The Thieves of Darkness (36 page)

Michael drove for eight more blocks before he spotted a group
of teens, their swagger and looks not conveying innocence. Michael slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell are you doing?” KC shouted.

“Let’s go.” Michael jumped from the car, not waiting for an answer.

“Hey,” Michael shouted. The five teens turned, their piss-and-vinegar attitudes looking for a fight. The lead punk walked toward Michael. Michael held his hand out toward the car in offering. “Have fun.”

The teens looked at each other, confused, spinning about as if this was some sort of trap. But before anyone could protest, they hopped into the running car and took off.

Michael charged up the road, nearing a full-on run.

“What the hell did you do that for?” KC asked as she fell in stride beside him, the leather tube banging against her back.

Multiple sirens screamed out in the night; the three cop cars, their flashing lights lighting up the rough neighborhood, flew after the ’88 Buick. The sirens seemed to be coming from all directions now. In front, behind … others were joining the chase.

KC’s mind was on overdrive. Paranoia was slipping in, which scared her, for she knew that once that flowed in her veins she was through: Her mind would fill with supposition, worst-case scenarios that would destroy her focus on getting the job done, on getting out of wherever here was.

Michael never let up. He kept running, looking to his side at KC as if they were out for a jog.

KC ran like she’d never run before. It was not the speed, it was the fear. While she’d always maintained supreme focus, her thefts did not involve lives hanging in the balance. The consequences were always hers and hers alone. But now, she realized, if she fell, if she was caught, it would literally be the death of her sister and Simon. Both lives depended on her and Michael eluding their pursuers.

Michael came to a sudden stop in front of a nondescript white building that sat midway down a cobblestone street. The section of the city was old, but since it had never been upgraded, no one thought of it as historic. The first floor was a run-down butcher shop that sat behind
a large-paned glass window with paper signs, Turkish words decreeing hours and specials.

Michael opened a mottled white door set off to the side, ushered KC in, and closed it behind them. Michael led the charge up three flights of narrow stairs, arriving at the top floor to find a long hallway, both ends exposed and wide open to the elements. Michael raced down the hall to the last door on the left, tried the handle, and it opened right up. He held the door open for KC and followed her in, closing and locking the door behind them.

They stood in a dark room, their hearts thundering, the adrenaline still surging through their veins as the scream of the sirens faded to silence. Their eyes slowly adjusted, the city lights filtered through the narrow slatted windows. The room was starkly white: the walls and floors, the furniture and sheets, as if all color had been sucked out of the world. The room lacked any sign of personality, no photos, no pictures on the bare walls. The space was not much larger than a hotel room. The sitting and sleeping areas were one. There was a small kitchenette with a pass-through and an even smaller bathroom. A large balcony sat off the bedroom, facing the Grand Bazaar, offering sweeping views of old Istanbul.

KC raced to the window, which was covered in large wooden shutters; she cracked the slats and looked outside.

“It’s okay,” Michael said.

KC could not stop panting, her heavy breaths coming not from exertion but fear. “No, they’ll find us.”

“We’re safe,” Michael said.

“How do you know?” KC was beginning to shiver, the adrenaline shakes making her voice quiver.

“It’s a safe house.”

KC turned to him in shock.

“… safe room, really—I set it up.”

“How could you know?” KC said in surprise.

“I get chased a lot. Had a feeling I wouldn’t be breaking that habit. I’m full of surprises.”

“You’re sure?” KC looked through the slats down onto the vacant streets.

Michael nodded.

“You’re
sure
?” KC’s fear wouldn’t abate.

Michael placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. “I promise.”

“What if someone … what if the police check?”

Michael shook his head. “I promise.”

And in that moment, with the echo of the words “promise” and “safe,” KC felt something grow in her chest. Michael cared for her, was taking care of her, something no one had done since she was a child.

