Empire of Lies

38

Kamal was never the heaviest of sleepers.

And given his state of mind, given the hurricane that was whipping through him tonight, he hadn’t even dipped a toe into the shallow end of sleep. Which was why he bolted upright at the barely audible clicks of someone tampering with the lock to his front door the instant they began.

Stark naked, he sprang out of bed, quietly, but he was already too late. He heard the telltale sound of the last pin falling into place and the pained squeal of the door opening before he could make it into the living room. Which posed a problem for two reasons.

One, he would have preferred to benefit from the element of surprise. The intruders—assuming there was more than one—were professionals, to be sure. His lock had way more self-respect than to allow itself to be defiled so easily by anything less. Surprise would have been useful.

Two, his gun was in the front hall, by the door. Which meant he was confined to the bedroom area and naked in both senses of the word. Hardly ideal from a tactical point of view, but there was little use stewing over it.

He slipped back to the bedroom and quickly arranged his bedding to make it look like he was still curled up under the covers. Then he slinked across to the bedroom door and took up position behind it.

There was nothing within reach that he could use as a weapon. He would have to rely on his bare hands.

He heard stealthy footfalls approaching. More than one intruder, he was certain, but perhaps no more than two. No words were exchanged. Just a slow, cautious advance into the apartment, with second-long pauses to take stock of their surroundings. Kamal couldn’t see any shadows from flashlight beams dancing across the darkened walls either. The pale glow of the city lights was probably enough to guide them. Otherwise, they were using night-vision goggles.

Not that it mattered.

They had reached his bedroom door.

His body coiled tight, readying himself to lash out, and he held his breath as he watched intently through the crack between the door and the wall. Blackened silhouettes were gliding forward slowly, in absolute silence, barely discernible from their dark surroundings. He could see two of them. One mere inches away from him, on the other side of the door crack; the other now coming through the door.

Led by the noise suppressor of a handgun.

He went iron-rigid.

He needed them both inside the room before he could act.

One interminable, torturous second after another, waiting, holding back, watching as the lead ghost inched toward the bed and keeping an eye on the position of the second ghost, who finally stepped forward and was now directly on the other side of the door from Kamal.

Perfect.

Kamal unleashed all the pent-up strength in his body at the door, flinging it at the man behind it with all the fury he could muster. It slammed into him like a battering ram, its thunderous punch catching him unawares. He let out a loud grunt as he flew sideways and crashed against the wall.

Kamal knew he had a split-second advantage and didn’t even pause to check on the result of his ambush. He was already launching himself on the lead man, whom Kamal reached just as the man spun around and half faced him. Both of Kamal’s hands had their individual missions: his left hand rocketed forward at the gun, clasping the intruder’s wrist and pushing it away before the man could fire, while his right hand was already balled tight and slicing the air in a beeline to the man’s face.

He was partly successful. He managed to push the gun out of contention, but in the darkness and the frenzy, his strike landed slightly off target and slid off the edge of the intruder’s chin. The man recoiled and retaliated with a ferocious knee kick that caught Kamal in the gut. Kamal felt the air explode out of his lungs as he doubled over, and from the edge of perception he heard movement behind him, a hissed curse, a slither of fabric, legs clambering back to life, shoes finding purchase. He needed to move fast—he was a second or two away from having two of them to deal with.

He spun around counterclockwise and raised his left arm, cocking his elbow as he rammed it backward and slammed it into the head of the lead intruder, who was now behind him. This time, the strike landed on target and caused the man to falter enough for his grip on his gun to loosen. Kamal grabbed the man’s gun hand with both of his, aimed the weapon at the second intruder who was charging right at him, inches from reach, and pushed against the trigger repeatedly. The gun belched out four silenced rounds that brought the man rag-dolling down to the ground and crumpling messily at Kamal’s feet. Not that Kamal was taking note. He was already spinning around again, this time clockwise, pushing the gun out of contention while ramming his balled fist backward into the center of the first intruder’s face, driving the back of his hand hard into the man’s nose. Cartilage, bone, and tissue exploded in a bloody mess as the man lost his footing and tumbled to the ground.

Kamal yanked the gun out of his hand, then grabbed him by the neck and threw him back against the wall by the side of the bed. Without taking his eyes off the man, he reached across and hit the bedside light switch.

The man had puffy eyes and was cradling his nose with both hands. Blood streamed through his fingers and down his clothes.

Kamal turned to check on the other intruder. The man evidently wasn’t going to pose a threat, not to anyone, ever. Kamal turned back to his captive and yanked his head back by his hair to take a closer look at him. He didn’t recognize him.

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”

Dazed eyes greeted Kamal’s question. Then the daze turned into an angry glare. Kamal rebutted it with a hard swing of the gun to the man’s left temple, which snapped his head sideways and caused him to grunt heavily from the added pain.

“Answer my questions,” Kamal insisted. “Who sent you?”

The man spat out some blood as he straightened up, but he remained silent, a scowl of contempt burning the air between them.

Kamal reached out with his left hand and clasped his fingers tightly against the intruder’s neck, pinning it in place and partly choking him. Then he moved his gun hand down so that it was now vertical, with the noise suppressor pressed downward against the man’s left knee.

“I won’t ask again. And you’ll never walk right again. Your choice.”

No answer.

Kamal squeezed the trigger.

The man screamed out and convulsed as the insides of his knee exploded outward and a volcano of pain erupted across his body.

Kamal held him firmly in his grip, keeping his head upright and facing Kamal, forcing him to maintain eye contact. The man was writhing with pain, shaking his head violently left and right.

