Black Widow

6

Istanbul

Ajza stared at the M-4 assault rifle in Hasan’s hands. A shipment of drugs presented one problem. Customers only got harmed one at a time, and most of the time using the drug didn’t leave anyone dead.

Guns killed a lot of people at one time.

And the crates in the back of the truck promised to hold a lot of guns.

Mustafa smiled.

“You see?” Hasan asked. “My good fortune is now yours.”

Ajza knew that Mustafa had a buyer somewhere. If that was the case, he planned to get something back for his trouble. His group was already well equipped. They didn’t need the guns.

So who did?

“You are satisfied?” Hasan asked Mustafa. “That they are all here and in good shape?”

“I am. You would not betray me, Hasan.”

That was true, Ajza knew. If Hasan did, Mustafa would kill him. Mustafa would have no choice. As a broker and dealer in Istanbul, he couldn’t afford to let anyone get the better of him.

For the first time, Ajza regretted not having a wire or a radio on her person. Someone back at Home Office needed to know about this. The Americans needed to know about this.

Hasan jumped from the back of the truck and closed the door. “Then our business here is done, Mustafa. May your path prove fruitful.”

“And yours.”

Hasan and his group walked toward the harbor.

“Now,” Mustafa said as he turned to his men, “who can drive this truck?”

The men looked at one another. Most of them didn’t drive. They’d lived in the city all their lives and seldom went anywhere they couldn’t walk. Cars were too expensive, and the Turkish authorities kept track of vehicles.

“I can.” Radiating arrogance, Fikret strode to the truck, opened the door and pulled himself up into the cab.

Ajza watched helplessly, uncertain what to do. Mustafa wouldn’t let them know where the weapons were going. He maintained his secrets from the rest of the group. Once those weapons disappeared, she wouldn’t know where they were.

Fikret started the truck. The big engine rumbled and Fikret smiled broadly at the others. However, Ajza could tell that the revs were too high.

When Fikret let out the clutch too quickly, the truck lurched forward, snorted belligerently and died with a shudder. He tried twice more, and the results didn’t change.

“It’s this truck.” Fikret banged the steering wheel with a big fist. “It is an abominable beast. There is something wrong with it.”

Mustafa wasn’t happy. “There’s nothing wrong with the truck.”

“There is, I tell you.” For the moment in his embarrassment, Fikret had forgotten himself. But he recalled his station almost immediately. His face blanched. “Forgive me. I spoke in haste.”

Mustafa turned back to face the others. “Can anyone drive this truck?”

Heart beating too fast, Ajza stepped forward. “I can.” Her pulse throbbed in her neck and at her temple.

“You?” Mustafa studied her with hard eyes.

“Yes.” Ajza had been among them for almost three months. She’d gotten in as a thief, run afoul of one of Mustafa’s operations and sold her services to him. The chauvinistic culture of Turkey precluded women from holding many positions of importance in the community, but crime was an equal-opportunity employer. Mustafa recognized that women’s capabilities—in some areas—outdid men’s. That line of thinking had placed Ajza in the op in the first place.

A woman’s ability to drive a truck, however, obviously hadn’t occurred to him.

“I learned to drive my father’s truck,” Ajza said. That was almost the truth. Her father had taught her to drive, but that was in Leicester, not in one of the towns along the Syrian border as she’d claimed. “He had no sons. What he needed done when he could not, I did.”

Mustafa still stared at her.

“Perhaps letting her try would not be so bad,” Nazmi suggested. “Surely she can do no worse than Fikret. And we can’t leave the truck sitting here.”

Fikret cursed Nazmi from the truck cab. This only made the other men laugh.

Mustafa gestured toward the truck. “Go.”

Ajza climbed onto the running board and opened the door. Fikret didn’t relinquish the wheel. He glared at her and breathed his sour breath over her.

“Let her drive,” Mustafa commanded.

“Another time,” Fikret promised her in a quiet voice no one else heard, “you and I will even the score between us.”

