CHAPTER 21.
Turkish Market Brandt watched Svengurd kick in the door, shoot the first person that came at him with the stolen forty-five caliber handgun, then plug the second guy in the arm, spinning him around. Not the reflexes of a traitor.
For the first time since the Budapest ambush, Brandt had hope that he was wrong about the corporal. Maybe the Knot really was just that lucky.
Davidson's aim with a knife turned out to be as precise as his sniper rifle. The blade nailed the third bodyguard in his gun arm. The automatic weapon clattered to the floor.
So basically the only thing left for him to do was escort Rebecca into the room. Brandt had wanted to stash her with Lochum and Lopez, but time constraints overrode safety. They had to maintain the element of surprise.
"Kim o kaba yap sen planya sen ol?" the greasy boss asked.
"I'm going to make your bottom line look very attractive," Brandt answered as he unrolled a wad of hundreds. American hundreds.
The boss' eyes darted to the cash, then to his downed men. He tried a slick move of pulling a hidden gun, but Svengurd already had a muzzle against his temple. The boss didn't need to know they only had two more bullets.
Handing Rebecca off to Davidson, Brandt sat down opposite the man. "Fazil, you know who and what my team represents. I know who and what you represent, so why don't we cut the crap and start bargaining."
The boss yelled in Turkish at the merchant, who was too busy sobbing to answer. Brandt let this go on for a few moments, then kicked the desktop.
"Are you ready, or would you like to be another man down?"
"What does Special Forces want with one such as me?" the man pleaded, acting the small-time hustler rather than the medium-scale arms dealer he truly was. There wasn't a month that Fazil's name didn't pop up on Interpol's Middle East person-of-interest bulletin.
"I need four automatic weapons, preferably American made, but we'll take Israeli or German, but no Russian-issued, even specially modified. They need to have been field used, not just tested. Nothing off the assembly line. Five hundred rounds each, plus three side arms and one sniper rifle."
Davidson added, "A Varmint A4, but if you can't get one then a Bravo-51, but only if it comes with enhanced night-scope range."
Fazil leaned back in his chair, spreading wide his arms. "Is that all?"
Brandt shook his head. "Actually we want a total of fifty grenades. Ten Flashbangs. Twenty concussives. The other thirty, whatever you've got in the warehouse."
"You cannot be serious, my friend."
Svengurd cocked the gun as Brandt spoke. "Deadly."
"But..." Sweat trickled down the man's double chin. "But you have an American consulate just down at the river, and your Air Force base is but a two-hour drive south."
"Look, since the IRA and Basque Separatists called cease-fires, you've got to be hurting. I know you won't deal with the jihadists, so your business has been drying up. Just take our cash and look the other way."
Fazil leaned forward, cupping his hands on the stained desk calendar. "Then you must look. How do I know this is not a sting operation? How do I know you are not working with Interpol?"
Brandt shrugged. "I guess the only way to prove it is to kill you and move onto our next supplier."
The man's flushed cheeks blew in and out as he weighed the risks and gains of the proposal. "Those others will charge you twice as much," he finally said. "And then tell al- Qaida exactly where you are."
That was more like it, Brandt thought.
Time to start haggling.
Lochum fidgeted in the backseat of the Audi. Why had Rebecca been included in this outing while he languished, being babysat by Lopez? The Latino leaned back in his seat, reading a map of Istanbul. He had paid a child on the street ten American dollars when it was worth less than two cents. Lochum did not like the man's attitude or his three-days-without-a-shower odor.
"What did I tell you about the door handle?" Lopez asked as he eyed the professor in the rearview mirror.
He had not even realized that his hand was upon the metal latch until the soldier said something. His claustrophobia was acting up. The air was stale inside the car, but Lopez refused to open the windows. They were trapped in this glass and steel box.
"Brandt gave me permission to put you in the trunk, dude."
With reluctance, Lochum laid his hands in his lap. He could not be sure Brandt had not given that order and that Lopez would not carry it out. But the corporal opened the trunk anyway.
