The flight from Moscow to Istanbul had only been a small number of hours, but stepping into the stale air made it feel very far from the bracing Russian gales. Lucas, shielding his eyes with sunglasses and carrying a backpack, made his way through the bustle of the airport out into the street, locating his waiting vehicle.
He had never been to Turkey before and didn't really know what to expect, but so far he had deduced that it was still quite warm even in November, to the extent that he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Harry had been vague about his accommodation, only stating that it was within walking distance to where they believed Zafar was being kept. Lucas was to observe the building for a few days and try to establish the best route inside.
His vehicle pulled up outside what looked like a tiny, dishevelled cottage, constructed from an assorted colour of bricks and possessing only two windows, neither of which giving a clear view in or out of the place due to their discolouration. Lucas handed a couple of notes of the unfamiliar currency to the driver and apprehensively headed inside.
Harry appeared to have forgotten to mention that Lucas was in fact lodging with an elderly couple who owned several scrawny dogs that wandered freely and yapped at Lucas' heels. He bore a strained grimace as he tried to gently swat away the horrible creatures and firmly shut the door of his room, leaving them to scrabble at the doorframe.
Abandoning his poorly-stocked rucksack on the sofa bed, Lucas peered out of the small window. Below, just across the street, he could see a market hustling and bustling, an array of bright and exotic colours. There were shouts of bartering, excited chatter of children, buyers and sellers weaving through the crowds effortlessly. Beyond them, there stood a towering building, blocking out a little of the sun from Lucas' view. He reached for the binoculars from his rucksack to take a closer look. The building was a sluggish yellow colour, littered with windows even smaller than this one, equipped with steel bars. A tiny courtyard sat in the middle, a fountain trickling. It seemed so eerily silent, so distant from the lively marketplace. Then again, the sounds of people babbling would be enough to block out any sounds from the prison building.
Lucas consulted the hazy sketch he had been given to identify Zafar's location and the likeness was uncanny, down to the weeds in each crack and crevice of the pavement courtyard.
Lucas kept watching, willing for some kind of movement. A rustle at the hem of his trouser leg distracted him.
"Shoo," he grunted at the snivelling dog which had overcome the unstable hinges of the door. Its fur was matted and grey, teeth sharp and adamant to cling on to Lucas.
"I said, shoo!" Lucas shook his leg in one swift motion and the dog released its grip, thudding into the door with a whimper before heading back outside of the room, finally getting the impression that he was unwelcome.
Lucas rolled his eyes and readjusted his vision to the building. He squinted – he swore something had changed since he had been distracted by the dog...
There. On the right hand side of the building near the bottom, a tiny brick had been taken out. The space was too small for Lucas to see who or what was inside, but the tiny shiftings of light told of movement. And that space looked small enough to reach through, make contact with whoever was inside.
The late afternoon sun was taking its toll, heating Lucas' face to an uncomfortably warm temperature, persuading him to move away from the window. But before he did, he caught a glimpse of someone through a window, seemingly of the same cell where the brick had been removed. It was difficult to identify them, as the steel bars prevented Lucas from making an accurate assessment of their appearance. But Lucas recognised the deep brown eyes and dark hair and jaw line from a photo in the file that he had been given. He blinked hard against the sun and readjusted his binoculars, but the face had ducked down behind the window.
Lucas let go on the binoculars, letting them swing to a stop against his chest. Then he rifled through his rucksack, pulled out the file, sat down on the rough sofa bed, and read.
Lucas had skimmed the file briefly with his eyes when it was handed to him by the agent that drove him to Domodedovo airport in Moscow, but the contents hardly made for light travel reading.
He had been right. The person in that building who he had seen through the window had been Zafar Younis, now thirty seven years old. His face looked older and lacked the charm and easy smile of the photo that must have been taken when he first joined Section D, which wasn't surprising considering the circumstances. Lucas' eyes moved from the page for a second and he caught his own reflection in the mirror propped up on the chest of drawers in the corner. He shivered and looked back at the file.
Zafar (or Zaf, as he had specified as a preference) had been involved in a variety of operations in MI6 and MI5, where he worked very well alongside Adam Carter. After a weaponised virus was released onto the streets of London, Zaf had been taken, an act of self-sacrifice to save Adam. The team searched for him and discovered a body in Pakistan containing his teeth, which in light of new evidence were known to have been planted so MI5 would give up looking.
Three weeks ago an agent working undercover in Istanbul recognised Zaf as he walked past the building one day – it seemed that they had worked together on an operation at Six years ago. It was a miraculous coincidence and he had called in what he had seen immediately, before being dragged inside by a suspicious guard. He hasn't been seen since.
Lucas was distracted from reading further by a hurried knock at the door. He opened it warily, watching the elderly Turkish woman who owned the cottage usher in an unfamiliar man.
"Friend of yours," she said uncertainly, before making herself scarce.
The man looked like one of the people from outside in the market, with a weather-beaten face and a coloured shirt. He handed Lucas a tiny bag with leather straps and said: "From Malcolm."
Malcolm? Lucas thought. He hadn't seen him since-
It had been a long time ago.
The curious man left the room silently. Lucas opened the strings of the bag and peered inside with a smile.
