Chapter Twenty-eight

ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN the morning, barely a cloud in the sky, unseasonably warm for that time of year, and Cumali arrived right on time.

I was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, dressed in trainers, a pair of chinos and a summery shirt flapping loose – a perfect look for a picnic, I thought. The Beretta was tucked into the back of my trousers, but it was there purely for decoration, part of the legend of an unwitting covert agent: I knew it couldn’t save me and that I would lose it the moment I got jumped. The chinos had deep pockets, and that was why I had chosen them – the real weapon was in one of them and, by slouching forward, acting relaxed, hands buried in my pockets, I could keep my hand on it.

The black Fiat pulled to a stop and I saw that Cumali was alone. If I needed any confirmation about what was really happening, she had just given it to me. Smiling warmly, I went to open the front passenger’s door. It was locked, and she indicated the rear seat. Apparently it was okay for a Muslim woman to lead a man to his death but not to share the front seat with him.

I opened the rear door and climbed in. ‘Where’s the little guy? ’ I asked.

‘It’s a field trip for kids from the school, ’ she replied, ‘and he’s been allowed to go along. We’ll be joining them for the picnic – he wants to show off his American friend. ’

As an actress, she was a good cop – she had thought too much about the lines and they came out stilted.

‘What sort of field trip? ’ I asked, carrying on like everything was fine.

‘Archaeology – “dumb ruins”, as the kids say. ’ She laughed, and it seemed to ease her anxiety. ‘An interesting place – I think you’ll enjoy it. ’

Somehow I doubted that. ‘Is it far? ’

‘A fair distance by car, ’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a share in a half-cabin cruiser. If you don’t mind being deckhand, it’s quicker and a more spectacular sight. Then we can bring my son back the same way – he loves the boat. ’

Somebody knew what they were doing. It was easy to tail a car, but a boat was almost impossible – the field of vision was too expansive and there was no traffic to hide amidst. They were making certain I didn’t have help following me.

‘Sounds cool, ’ I said.

I wasn’t feeling it. Despite my years of training, despite the plans I had laid, I felt the tendrils of fear unfurl and tighten around my throat: it isn’t an easy thing to do, to walk knowingly into harm’s way.

Cumali turned the wheel and headed down into a hidden cove with an old jetty and a few dozen small boats at anchor. Because I was sitting in the back, I hadn’t been able to see whether she had brought with her the one piece of equipment that was crucial to my plan. If she hadn’t, I was going to have to abort. ‘Have you got your phone? ’ I asked.

‘Why? ’ she replied, alert, looking into the rear-view mirror, scanning my face.

I shrugged. ‘We don’t want to be on a sinking boat waving for help, do we? ’

She smiled as the anxiety receded. ‘Of course. ’ She fumbled at the waistband of her jeans and held it up.

The mission was on: there was no turning back now.

She pulled into a parking spot and I unbuckled my seatbelt. ‘Anything to unload? ’

‘There’s a picnic basket in the trunk. I don’t drink alcohol, but I brought some beer and there’s plenty of food – help yourself. ’

The condemned man ate a hearty meal, I thought, and almost laughed. I realized the stress and fear were starting to get the better of me and made myself lock it down. I pulled the picnic basket out of the trunk and turned to follow Cumali on to the jetty. She was crouching to cast off the mooring line from a little half-cabin launch, old and wooden-hulled but well-maintained. I wondered how much it had cost them to rent it for the day.

She stood up and, unaware that she was being observed, paused to stare at the small cove. It was beautiful in the morning light – the turquoise water, the deserted beach, the whitewashed houses – and in a moment of epiphany I realized that she was imprinting it on her memory, saying goodbye. I had wondered earlier if I had panicked her enough, and I saw now that the threat of Bright Light and a Bulgarian orphanage had terrified her. I figured that she and the little guy would be leaving very soon with her brother, probably driving hard for the border with Iraq or Syria. Thinking about it more, I understood that, if I went missing, she would be the prime suspect, and that left her little alternative. For all of us, our time in Bodrum was coming to an end.

She broke free of her thoughts and stepped down into the launch’s cabin. By the time I got on board and stowed the hamper she had started the engine, powered up a small VHS radio next to the wheel and was talking in Turkish into the mic. She put it back on the cradle and turned.

‘Just letting the harbour master know where we’re going, what our route is, ’ she said.

It was a nice touch, but she wasn’t talking to the harbour master, she was speaking to her brother and whoever was with him, letting them know that we were on our way. I had already worked out our destination, of course.