"I have done as you asked!" he said, too high-pitched for even his ear, but he feared Lopez was making good on his threat.
"Don't pop an aneurism. They're back."
The sound of a bag being thrown into the trunk proved the swarthy man correct. The passenger doors opened, and the rest of the team tumbled in, almost jubilant. Davidson was all smiles and even Brandt's black eye seemed less black. Svengurd passed off a handful of weapons to Lopez.
"Oh, yeah! That's what I'm talking about! Come to Papa!"
Lochum was not quite sure where the corporal was stashing them, but the guns disappeared instantaneously. Rebecca slid into the seat beside him, equally happy. Somehow she had changed out of the classic skirt and blouse outfit he had picked out and was now in chinos and some knock-off Juicy Couture T-shirt. He knew he never should have let her out of his sight.
Brandt turned around, but when Lochum went to interrupt, the sergeant did the strangest thing. He smiled. A full ear-to-ear smile.
"My dear Dr. Archibald Lochum, where is it that my team and I can take you and your esteemed colleague, Dr. Monroe?"
Lochum had to swallow his argument. "The Hagia Sophia would be quite appreciated, Sergeant."
"Lopez, you heard the man. The Church of Wisdom."
Everyone was thrown back as Lopez laid down rubber skidding out of the parking space. Lochum did not know what had happened in the warehouse, but it certainly seemed to invigorate them all.
Which was quite good. For what he planned would take all their skill, whether they wanted to give it or not.
Rebecca found it odd that they were all sitting at the rooftop cafe of the Blue Hotel, having a seemingly carefree brunch. The place was crammed with both locals and tourists. A couple from Sweden pored over a map of the city, while a large family from The Philippines tried to ask directions to the Royal Palace from their waitress. Excitement filled the air as everyone made plans for their day under the warm Istanbul sun.
With all the men's injuries, her group certainly never could have passed for casual tourists, so Davidson had gotten creative with their covers. He transformed his team of commandos into a heavy metal band, sightseeing before their gig tonight. At first she had been skeptical about the idea. These guys looked nothing like a band, until she saw the result.
Rebecca grinned as she realized Brandt could pull off heavy eyeliner as well as he did a leather skirt. His black eye was covered by makeup, but his split lip had been accentuated by lip liner. He proudly wore a bloody bandage over his thigh where the knife wound was, but given the rest of his apparel it just looked like part of his wardrobe.
There could be no doubt in anyone's mind. He was the lead guitarist.
Clearly Svengurd was the band's bassist, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that contrasted nicely with his spiked, stark blond hair. Lopez was the archetypical drummer. He had that energy about him that spelled an early death. Davidson was the perfect geeky keyboardist.
Much to Lochum's consternation, Rebecca had been transformed into their Gothlike lead singer. Given the fact she almost never wore makeup, the three layers of mascara and black lipstick felt awkward, but when Rebecca looked in the mirror, she had to agree that she was ready for the stage.
Given how beat-up they looked, a hungover, road-weary metal band turned out to be the perfect cover. Sure they attracted more attention in their flashy garb, but strangely people actually paid them less heed. Before, when they made their way to the hotel as a collection of five men and one woman, people would give them second and even third looks trying to figure out the dynamic. Were the men gay, and she their beard bride? Was Lochum the father? You could see the questions in their eyes.
Now, however, passersby surveyed them, realized they were a band, and then moved on without another thought. Rebecca had never really understood the concept of hiding in plain sight before, since most of what she sought had been diligently hidden, but now she got it.
The professor was the only holdout. He refused to don any clothing that might be considered hip, but didn't every band need an uptight manager? To this Lochum filled his role perfectly in his button-down Etro shirt and perfectly pleated slacks.
When Brandt laid out his plan to complete some reconnaissance before entering the Hagia Sophia, the professor had thrown a tantrum loud enough to impress a hypoglycemic five-year-old, but once the food arrived he quietly indulged in a slice of pistachio baklava.
