Fault Line

5 OOPS

Ben sheltered from the rain under one of the elegant porticos of the Blue Mosque, surrounded by scores of chattering tourists and keeping an oblique eye on the mosque's exit, fifty feet away. The Iranians had gone in ten minutes earlier, having walked from the hotel exactly as Ben had hoped. He knew from his earlier reconnaissance of the area that there was only one exit, so he hadn't followed them in.

The people around him conferred over their guidebooks in a dozen languages and snapped nonstop photos of the soaring minarets and massive semidomes and rows of ablution spigots. Ben kept his hat pulled low and the jacket zippered over his chin, his breath fogging before him. This wasn't an ideal place to do the job-it was too open, there were too many potential witnesses, it was too close to where he had been staying-but if an opportunity presented itself, he would take it, and he didn't want to be recognizable afterward in some idiot tourist's photos.

During their stroll from the hotel to the mosque, the scientists had showed no sign of security awareness. The VAVAK guys, though, were reasonably sharp. They had stayed one ahead and one behind the scientists, never letting the gap between their positions close to below twenty-five feet. Dropping one at point-blank range would mean having to engage the other from a distance, and possibly allowing the scientists to escape in the meantime. Going after the scientists first would mean giving the VAVAK guys an extra second to get their shit together and then an opportunity to engage from two different directions. The ideal was to drop all four almost instantly and walk away clean, and the VAVAK guys were naturally trying to make something like that as difficult as possible.

In addition to their tactical positioning, the VAVAK guys were also obviously surveillance conscious, but here they were operating at a disadvantage. Ben was pretty sure he knew their likely destinations-the major attractions of Sultanahmet and Seraglio Point-and their likely routes, so he could afford to lose visual contact from time to time. Also, the area was crowded with tourists, many of whom would be walking from one spot to the next in the same sequence the Iranians were following. Under the circumstances, multiple sightings of the same person wouldn't mean much. Toughest of all, about half the hundreds of people in the area were hunkering under black umbrellas and keeping their heads down against the chill and the rain, as Ben was, which made it hell to pick out individuals.

But Ben was operating under one significant disadvantage: he was alone, while the people he was using for concealment were mostly in pairs and groups. So from time to time he made sure to consult his own guidebook with studied fascination, to jot down some notes about the mosque's six minarets and turreted corner domes and special entrance for the sultan, to shoot a few photos, and to otherwise blend as much as he could with the tourists around him.

When the Iranians emerged, one of the scientists and one of the VAVAK guys headed down the steps and turned left while the other two remained under the portico. Ben instantly understood why they were splitting up: the scientist had to hit the head. He knew the restroom they were going to use, too, and it would have been ideal: small, secluded, at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the corner of the mosque grounds. But if something went wrong, he might come out of this with only half the job done, maybe less. No, better to wait for the right moment when he could catch them all closer together.

The scientist and the VAVAK guy returned after a few minutes, and Ben followed them to Hagia Sophia, waiting near the exit again while they were inside. Their next stop was Topkapi Palace, and this time one of the VAVAK guys waited outside. This confirmed for Ben what he already strongly suspected: the VAVAK guys were armed. Topkapi was home to a priceless collection of jewel-encrusted Ottoman swords and crowns and thrones, and there was a metal detector at the entrance to prevent anyone from bringing in hardware for a robbery. Ben figured the guy who was waiting was holding both their guns while the other accompanied the scientists inside. He was half tempted to hide the Glock somewhere and follow them in, but dropping all three barehanded would have presented something of a challenge. Not to mention all the cameras, the single point of egress, and the guards with submachine guns. No, there would be a better opportunity. He waited outside the massive palace gates, haggling with merchants, shooting a few photos, occasionally sneaking a peek through the entrance to make sure the VAVAK guy was still there. He watched the people coming and going carefully in case there was a countersurveillance unit involved. The intel hadn't mentioned it, but intel was never perfect and you had to be careful. He didn't see anything that rubbed him the wrong way.

After Topkapi, the Iranians headed west through the gathering dusk. Ben thought he knew where they were going: either the Grand Bazaar or the Spice Bazaar. If he was right, his opportunity was coming.

They wandered down narrow cobblestone streets through alternating pools of darkness and light, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the stone walls to either side and mingling with the conversation and laughter of shoppers and passersby What sky was visible was a dull, dying gray. The rain had stopped, but it was still humid and cold, and a sheen of perspiration gleamed on the peeling façades of souvenir shops and carpet stores and food stalls, all crammed side by side under sagging awnings and rusted escarpments. Ben kept well back, pausing when the Iranians paused, moving when they moved, staying cool, staying patient, knowing something would open up.

