Kadikoy, Istanbul
Evening of the Assassinations
Zeb was in his hotel room. All traces of the old man had gone. In his place was a younger person, dark hair, neatly trimmed mustache, a black T with a peace sign on it. Jeans and trainers completing his look.
He looked around the room one last time. It was clean. No prints anywhere.
He opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Waited for a bunch of tourists to head toward the reception area and, using them as cover, baseball cap low over his head, walked out of the hotel.
He would never return to it.
In his original plan, he was to stay back in the country for as long as Hussain was around. That would give him the opportunity to listen in on the scientist, follow his movements and find out what he was up to.
That plan wasn’t needed anymore. Riva and Adir would move Hussain and Shahi and wring every bit of information needed out of the two men.
Zeb shook his head imperceptibly, smiling grimly.
Did those two think they could meet and no one would know?
He was heading in the direction of the Kadikoy metro station, which was served by the M4 line. He would have to change twice to catch the M1B line to get to Ataturk airport.
He spotted a relatively empty coffee shop and entered it. Ordered a drink and powered up his screen while he waited for it to arrive.
Booked several flights to London, all in different names. He would randomly choose one once he reached the airport, produce the relevant passport and check in.
He thanked the server when he arrived and searched for the Iranian tattoo images. He browsed through several until he found one that came closest to the one on Shahi’s neck.
It was that of an Achaemenid warrior, from the first Persian Empire, which had once stretched from Eastern Europe to the Indus Valley. It spanned five and a half million square kilometers, larger than any previous empire.
Tattoos were taboo in Iran. They were officially banned by the government as signs of devil worship or Westernization. However, there was a strong demand for them … and there’s only so many people the cops can arrest.
He turned off his screen when he became aware of a change in his surroundings. A bunch of people were crowded at the counter.
Listening to the radio.
He frowned. Looked across the street at an electronics store. More people gathered around the TVs on display in the shop window.
He reached into his rucksack and brought out his cell phone. He rarely turned it on during missions. If the twins or Clare needed to get in touch with him, they would find a way.
There was just one text for him, from his boss, sent that very day, a few hours earlier.
A friend will call.
He didn’t understand it.
He was tempted to call her when a shout distracted him.
People were gesticulating furiously and arguing with one another at the counter.
He left a few bills on the table and crossed the street. Joined the throng at the TVs.
Watched in disbelief at the scenes in Jerusalem. He and the rest of the Agency operatives had known of the peace talks. Clare had broken security protocols and briefed them.
He read the scrolling banner in shock.
Mossad Killers Assassinate Palestinian Peace Negotiators.
And knew which friend would call.