A quiver of fear spasmed through Ajza’s stomach. There were few days in her job when she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t know what it was about herself that continued to draw her to the spy business. There had to be something wrong with her.

Whatever it was, though, had infected Ilyas, as well. She suspected it had something to do with their parents, how fiercely her mother and father loved their new country and the opportunities England provided for them.

She didn’t answer Fikret’s challenge, but she didn’t look away from him, either.

Cursing again, Fikret surrendered the steering wheel and slid over to the passenger side. He rolled down the window and spat in disgust.

Behind the wheel, Ajza took her pistol from her waistband and shoved it between her thigh and the seat. She started the engine, put the truck into a lower gear than Fikret had and let out the clutch. The truck lurched forward, but it kept moving.

The men, led by Nazmi, cheered. Ajza caught sight of the young man in the long side mirror and smiled a little at the celebration taking place behind her.

A moment later Nazmi ran up beside her and clung to the door while he stood on the running board. “Mustafa says you should follow the car.” He pointed at a dust-covered sedan so old and rusty that Ajza couldn’t identify the make.

“All right,” Ajza said.

“I will still buy you breakfast.”

Fikret cursed foully.

“We’ll see,” she said.

“But we must celebrate your great success. Even Fikret has to agree that your skills are important today. If not for you, the truck might sit there until Mustafa hired a driver.”

Ajza checked the rearview mirror. “Unless you plan on hanging on to the truck the whole way, you’d better get in one of the cars.”

Nazmi dropped away and went back to join the others. They all climbed back into the cars they’d arrived in.

Ajza followed the sedan, but her mind raced. Where was the backup team that was supposed to be shadowing her?

7

London

“Do you have an image of the woman?” Samantha asked as she watched the convoy take shape in Istanbul.

“Yes. I’m running it against the databases now.”

Samantha watched the truck roll through the narrow streets. The presence of the woman hadn’t startled her. There were others within the group, but very few of them. To survive in such an environment, women had to be harder and more calloused than the men.

But where had this one learned to drive big trucks?

The attention to detail, the way she subconsciously filed away pieces that didn’t fit, made Samantha Rhys-Jones invaluable to MI-6. She’d quickly gone from light fieldwork to intel gathering and processing. Those skills had drawn the attention of Room 59.

“Indigo,” the Red Team leader said, “do we intercept the convoy?”

“Yes. But only if it leaves town. If they stash the cargo inside the city limits, we’ll take care of it later. I don’t want any collateral damage on this one,” Samantha said.

“Understood.”

Samantha never wanted collateral damage. The deaths of bystanders weighed heavily on her. During her career, it sometimes happened—just as she’d sometimes lost agents she minded—but she worked hard to prevent that.

“Ma’am, I’ve identified the woman. She belongs to MI-6.”

That was unexpected.

Samantha walked over to the woman’s computer. She studied the face on the screen but didn’t recognize it.

According to the file, Ajza Manaev held a position as a field agent with considerable experience for someone so young. Evidently she performed well at what she did.

“Orange,” Samantha said.

“Yes,” Kate replied.

Samantha watched the convoy thread through the winding streets of the Kadikoy district. More people were up and starting to fill the sidewalks, streets and cafés. The potential for unplanned losses was increasing exponentially.

“We have a problem,” Samantha said.

8

New York

“Remove his gag,” Kate said.

Without a word, Jacob Marrs hooked a finger in the sock he’d used to silence Hirschvogel. The German sat tied to a chair near his desk. He spat when the gag was clear, then cursed Kate.

While Hirschvogel vented so colorfully, obviously given some courage about being held captive for nearly an hour but not killed outright, Jake casually reached out and backhanded him in the face. The blow silenced Hirschvogel immediately.

“That’s not how you talk to a lady,” Jake stated affably.

Shocked, Hirschvogel glared at Jake. “If I ever meet you again, you’re a dead man.”

