The Ides of July // Loki - Book 1 ✓

Chapter 2: Followed

THE MAN on the motorcycle flips up his visor to reach his ear and presses to activate the microphone on the earpiece.

"Eyes on target," he confirms, knocking his visor shut and making a quick turn up the street behind the girl running down the streets of Istanbul.

Traffic is relatively light as the city comes to life, and he takes advantage of the lack of congestion to analyze the brunette jogging up the street. Her hair is swept back in a messy ponytail away from her face, which is flushed and glowing with sweat, and she runs with confidence. Judging by the fact that she doesn't appear to have a mobile phone and seems to navigate the twisted streets with ease, he's guessing that she's been to Istanbul before.

He pulls in the clutch and releases the throttle to slow his motorcycle to a lazy crawl as he follows her down a one-way street. Careful to avoid making too much noise, he allows her to slip around a corner before inching his way forward. She jogs ahead of him up the next street, slowing to a walk outside the Taksim Metropark Hotel, then glances over her shoulder toward the bustling Taksim Square before walking through the hotel door.

Dropping his feet to the ground, he reaches up to remove his helmet then presses the earpiece.

"She's inside. Did you plant the tracker?"

His voice is low, and he keeps his eyes trained on the hotel entrance. The girl should be reaching her room now, meaning he's got a bit of waiting to do before she resurfaces. He nods as the voice coming through the earpiece responds, his thin smile reaching his brown eyes.

"Good," he says. "Rendezvous at 0800 hours."

*****
Anna

Later that morning, Anna emerges from the hotel bathroom freshly showered with a towel wrapped around herself. The blistering heat of the morning billows through the open window on the other side of the room, and she smiles wryly as she observes that her shower was probably a waste of water.

"I'll be covered in sweat in ten minutes anyway," she mumbles to herself.

She lifts her suitcase and deposits it on the rumpled bedsheets, selecting a simple white button-down and a pair of skinny green khaki cargo pants. While it's not exactly her go-to attire for traveling in 85 degree weather, she knows the danger of showing too much skin in a Middle Eastern country - even if Turkey is less conservative than some of its neighbors. Her pale ivory skin draws enough attention as is, something she wants to avoid, so she'll have to cover as much of it as possible.

Luckily, she doesn't need cover herself in an abaya - a traditional loose over-garment that covers everything but the face, hands, and feet - like she did in Saudi Arabia, so she takes this outfit as more of a blessing than a curse.

Once she's dressed, Anna dries her mess of brown hair into its natural waves that are cropped at her shoulders. She doesn't wear any makeup other than a spot of concealer - her thick eyebrows and dark eyelashes take care of that for her. Well, that and she'd sweat it off anyway.

She pockets her cell phone along with enough Turkish lira to pay for cab fare, breakfast at the cafe where she's meeting her informant, and any incidentals that might pop up. Her passport is carefully secured inside a button-closed pocket on the outside of her right thigh. She rarely keeps the original on her person whilst traveling, but experience has taught her that sometimes her high-value informants like to see valid identification before speaking to a foreign journalist.

An alarm goes off on her phone, vibrating loudly in her pocket.

"Shit," she mutters, turning off the phone and snagging her hotel key before rushing from the room.

Anna prefers to travel light, opting to carry only what is absolutely necessary in her pockets, and rarely carries a bag. Even now as she rushes to the hotel lobby to call a cab, she's armed only with her cell phone. Thanks to technology, she can record her interview and take notes without having to lug around a tape recorder and a notebook.

Passing the front desk, she smiles at the man standing behind the counter in his uniform of an ornate green and gold vest over a white long-sleeve shirt. His thick black hair is cropped close to his scalp, probably to keep him cool in the hot Turkish summers. He smiles, his bright white teeth contrasting with his olive skin.

"Can I help you miss?" he asks.

"No, thank you," Anna tells him, pulling out her cell phone and opening the BiTaksi app to call a taxi from outside the hotel's entrance.

The man nods, and she gives him a polite smile before exiting the hotel. Her taxi is just around the corner, so it's only a few brief moments until the man pulls up in front of her on the street.

"Magnaura Restaurant," she tells the taxi driver. "Akbiyik Street."

Now playing: "River" by Bishop.