Trojan Horse (44 page)

He glanced at his phone. No signal.

Daryl weaved back and forth across the road, doing what she could to evade the plane and the bullets. Several had struck the car; one had gone through the passenger seat. Steam was coming from around the hood and the engine was making a terrible racket. Ahead was a cluster of squat buildings near the dam. She straightened out and risked a look for the plane. With a sinking heart she saw that it was coming around again.

Daryl downshifted, punched the accelerator to the floor, and the little engine screamed.

“Last pass,” Wu said. “Empty a full magazine into the car, aim for the driver.”

“Right,” Li said as he reached behind him and extracted a fresh magazine, which he snapped in place.

Wu nosed the plane down and pushed the throttle full forward. The wind was less violent and he was willing to risk a lower pass, one certain to make the kill. Then he’d land on the asphalt road, recover the laptops, and they’d be on their way.

Li placed the rifle out the window and pressed it against his shoulder. Wu could see the buildings ahead but he’d catch the car before it ever reached them. When the car was in sight Li held the trigger down in sustained automatic fire, aiming as best he could directly at the driver.

Daryl sensed rather than saw or heard the plane. She yanked the wheel hard over. The Fiat tottered on two wheels as if it might go over but it held as her momentum drove her off the road onto the flat expanse beside it. The car came to an abrupt stop as the engine died.

Daryl looked anxiously out the window. The plane was making a slow wheel in the sky as it turned to attack again. She turned the key. The engine ground in a disheartening way and refused to catch. She tried again with no luck. As she turned the key a third time, she saw the plane coming nearly straight at her.

The car engine roared to life. She rammed the gear into reverse and shot backward onto the asphalt. She slammed on the brakes, changed gears, then punched the accelerator as she pointed the car for the buildings directly ahead. As she did she weaved side to side, alternating between braking and accelerating. Bullets slammed into the car. She felt a blow from above but no pain or other sensation. She hit the brakes hard, the car skidding to a stop. The plane zoomed past her.

“They stopped,” Li said, pulling the rifle back in. “Maybe I got the driver.”

Wu banked sharply, still at a leisurely pace for an aircraft designed to resist extremes. The car below was not moving. “Again,” he ordered. “I think we have them.”

But as he approached, his worse fear was realized. The wind pummeled the plane cruelly and as he slowed to give Li his best shot, they were caught in a sudden downdraft. It seemed to Wu that the plane was being pressed to the ground by a powerful, unseen force.

Daryl saw the plane coming at her. Light-headed, she turned the ignition again but this time there was no hope. The engine refused to even turn over. She jumped out of the car and looked back at the plane as it dropped even lower, like a fighter coming in for a strafing run.

Wu pushed the control forward for maximum power and fought to raise the craft but to no avail. He was being forced down relentlessly. “Pull up!” Li shouted, but it was too late. The plane slammed into the ground just in front of the red car in a violent crash that at once turned into a fireball, the flames engulfing the Fiat as the wreckage scattered immediately in front of it, some striking the front in passing.

Daryl had only made it a few yards when she felt the plane hit and she was knocked forward, engulfed in the horrible sounds of the crashing plane. Then there was silence, broken only by the sound of the flames.

She was out of breath and light-headed, struggling to stand up. When she looked she saw that her clothes were covered in blood. Unseen to her, men rushed from the buildings in response to the explosion. The violence of the explosion, flames, and ugly plume told them there were no survivors.

E80

TRANS-EUROPEAN MOTORWAY (TEM)

NEAR GURBULAK, TURKEY

7:19 P.M. EET

I
need to change clothes before crossing the border,” Saliha said. “You know how you Iranians are.”

“Of course.” Ahmed had cautioned her that first trip about what she must do. He was pleased she remembered because it was obvious she was upset. He’d never seen her like this, so withdrawn and anxious. Confronting her in Ankara had been a mistake. He wished Hamid had listened to him. Had they left her alone all would have been well. Instead, he was a wanted man in a foreign country. “I’ll tell you where,” he said.

This next part was going to be tricky. Ahmed didn’t dare get too close to the border for fear of being recognized. But this had to go smoothly. He doubted Hamid would take the thumb drive across himself and he certainly wasn’t going to suggest it. No, it had to be Saliha. That’s what she was paid for.

They’d been driving through a mountainous region of Turkey for the last hour. The highway wound back and forth like a snake, crossing numerous bridges, large and small. The sun was dipping very low on the horizon. The leaves on the poplar trees flanking a stream bristled in the breeze, reflecting a final stream of fading sunlight. Some fifteen miles from the border they came on a gaudy truck stop. “Here,” Ahmed said. “You can use the restroom.”

Saliha pulled the car off to the side of the building, out of the path of the trucks fueling up. It was one of those modern structures, seemingly snapped together like a child’s toy. She found it very depressing. In all her trips she’d never once stopped at this place.

She was exhausted as she went to the rear of the car and opened the trunk for her Iran-crossing attire. She’d tried to devise some scheme for the border and could come up with nothing specific. She’d have to see the situation, then respond to it. The only thing about which she was absolutely certain was that she was not entering Iran.

Rahmani pulled up beside the blue Ford and climbed out as Saliha walked past him, carrying a travel bag. She stared straight ahead, making a point not to look at him. He lit a cigarette and pulled his light jacket closely about him. It was cold.

“She is changing,” Ahmed said. Rahmani nodded in understanding. “We are close to the border.” Rahmani glanced at Ahmed and wondered why he was saying these things. They were self-evident.