There was never a boyfriend buying flowers or opening doors, no husband leaving presents under the tree at Christmas. No one protecting her, assuring her that life would go on. And the regret poured in, for a life missed, for a life sacrificed for a sister who could die in spite of everything she had done to protect her. KC had no children, no one to share her life with, no one who had loved her for her. She had thought it impossible, inconceivable, as a result of her unconventional career. There was no way to explain what she did for a living to any man, to any suitor, if she was to hope for an honest, permanent relationship. Hers was to be a life denied all such comforts, a sacrifice made out of love, at the highest of prices. But now, a feeling filled her body, overwhelming her, a warmth, an outpouring that was beyond her control. And it all came flooding up.

Michael took KC in his arms, gently pressing her head into his shoulder, rubbing her back as her tears poured forth. All of her anger, all of her sorrow and shame, the frustration and anxiety, was released as she broke down.

She had not cried since the death of her mother. She had been strong from that day forward, had shown that strength for her sister, had assumed that tears were a sign of weakness, shed by too many woman on too many mundane occasions. She vowed she would never be that way. She learned to bottle up her feelings, to contain the agony in her heart:
When she and her sister were desperate for food, when she feared being caught, when she spent sleepless nights thinking of her sister being taken away, she locked it all in her soul. She feared prison, she feared loss of control. She feared being alone. But it never showed; she met life and the problems it threw at her head-on, with a smile and the answer that she was fine and happy to be breathing.

But now as Michael held her, she could contain it no more. It was too much; her world was crashing down around her.

Despite it all, the peril and jeopardy, the shame and anxiety, all the danger, anger, and harsh words she had thrust upon him, Michael was there. He didn’t run, he didn’t condemn her. She looked up and became lost in his eyes; she leaned in and he kissed her, softly, with passion. And it was like a key opening her heart, opening her soul to emotions she had buried long ago. She kissed him back, long and hard, and he responded in kind. They held tight to each other, Michael’s hand stroking her face, running through her blonde hair, down her back.

And the heat rose: She clawed at Michael, tearing his shirt open. They fell to the floor in the throes of passion, her agony replaced with lust. It was primal, a lust from the soul, pure and innocent, filled with love and compassion, promises and commitments. It was physical, both reaching for release, coaxing it from each other as if in a dance. And in it, their fears washed away, troubles and obstacles disappearing as they were consumed by the moment, as their clothes scattered the floor. They banished all thought of sisters and friends, of assassins and police, all their troubles obliterated by their feelings for each other. Both reached for completion, lost in the tangle of flesh, their entwined hearts carrying them to a place neither had been before. When they had made love for the first and only time five weeks earlier, it was different. It was respectful, filled with love and tenderness. This was beyond that. They urged each other to new heights, as if the heat of the moment would burn all their troubles away and meld them into one.

It was warm and tender, moist and alive, their lips running about each other’s body, earnest and uncontrollable.

They finally collapsed, both achieving the physical and emotional
release they had denied themselves for too long. They were as one, finding in each other completion, finding a love that few would ever know.

And after it all, they fell asleep, arms and legs wrapped about each other, their breathing and hearts in perfect synch.

KC drifted upward from her dreams. She couldn’t remember them but they were calm, filled with smiles and peace, filled with Michael. She tried to fall back into them, resuming where she left off, but the world began to intrude upon her. She heard the Islamic call to prayer, cried out in singsong voices from the minarets that dotted the Istanbul skyline, and the light of dawn poured in through the slatted windows across her eyelids. KC slowly opened her eyes, acclimating to her surroundings, to the safe room. She looked beside her but Michael was not in the bed; she glanced at the closed bathroom door and smiled.

It was the most restful sleep she had had in months—not that being awake and in peril didn’t exhaust her and contribute to her sedation. She had awoken with a newfound confidence; there was no doubt in her mind that they would get Cindy and Simon back. Michael was right; in the rod they held the most important piece of Iblis’s puzzle. He wouldn’t harm them as long as she held his prize.

KC slowly arose from the bed and walked to the window. Pulling the shutter aside, she glanced down on the streets already in the midst of the early-morning rush, pedestrians walking quickly to their mosques, vendors setting up shop: Istanbul was waking up.