The sounds around them were suddenly drowned out by the evening muezzin chanting out the adhan, the call to prayer. Ben's Arabic wasn't as strong as his Farsi, but he understood the words:

God is greatest. I bear witness that there is no lord except God. I bear witness that Mohammed is the messenger of God. Make haste toward prayer. Make haste toward welfare. God is greatest. There is no lord except God.

The Iranians stopped at a small, undistinguished corner building recognizable as a mosque only from the minaret near its entrance. The scientists took off their shoes and went inside, accompanied by one of the VAVAK guys. The other waited outside. Ben smiled. Maybe they were willing to put their faith in God, but not their security. He hung back and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, they emerged and continued northwest. Come on, Ben thought. The Spice Bazaar. You know you want to.

They moved along Marpuccular Cad, the road that provided the southwest boundary of the bazaar, then onto Tahtakale Cad, still moving northwest. They paused from time to time to examine the wares of the various shops, but didn't go inside. The VAVAK guys maintained their tactical positions. Come on, Ben thought. Come on. Despite the cold he could feel himself perspiring.

He followed them right onto Uzunçarşi Cad, his breath starting to quicken slightly. It was full dark now. He'd been afraid they were going directly to the Galata Bridge, but now it looked good, it looked like it was the Spice Bazaar after all. He tightened the cords on the backpack and squeezed his left arm against the satisfying bulk of the holstered Glock.

He stayed with them until they turned right onto Hasircilar Cad, the main street of the Spice Bazaar. All right. This was what he'd been waiting for.

He turned and dashed down the middle of Tahtakale Cad, paralleling the route the Iranians were now on, dodging cars and trucks, staying off the sidewalks to avoid the thick clots of pedestrians. The backpack was secure. The weight of the Glock felt right.

He cut left on Yeni Cami Cad, then left again on Çiçek Pazari Sok, now on a collision course with the Iranians. The jostling crowds were thick and he had to slow. He passed stalls filled with enormous mounds of spices, their yellows and oranges and reds and greens impossibly bright under the incandescent bulbs strung up above them. Tables were piled high with candies and honey-soaked pastries and fruit. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of spices and coffee and tobacco smoke. Peddlers cried out warnings above the din as they maneuvered pushcarts around clusters of shifting shoppers.

At the corner of Tahmis Cad and Hasircilar Cad he could see them coming toward him, about forty feet away. His heart was beating hard now. He checked his perimeter and sensed nothing amiss.

He moved left, pausing in front of one of the corner windows of Kurukahveci Mehmet Efendi, one of the city's oldest coffee shops. Ben had been here a half dozen times during reconnaissance, and there were always at least ten people lined up at its two corner windows waiting to buy quantities of the house-roasted beans. It was a logical stop for the Iranians. Even if they didn't stop here, though, they were going to pass right by. He would be able to see them through the store's windows.

He moved back, pretending to examine the colorful cookware in the stall adjacent to the coffee shop. He pulled the hat down low and unzipped his jacket. His heart was hammering.

A minute later, the first VAVAK guy appeared through the adjoining corner window. He made a right and stopped not ten feet from where Ben stood. The scientists were in front of the adjoining window now, lined up with a dozen other people to purchase some of Kurukahveci's famed beans. He couldn't see the second VAVAK guy, but it was a safe bet he was somewhere a short distance behind them.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then let it out. Another. And again.

He pulled a guidebook from one of his pockets and slowly walked past the VAVAK guy while examining it. He didn't consider what he was about to do. He focused on the book.

At the corner in front of the coffee shop, he looked left. There was the second VAVAK guy, as he had expected, behind the scientists, twenty feet away.

He looked straight, then right, just another addled tourist trying to orient himself. He detected no problems.

He dropped the guidebook back in his pocket and headed back to the first VAVAK guy. He walked past his position without looking directly at him. He saw in his peripheral vision that the VAVAK guy was watching him now. It didn't matter. It was too late.

He passed by the VAVAK guy's left side. As he did, he let his right hand drift inside his open jacket. By the time he was three steps past the VAVAK guy, the Glock was out. He pivoted counterclockwise, stepping through with his right foot, and brought up the Glock from five feet away.

