Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

Khalid focused on Webster. ‘There is another matter I would speak to you about. Perhaps you could help.’

‘Of course, if I can.’

Khalid nodded to one of his personal guards, who walked to another door and opened it. The guard led another man into the room. He was in his twenties. White gauze covered his left cheek and his right forearm. Scabs clung to recent lacerations all over his body. He walked with a limp.

‘Do you know this man?’ Khalid asked.

Webster made a show of looking at the man, but didn’t recognize him. ‘No. Am I supposed to?’

The man stood trembling, sucking in air and looking at the floor as if afraid to look anywhere else.

‘His name is Farok,’ Khalid said. ‘He came to me seeking asylum. He claims to have worked for your CIA.’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’

Khalid smiled, but the expression was frosty and distant. ‘I suppose if it were true or false, you would deny it all the same.’

Webster didn’t bother to reply.

‘He insists that the CIA hired him and his friends to abduct a man from Ataturk International Airport only a few days ago. A man named Professor Thomas Lourds. Do you know that man?’

‘I know who he is, of course. That story of the attack on him has been in the news. The last I heard, Professor Lourds had been allowed to stay in Istanbul to pursue his studies.’

‘He has,’ Khalid commented. ‘This one managed to elude the police, but he brought back an interesting story. Would you like to hear it?’

Webster made himself remain calm. This wasn’t at all expected. ‘Of course, Your Excellency. If you think it’s of interest.’

‘This story is of interest.’ Khalid walked behind the trembling man and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘This man went on to tell me that not only was he supposed to take this professor captive, but he was also supposed to find out if the professor was in possession of a document.’

‘A document?’

‘Yes, evidently something of historical significance regarding Istanbul’s religious history. Do you know anything about that?’

‘No,’ Webster lied. He throttled back his anger that somewhere there had been a leak. It had been ill-timed luck after all that the Joy Scroll had turned up at the same time he was making his move on the Middle East. Dawson should never have told anyone they were looking for a religious manuscript.

‘Perhaps,’ Khalid suggested in a neutral tone, ‘you could make enquiries when you have the time.’

‘Of course.’

‘Istanbul is an important city to my people’s history.’

‘And to mine.’

‘Muslims and Christians have warred there for centuries,’ Khalid acknowledged. ‘That city contains the histories of both our cultures, and any religious documentation would be of great interest to me.’

‘I understand.’

‘I have sent a contingent of warriors to Istanbul in hopes of securing that document.’

‘If it exists,’ Webster countered.

Khalid stepped back from the handcuffed man. ‘It is no secret to me that there are spies among my people. I know some of them belong to you. This man feared for his life, and he came to my father seeking absolution for his sins against us. Is this not true, Farok?’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘My father would have forgiven him and perhaps sought to find a way to use Farok to find out more of what the CIA wishes to know about my country.’

Vicky suddenly closed her hand over Webster’s. Her nails bit into his palm. ‘My God,’ she whispered, and turned her head away.

Evidently sensing what was about to come, the handcuffed man tried to turn round and duck at the same time. He raised his hands to defend himself. With a quick movement, Khalid whipped the sword from his back. He slashed sideways at the man standing in front of him. The blade cut through the prisoner’s hands and caught the man just under his jaw line. The keen edge passed cleanly through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed over Khalid and the window as severed fingers rained to the floor and wriggled. Crimson stained the prince’s thawb, ghutra, and face. He stood without flinching.

The decapitated man dropped to the floor and sprawled as he jerked through the final moments of his life.

Khalid knelt and cleaned his sword on the dead man’s clothing before returning the weapon to the sheath across his back. Then he stood and addressed Webster.

‘I am not my father,’ the prince said as blood trickled down his grim features. ‘I will not be betrayed. And this country will become strong in its faith in God. My enemies will not be forgiven or ignored.’ He stepped over the corpse. ‘Do you understand, Vice-President Webster?’

‘Of course.’ Webster had to work to sound shocked. He was surprised by Khalid’s personal bloodthirstiness, but that trait would only make his plans work out better.

However, the prince’s knowledge of the events in Istanbul could pose a problem there. But Webster reconciled himself with knowing Eckart and his men should be on the ground there now. The prince would be too late.

Thomas Lourds would be in Webster’s custody again soon.

Istanbul University

Beyazit Square

Istanbul, Turkey

19 March 2010

‘Do you know who the author of that book is?’

Despite his longer legs, Lourds struggled to keep pace with Olympia as she strode down the halls of the college where she taught history. Several students remained on campus for afternoon and evening classes. Conversations buzzed all round and bright laughter seemed counterpoint to the dark, anxious mood that had infected Olympia so suddenly and mysteriously.

‘No name was given.’

‘Any other names?’

‘No. None.’ Exasperated, Lourds reached out and caught her wrist. He brought her to a halt beside one of the glass display cases that held Roman weapons. ‘What’s going on? What has you so concerned?’

Her liquid eyes held his. ‘Just trust me, Thomas. Wait just a moment longer.’ She took a breath. ‘Before I try to explain any of this to you, I need to show you some files. The thing you deciphered has a long history and we don’t know all the answers.’

‘We?’

‘I can’t talk about that yet. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Or how important it is.’

‘There was just a message,’ Lourds said. ‘I’m not convinced that it is anything important yet.’

Olympia placed her slim hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me about it for the moment. I need to wait. I want to think about this as clearly as I can and be as prepared as I’m able. Understand?’

Having no other choice, physically as well as logically, Lourds nodded.

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into motion again. They barrelled up two flights of stairs at an embarrassing speed. Olympia was small enough and slim enough to slip between the students without a problem. Lourds wasn’t so aerodynamically built, being taller and broader. The backpack made him more awkward. He inadvertently bumped into a few students while trying to remain on his feet. He excused himself as best he could.

Mild cursing and a few snickers as well as comments about why Professor Adnan and the visiting professor were in such a hurry chased them up the steps.

Finally, Olympia reached the top of the stairs and headed for her office. She pulled her keys from her purse before she reached the door. The frosted glass pane held precise black lettering in English and Arabic that read:

PROFESSOR OLYMPIA ADNAN

DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

The key rasped in the lock and finally turned. Olympia took a final wary glance over her shoulder and headed inside. After Lourds followed her, she locked the door behind them.