“He said he was Pharaoh’s tailor.”
Yusuf’s eyes opened wide.
“Patch him through and trace this call.” He put his hand on the phone. “Sorry, darling, but I have to take this.” He picked up the receiver. “This is Yusuf Demir. Who am I speaking with?”
The voice on the other end was a deep baritone, smooth as honey. He sounded like a DJ.
“Captain Demir. Thank you for taking my call. I understand you are having a busy day, so I’ll get right to the point.”
“Please do.”
“Your wife looked a bit frazzled when she arrived at the police station eight minutes ago. I’m surprised her security detail consisted of only two men with no more than thirty rounds of ammunition. I hope you have this on speaker and she’s listening. She’s a very pretty lady. I would hate for anything to happen to her.”
“Listen,” said Yusuf calmly, “I don’t respond very well to threats. My psychiatrist says it is an overdeveloped alpha-male syndrome. In fact, I have stopped seeing the sorry bastard because he wants to have me committed every time I go in. He says the perverse pleasure I derive from watching low-life scum like you in the interrogation chair spitting teeth on the floor is abnormal.”
“Captain Demir, that’s hardly the sort of tactful diplomacy I was expecting from you. I was expecting you to say something like, ‘Thank you for making this phone call before taking out my wife. What can I do for you?’ But, no, you have started believing your own macho bullshit. That’s very dangerous, Captain.”
“What do you want?” said Yusuf curtly, cutting him off.
“You know what we want. In fact, we both want the same thing, but we have different ways of going about it. You hate corruption and smartass politicians pimping the country out to the highest bidder. You want the whores out of office and so do we. You want honorable leadership. That is what we want. So I guess you were happy to hear about the little accident in Czechoslovakia earlier today.”
“No one has claimed responsibility for that assassination yet.”
“Well, consider this our official announcement then. It’s been a busy day for us too. We probably overlooked the press release for that one. I want the tapes you took out of the tunnel, a careless oversight by one of my lieutenants.”
“Bekir? Am I speaking with Bekir Kaya?”
“My dear Captain, excuse my breach of etiquette. I thought that after all these years of cat-and-mouse, a formal introduction would be superfluous, maybe even insulting.”
Leyla could see the veins in her husband’s neck bulging.
Bekir continued, “Captain, have one of your men drop the tapes off at the location I am about to relay. Please get a pen and paper. I’m only going to give these directions once.”
Yusuf scrambled to find a pen among the jumble of papers on his desk. His wife opened her purse and handed him a pen before he could locate one.
“Okay, shoot.”
“How appropriate. I appreciate that coming from a policeman. Have your man take highway E90 towards Polatli. He should take the exit for Macun Village. Exactly four miles from the exit, he will see a white sedan. Have him put the tapes in the backseat. No tracking devices. No tricks. No choppers either unless you want to see them shot down. If I don’t have those tapes exactly when the sun goes down, you will not live to see the New Year, and I couldn’t even speculate about what might happen to Leyla. She’s definitely too pretty to kill, but I’m sure someone would find her useful.”
“You son of a bitch, you better hope . . .” Yusuf stopped. The line was dead.
Yusuf looked over at Leyla. She spoke first.
“Don’t give the bastard anything.”
Yusuf only swore under his breath. He expected this from her. After all, it was her spirit and character that had attracted him to her in the first place. She was a fighter. He closed his eyes in concentration, thinking about the practical consequences of what he was facing.
“Darling, I think you should go down to the cafeteria while Murat and I decide what to do here.”
“If you want to go to the cafeteria, go ahead. I’m not going anywhere. If this S.O.B. wants to use me as leverage against you, I’m damned sure going to be here to make sure he fails.”
Yusuf saw through the glass window that Murat was standing outside the office door and waved him on in.
“Did we get a trace on the call?” he asked.
Murat shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. It looks like he was using VoIP. If it had been a satphone, we could have gotten pretty close.”
“He made it sound like he saw Leyla walk into the police station,” snorted Yusuf. “If he is in this city . . . Damn it, Murat. How did we let this guy get away?”
“Intimidation, sir. He probably had a lackey standing outside the station somewhere who called or messaged when Leyla arrived, and then he just said that stuff to scare us.”
“Maybe so,” said Yusuf wearily. “He certainly picked a hell of a spot for a drop. That area is about as barren as it gets. There isn’t a tree for miles. You can bet he has his people in place already, so there is no way we could get an intercept team in there to set up an ambush.”
“Sir, what good would it do? If he doesn’t get those tapes, then he’s going to put his plan in motion, and he has all the time in the world. There is no way the department could protect you. We could get the boys over in intelligence to lend us some satellite capacity and track the car after the drop-off, but again, what would be the point?”
Yusuf felt just like he had in Akçakoca a little over a week earlier. Trapped. Outmaneuvered. Powerless.
“How did this deranged, jinn-struck bastard find out that I was leading the raid in Akçakoca anyway? I know he didn’t send the message based on a guess. He has somebody on the inside.”