The VAVAK guy had just enough time to widen his eyes. Ben pressed the trigger. There was a quiet pffft and a neat black hole appeared in the VAVAK guy's forehead. His head jerked and a spasm passed through his body. Then his knees buckled and he slid to the ground. Ben was already moving past him. He rounded the corner.

The scientists were at the window now. The second VAVAK guy saw Ben moving past them, the Glock at his side, approaching with unmistakable intent. Someone from around the corner screamed.

The second guy reacted instantly, reaching inside his jacket, but an instant was all he had and it wasn't enough. Ben was too far away to be sure of another head shot. He brought the Glock up in a two-handed grip, put the front sight on the VAVAK guy's chest, and pressed the trigger. Pffft. The VAVAK guy jerked back. Ben kept walking straight at him. He fired again, center mass, and the VAVAK guy staggered. Ben adjusted his aim and the third shot blew out the man's left eye.

There were new screams. People started to scatter. The scientists turned from in front of the coffee shop window, their expressions confused, not understanding what was happening, looking for the source of the trouble. The first one didn't even see Ben walking at him from ten feet away. Ben shot him in the head. The second one had just enough time to raise his hands, either in self-defense or in supplication. Ben put a single round directly between his eyes and was moving past him before his body had even hit the ground.

He glanced left and right as he moved. People were screaming and fleeing. He didn't see any heroes. No one was even looking at him. They were all just trying to get the hell out of there as fast as they could. He kept his chin down and his eyes forward, the Glock close at his side.

Suddenly he sensed something out of place, someone who didn't fit in with the crowd's panicky rhythms. He glanced ahead and saw a stocky Slavic- looking guy standing motionless and watching him intently. Ben pulled up short. They locked eyes. No question the Slav was a professional. It was in his face, his posture, his balanced demeanor.

They stood like that for one frozen second, each trying to determine the other's intent. Then the Slav's nerve broke. He cut left, reaching into his jacket as he moved. Without thinking, Ben brought up the Glock in a two-handed grip. He fired three times, moving closer with each pffft, walking the shots in. The Slav crumbled to the ground. He managed to get his gun out, too late. Ben drilled him in the head from less than five feet away.

He moved off and cut down an alley, his head swiveling, searching for problems at his flanks, badly rattled. Jesus Christ, he hadn't seen that guy at all. Fucker had been standing right there like a ghost when the whole thing went down. If the crowds hadn't left him stranded like driftwood at ebb tide, Ben never would have noticed him. And goddamn it, if the guy had shown the presence of mind to get his weapon out a second earlier…

He swapped a fresh magazine into the Glock and kept moving. He knew these streets from reconnaissance and made sure to keep to dark ones until he was well away from the Spice Bazaar. Along the way he stripped off the fake beard and discarded it in a Dumpster overflowing with waste. He lost the black hat and replaced it with a red one. The jacket was reversible. He shrugged it off, turned the inside out, and was suddenly wearing yellow instead of blue. He would get rid of the gun later, when he was sure he was safe.

He began to circle toward the Galata Bridge, back among blissfully ignorant crowds again. He would walk across, catch a cab to Haydarpaşa Station, then a train to Ankara, his original arrival point, which would make for a safer departure, as well.

He heard sirens in the distance. They were heading away from him. He let out a long breath. He was okay. No one was following him and no one could connect him with what had just happened. Istanbul was a city of over ten million people. He was a needle in a haystack, a drop in the ocean. He kept moving, just another tourist again.

Damn, though, who was that guy? Bastard had almost gotten the drop on him, no question.

Well, he hadn't. Some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you.

The bear.

He stopped. Holy shit, was that guy Russian?

He sure looked Russian. Well, it wasn't Vasilyev, he was certain of that. The guy had been a pro, no question, not a scientist or other civilian. Maybe someone connected with Vasilyev, though. Yeah, who else would have been ghosting along behind the Iranians? And why else would the guy have delayed so long before going for his weapon? Because he was thinking he wasn't the target, maybe. But maybe because he was thinking he was immune, at least until he'd seen Ben's eyes. After all, no one was going to drop a Russian agent. You'd have to be crazy.

Son of a bitch. Maybe he hadn't killed the Russian, but he had a feeling he'd just killed a Russian.

He thought, Oops, and in the giddy, adrenaline-charged aftermath, the thought was hilarious. He pushed the back of his hand over his mouth and shook with silent laughter.

He hoped the brass wasn't going to be too pissed.