Ozan circled the vast building like a hawk waiting for a mouse to appear in a new-mown field. First, he stationed himself in the great hall itself, watching people come and go until he was satisfied that Tesla was not among them. Then he did a quick walk through the glittering shops and yuppie marketplaces. He didn’t expect to find Tesla there — loitering would be noticed — and he didn’t. Ditto the food court and restaurants.
He’d easily evaded the net of policemen, surprised at the number of men that they had deployed. Why was 523’s murder so important to them? Or maybe they searched for the one who had murdered one of their own. Even for that, the numbers seemed excessive. 523 and his documents held expensive secrets.
He checked train platforms. Police were stationed there, so he didn’t expect Tesla to be hanging out on them, but maybe nearby. He flashed an old CIA-supplied badge to one of the police officers guarding Platform 14 and was waved in, probably because he looked nothing like Tesla. He went into the tunnels, walking through the platforms on the upper and lower levels.
It was a lot of work, but it paid off.
Circling Platform 36, Ozan saw a gray lump against the back side of a pillar, facing away from the platform. A faint glow emanated from it. He stopped, trying to figure out what it was. The uneven contours made it look like a long, low boulder, but that didn’t make sense.
He moved closer, finally able to discern a knob on one end that resembled a head, and suddenly it made sense — someone was hidden underneath a blanket. Clever and cheap camouflage. The person leaned against the far side of the pillar, so that he would not be visible from the platform itself. Only someone coming from the other side or people in a passing train would see him. He bet it was Tesla, sitting there like a kid reading stories with a flashlight under the covers.
Ozan watched him, savoring the moment. Wouldn’t Tesla be surprised when he yanked off the blanket and put one right between his eyes?