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“No idea.” I shrug. “Maybe he has confederates in Konya, and they hid him there. He could have picked up an envelope.”
“Unlikely, unless the hotel serves as a safe house. The papers splashed his photo everywhere when he was convicted.” Her voice is shaky, going up and down the scale like a marimba player. She shifts back and forth in her chair, searching for a more comfortable position. Then she rubs a finger around the rim of her personal Turkish tea glass. Watching her fidget, I remember she still has family members living somewhere around there.
I put my hand on her wrist and examine her expression. “That was ten years ago. Anyway, I have no idea why he would have stayed in Konya.” I remember my real connection with Konya, and swipe the back of my hand along my damp hairline. “It’s possible he hasn’t left the country and was hiding out there.”
“If he was there, he obviously moved on to Istanbul before he sent this.” Clay flicks the picture with his forefinger.
“Not necessarily. He could have given the envelope to a confederate to mail from Istanbul.”
Clay scratches his cheek. “So we’re all speculating with practically no data.”
“What do you think is in it?” JL’s brow furrows.
“Ricin, anthrax, talc.” Metin’s voice is matter of fact. “Any number of things are possible.”
“Talc?” Clay sounds confounded. “Surely talc isn’t dangerous.”
“It’s used to mimic other white powders, when you want to send a warning rather than kill someone.” I rub my temples with my forefingers, attempting to stave off an imminent headache.
“Tabernak!” JL’s voice explodes into the silence. “Who wants to kill you, Max?”
“Probably lots of people. I’m sure sometimes Cress would love to wring my neck.” No one laughs.
“Is this a credible threat, Max?” Clay’s voice is dangerously quiet.
Metin’s voice smothers mine. “You saw the notice, Clay. I think this is a confirmation of a credible threat.”
I massage my neck to relax my vocal cords. “We can’t be sure he would target me after all this time.” I’m still trying to downplay the situation.
Metin picks up the photo. “Stop playing the ostrich, Max.”
“Why send a warning?” JL makes a growling noise. “Why not blow up your car, shoot you, whatever?”
“I don’t know why unless he wants to watch me die. If he can’t come to the US, this might be a lure to bring me to Istanbul.” A familiar, gritty sensation irritates my eyes. I take off my glasses and put in more drops, wiping at the errant liquid that escapes down my cheeks.
Clay frowns and runs fingers over his scalp, leaving his blond hair in spikes. “You’re flying out on Sunday?”
JL rubs his chin. “Why do you think Faez will have better luck getting into the UK?”
“If he travels on a fake EU passport, he can probably catch the Eurostar in Paris. Easy-peasy.” I take a sip of the now-cold brew Elena, Clay’s PA, had brought in at the beginning of the meeting.
“So, is there something we need to know about Konya, something connected to you rather than to Faez being in jail there?” Metin’s voice rises with each word.
“My visit to Konya has nothing to do with Faez.” My words echo in the quiet room.
“There is a Konya story?” Metin is persistent and I cave.
“Konya has nothing to do with Faez.” I stare at the at the table top, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Faez is all about Istanbul.” I pause. “And the ambush.”
The three faces around the table are bemused.
“Faez wouldn’t know about my one trip to Konya.” I pick up my mug. The dregs, filmed over with scummy milk, are disgusting. Pushing back my chair, I stand and stretch. I should tell them the envelope is from the hotel I stayed at in ’03. “I need a refill.”
Clay motions me to sit back down. Picking up his phone, he hits some numbers. “Elena, would you bring another mug for Max, please?” Metin holds up her empty glass. “In fact, bring a few clean mugs, milk, and carafes of both drinks. Thanks.”
Once the refills arrive, Metin leans over and picks up the tea carafe. “Let me be mother.” Clay and JL look bemused while I shoot her a small smile. The expression reminds me her parents sent her to England to be educated at Badminton, one of the premier girls’ schools.
I pick up my fresh drink and add a bit of milk and a sprinkling of sugar to the fresh, hot tea. Then I take a sip, put down the mug, tip my chair back and forth a few times, and finally lean into the table, my elbows and fists making a platform for my chin.