Jake smiled and spoke softly. “Just one more reason to heave you over the balcony before I leave. I didn’t much care for you before you decided to make this personal. But promising to be a threat in the future?” He shook his head.

Visibly afraid, perhaps remembering that Jake had killed three of his bodyguards without breaking a sweat, Hirschvogel looked to Kate for support.

“Tell me about the weapons in Istanbul,” Kate said.

Hirschvogel licked his lips nervously. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “I know nothing.”

“If you don’t know anything about them,” Kate said conversationally, “you’re not worth anything to me.”

“Balcony’s looking better and better all the time,” Jake said.

“What do you want to know?” Hirschvogel asked.

“I know you regularly supply Hasan with drugs that he sells to Mustafa in Istanbul,” Kate said. Her primary objective had been to shut down the supply route and break the bank of the terrorists Hirschvogel supplied. The man held a position as a mover and shaker in the black market with drugs and weapons. “Normally you sell drugs to Hasan, which he transports to Istanbul and sells again.”

“Yes,” Hirschvogel admitted. “You realize that you can’t try me here in the United States for that? I’ve committed no crime here.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Kate told him. In fact, she knew it wasn’t true. Hirschvogel sold merchandise everywhere there was a market.

“Are you with the government?” Hirschvogel asked.

Jake slapped him again.

Hirschvogel cursed, but tears of pain coursed down his cheeks.

“Where did you get the weapons?” Kate asked.

“American military shipments in Turkey,” Hirschvogel said. “A recent resupply. I arranged for it to go missing.”

“Not without help.”

Hirschvogel shrugged. “I have some contacts within the army’s civilian support agencies. I knew when the shipment would arrive by truck. I had a team take the weapons.”

Kate hadn’t heard anything about that, but no one liked admitting he’d been made a fool of. The United States military had their own investigative bodies. She made a mental note to go through channels and contact the army’s criminal-investigative division regarding the stolen shipment.

“Why did you sell them to Hasan?” she asked.

“I’d heard Mustafa was looking for weapons. Particularly American weapons.”

“Why?”

Hirschvogel glanced at Jake and flinched as he answered. “I don’t know.”

Jake didn’t move.

“He believes you,” Kate said. “So do I. But I’m going to need to know who your contacts were in the military.”

Hirschvogel scowled. The side of his face still glowed red from the slaps. “Those contacts have proven very expensive.”

“And profitable,” Kate said.

“Perhaps we could negotiate.”

“All right.” Kate folded her arms. “Give me the names of the men who helped you arrange the theft, and I won’t let my friend throw you over the balcony.”

Defeated, Hirschvogel gave her the names.

When he was finished, Kate nodded at Jake.

He took a spray from his pocket and squirted it into Hirschvogel’s face. The German tried not to breathe, obviously afraid of being poisoned, but the spray worked on mere contact, as well. He fought the effects of the drug, then his head slumped forward.

“Personally I think it would be better if I dropped him over the balcony,” Jake said. “Guy like this, he’s gonna be a problem somewhere down the line.”

“No,” Kate said. “We’ll let him run and keep a leash on him. Taking out Hasan and Mustafa will help shut down his organization, but there’s still a lot of information we can discover.”

She looked around the apartment to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind. Both of them were too professional for that. But always checking was part of being professional.

“Indigo, are we clear?” Kate asked.

“Affirmative. We show you clear.”

Kate left the apartment and headed for the elevator.

“What’s being done with the young woman driving the truck?” Jake asked.

“For the moment,” Kate said, “we’re going to let her run.”

“One of Red Team’s snipers could take her out. Even on the fly. Don’t have to kill her.”

“She’s MI-6. We have to check and see if they’ve got a play in place.”

“I’m thinking grabbing everybody at the buy would have been a good strategy,” Jake said.

“That’s where I would have done it,” Kate agreed.

“MI-6 doesn’t always get it right,” Jake commented.

“Nobody does. That’s why they have us.”

