Daredevil Riders

24

Before she could answer Turkekul said, “You are mostly correct. However, I was not pretending to read the plaque. I did in fact read it. The German von Steuben has long been of historical interest to me.”

“Why?”

“My maternal grandfather was German. He was also in the military.”

“German and in the military?”

“The Third Reich, yes. But with a twist.”

“What twist?”

“He was a Jew.”

Herbert said nothing.

“And he was a spy. They discovered his real identity in 1944. They didn’t bother sending him to a concentration camp to join his fellow Jews. They simply executed him on the bombed-out streets of Berlin. The incensed and war-weary crowd of Germans tore his body apart, I was told. It was indeed tragic. A few more months and the war in Europe would

be over.”

“He died a hero,” added Mrs. Penelope, though she was looking at Herbert.

“Mrs. Penelope told me you were meeting with her at the park that night, only she never showed up. She also told me that you have interests outside of academia.”

“That is true.”

“What are those interests?”

“I cannot see how they have relevance to what you seek.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“I can see that.”

“But we can start with what you saw that night in the park.”

Turkekul spoke in great detail for the next ten minutes as he patiently laid out what he had observed. “I was past the Decatur House when I heard the guns commence firing,” he added.

“And what did you do?”

“What any sensible person would have done. I ran in the other direction.”

“So you could tell from where the gunfire was coming?”

“Yes and no. Yes in that I saw the bullets ripping through the trees in the park. Thus I assumed that the origin was coming from H Street or thereabouts. I did not stop to look and gauge exactly the shots’ origins. I have some nerve, but not enough to stand pat when guns are firing.”

“And the woman who left the park about the same time you did?”

“I saw her once. She too was running across the street.”

Herbert glanced at Mrs. Penelope. “So what were you two planning to meet about?”

“If we refuse to tell you, I suppose you will turn us in,” said Turkekul.

“No.”

Turkekul looked surprised. “Why not?”

“Because Mrs. Penelope is an old friend of mine. She’s helped me in the past. She kept secrets about me to herself. I don’t betray my friends.”

“Even though, as I understand it, you now work for your government.”

“I don’t betray my friends,” Herbert said again.

“An admirable trait,” opined Turkekul. He remained silent for a few seconds, his index finger tapping absently on the arm of the chair.

Finally he sat forward. “I have been given a mission, Agent Herbert. A very difficult one. One that no one else has been able to accomplish.”

“Which is?”

“To help us find Osama bin Laden.”

The voice did not belong to Fuat Turkekul.

Herbert turned to see Sir James McElroy stroll into the room.

25

MCELROY SAT DOWN across from Herbert.

Herbert said, “It’s comforting to see that you still lie as well as ever.”

“A necessary skill in our line of work, as you well know.”

“So how big a lie was it?”

“I have known about Fuat here for some time now. We actually worked with the Americans to bring this whole mission up to snuff.”

“I can tell you that your keeping me in the dark forced me to waste an incredible amount of time, but then you already know that.”

“Without seeming to make excuses, Oliver, I also have a higher authority to answer to.”

“And they wanted to keep the truth from me?”

“Yes. However, I decided to bring this charade to an end for two reasons. One, it wasn’t fair to you. And second, it’s inefficient.”

Herbert looked at Mrs. Penelope. “I take it he asked you to come to me?”

Mrs. Penelope nodded. “But I’ve wanted to for a long time. I miss our chats. Our friendship.”

Herbert looked back at McElroy. “Are you here simply to say you’re sorry and pat me on the head, or do you intend to fill me in? And is Anthony aware of this?”

McElroy blew his nose into his handkerchief and shook his head. He had on the same blue blazer but a fresh shirt and pants. His face was pinched and the eyes evidenced the physical pain he was suffering. “No, she’s not.”

“All right,” Herbert said warily.

“To get back to your first query. We decided to tell you because you might’ve figured it out on your own. I know how tenacious you can be. It was the most extraordinarily unfortunate timing that Fuat was in the park when it happened.”

“And you see no connection?” Herbert asked.

“Actually, I wish I did. It would at least make some sense out of what so far is inexplicable.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“That Fuat was not the target? Reasonably sure. The mission has hardly begun. And Fuat is not in the front lines. It would be counterintuitive to expect a man to be hunting Osama bin Laden from the United States. It’s merely in the planning stages, a delicate operation between several like-minded countries, but it does involve a fresh approach with new assets on the ground, hence the need for secrecy. Mrs. Penelope represents one such entity. My interests are self-evident.”

“And what are your interests, Mr. Turkekul?” Herbert gazed at the other man.

Turkekul said, “After the end of World War II my German mother left for Turkey where she met my father. I don’t believe he knew of her ethnicity. The war destroyed the official records of millions of people. I only found out when I was an adult. I was born in Turkey, just outside of Constantinople. But I grew up in Pakistan, although for a time my family lived in Afghanistan. I am a Muslim like my father but I despise the people behind 9/11. They have taken the concept of jihad and twisted it into something ugly and indefensible in furtherance of their own hatred for others.”