Jihad

CHAPTER 16

Karr turned onto Kennedy Caddesi, the highway that circled old Istanbul, and drove along the Sea of Marmara, the large body of water connecting the Mediterranean with the Black Sea. He passed a large marina of pleasure boats and turned off to the left, circling toward the water. Both SUVs were about a half mile dead ahead.

“Hey, Charlie, you hearing me?” he asked Dean.

“I’m here.”

“I’m off the Kennedy road, near the water. Why don’t you go on ahead in case they get back on?”

“They’re probably going to take a boat.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure.”

If Asad went out in a boat, Karr would launch a Crow — a small robot aircraft that looked like the bird it was named for. The Crow would stay near the al-Qaeda leader until Karr arranged for a boat to pick him or Dean up. They had four small vessels in the waters nearby, all operated by contracted paramilitaries who had no knowledge of the overall mission.

The PDA he was using to plot the SUV’s positions beeped, then beeped again, indicating that the vehicles had stopped. According to the map, they were on the other side of the highway, away from the water.

“Yo, Rockman — what are these dudes talking about?” Karr asked. “They going for a boat or what?”

“Buggee isn’t talking, Tommy. They’re just sitting there.”

“Tommy, how close are you to Red Lion?” asked Marie Telach.

“Quarter of a mile, little more. Right?”

“We’re worried that we’re not hearing anything. It’s possible something is interfering with the signal.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that myself. I’ll take a walk with one of the boosters and see if that helps.”

He pulled the car forward, leaving just enough space for someone else to get by. Then he grabbed his backpack and got out, pulling on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. He’d just reached the highway when Rockman warned him that the cars were moving again. It was too late to turn around without seeming suspicious, so Karr continued walking, thumb curled in the backpack’s strap.

“Bug’s working,” said Rockman. “They’re just following some sort of prearranged plan.”

“Great” said Karr. “Then you’ll hear them shoot me.”

Neither of the SUVs slowed down as they passed. Karr continued past the spot where they had stopped, figuring the second car might have dropped off someone to watch for a trail.

“Coming your way, Charlie,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Traffic was light, and Dean had no trouble pulling out about a half a mile ahead of the SUVs, protected from sight by a bend in the road. He drove slowly enough that they passed him within a few minutes. Dean waited until they were nearly out of sight to pick up his pace. A dulmus—a minivan used as a local bus — pulled onto the road between them and Dean had to slow down again. He was just thinking he might pass the bus when one of the SUVs turned off the highway, once more heading toward the city.

“Tommy, you in your car?”

“About five minutes away. I thought they might have dropped someone off but I can’t see him.”

“They split up. Asad’s in the truck that got off the highway. I’m going to stick with him.”

“Gotcha.”

Dean followed the SUV into a residential area. A few minutes later, he passed the vehicle, which had parked in front of a three-story house. The bottom of the house was made of narrow gray bricks, which gave way about the middle of the second story to dark black clapboard.

“You got him,” said Rockman. “The buggee’s inside.” He chortled a bit, in love with his earlier joke about the buggee getting buggered. “Looks like the other SUV is circling around and headed in your direction. He’s at least ten minutes away. Tommy’s on his tail.”

“Great,” said Dean, continuing down the street so he could find a place to park.

“Best place to put the receiving unit is this tree behind the house,” said Karr, jabbing his finger at the picture in the screen of the PDA.

“Too close,” said Dean. “You can see it from the top floor of the house.”

They were three blocks away, sitting beneath the pink umbrella of a small cafe. Small was the operative word — there was only one table, and they were the only customers. Karr had launched the Crow, allowing them to view the neighborhood.

“I could land the Crow in the tree and we could get it,” said Karr. “Claim it’s a kite.”

Dean took the PDA and looked at the image from the small, unmanned aircraft. The robot plane flew a random pattern, and looked so much like a real bird that Dean had mistaken a real one for the robot soon after Karr launched it.

“This house here is above them,” said Dean, pointing to a smooth white building two doors away. Even though it appeared to be only two stories, its roof was higher and flat. “We could climb up the vine at the back and stick the unit in the gutter. No one’ll find it.”

“That vine will never hold me. We need Lia.”

“Lia’s not around,” said Dean. “Stay here.”

The vine gave way as soon as Dean pulled at it. He threw it to the ground and stepped back, looking for another way up. A large metal garbage can nearby would give him a decent boost if he dragged it over; he could push it over to the side and grab onto the metal conduit protecting the power line and pull himself up — assuming it didn’t give way under his weight. But the spot there was exposed; while he hadn’t seen anyone yet, he’d be in easy view from any of the neighboring houses.

Dean took another two steps back and bumped into something that moved. He swirled around, bowling over a boy six or seven years old. The kid’s soccer ball bounced from his hands, rolling away.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “Affedersiniz,” he added immediately, remembering the Turkish word for excuse me. He grabbed the ball and held it out to the boy, who was seven or eight.

The kid leaned forward, tilting his head — and then with a quick flick of his hand swatted it from Dean’s palm. He jumped up in time to rebound it off the top of his knee, settling it down on the ground with a grin.

“Pretty good, kid,” said Dean. The translator gave Dean the phrase in Turkish, but Dean didn’t have time to use it — the boy kicked the ball to Dean, who caught it as if it were an American football.

“How high can you kick it?” Dean asked the kid.

“I can kick higher than the house,” said the boy, his English perfect.

“What are you doing, Charlie?” Rockman asked.

Dean pulled a ten-lira note from his pocket and showed it to the boy. “Yours if you get the ball on the roof.”

He made it on the first try. Dean pulled the garbage can over; as he climbed on top of it the boy reappeared on the edge of the roof above him, laughing.

“How’d you do that, you little monkey?” asked Dean. He grabbed hold of the pipe and pulled himself to the top of the roof. The kid was waiting, ball under his arm, smiling.

Dean dug into his pocket and took out a bill.

“You wanna play soccer, mister?”

“You’d whip me ten ways to Sunday,” Dean told the boy. “Thanks, though ”

The kid gave him a forced little smile, then popped the ball upwards off his head. It shot up about five feet; he headed it again. Dean’s heart leapt as the boy tottered near the edge of the roof. But he recovered his balance, tapped the ball upwards, then dropped and climbed down the side, landing on the ground just as the ball completed its third bounce in front of his feet.

Dean planted the booster device between a gap in the bricks that formed a crown on the front part of the roof.

“Working,” said Rockman. “Much better signal.”

“I’m going to kick the ball around with this kid a bit before I go back to the car,” Dean said, starting down. “For cover.”

“Since when are you nice to kids?” Rockman asked.

“I’m always nice to kids.”