The other men had ordered heartier courses. Brandt dove into a serving of lahmajan, a type of lamb potpie. Davidson had gone heavy into the sweets. Name the pastry, and the private sucked them down. Right now he slathered sour cherry preserves over an already heavily sweetened Turkish almond cookie.
But Lopez and Svengurd were going head-to-head for the gluttony award. Between them was a pile of dishes heaped with Turkish specialties. Soujouk sausage with shredded potatoes filled one platter, while another was piled high with manti, a type of beef-stuffed pasta. The third held over a dozen skewers of chicken kabobs. The last plate seemed to have a combination of all the meats along with all the breads and all the spices they had seen down in the Bazaar. This one appeared to be the favorite.
"This food rocks," Lopez slurred between bites. "Two thumbs up."
The other men heartily agreed as they shoved in another mouthful. She shook her head and went back to her own acma bread. Nearly a croissant, the acma pastry had a heavier, muskier flavor which she wasn't too fond of, but the kashkaval cheese more than made up for any taste deficit. This cheese had been made from sheep's milk, then aged ninety days to pure perfection. Served with cinnamon salep, a light tea drizzled with honey, this was the best breakfast she'd had in months.
But for all their pigging out, this group had a distinctly ulterior motive for visiting the Blue Motel's rooftop restaurant in particular. It was the only building in Istanbul that could claim to be over four stories high and have a direct view of the front gates to the Hagia Sophia. Brandt had insisted on recon before entering the historical site, and when Lopez had suggested the restaurant, all the other men had hopped aboard the idea.
Rebecca had not been so sure. She had gotten used to the cramped cars and dark back alleys. To sit out in the open at a dainty, linen-covered table surrounded by hanging baskets of snowdrop flowers now seemed terribly wrong. Where were the guns, flying knives, and RPGs? Even the friendly chatter from the surrounding tables heightened her anxiety.
But no one else seemed to notice. Anyone glancing at them would never suspect they were casing the church. The Hagia Sophia wasn't a single church, but a vast complex that dwarfed anything in Budapest. The main sanctuary had been built of a deep red brick that contrasted starkly with the silver dome. It seemed as if the earth and heaven collided right across the street.
Between huge bites, Lopez read from his guide, and their conversation sounded like the other tourists. Only Rebecca knew the subtext.
"Hey, did you guys know this place started out as a church, then was converted into a mosque?"
"Yes," Lochum said with disdain. Apparently he didn't understand that the corporal was bringing the rest of the men up to speed. Or maybe the professor did as he continued, "Originally built by Emperor Constantine on the site of a much older church that was lost to history. It was the seat of his holy power until the Ottomans invaded in 1453, and Mehmed the Conqueror converted the structure into a mosque."
Davidson pointed to the four whitewashed minarets that thrust into the sky at each corner of the church. "That would explain those spires. Looks like they've got a bird's-eye view of the entire grounds. Bitching."
Rebecca noted the look that passed between the guitarist and his keyboardist. In truth, Brandt and Davidson were worried that those tall, thin spires were perfect snipers' dens.
"I'd love to get a closer look at those. I hear they've got spiral staircases that go all the way up to the parapet," Davidson added.
The sergeant went back to slathering tahini butter on a chunk of Turkish flatbread as he answered, "Sounds like a plan."
Davidson winked at Rebecca. "You know how I love heights."
So that was that. The private would set up in the one of the minarets.
Lopez swallowed hard and had to take a sip before he added, "This dome was the world's largest, second only to the Greek Pantheon. And according to this we're supposed to pay special attention to the windows."
They all craned their necks to view the church's massive dome. It seemed impossibly huge especially since it appeared to be suspended in midair by a row of stained glass windows. But architectural design wasn't Lopez's interest when he brought up the unique panes. She had hung around the men long enough to know those were considered possible entry points.