Jake chuckled. “They have us when they want to take the gloves off and throw the rulebook out the window.”

Kate smiled.

“So what if everything’s snafued in Istanbul?” Jake asked.

“We improvise.”

9

Istanbul

Desperate, Ajza ran through her options. If she drove the truck where Mustafa wanted it, she’d know where it was for a while, but she didn’t doubt that the weapons would be quickly moved. Or she could depend on her support team suddenly materializing and getting her out of the current situation. But it didn’t seem like that was about to happen.

She was sweltering in the growing heat of the day and had to work hard to keep the truck headed straight. The steering had a lot of play, which necessitated constant attention.

She didn’t like the possibility of parking the weapons somewhere and losing them. The question of who was going to be using them and for what purpose never left her mind. Over the past few years she’d seen firsthand the kind of carnage left by al-Qaeda and other terrorists.

“I could have driven the truck,” Fikret complained from the passenger side.

Ajza looked around and got her bearings. She was only a few blocks from the harbor. A desperate plan formed in her mind.

“All I needed was another chance,” Fikret went on. He glared at Ajza. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t.”

Traffic came to a halt. Ajza studied the cross street ahead. It was one of the major ones. She was certain the harbor area was nearly a straight shot down it. At least, as straight a shot as the streets of the old city allowed.

“You should not have volunteered,” Fikret said. “You only did so to make me look bad.”

Ajza couldn’t be quiet any longer. “If you could have driven the truck, you would not have looked bad. If you had not volunteered, you would not have looked bad. You brought this on yourself.”

“I could have driven the truck. I only needed a little more time to figure out how to do it better.”

Slowly traffic started forward again. The sedan she was following powered through the intersection.

Gripping the wheel, knowing her next action would put her life on the line, Ajza turned right and jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator. The truck responded immediately. She swung out wide around the corner and momentarily crossed bumpers with a panel truck waiting in the oncoming lane. Metal grated as she broke free and kept going.

“What are you doing?” Fikret demanded. He held on to the door. “You weren’t supposed to turn.”

Ajza straightened the wheels and sped down the street. The heavy traffic looked problematic. She shifted gears and gained speed. A taxi stopped in front of her to pick up a fare. Ajza pulled to the left and narrowly avoided it. The truck’s bumper scraped the side of a car, setting off a cascade of car horns.

“Stop!” Fikret roared. “Stop the truck now!” He reached for the steering wheel.

Ajza grabbed the pistol from under her thigh and clubbed the big man in the face with it. Blood spouted from his nose and he drew back, cursing in pain and anger.

“Get out,” Ajza commanded. She pointed the pistol at him.

“What?”

“Get out of the truck.” Ajza glanced in the side mirrors and saw that the rest of the convoy were hot on her heels. They closed the gap rapidly.

Fikret didn’t move. He had one massive hand clamped to his nose. He reached for his rifle with the other.

Ajza fired her pistol and missed the big man’s head by inches. The bullet slammed into a building at the side of the street.

“Get out!” she shouted over the ringing din of the pistol report. “Or I put the next one through your head.”

Fikret swung the door open and turned to leap out. Fear held him frozen.

Ajza turned in the seat, raised a leg and shoved her foot hard between Fikret’s shoulder blades. He grunted as his breath left his lungs. He lost his grip on the door frame and tumbled out.

In the next instant the open door collided with a parked truck. The window shattered and glass fragments peppered the inside of the truck. The impact slammed the door shut with a metallic screech.

Ajza’s heart pounded as she looked at the side mirror. The two vehicles tailing her pulled up alongside. Their occupants, men with whom she had eaten dinner the night before, brandished guns. A couple of them fired their weapons, and bullets ricocheted from the truck’s cab and tore through the body.

Wrenching the wheel, Ajza slammed into the lead car. The truck’s greater bulk shoved the car sideways. The car plowed through an outdoor café, narrowly missing the few patrons sitting there with coffee and breakfast. The car crashed into the corner of the next building.

