The Counterfeit Agent by Alex Berenson Read Free Book Online Page B

off the Sea of Marmara. Sleet frosted the sidewalks. The Turks hurried along in their too-thin coats, trying not to fall on patches of black ice.
    Taylor felt almost relieved to be back to his everyday work. Still, he made sure the magic phone was always fully charged, always within arm’s reach. It rang at ten p.m. on a Friday night. For a few seconds, Taylor didn’t quite believe his ears. Then he grabbed for it. The screen reported the incoming number as the 123456 of a Skype call. He clicked on.
    “Mr. Nelson.”
    Taylor knew Reza’s voice instantly. “Yes.”
    “InterContinental Hotel. Envelope at front desk. Pick it up, come to room 1509. Alone.”
Click.
    Taylor messaged Hunt:
R called. Activating team.
Each month, Hunt chose two officers to stand by in case Taylor needed backup. Basically the assignment meant,
Be ready to
drop whatever you’re doing if Brian needs you. Make sure
your phone is charged, and don’t get too drunk.
Dominick and Ronaldo were part of the team, too, though their job was only to get a picture. They weren’t trained in active surveillance.
    They’d planned for a no-notice call like this. They wouldn’t have time to set a trap. The tech guys would park near the hotel. One officer would wait in the lobby, the other outside. They’d all seen the sketch. They wouldn’t follow Reza. Taylor and Hunt agreed a tail would be a mistake. Based on how cautious he’d been during the first meeting, Reza could probably make a two-man tail. If he did, he would be furious. He might break contact forever. So the station would settle for a photograph of him, and to see if anyone was with him or watching him at the hotel.
    Taylor’s apartment was a little more than a mile south of the InterContinental. He dressed, strapped on his holster, made his way into the misty Istanbul night. He walked northeast as texts lit up his phone, the team reporting in. Dominick and Ronaldo lived together a few miles north of downtown. Taylor had never understood whether they were roommates or lovers. Either way, they promised to reach the hotel in thirty minutes. One of the live surveillance officers said he could arrive in twenty. The second didn’t respond. The guy was single. He could be in a loud bar and have missed the text. A bad break. But Taylor knew the truth. He would have gone in with no backup for the chance to meet Reza again.
    —
    The envelope the concierge passed him was nearly weightless. Taylor tore it open in the elevator, found only a hotel key card. He turned it in his hands and knew Reza wouldn’t be waiting.
    He stood outside the room and listened. Nothing. Knocked. No answer. He drew his Sig, held it at his side, pushed the key card into the slot. He shoved the door open as the lock beeped green. He hid at the edge of the door frame and waited. No footsteps scuffling inside, no whispered voices. He pushed inside, put the key into the slot by the door so the lights would pop on.
    The room was empty, the bed unmussed. In the marble bathroom, the soaps and shampoos and bottled water were untouched. Taylor had brought a radio-frequency sniffer that would find basic bugs. He scanned the room. Nothing. He didn’t think Reza had been here. The agency would check the name on the reservation. But Reza had no doubt used a runner again, paid some lucky Turk a few hundred dollars to book the room. Taylor sat on the bed and scrolled through pay-per-view movies while he waited for the call.
    Twenty minutes later, the phone rang.
    “I said no surveillance. Did you think I wouldn’t see those fat men in the van?”
    Taylor knew why Reza wanted to keep his name secret. He understood why the Iranian had brought him here. Reza knew NSA had tapped the phone he gave Taylor. The room phone was clean. So Reza didn’t have to worry about an immediate trace.
    Still, the gamesmanship grated on Taylor. Agents and case officers had tricky relationships. To defuse their fears, some agents needed to prove they were