She stepped to the bathroom door and rested her bed-head blonde
hair against the jamb. “Good morning,” she whispered to the door, smiling as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She crouched and picked up her panties and bra. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept naked, the last time she had felt so free. She had sat on the bed and begun to dress, when she realized there had been no response from the bathroom. There was no sound of water, no shaving or showering. She walked to the bathroom door again. “Michael?” she said louder.

But there was no response. She knocked, quickly, a sense of urgency pervading the three raps. But again, nothing. She tried the handle and, to her surprise, the door opened right up. The bathroom was dry as a bone, unused and unoccupied.

KC spun about and raced for the bed, the fear already upon her as she lifted the dust ruffle. The leather tube with the rod was gone.

Cindy sat on the couch, soda in hand, the TV tuned to FNN. She hadn’t slept a wink, her thoughts bouncing between anger and fear all night. She’d showered at 5:00
A.M
. Though she’d been wearing the same clothes now for two days, she tried her best to keep up appearances.

Simon lay on the cot; she was unsure if he was unconscious or sleeping: He had mumbled and stirred through the night but had yet to open his eyes. She got up and leaned over him. His wound had grown darker, continuing to swell, and she feared if he didn’t get medical attention soon, he might die before her eyes. She looked at the IV bag; it was on a slow drip and whatever it was did not seem to be serving any purpose beyond keeping him hydrated. She spun the bag around, expecting to see a 100 percent saline solution, but was surprised to find something far different.

While the drip was keeping Simon hydrated it contained the sedative Sedine benzodiazepine. Iblis wasn’t taking any chance of Simon becoming fully awake. As she looked down upon Simon she wondered how much of his condition was a result of the blow and how much was caused by the medication pouring into his veins.

Cindy heard a subtle spinning sound like a top coming from the vault door. Iblis was coming.

She looked back at Simon; he was in terrible shape but if he were at least awake maybe he could figure a way out of here. Cindy heard the gears of the safe spin toward release.

She quickly grabbed Simon’s left arm and lifted the bandage concealing the IV needle. She plucked the thin metal tube out and bent it, impeding the IV flow to a bare minimum.

The whooshing sound at the door continued. Cindy knew she had only seconds.

She lay the bent needle flush against Simon’s skin and reaffixed the bandage tight around his arm.

And the large vault door clicked and swung open. Iblis stalked into the room still wearing the black tuxedo pants and shirt but no longer the jacket or tie.

Seeing Cindy standing at Simon’s side, he laid the long leather tube he carried on the small card table, walked to Simon’s unconscious form, and leaned over him. He briefly looked up through his blue, haunted eyes at Cindy, assessing her as much as Simon.

“He needs to get to a hospital,” Cindy said, her eyes alive with fear of being caught.

Iblis checked the half-empty IV bag, flicking the tube with his finger. Ignoring her, he walked to the far wall. He moved aside a picture of a lion taking down a gazelle to reveal a wall safe.

“So cliché.” Cindy shook her head. The relief of not being caught emboldened her.

“I’m sure you already found this while I was gone,” Iblis finally spoke.

“Not afraid I’m going to break it open?”

“This thing is four inches thick; it can withstand a direct blast, fire, and most definitely you. Besides, even if you got it open, you’re not getting out.” Iblis pointed to the large vault door. “I’m sure you noticed, there is no handle on the inside.”

Iblis spun the dial back and forth until the wall safe opened. “Did you know your sister’s boyfriend was a thief?”

“There’s a surprise.” Cindy dismissed the information. She stared at
Iblis as if looking at a stranger. “All those years, I thought you were a friend, I thought you were one of the few people I could trust.”

“I never lied to you.” Iblis’s voice was deep and matter-of-fact. “I never brought you to harm. I treated you and KC like a surrogate family.”

“Please, stay away from my heartstrings.”

“Honestly, Cindy? I never thought you had any,” Iblis shot back with a smile.