Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

December 18

Constantinople Sweets Bakery

Vienna, Austria

 

It was obvious the two men entering Constantinople Sweets were not at the bakery to enjoy Turkish delights. Justin rarely liked the direct approach. While it often delivered good results, it had the potential of bringing devastating consequences. But the team was running out of time, and they could not afford the luxury of subtlety.

Justin cast a quick sweeping glance at the store. He knew the number of patrons—six in total—as he and Arkady had studied the bakery before they came in. Justin was looking for weapons or any signs that the patrons were armed. He did not know how they would respond, which would depend on Yilmaz’s reaction, but Justin anticipated it was not going to be good.

No guns, at least in plain sight. He sighed. That’s good. It means we still have the advantage of surprise. He headed toward the young man at the counter, while Arkady began to examine the rows of mouth-watering pastries and cakes.

“Good morning,” the man said in German in a low voice.

“Salam alaikum,” Justin replied. “Is brother Yilmaz in?”

“Alaikum wa salam,” the young man replied with a slight hesitation and peered at Justin. “Uh, who . . . who are you?”

Justin did not reply right away. He glanced at the glass counter, following the reflections of patrons. A couple of them shifted in their seats when they heard the stranger speak in Arabic, asking for the owner by name and calling him “brother.” “My name’s Sami, and I’m from Syria. I . . . I need to talk to Yilmaz.”

The young man’s eyes measured up Justin and studied his face. “Let me see if he’s in the back.”

“I’ll wait,” Justin said.

The young man went through the brownish beaded curtain separating the small area behind the counter from the rest of the bakery.

Justin turned slightly and gave a small nod to the four men sitting at the nearest table. Only one of them, the youngest, returned the greeting. The other three kept their menacing stares on him. Maybe this was a mistake. I thought mentioning Syria was safer than Turkey. He held their eyes for a moment, then looked at the windows.

One of the men whispered to the other, and both got up and left the store. Another older man with a long beard and a prayer cap sitting by the window also stood up and stepped outside. Justin’s eyes wandered around the bakery. He looked at the beaded curtain and thought he heard voices and the shuffling of feet. He glanced quickly at Arkady, who stood there motionless. He offered Justin a small, almost imperceptible nod.

A small noise came from the back of the store, then a hand pulled half of the curtain beads to the side. A scruffy potbellied man with a large head, a large moustache, and a receding hairline appeared behind the counter. He was wearing a white crumpled shirt and a gray vest. His large black eyes gave Justin a quite annoyed look for interrupting whatever important task he had been carrying out. “Yes, I’m Yilmaz. Who are you? What do you want?” he said in Arabic.

“Salam alaikum,” Justin said. “My name is Sami. I have a message for you.”

“Alaikum wa salam,” Yilmaz replied. “I don’t know you, so your message—”

Justin slid his phone across the counter. “Have a look at this key. My friend lost it not long ago. Maybe you know something about it.” He held the phone in such a way that none of the patrons could notice that Justin was not showing Yilmaz the picture of a key.

Yilmaz looked at the boy’s picture, then looked up. A small flash of recognition, then he shook his head. “I don’t know anything about this.”

Justin leaned over the counter and tapped the phone. “Take another look. Closer.”

Yilmaz dropped his eyes to the phone.

Justin whispered, “It’s Omar al-Nueimi’s son, Naim. He didn’t die during the American raid. You need to tell al-Nueimi that.”

Yilmaz shook his head, but did not look up. “I’ve never seen this key. Nobody found it.” He shrugged and gave Justin a blank stare. “But I will ask my wife; she cleans up in the evening; maybe she knows. Come back tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning is too late,” Justin said. “Can you call her now?”

The noise of chairs dragged across the floor came from behind him. Justin did not turn his head, but the sound and the reflections on the glass counter told him both men had gotten up. “He said to come back tomorrow morning,” said one of them in a strong voice. “So now you have to leave.”

“Oh, this is how you show hospitality toward strangers?” Arkady jumped in with the same if not a harsher tone.

“You’re looking for trouble?” said the other man in a threatening voice.

Justin pocketed his phone and turned around. “No, we were just about—”

But the man cut him off with a swift hook.

Justin was expecting the man’s move, so he swung his body backwards. The man’s fist barely missed Justin’s face. He shoved the man to the side, not wanting to punch him and continue the fight. “We’re leaving,” he said.

But the other man was not ready to let go.

He stepped closer to Justin and threw a quick jab. It hit Justin on the right side of the chest, connecting with his ribcage. He returned a hard uppercut that struck the man on the left side of his face. He fell backwards and toppled over the table.

The first man hit Justin from behind. A sucker punch that drove the air out of him. Justin gasped and turned around, but Arkady stepped in. He had already pulled out his pistol. He placed the muzzle against the man’s leg and pulled the trigger. The man screamed and fell to the floor, grasping at his bleeding leg.

