“Todd did. He must have realized it the same time as you; he looked between you and Bekami, grabbed the three women standing nearest to him, and dove off the deck into the water right as the blast hit.”
“And the women?” Tears flood my vision, and I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, but then soot gets in my eyes and I have to blink rapidly to flush it out. Blocking the images I just witnessed, I force my breathing to steady, my tears to stop.
Aksel wriggles out of his shirt and tosses it in a heap on the seat. It’s a shredded, ashy mess. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I pulled them out of the water first, but went back in for Todd. He was barely conscious when I reached him.”
“So, the Koshelek,” I finally say. “What do we do about that?”
“You do nothing,” a gravelly voice mutters from behind me.
“Hey.” Aksel turns his attention to Todd. He has his arm around the back of Todd’s neck, holding him steady as I careen through the streets.
I glance at Todd. “What will you do?” I turn the car hard right. “Bekami dropped that weapon in the cigarette boat before the blast hit. Whoever was in that boat has it now.”
Shivers spread down my limbs. I know I need medical care. Aksel too. Our skin is rosy pink, marked with streaks of black, but our injuries are minor compared to Todd’s.
I downshift and exit west on the Kuludar roundabout. “So, what will you do?” I ask Todd again.
“We find it.” Todd’s words are labored. I push down harder on the accelerator. How? I want to ask. Because I killed Bekami. And what if that was a major mistake? With Bekami gone, how is Todd going to find it?
Aksel’s forehead is tight, watching Todd. He’s ripped his shirt in sections, poured the seltzer water onto each section, and is using the strips to wrap Todd’s temple.
“And if you don’t?” I prompt.
Todd’s eyes close. He is done answering my questions.
A crackling sound emanates from Todd’s ear. Aksel unclips the earpiece and shoves it into his own ear.
“Exfil Danube-Green,” he relays to me, confusion etched across his brow. “St. Regis. You know what that means?”
“No,” I respond, “but I know the hotel.”
Sirens pulse the humid air. Shifting down into second gear, I turn toward Bosphorus Bridge. Ahead of us, cars drive in a steady line across the sparkling cerulean water. Sailboats skim in the distance. As we near the bridge, the sirens increase.
The gates at the head of the bridge roll together. The congested road forces me to slow down. Both gates are closing inward, blocking our access. A policeman stands in front of the gates, stopping traffic—a checkpoint for every vehicle.
I turn the car onto the single pedestrian lane, bypass the stopped cars, veer sharply left, and swerve within centimeters of the policeman’s back. I take a hard right and enter the bridge via the two-meter gap between the closing gates, clipping the Fiat’s side mirrors. I blare the horn, and people jump out of the way.
Fifteen hundred meters ahead on the north side of the bridge, policemen are constructing a barricade—strips of plywood clumsily nailed together.
I crash through it.
Forty seconds is all it takes to reach Europe. In my rearview mirror, I see two police cars turning around to chase us.
“Slow down, Sophia,” Aksel mutters under his breath. He is trying to tourniquet Todd’s arm with the other half of his shirt.
Speeding up, I head south onto Çırağan Road, then right onto Kadirgalar. Ahead is a wooded hill with landscaped terraces and iron fences; I steer north onto the private lane, leading into the gardens of the St. Regis Hotel. Above us, the pitched hotel roof looms. The tires trample over the manicured flowers as we barrel toward the service entrance, bashing through the striped guard gate.
We cross over the clay tennis courts and onto a grassy meadow beside the clubhouse. Two opulent hotel guests are retrieving their clubs from a golf cart when we drive up. They dive for cover behind a lemon tree topiary.
I slam on the brakes and shut off the engine. Aksel and I gurney Todd out of the car and onto the soft grass.
From this height, I can see the red tile roofs of the city, the spires of the Blue Mosque, the Byzantine spikes of Hagia Sophia jutting into the cobalt sky.