveloping splash as I fell into the freezing black water. Terror raced through me. I shook and rolled until I didn’t know which way was up. All I knew was a mind numbing fear.

The icy water closed over me like a door and I sank into a grave-like darkness. And I still hadn’t found out why Alek had died. What had he seen that he had to be killed for? That I had to be killed for?

There was a rumour going around London that afternoon. It quickly became a trending topic on Twitter. A man, whose sister was a Special Constable, had told his fellow drinkers in a bar at lunchtime that all police leave had been cancelled that day.

It had something to do with the demo at St Paul’s.

The authorities were right to be nervous.

MI5’s A4 London security team was at that time actively tracking one hundred and twenty-four known high-category terrorists, including twelve far-right targets. On the ground, officers had orders to shoot on sight, if any suspect they were monitoring was believed to be a grave danger to the public.

Such blanket orders were given only a few times a year, when there was a credible threat to large numbers of people.

The BBC News site recorded an all-time record ten million page requests per second at 4.27 PM, when an article about the size of the demonstration near St Paul’s went online.

The article speculated on the significance of the event.

‘You really shouldn’t have brought him with you, Isabel,’ said Peter loudly.

Malach pushed Isabel roughly down the last few stairs. She stumbled, almost fell.

‘I warned you, but of course you wouldn’t listen. You could have stayed in Istanbul, like I told you to, but oh no, you know better. Well, there’s nothing I can do for you now – or for him, so don’t beg.’

‘You are some sick bastard,’ shouted Isabel. Her voice was trembling.

‘My, my, you weren’t growing close to him, were you?’ said Peter. He shook his head. ‘How very unprofessional of you.’

Malach pushed her forward at the bottom of the stairs. Isabel stumbled again, then steadied herself. They’d tied her hands behind her back, but her legs were free. She was able to walk, though the prospect of falling was ever present as she couldn’t reach out to hold onto anything.

The passage ahead was lit by recessed lighting. About fifty feet ahead, it ended at a stainless steel door.

When they reached the steel door, Peter punched a code into a panel set into the wall beside it. The doors slid open. Malach pushed Isabel forward. There was a strong smell of polish, as if the elevator they were in had recently been cleaned.

It moved down with a barely audible whuuussh.

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ said Peter. ‘If you’ve got the right codes, you can go anywhere.’

He looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry we had to leave Sean to die, my dear, but it should be over now. At least it was quick. Well – relatively quick.’