Across the service area, Jeff drove to the opposite end of the building and killed the engine. He’d watched Saliha go around the station carrying a bag. He glanced along the side of the building and decided to risk an attempt. Before getting out of the car he checked his cell phone. There’d been no calls from Daryl and he was uneasy about the silence. Once, he had regained a signal and called her; each attempt had rolled over to voice mail. He assumed she was out of contact but took no comfort in the thought.

Ahmed and the other man were talking, each keeping a casual eye on the corner Saliha had gone around. Jeff slipped out of the car and walked by the side of the building, along the wall to the back. The ground dropped off sharply here and there was little space for him to move along. Excess concrete oozed from the foundation and was now frozen in a permanent curl. Loose rock and gravel made his footing uncertain.

Jeff edged along the back until he came to the far corner. A quick peek revealed two doors he took to be the entrances to restrooms. He waited for one to open, then he’d do what he could. It was more likely she’d bolt than talk to him.

“At the border,” Rahmani said in front, “you will see her to the crossing.” No such thing would occur, of course, but that was what Ahmed expected to hear.

“Hamid,” Ahmed said quietly. “I must tell you something.” Rahmani raised an eyebrow and Ahmed rushed into his story, telling him how he’d seen his photograph at the last stop, that he was certain he was wanted here in Turkey. “I cannot risk getting close to the border.”

“Was my photograph on the television?”

“No, I assure you.”

“Did you wait until the broadcast was finished to be certain?”

“I . . . I left. Saliha was outside and I was concerned someone might recognize me if I remained near the television.”

Rahmani considered this new information. Events were moving much faster than they had a right to on their own. He and Ahmed should have been undetected here in Turkey yet someone knew enough to put out an alert for Ahmed, perhaps even for himself though he couldn’t imagine that was likely.

Still, it was apparent that he’d dithered too long. He needed to act as soon as he could. The woman had to go because she’d seen him as an ally of Ahmed. Ahmed had to die because he’d know Rahmani had stopped Saliha. “Get the woman,” he snapped. “We need to go somewhere private.”

When Ahmed came around the corner, Jeff pulled back. He heard pounding on the door. “Saliha. Change later. We need to leave right now.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Forget it. Let’s go. We’re in a hurry.”

A moment later Jeff heard the door slam, then Saliha complaining to Ahmed as the two went toward the front of the building. He moved as quickly as he could back the way he’d come, turned the corner, then sneaked a look. Saliha was getting into the Ford with Ahmed beside her. The other man had already started his engine and was watching them intently. As soon as the two cars pulled away he jumped into his car. To his surprise they turned away from the border.

“It’s just up here,” Saliha told Ahmed, gesturing lightly. “I don’t know why I couldn’t finish. It would only take a few minutes.”

“Just go where you usually do. It is quiet, you say?”

“Of course. You think I undress in front of others?”

Two miles up the highway, she found the small road leading to her usual place by the stream and poplar trees. She exited, then drove slowly to the small, discreet clearing she always used. “Hurry up,” Ahmed ordered.

“Oh? Now you are in a hurry?” Saliha climbed out of the car and opened the rear door where she’d left the bag. “Go join your friend. I don’t want you watching me.”

Ahmed opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He went to Rahmani, who had just stopped and was getting out of the car. Ahmed told him she wanted privacy. “As if I never see her naked,” he said. The two lit cigarettes and leaned against the Hyundai, smoking.

The sun had set and the place was cast in shadows. Saliha glanced about uneasily. The trees were a dark, ominous presence. The water bubbled around rocks and over stones, the sound cold, not cheery as it had been so often. She opened the trunk and lay her clothes neatly inside as she removed them. It was cold and she shivered in the breeze. She removed the ankle-length dark skirt and matching long-sleeved parkalike garment from her bag and slipped into them. She placed her denims and jacket into the bag. She picked up the head scarf and put it on, then closed the lid.

Rahmani glanced the way they’d come. “Did you hear that?”

“Just a truck on the highway,” Ahmed answered.

“It sounded like a car on this dirt road.”

“I heard nothing.”

Rahmani had already slipped his .380 pistol into his jacket pocket and now he held it in his hand. He turned his attention from behind him to the woman as she returned. In a moment they’d both be where he needed them.

Jeff saw the two cars flash their brake lights, then turn off the highway. He came nearly to a stop as he watched them vanish amid trees and brush. He could see there was a stream down there so it was unlikely they’d gone far. He made the same turn, stopping almost at once, and backed the car into a thin spot amid the brush, the branches pressed against the car. He got out, carefully pushed the door closed, bumped it gently to seal it, then followed on foot. The dirt road curved slightly, blocking his view.

He heard the slam of a trunk before he saw the cars. When he spotted them the little man was holding a gun and waving it about as he barked orders.

This was nonsense,
Rahmani thought.
Why am I talking? I know what I have to do.

Ahmed looked confused as he followed orders and stood beside Saliha. What was Hamid up to?

Saliha, for her part, knew. She saw the look in the man’s eyes—apprehension mixed with determination. When she saw the gun she had not the slightest doubt what was going to happen. She’d waited too long. “He’s going to kill us,” she hissed.

“What?” Ahmed glanced at her, then at Hamid. Realization washed over him in a cold chill. Of course. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

Ahmed smiled. “Hamid. What is the problem, my brother?” he said in Farsi. “We have a duty to perform . . .” As he spoke he slowly reached for the Browning Hi-Power that had been sticking in the small of his back all these hours. Hamid might be highly trained, he might be the master of operations in Europe, but Ahmed saw how nervous he was. He only required an instant.

Rahmani was sweating. He was angry he’d hesitated at all. Ahmed was prattling on and on about nothing, then suddenly there was the gun he’d given him in his hand. Rahmani snapped off a shot but Ahmed dove away as he did. Saliha lunged to her right. Rahmani fired a shot at her, too, but knew he’d missed.