“Captain, we have been battling these Islamists since the Republic was founded. One variety is currently in power. Of course, they have people on the inside. The reports we file pass through several offices.”
“Do we have copies of the tapes made?” asked Yusuf shaking his head in resignation.
“I don’t think so,” replied Murat.
“Do it now. Don’t let anyone know, not even Selda,” ordered Yusuf.
“Wait just a minute,” exclaimed Leyla, jumping up from her chair. “You are not seriously considering giving these tapes back to this terrorist, are you?”
“No, I’m not considering it. I’m doing it. I’m not going to put your life in danger. These guys play rough. I’m not taking chances where you are concerned.”
“I’d gladly die to see this man and his organization destroyed. You know that,” she said vehemently. “Did Atatürk beat the English, the French, the Italians, the Greeks, and set up a modern republic replacing sharia law with a constitution just so these self-proclaimed saviors could systematically dismantle it? I am not going to let you compromise your principles out of fear and a desire to protect me.”
Yusuf walked over to Leyla and tried to give her a hug. She pushed him away.
“Don’t do this, Yusuf. You’ll never forgive yourself. It’s the slippery slope you always talk about. No one ever claws their way back to the moral high ground. Don’t give it up!”
“Darling, life requires compromise. This is one of those times, but this is not the kind of compromise you think it is, so stop worrying. Two can play this
sick game. You were right when you said earlier that every single one of these politicians needs to be sacked. But, it doesn’t have to be by breaking a news story. I’m going to give Bekir his little private collection of pornography back. He’ll have no reason to come after us. Then, I’m going to use the tapes to discreetly force every single one of these sleazy parasites to resign. Since they aren’t honorable enough to commit
hara-kiri
, we’ll force their hand. Then, Bekir’s tapes will no longer pose a danger to the political process. Those politicians will be doing something else for a living, no doubt just as dishonorable, but we’ll deal with that later. I’ll out them through a proxy, so we are not directly connected. Maybe by the time he realizes we’ve gotten the jump on him, his sins will have caught up with him, preferably in the form of a lead bullet.”
Murat smiled. “Damn it, Chief. I love working with you.”
><><><
I
STANBUL
Zeki stopped in front of a locker in the bus-station and fished a key from his pocket. He was still wearing the funny, wide-brimmed hat he had bought in Dallas to hide his face from security cameras. He looked more like a Japanese tourist than a Turk. He opened the steel door, removed a small bag and dumped the contents onto his suitcase. Six smart phones tumbled out – three red and three black. He put the three red ones in his pocket and replaced the others. Then, he took the phone he had used in England out of his suitcase and put it in the bag as well. He was sure to need it again.
Next, he removed a small metal box from the back of the locker, inserted the key and laid his jacket over the top of it so no one could see the contents as he opened the lid. He pulled out a Zigana 9 mm and two fifteen-round clips, wrapped them in the jacket and then closed the lid and returned the box to the locker.
He turned to look for Gwyn. She was sitting on a bench about fifty yards away in the cavernous bus station. He walked over and sat down beside her.
“Are you ready? I’m sorry for having to drag you on this detour for a phone.”
“I understand,” she replied. “What will we do now?”
He didn’t even look up from his Blackberry.
“I’m sending Gilbert a message, telling him we’ve arrived. Then, I need to make a couple of phone calls. One is a friend of mine in the government. Not that our government always inspires a lot of trust, but this man is as good as gold. I don’t know what your brother has in mind, but help from a reliable person in uniform may come in handy. Besides, I want to find out about the bombings that happened today.”
Gwyn just nodded and watched him finish typing the message to her brother.
><><><
Gilbert heard the electronic blip that said he had a new email. The message was short and to the point.
We’re here. We’ll meet you at the House Café on Istiklal Boulevard in one hour and stay in a flat nearby. Bring all your stuff.
He reached for the phone and called Gary.
“Hey, Gwyn is here. Zeki said to meet at the House Café on Istiklal Boulevard in one hour. You’re going to have to tell me how to get there.”
“Are you able to track the canister?”
“Yeah, we’ve got you on Matt’s Blackberry. It says you’re in Galata Tower.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s working. That means you should be able to find the House Café easy enough. I’ll be there with the canister.”
“Yeah, but give me directions anyway. I could still get lost.”
“It’s easy. I mean the streets are crooked as a barrel of snakes, but if you say
Istiklal
to anyone, they’ll point you in the right direction. Then, stay on Istiklal Boulevard and have someone point you towards Taksim. You’ll know you’re on the right street if you see the Galatasaray High School. You can’t miss it. On your right, you’ll see a piece of modern art that looks like either a battery of mortars or the pipes of a church organ. I’ll let you be the judge. The House Café will be on your right. I’m just a ten-minute walk from there myself. You can make it in forty minutes from the hotel. ”
“Great. We’ll bring your bag.”
><><><
A
NKARA
Murat had finished copying the CDs and was putting the originals in a black bag.