Ajza hoped that Nazmi wasn’t in the car. She liked him. She focused on her driving and spotted a police vehicle at the light ahead of her. Two police officers occupied the vehicle, but neither of them noticed the wreck Ajza left in her wake.

She tapped the brake and pulled to the left again. But she allowed her front bumper to scrape across the police vehicle’s back bumper. Although she’d tried to keep the collision to a minimum, the force spun the police car halfway around.

“All right,” Ajza said, glancing in the side mirror as she passed the police car, “come get me.”

The police car’s lights came on and the siren screamed to life. Two cars bearing Mustafa’s men roared past it.

Traffic became more difficult the closer she got to the harbor area. She braked and downshifted almost constantly to avoid smashing into vehicles. The truck’s transmission groaned as she kept up the pace. Bullets smacked into the truck’s rear.

Ajza’s gut twisted as she thought about the explosion waiting to erupt if anything especially potent in the crates got hit. She took evasive action, swinging wildly across the street to block the cars zooming up behind her.

She tried to push one of them into a nearby building, but the driver pulled back and she only rammed into the building herself. Something fell in the truck’s cargo area. Ajza waited for the detonation. Nothing happened.

Lying on the horn as she powered into the last intersection, she headed for the pier. She didn’t know where she was, but the broad expanse of gray-green water in front of her told her she’d reached the harbor. Ships and boats sat at anchorage.

The large cranes and forklifts marked the area as one of the commercial districts. Men dodged out of the way as she barreled through. Another blistering hail of bullets raked the back of the truck. The side mirror on her door suddenly shattered and flew away. The metal housing came loose and battered the door.

The truck roared across the pier. Ajza continued to lean on the horn. One man abandoned a forklift and left it in her path. She swerved and tried not to hit it full on.

The impact strained Ajza’s seat belt. The stiff material bit into the flesh of her hips and upper body. Crates in the back rushed forward and smashed against the cab.

Ajza screamed a curse. The forklift slid away in pieces and she continued down the pier. The right front tire pulled at the steering. The wobble told her that the collision had deflated the tire or ripped it to shreds. Her arms ached with the effort of holding the truck on course.

She aimed for the end of the pier and never lifted her foot from the accelerator. The image in the rearview mirror of Mustafa and the others bearing down on her guaranteed the lack of choice.

Ajza unfastened the seat belt and kept her foot on the accelerator. She prayed that God still watched over fools as the sounds of gunfire and police sirens filled her ears.

10

London

“She did not just do that,” tech support said in Samantha’s ear.

Samantha couldn’t believe the woman survived the collision with all the munitions in the back of the truck.

“That is one gutsy bird,” the head computer programmer said as he stared at the screen with a big grin. “I think I’m in love.”

They all stared at the screen as the truck and Ajza disappeared into the ocean.

“My God,” Samantha breathed.

“What?” Kate asked.

Knowing Kate lacked visual access while she left the apartment in New York, Samantha ignored the request for information for the moment.

“Later,” she said. “Red Team?”

“We’re here, Indigo.”

“Are you mobile?”

“Since the convoy started up.”

That was good, Samantha told herself. She looked at the lead computer operator. He nodded and tapped on a keyboard.

Almost immediately the satellite view split on the wall screen. One side stayed with the white-capped wake that remained from the truck’s plunge into the sea. The other shifted to a street scene. A yellow spotlight circled an SUV.

“Hold your position,” Samantha said.

“Did she make it?” the Red Team Leader asked.

“So far. Are you prepared for an exfiltration?”

“Affirmative. Red Team is ready to rock and roll. Especially for that hard-driving lady.”

Yanks, Samantha thought. All of them had showoff tendencies.

“If she survived, I’d like to try to get her home in one piece,” she said.

On the wall screen, she saw Mustafa’s men bring their vehicles to a halt. The police car slid in behind them, then realized their mistake when Mustafa’s gunners opened fire on them. The driver of the police car reversed and hastily backed away.