your seat belt,’ she shouted.
A brick wall loomed. She swerved.
‘They’ll need a missile to stop us.’ She sounded triumphant.
We slid sideways, tyres squealing, onto an empty street. Exhilaration filled me. I was glad to be alive.
‘These diplomatic cars are worth every penny,’ she said. She was holding the steering wheel so tightly I could see her knuckles protruding through her pale skin.
‘Who they hell were they?’ I shouted.
‘I think a better question is, what the hell have you been up to that they want you so bad?’
‘I have no idea,’ I shouted. I took a deep breath, released my grip on the armrest, peeled my hand slowly from the plastic. I’d been holding it way too tight. I stared out the back window. There was no one coming after us. Isabel squealed around another turn. My shoulder banged against the window.
‘You better thank your guardian angel I didn’t get a taxi tonight,’ she continued.
I settled back in my seat, rubbed my elbow. It throbbed lightly. The inside of the Range Rover was a cocoon of black leather and brushed aluminium. A shiny logo sat at the centre of the polished walnut steering wheel. The vehicle was cavernous and it smelled of leather.
We turned the next corner a lot slower. Then, after examining the rear view mirror, Isabel sat back in her seat.
‘Do you have any idea what a bitch this car is to park?’ she said.
I was still thinking about how close the bastards had come. I looked at Isabel. She had tiny gold studs in her earlobes. They shone as we passed a street light.
She looked as if she’d done this sort of thing before. Only a few hairs had escaped from her ponytail. And they were flying gently in the breeze from the air conditioning.
The Range Rover growled as she changed gears. The steep side street we were on was empty. Pools of darkness crowded around lonely street lights. We bounced through a pothole.
‘You’re in good shape,’ she said, glancing in my direction. ‘You live in your gym, right?’
‘No. I free dive, run most days, but not usually for my life. Does this sort of stuff happen a lot to you?’
She shook her head.
‘No. Mostly I help businessmen and holidaymakers. And I rescue the unlucky from police custody.’
‘What do you think that lot were after?’
Her expression hardened, as if I’d insulted her. ‘Mr Ryan. This has to do with you and your colleague, Alek.’
‘Well, I’ve no idea why anyone would come after me like that. Has Istanbul gone mad?’
‘Not at all.’
I felt an ache in my arm. I rubbed it, moved it in its socket. Nothing seemed to be broken, but it was stiff and painful.
We stopped at a traffic light.
‘You obviously can’t go back to the hotel. I’ll take you somewhere else.’ It sounded as if she was going to find a kennel for a sick dog.
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Mr Ryan. Didn’t they teach you that at MIT?’ She looked at me, then at the traffic lights.
‘No, I was taught to look for explanations. And I still don’t have one for what just happened.’
‘Mr Ryan, when people get shot at here, it’s usually for a good reason, because of drugs or something worse.’
‘I’m not into drugs or something worse.’
She didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘What about this project you and Alek were working on? Could it be something to do with that?’
‘I don’t think so. The project’s no big deal. There’s nothing controversial about it at all. We’re doing photographic work in Hagia Sophia for God’s sake. That’s it. What kind of joker is going to start killing because of that?’
‘Well, you’ve trodden on someone’s toes. Those thugs were prepared to kill you. And me, by the way, which I don’t appreciate one bit.’
As we drove on, she checked the mirror at regular intervals. My breathing had just about returned to normal, but my leg muscles were tight, as if I’d run a marathon, and my stomach felt weird, all
A brick wall loomed. She swerved.
‘They’ll need a missile to stop us.’ She sounded triumphant.
We slid sideways, tyres squealing, onto an empty street. Exhilaration filled me. I was glad to be alive.
‘These diplomatic cars are worth every penny,’ she said. She was holding the steering wheel so tightly I could see her knuckles protruding through her pale skin.
‘Who they hell were they?’ I shouted.
‘I think a better question is, what the hell have you been up to that they want you so bad?’
‘I have no idea,’ I shouted. I took a deep breath, released my grip on the armrest, peeled my hand slowly from the plastic. I’d been holding it way too tight. I stared out the back window. There was no one coming after us. Isabel squealed around another turn. My shoulder banged against the window.
‘You better thank your guardian angel I didn’t get a taxi tonight,’ she continued.
I settled back in my seat, rubbed my elbow. It throbbed lightly. The inside of the Range Rover was a cocoon of black leather and brushed aluminium. A shiny logo sat at the centre of the polished walnut steering wheel. The vehicle was cavernous and it smelled of leather.
We turned the next corner a lot slower. Then, after examining the rear view mirror, Isabel sat back in her seat.
‘Do you have any idea what a bitch this car is to park?’ she said.
I was still thinking about how close the bastards had come. I looked at Isabel. She had tiny gold studs in her earlobes. They shone as we passed a street light.
She looked as if she’d done this sort of thing before. Only a few hairs had escaped from her ponytail. And they were flying gently in the breeze from the air conditioning.
The Range Rover growled as she changed gears. The steep side street we were on was empty. Pools of darkness crowded around lonely street lights. We bounced through a pothole.
‘You’re in good shape,’ she said, glancing in my direction. ‘You live in your gym, right?’
‘No. I free dive, run most days, but not usually for my life. Does this sort of stuff happen a lot to you?’
She shook her head.
‘No. Mostly I help businessmen and holidaymakers. And I rescue the unlucky from police custody.’
‘What do you think that lot were after?’
Her expression hardened, as if I’d insulted her. ‘Mr Ryan. This has to do with you and your colleague, Alek.’
‘Well, I’ve no idea why anyone would come after me like that. Has Istanbul gone mad?’
‘Not at all.’
I felt an ache in my arm. I rubbed it, moved it in its socket. Nothing seemed to be broken, but it was stiff and painful.
We stopped at a traffic light.
‘You obviously can’t go back to the hotel. I’ll take you somewhere else.’ It sounded as if she was going to find a kennel for a sick dog.
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Mr Ryan. Didn’t they teach you that at MIT?’ She looked at me, then at the traffic lights.
‘No, I was taught to look for explanations. And I still don’t have one for what just happened.’
‘Mr Ryan, when people get shot at here, it’s usually for a good reason, because of drugs or something worse.’
‘I’m not into drugs or something worse.’
She didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘What about this project you and Alek were working on? Could it be something to do with that?’
‘I don’t think so. The project’s no big deal. There’s nothing controversial about it at all. We’re doing photographic work in Hagia Sophia for God’s sake. That’s it. What kind of joker is going to start killing because of that?’
‘Well, you’ve trodden on someone’s toes. Those thugs were prepared to kill you. And me, by the way, which I don’t appreciate one bit.’
As we drove on, she checked the mirror at regular intervals. My breathing had just about returned to normal, but my leg muscles were tight, as if I’d run a marathon, and my stomach felt weird, all
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