Arkady shouted, “Stay down.” Then he stomped on the man’s other leg.

Justin said, “Why did you—”

“You’re welcome.” Arkady pointed his MP-443 Grach pistol at the third man standing near the window. “Hands up and don’t be a hero.”

Justin looked at the wounded man twitching and screaming on the floor. Then Justin glanced up at Yilmaz, who was standing behind the counter. “Call your wife and ask her about the key.”

Before Yilmaz could reply, Arkady shouted, “Down, get down! Shooter—”

His words were cut off by a long barrage shattering the windows and hammering everything in the store.

Justin rolled over the counter and began to crawl toward the back.

Arkady fired a quick burst, then dropped next to Justin as glass and wooden fragments hailed over their heads. Justin asked, “How many?”

“Two shooters. I think I got one.”

Bullets zipped over their heads. Others splintered the counter.

Arkady squeezed off a few rounds, then he and Justin fell behind the kitchen wall.

Yilmaz was already on his feet, dashing toward the back exit.

Arkady said, “I’ve got this. You take care of him.”

Justin nodded. He pulled out his pistol then ran after Yilmaz. “Hey, wait, wait up.”

Yilmaz kept sprinting without looking back. His speed surprised Justin, but Yilmaz’s survival instinct was very strong. Or maybe I’m slower because of those blows. “Hey, wait! Stop or I’ll shoot you.”

Yilmaz ignored Justin and pulled the door’s handle.

Justin fired a round, which thumped the wall about a foot from Yilmaz’s head. “Next one goes in your head. Now stop!”

Yilmaz froze in place.

“Turn around!”

“Don’t kill me,” he said in a weak voice, struggling to catch his breath.

“Why don’t you listen, eh?”

Yilmaz shrugged. “The gunfire. They want to kill me. Everyone wants to kill me.”

“They’re not here for you. And I don’t want to kill you.”

“But you’re with the Istihbarat . . .” The intelligence.

“No, but why would you think that?” Justin paused. “Oh, they’ve contacted you again.”

Yilmaz held Justin’s eyes. “You don’t work for the MIT?”

“No, but you do.”

Yilmaz shook his head. “I don’t. I . . . they tried to recruit me, wanted me to work for them. But I refused.”

“Oh, really? I know about the calls, the long calls. How do you explain them?”

An explosion came from behind them, followed by a couple of long barrages.

Yilmaz cursed the shooters. “I don’t have time to explain. But let me go, and I will.”

Justin shook his head. “You’ll take me to al-Nueimi.”

It was Yilmaz’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t know where he is.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Justin pointed his pistol at Yilmaz’s head. “Then you’re no good to me.”

Yilmaz raised his hand and grimaced. “No, no, wait, wait. I don’t know where he is; I truly don’t. But I can get the message to him. About the picture, and tell him that his son is alive.”

“You’ll do that?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You’re not just lying to me?”

“No, no. I told you earlier that I was going to check.” Yilmaz gestured toward the front of the bakery.

“Okay, I’m trusting you, Yilmaz. Don’t make the mistake of betraying my trust. I found you once, and I’ll find you again.”

“I’ll get the message to al-Nueimi; you have my word.”

“Your word of honor?”

“Yes, yes. My word of honor.”

Justin lowered his pistol. “Good. Tell al-Nueimi the Canadian has his son, Naim. He’s alive and well. He didn’t die during the attack. And if al-Nueimi stops his plot, I’ll give him back his son. You got all that?”

“I got it.”

“Repeat it to me.”

Yilmaz repeated what Justin told him.

“Good, now get my message to him. Right away. Then come back here. Someone will come in four hours for al-Nueimi’s answer.”

“I’m not sure—”

“No, no excuses. You’ll be here whether he gives you an answer or not.” Justin began to raise his weapon.

Yilmaz nodded. “All right, all right. I’ll come back.”

“You understand what will happen to you and your family if you don’t?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Get going.”

Yilmaz hesitated for only a split second, then grabbed the door handle. A moment later, he had disappeared.

Justin sighed. I hope he’ll keep his word. He jogged toward the front of the bakery.

Arkady was kneeling near the corner by the beaded curtain. “Reloading,” he said.

“Got it,” Justin said.

“It’s almost over.” Arkady said.

“Just one shooter?”

“Not sure.”

“Any movement in the store?”

“No. If they’re not dead, they really know how to play dead.”

Justin listened for a long moment. No gunfire, just screeching of tires and gunning of engines.

Arkady said, “We better peel off before the police arrive.”

Justin nodded. “Yes, don’t want any delays to our Jordan mission.”

They both stood up and headed toward the back door.

“What did Yilmaz say?” Arkady asked.

“He’ll give the message to al-Nueimi.”

“And you still believe he’ll change his mind and scrap his terrorist plot?”

Justin shrugged. “I’ve got to believe. But there’s only one way to find out.”