"There's no way that glass can bear the weight of that roof!" Davidson exclaimed.
"Naw, they've got some wigged-out arcs doing all the work."
Lochum sighed. "Those 'wigged out arcs' are called pendentives, and they are a brilliant architectural achievement. Four opposing arches distribute the weight down from the dome into the foundation of the church, making it seem as if the dome floats between them. In actuality there are two smaller half-domes or exedras on the western and eastern-"
"Yeah, sure," Lopez said as he flipped the pages of the book. He seemed rude, but Rebecca knew he had filled his intent, to tell Brandt they could blow a window and the dome wouldn't come down, and was ready to move on. "Anyway, the place is now a museum and get this, it's got a shitload of crypts, man. Hundreds of them!"
Lochum seemed to understand the glance that passed between drummer and guitarist, for he shook his head. "While I am sure you boys would like to crawl around searching for all manner of ghoulish finds, I believe we should enlighten our minds first. The second floor has a series of ancient mosaics. Many are said to depict Jesus, the Baptist, and the Virgin's life. I know how actual history bores you, but I must insist."
Brandt glanced at Rebecca, and she nodded. The professor and Rebecca had been in and out of the Hagia Sophia more times than she could count, mainly down in the very crypts that Lopez mentioned, but armed with the bone's verses, the mosaics were now of importance. Any detail such as the one from the Torah could hold the answer to Jesus' resting place.
"All right, then. Let's go rock Istanbul," Brandt announced as he threw his napkin onto his empty plate and signaled for the check.
"Wait. Aren't we going to get dessert?" Davidson squeaked.
Brandt checked his corners as they approached the museum, but his gaze kept wandering toward the church. With its bricks made of an almost surreal red, how could anyone not look?
"Eighth wonder of the world, is right," Lopez mumbled as they walked up to the ticket booth.
The silver dome eclipsed all else, but that didn't mean the two smaller domes weren't worthy of notice. And the minarets thrust higher even than the central dome. Massive was the word that came to mind if he had to describe the structure.
Lopez read from his tourist book. "Back when the Hagia Sophia was the center of the Christian world, hundreds of clergy lived inside these walls."
That felt about right. The church would have been larger than most villages or even towns of the time.
Brandt held back and let Lochum do the band manager thing and pay for the six of them. Davidson had peeled off from the team about a block away to head for one of the minarets. Despite posing as a band, they did not deviate from standard operating procedures. Svengurd took the tickets and led the way through the main gates. Once inside, they passed by the two smaller domes, which no longer looked small at all. As a matter of fact, this close you couldn't even make out the apex of the central dome-it just seemed a never-ending series of silver tiles climbing into the sky.
Svengurd entered the massive bronze gate, but Lochum stopped them.
"Do you always rush past history so quickly?"
Brandt stepped forward. "Is there something wrong?"
"Only that you are about to walk through an entrance built for emperors. Did you not look up?"
Lochum's tone grated, but Brandt had learned that the professor only used that authoritative voice when he was right, so the sergeant looked up.
Above the gates, tiny flecks of brown, red, and green somehow created a stunning mosaic of Jesus, Mary, and the Archangel Gabriel.
Brandt stepped over the threshold, but felt a pang of guilt. To him, Jesus was divine, and to assist Lochum in proving otherwise cut across his grain. Under any other circumstances, he would make the professor someone else's problem, but then there was Rebecca, who at the moment seemed equally tentative to enter the church. The smoky eye-liner made her blue eyes sparkle. Damn, but she looked good in goth.
"Everything okay?"
Instead of an answer, she gave a shake of her head.
Rebecca hadn't been this reluctant to walk into the ambush back at the Bazaar. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was a civilian, or more importantly a woman. And as a man, he wanted to comfort her, but as a sergeant he should tell her to cowboy up. His duty lay between them. Then he realized. What lead guitarist and lead vocalist didn't have a relationship?
Using their cover story to the fullest, Brandt laid an arm over her shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine."