Jihad

CHAPTER 15

Lia had the cab stop at the Four Seasons, a deluxe hotel in the Sultanahmet area of old Istanbul, the center of the city’s main tourist attractions. She paid the driver, rounding up the tip to the next whole lira, then joined Ramil on the sidewalk. The doctor seemed spent, his face white and drawn.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Tired. Did you change my hotel?”

“We’re going to walk around this way,” said Lia, pointing to the right. “I want to make sure the hotel isn’t being watched before we go in.”

“Uh-huh.”

They walked down the cobblestone street, turning up the hill in the direction of the Blue Mosque. The stones were not as old as they seemed; the area was booming because of the tourist trade, and the road had recently been torn up and resurfaced. Middle-aged men watched them from the sidewalk near their stores. Had they looked more like rich tourists, the men would have approached and hawked rugs or a nearby restaurant, but Ramil’s Egyptian face and Lia’s heavy dress signaled they weren’t worth the effort.

Watching tourists was a favorite pastime in this part of Istanbul, but as they circled the block Lia didn’t spot anyone who looked like they were interested in anything other than selling them a rug. In the meantime, Sandy Chafetz checked the feed from the video bugs they’d planted in the hotel and told her everything was quiet.

The Sari Oteli had been built as a townhouse by a member of the sultan’s entourage sometime in the seventeenth century. Rebuilt at the end of the twentieth, it had the air of a country inn rather than a big city hotel. The woman at the desk greeted Ramil warmly, remembering the cover story he had told her that he was a doctor.

“My friend is a nurse I met at the conference,” said Ramil. “She’s going to help me with some notes.”

Lia rolled her eyes.

“You made it sound like you picked me up,” she told him after scanning the room to make sure there were no bugs.

“I don’t think she thought that.” Ramil collapsed back on the bed.

Lia retrieved the suitcase of spare clothes she’d left in the closet. Sweating like a pig under the heavy Islamic dress, she jumped into the shower before changing into Western clothes, a long skirt and knit sweater baggy enough to hide one of her guns as well as a satphone and her handheld PDA.

Ramil was snoring on the bed when she came out. Lia checked the video feeds, then sat on the other bed to check in with the Art Room.

“How’s the doc?” asked Chafetz.

“Out cold. Where are Dean and Karr?” Lia asked.

“They’re trailing Asad,” said Telach, coming on the line. “Listen, we want you go back near the hospital.”

“Why?”

“We want to put together an operation to snatch Red Lion’s driver. The al-Qaeda people are going to kill him. We heard Asad okay the plan.”

“So?”

“Lia, I’m not in the mood. Get back over there right away. Dr. Ramil can go back to the hospital to set up a review of his patient.”

“Ramil’s going nowhere,” said Lia. “He’s out cold. Besides, he’s supposed to be able to take care of himself, isn’t he? He doesn’t need me watching him.”

“Fine.” There was a pop on the line as the Art Room supervisor switched out of Lia’s channel.