Kamal brought the gun back up so it was now inches from the man’s mouth.

“I’m not going to kill you. But I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to so much as take a piss again without needing someone’s help. So I’ll ask again. Who are you? Who sent you?”

The man was barely conscious. He was shaking violently, and rivulets of sweat were running down his face and mixing in with the mess of blood and spittle around his mouth.

Kamal moved the gun pointedly away from the man’s face and brought it down to his other leg when the man broke.

“Don’t,” he muttered. “Don’t.”

Kamal stopped, studied him, then brought the gun back so it rested against the man’s gut. “Talk.”

The man spat out another big glob of blood. “I’m Z Directorate.” He was glaring at Kamal as he said it, his eyes narrow and hard.

The intruder’s words were like a spear through Kamal’s gut. “Why did they send you? Why do they want me dead?”

“We weren’t here to kill you. We were ordered to take you away.”

Kamal couldn’t make sense of this. “Why?”

The man cleared his throat. It looked painful. “I don’t know.”

“Let me guess. They think I’m White Rose, too?”

A mocking snort managed to break through the man’s tortured face. Which Kamal caught—and didn’t understand.

“What?” Kamal barked.

The man didn’t respond, but the hint of a taunt was definitely there.

Kamal slapped it off his face. “What?”

The man swallowed something hard, and then, almost as if gaining strength from Kamal’s frustration, he looked at him with clear contempt. “You have no idea, do you?”

Kamal shoved the gun harder against his gut, making him wince. “I’m about to.”

The contempt turned to a self-satisfied sneer. It looked like what he was holding back was giving him a last, desperate grasp of an upper hand. “There is no White Rose, you fool.”

Kamal’s breath seized. “What?”

The man eyed him with visible gratification. “We made it up. The whole thing. And you, all of you… you just lapped it up.” He snorted again, a sputter of blood spilling down his lower lip.

Kamal felt his guts cave in as his mind furiously processed what that meant. The immediate avatars that Kamal couldn’t duck were names that charged back into his consciousness: the professor, Azmi, and the playwright, Sinasi. And, obviously, Nisreen.

You need to wake up, Kamal.

A sudden urgency about her flooded through him.

“My brother, Ramazan Hekim. His wife, Nisreen. You have them, don’t you?”

The man didn’t reply. He looked as if he was enjoying the power shift.

Kamal pressed the gun against his surviving knee. “I won’t ask again.”

The power shift evaporated. “I don’t know,” the man blurted grudgingly. “I don’t know anything about them.”

Kamal thought fast. “Where were you supposed to take me? Back to the Citadel?”

The man shook his head.

“Where then?”

The man went mute. Kamal pressed the gun harder. “Where?”

“Out of the city. A place in the Chevreuse Forest. The Madeleine Castle.”

Kamal had never heard of it. “What’s out there?”

The man clammed up.

“What’s out there?”

“Nothing… It’s just some old ruins. In the middle of the forest.”

“So why there?”

The man hesitated, then said, “It’s where we take people sometimes.”

Where they take people?

Kamal felt the spear twist deeper.

“So what was the plan? To kill me there?”

“No. Our orders were just to take you there. Nothing else. I swear.”

“So someone was meeting you there?”

The man nodded.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

Kamal accepted it. The man was under too much duress to be lying to him. Which meant he might even answer the next question without losing another limb.

“Who ordered it?” He had to ask, even though he already knew the answer.

A new level of fear lit up the man’s eyes.

Kamal returned a look of cold inevitability as he moved the gun to the man’s groin.

He didn’t even have to ask again.

“Kuzey Pasha,” the maimed intruder winced.

Kamal felt any remnant of color drain from his face.

There it was. Confirmation. Fehmi Kuzey. Celaleddin’s top lieutenant, the head of the Z Directorate.

Why?

There was one way to find out.

“Where is this place?”

“Southwest of the city. Beyond Versailles. I can show you. It’s on my phone.”

Kamal pressed the gun against the man’s groin while he rummaged through his pockets. “Don’t try anything.”

He pulled out his phone.

Through badly shaking fingers, the man was able to pull up a map page that showed a forest on the outskirts of Paris, west and slightly south of Versailles. A red pin marked a spot inside its eastern perimeter.

“Okay.”

Kamal took the phone from him. Then he raised the gun and swung it down, hard, across the man’s head. The man thudded against the floor and didn’t move anymore.

Kamal acted fast. He tied him up, found the intruders’ car keys, and relieved them of guns and badges. He then got dressed.

He flew down the stairs, two steps at a time. He was slipping across the landing one floor down when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that the door to the apartment below his was cracked open, a hint of light from inside breaking out from behind a dark silhouette and a furtive eye that was peeping through the crack. Kamal knew who it belonged to: his neighbor, a successful restaurant owner. Kamal stopped and approached the door.

The restaurateur pulled the door a bit wider. He looked scared.

“I heard noise,” he told Kamal, a shake in his voice. “I was going to call the—”

“It’s all under control,” Kamal said calmly. “You don’t need to worry about it. Go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Go back to bed. I’m sorry it woke you. We have it under control.” Emphasis on the “we.” He gave him a firm, reassuring nod.

Time was pressing. He was wasting precious seconds.

His neighbor nodded hesitantly, then slipped back into the darkness.

Kamal didn’t wait for him to close the door.

He was soon blasting across the dark, deserted streets in the intruders’ unmarked sedan, headed toward the red pin on their map, his heart jackhammering in his chest as he wondered who he would find there and whether he’d manage to get there before it was too late.