Another section opened up on the screen. Footage of the grappling move filled the space.
‘Enhance that,’ Dawson ordered.
The image magnified.
Dawson immediately recognized the hold. ‘She knows martial arts. Plus she’s not looking out for the police, which makes me think she’s not wanted in Turkey at least. She’s good at close-contact work. She’s cool under fire. C’mon, people, we’re looking for someone on a short list somewhere. Someone this good, someone female, can’t be that hard to find. She’s got to be a pro.’
Onscreen, the two pursuers on the ground weren’t getting up. Blood soaked the front of their shirts and pants.
Idiots! Dawson thought. They didn’t even wear Kevlar. Of course, no one had had any reason to expect what had taken place. It was supposed to be a simple pick up, not a fire fight. He focused on the SUV fleeing down the street.
‘Can you get the car registration?’ Dawson asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Another section of the wallscreen opened up and showed an image of the SUV’s rear. The magnification increased steadily until the number could be read.
‘Who owns that vehicle?’ Dawson asked.
‘Checking now, sir.’
Furious, Dawson paced the floor. He felt for his cellphone inside his jacket just over his heart. He resisted the impulse to see if his supervisor had called. The phone was set to vibrate not ring so only he would know a call was coming through. He stopped himself from pulling the phone out. He would have known if it had rung. For the last eight years, he’d been aware of the instrument and how closely it tied into his rapid advancement.
‘The SUV’s licensed to a messenger and courier service in Istanbul,’ one of the technicians said. ‘Strait Messengers. They’re located near the Galata Bridge in the Eminonu District.’
Dawson didn’t know where the Galata Bridge was or how many districts there were in Istanbul. All that mattered was that his people could find the location.
He paced the floor some more, weighing his options. He refused to panic. His mentor hadn’t chosen him because he froze under pressure.
‘Get the address to Red Team,’ Dawson said. ‘If this vehicle wasn’t stolen and those people kidnapped Lourds, they may take him there. And if they don’t, someone there may still know where the professor is. Tell them to find Lourds for me, or find someone who knows where he is.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Angrily, Dawson raked his gaze over the images of the woman, the dead men and the fleeing SUV. He was behind in the chase, but he wasn’t out of it.
His phone vibrated over his heart. He took it out before it could vibrate again and answered, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Jimmy,’ the smooth, cultured voice said, ‘I’m in my office watching the news, putting together my notes for the Middle East conference coming up. CNN just came on with a breaking story about Professor Thomas Lourds being involved in a shooting at Ataturk International Airport.’
‘Yes, sir. We’ve got eyes on the situation.’
‘Nowhere in Professor Lourds’ background did I see that he had any military training or connections with the Turkish army. Or any army.’
‘No, sir, but he was an Eagle Scout.’
‘I suppose that would be helpful if he needed to start a fire, work out which way north was or help someone across the street.’
‘Some Eagle Scouts are trained to shoot, sir.’
‘I’m fairly confident that such a background wouldn’t enable Professor Lourds to evade the men you sent after him.’
Dawson’s face grew hot. ‘No, sir.’
‘You wouldn’t have sent someone who would heavy-handedly take him in a frontal assault. From the looks of things on CNN, there are a lot of wounded and possibly some dead people at that airport.’ Although the man’s words were damning, the flat New Hampshire accent remained even. ‘In short, this is an international incident. Was this your plan?’
‘No, sir. This was not in the plan. It happened in reaction to an outside party we didn’t know was in play. Things escalated when that outside party took Lourds before we could get to him. We tried to get him back. Those shooters won’t tie back to the Agency or to your office.’
‘That’s good to hear, Jimmy. Really fine. But it appears you’ve lost Professor Lourds.’
Dawson stared at the rear view of the fleeing SUV. ‘Not yet, sir. We’ve identified the people who took the professor. We’re going after them.’
‘All right, then. You’re showing initiative. That’s what I like to hear. You’ve always been a man I could trust to get results.’
Pride swelled Dawson’s chest.
‘As I told you earlier, Jimmy, this business is important. Vastly important. I would like very much to speak with Professor Lourds some time in the near future.’
‘You will, sir.’
‘Then I’ll leave this in your capable hands. Get back to me when you’ve got this thing sewn up.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Vice-President.’ The click of the broken connection sounded in Dawson’s ear. He returned the phone to his pocket.
‘Sir,’ one of the technicians said.
Without turning back to face them, Dawson said, ‘This had better be good news.’
‘We’ve identified the woman.’
Dawson stared at the woman’s image on the wallscreen. ‘Tell me.’
‘She’s a member of the Irish Republican Army. Allegedly.’
That, Dawson decided, didn’t make any sense at all. Why would the IRA be involved in this?
‘We’ve got a helicopter team in the area, right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Get them in the air. Feed them the information about the SUV and let them find it.’ Dawson forced himself to let out a breath. Maybe the op was running a little hot, but it was still going to be over in a few more minutes.
Feneryolu Cd
Yesilkoy District
Istanbul, Turkey
15 March 2010
Rubber shrieked and the SUV’s transmission strained. Lourds could hear the scream of abused metal beneath his position on the vehicle’s floor. His stomach twisted as the SUV lurched and seemed to go airborne for a moment. His head slammed into the floor, then into the metal seat anchors ahead of him. He tasted blood from his split lip. Horns blared all around them.
The man in the front passenger seat swore in Farsi. The driver was asking for divine guidance in the same tongue. The hulking brute with the shot-off ear laughed in a deep rumble.
Unable to see her, Lourds didn’t know what Kristine was doing. He lifted his head and wiped blood from his mouth. Crimson stained his fingers.
Someone, and he was fairly certain it was Kristine, kicked him in the head.
‘Look out!’ one of the men yelled.
‘I see it!’ the driver yelled back.
The SUV jarred violently, shuddered almost to a stop, then – with a lurch and a whirlwind of screaming metal – the vehicle continued more or less on its way.
The hulking man reloaded his machine pistol with practised ease. He was either stoned on something or had a death wish, Lourds decided.
‘Bleeding wankers,’ Kristine said in disgust. This time Lourds detected the Irish lilt in her voice. She’d obviously been hiding that, too, while pretending to be the awe-struck fan.
Lourds squirmed a little and struggled to move, to bring the woman into view.
Kristine leaned over the back seat for a moment, then returned with a pistol in her fist. She snapped off the safety and worked the pistol with obvious familiarity.
The hulking man stopped laughing.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Kristine demanded.
‘Of course,’ the man in the passenger seat said. ‘Everything is going according to plan.’
‘Really?’ Kristine’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
This was no kid, Lourds realized. She wasn’t at all what he’d thought she was. He wondered how old she really was. She looked about nineteen, but that made him wonder how she could have learned all she’d done today in such a short lifetime. Lourds guessed she was in her mid-twenties at the latest. She had a definite accent of the Emerald Isles in her voice now, but he could tell she hadn’t used it for some time. Her American accent had been flawless. She must have lived in the States for a while. Either that, or she had Oscar-worthy acting skills along with her martial arts training. And lots of target practice. The gun in her hand was rock steady.