Black Widow. Cliff Ryder

Nor is he set up to piece a shipment like that off. He was acting as a middleman for a buyer.”

      “I want to find out who that buyer is,” Kate said.

      Samantha watched the car Red Team had used to run blocker for Ajza Manaev. The driver fought with the steering but finally got the vehicle back on solid ground. He drove away, but from the looks of the smoke billowing out from under the hood, the car wasn’t destined to go far.

      “We have Red Team in the field,” Samantha said.

      “How exposed are they?” Kate asked.

      Samantha considered. “Provided they can get cleanly out of this, they should be fine.”

      “Are there any undercover operatives among them?”

      “No one we can put on the ground here.”

      “What about local assets?” Kate asked. “Can we exploit those?”

      “Yes. But we’re going to take a chance on burning them.”

      “With Mustafa.”

      “Yes.”

      “When we’re finished here, let’s take Mustafa off the board,” Kate said.

      Samantha was surprised by the decision. Kate Cochran didn’t casually order someone’s execution. Yet that was exactly what the Room 59 director had just done. “All right,” she said. She knew it was the right decision.

      “Mustafa is too good at what he does,” Kate went on. “I don’t want to risk him expanding his business. His departure should trigger a power struggle that one of the intelligence agencies can take advantage of.”

      “I think so, too. I know my agency will be interested in keeping an eye on things there.” Samantha consulted the wall screen again.

      Turkish military vehicles had arrived on the scene. Fishermen, cargo handlers and tourists were all being pushed back from the area where the truck had gone into the water. Another group converged on the wrecked car Red Team had taken out.

      “Are you ready to wrap this?” Kate asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Get a report to me immediately. Let’s work through debrief quickly and establish the next leg of this project.”

      “Will do.” Samantha cut Kate out of the communication loop. Then she contacted Red Team and ordered them to pull back, too. “Where’s Manaev?”

      “She headed back into the city,” the lead computer-tech support answered. “We lost her in the crowd.”

      Smart girl, Samantha thought. “Support?”

      “Yes.”

      “Get me a full background and a deep jacket on Ajza Manaev. I want it at my workstation in an hour.”

      “I’ll have it there.”

      Samantha turned to the computer crew on-site. “Box it up.”

      Quickly and efficiently, the computer crew stowed their gear back in the protective cases. In minutes it was like they’d never been there.

      “Do you think she’ll get out of Istanbul all right?” the lead computer specialist asked when they reached the sidewalk outside.

      Samantha looked at the man and smiled a little. “Smitten?”

      He shrugged. “She’s pretty brill. Gotta give her that. I thought that bloody lot had her a couple of times.”

      “But they didn’t.”

      The man frowned. “I’ve worked ops where things didn’t turn out so well.”

      Samantha had, too. “As talented as she is, she’ll have a bolt-hole.”

      “Even if her mates didn’t show up to cover her back?”

      “When you’re out in the field,” Samantha replied, “you always keep two escape plans. One that your handlers know about and another that no one knows about.”

      The man nodded. “Hope so. Well, then, we’re off.” He grinned. “Thanks again for another exciting time.”

      “You, too,” Samantha said. She turned and walked into the shadows. Stifling a yawn, she reflected on the fact that she wasn’t going to get any sleep.

      By the time she put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street, she was already organizing her report to Kate Cochran in her head.

      12

      Istanbul

      Mustafa stared at the bloody man sitting in the straight-backed chair in the center of the shipping container on the dock. A single battery-operated light hung over the man’s head, but the angle left the man’s face in shadows. His rasping breath filled the close confines of the container.

      “Someone leaked information about the transaction I had a few days ago,” Mustafa said.

      “It wasn’t me,” the wounded man gasped. “Please, please, it wasn’t me.”

      “Only a handful of people knew what we were doing that morning. You were one of those, Hamid.”

      “I only did as you ordered.”

      “You handled the money,” Mustafa said. “You knew who I was dealing with and when I was going to do the deal.”

      The man cried. His shoulders jerked as the hoarse sobs tore from his dry throat. Bloody drool dripped onto his shirt. Two broken teeth caught the light and gleamed on his chest.

      “I would not betray you,” the man insisted.

      “You would do anything for money. Even sell your own mother.” Mustafa knew that because he was no different.

      “Please. I beg you. I did not betray you.”

      Mustafa sighed. He knew that discovering how the transaction was sabotaged was a long shot, but he’d felt compelled to try it. The immediate avenue to explore was the financial one. He was confident Hasan wouldn’t have betrayed him.

      “I have lost the weapons and my money,” Mustafa said. It wasn’t all his money, of course. His buyer had put up half the amount, but if things went badly and the man didn’t understand the circumstances, Mustafa would have to pay that back, as well.

      “I did not cause that to happen.”

      “Sadly, my friend, I believe you.”

      The man raised his head tentatively. Hope dawned in his swollen eyes. He made an immense effort to smile, but the result looked forced and false.

      “We are friends, Mustafa. I have told you this many times. What is good for you is good for me.” The man’s mouth and jaw barely worked after the beating, but he tried to fill his words with sincerity.

      “I know. We have had a satisfactory arrangement. You’re very skilled. I hate the thought of losing you.”

      “But you don’t have to lose me. I will still work for you.” Fear drowned the hope in the man’s gaze.

      “I believe you,” Mustafa said. “For a while, perhaps. But you’ve been badly beaten, Hamid. Soon, too soon, you will desire your pound of flesh for all that I have put you through. It is only human. Were I in your shoes, I would do the same.”

      The man shook his head desperately. “That’s not true. I understand why you did this to me.”

      “One day you will not feel so understanding.” Mustafa took a breath and gestured to one of the men standing beside him. The man handed him a slim black pistol. “Also, until I find the person truly responsible for my loss, I have to let others know that I am no fool. And that I will not suffer betrayal easily.”

      “Please, Mustafa.