The streets were virtually empty and they sped through the sleeping city.
Tess was probably actually asleep this time. It was nearly three in the morning.
After he’d had the brainwave about the university, they’d tried to find the physics department. But by the time they had, it was closed for the day. They made their way back and had an early dinner in the rooftop restaurant of their hotel—the Panoramic. It was well-named. From the minarets of the Blue Mosque to the dome of Hagia Sophia and Topkapi, they could see nearly all of Istanbul. In the darkening skies in the distance, they could see the Bosphorus, the Marmara Sea and the Prince Islands.
The food was good, but the wine even better. It was a pleasant enough way to spend an evening. Tess was a beautiful woman, and good company. They’d laughed and talked, although neither had offered too much of themselves. It was a familiar waltz. Jack was used to dinners like that from his time in the OSS. At a dinner with spies, no one stopped talking and yet no one said anything at all. Now that he had time reflect on it, last night’s dinner had been very much like that.
There was something intriguing about her. She was holding back somehow. Some secret. And there was nothing quite like a woman of mystery, he thought as the cab started across the Galata Bridge and toward the European side of Istanbul. Multi-colored lights from the gallery of shops and cafes that lined the underside of the bridge reflected off the water of the Golden Horn. Dark silhouettes of fisherman lined the upper railing and flashed by the cab window like ghosts.
When they reached the edge of Taksim Square, Jack paid the driver and told him to wait. Fingering the small key Travers had given him before they’d left, Jack walked down the quiet side street looking for number four. It was a surprisingly well-lit, ground floor shop named Bagaj. There was no clerk on duty and it took him a moment to find the bank of lockers. The tag on his key read 36 and he found it quickly. Inside the locker he found a small suitcase, the size of a carry-on. Jack took it out, closed and locked the door and started back for his cab.
He hefted it onto his hotel room bed. It was heavy, he thought, and that was disturbing. Using the second key on the small ring, he unlocked the suitcase and unzipped it.
He flipped it open and gave a low, impressed whistle. Handguns, knives, hand grenades and even a submachine gun—it was enough for a small assault unit. Just what the hell had he gotten himself into?
Inside the suitcase there was also a small note.
Take what you need. T
Jack put the note down and picked up one of the handguns—a .50 caliber Desert Eagle. The damn thing weighed about four pounds. What the heck was he going up against?
Putting that away, he found something a little more to his liking, a nice normal 9mm. He made sure it was clear and then tested its weight and balance. Satisfied, Jack let it rest in the flat of his open palm, butt facing away. Then he jerked his hand down, the pistol flipped over and seemed to hang in the air for a split-second before he snatched it out of limbo, his finger finding the trigger instantly.
He sighed. He’d tried that once before and it got him shot. Fancy tricks were for dead men. He spun the gun once around in his hand and put it on the bedside table along with a few boxes of ammunition. Looking back down at the mini-arsenal with a frown, he zipped the bag up and slid it under the bed. Tomorrow night, he’d take it back to the locker.
Still fully clothed, but too tired to care, Jack lay down on top of the covers. He rolled his head to the side and watched the city sleep until he felt himself disappearing and joined it.
Chapter Eleven
J ACK ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS . The shoulder holster that Travers’ little bag of tricks had provided felt a little snug. He’d have to adjust it later.
“All right?” Tess asked as they walked down the halls toward
Tess was probably actually asleep this time. It was nearly three in the morning.
After he’d had the brainwave about the university, they’d tried to find the physics department. But by the time they had, it was closed for the day. They made their way back and had an early dinner in the rooftop restaurant of their hotel—the Panoramic. It was well-named. From the minarets of the Blue Mosque to the dome of Hagia Sophia and Topkapi, they could see nearly all of Istanbul. In the darkening skies in the distance, they could see the Bosphorus, the Marmara Sea and the Prince Islands.
The food was good, but the wine even better. It was a pleasant enough way to spend an evening. Tess was a beautiful woman, and good company. They’d laughed and talked, although neither had offered too much of themselves. It was a familiar waltz. Jack was used to dinners like that from his time in the OSS. At a dinner with spies, no one stopped talking and yet no one said anything at all. Now that he had time reflect on it, last night’s dinner had been very much like that.
There was something intriguing about her. She was holding back somehow. Some secret. And there was nothing quite like a woman of mystery, he thought as the cab started across the Galata Bridge and toward the European side of Istanbul. Multi-colored lights from the gallery of shops and cafes that lined the underside of the bridge reflected off the water of the Golden Horn. Dark silhouettes of fisherman lined the upper railing and flashed by the cab window like ghosts.
When they reached the edge of Taksim Square, Jack paid the driver and told him to wait. Fingering the small key Travers had given him before they’d left, Jack walked down the quiet side street looking for number four. It was a surprisingly well-lit, ground floor shop named Bagaj. There was no clerk on duty and it took him a moment to find the bank of lockers. The tag on his key read 36 and he found it quickly. Inside the locker he found a small suitcase, the size of a carry-on. Jack took it out, closed and locked the door and started back for his cab.
He hefted it onto his hotel room bed. It was heavy, he thought, and that was disturbing. Using the second key on the small ring, he unlocked the suitcase and unzipped it.
He flipped it open and gave a low, impressed whistle. Handguns, knives, hand grenades and even a submachine gun—it was enough for a small assault unit. Just what the hell had he gotten himself into?
Inside the suitcase there was also a small note.
Take what you need. T
Jack put the note down and picked up one of the handguns—a .50 caliber Desert Eagle. The damn thing weighed about four pounds. What the heck was he going up against?
Putting that away, he found something a little more to his liking, a nice normal 9mm. He made sure it was clear and then tested its weight and balance. Satisfied, Jack let it rest in the flat of his open palm, butt facing away. Then he jerked his hand down, the pistol flipped over and seemed to hang in the air for a split-second before he snatched it out of limbo, his finger finding the trigger instantly.
He sighed. He’d tried that once before and it got him shot. Fancy tricks were for dead men. He spun the gun once around in his hand and put it on the bedside table along with a few boxes of ammunition. Looking back down at the mini-arsenal with a frown, he zipped the bag up and slid it under the bed. Tomorrow night, he’d take it back to the locker.
Still fully clothed, but too tired to care, Jack lay down on top of the covers. He rolled his head to the side and watched the city sleep until he felt himself disappearing and joined it.
Chapter Eleven
J ACK ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS . The shoulder holster that Travers’ little bag of tricks had provided felt a little snug. He’d have to adjust it later.
“All right?” Tess asked as they walked down the halls toward
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