by Lisa Harris
“Ahh . . . and how is that different from following a religion?”
“Following a religion usually requires the practice of certain rituals as a means of communicating with God. I follow Jesus Christ. By faith, I have a relationship with him. My relationship doesn’t involve performing rituals, yet I communicate with him whenever I want.”
The Imam smiled and nodded. “Yes, I believe you do.”
During the meal, the Imam’s household staff was continuously bringing in platters of food from the kitchen, removing empty dishes, and refilling water glasses.
I followed Carlton’s instructions and paid close attention to each one, but none of them seemed the least bit suspicious to me, nor did any of them strike me as possible co-conspirators with Nazim.
When the main portion of the dinner was winding down, Ceylan stood up and announced the dessert portion of the meal was available on the sideboard buffet, and she invited us to serve ourselves and sample as many of the Turkish delicacies as we wanted.
As family members and guests wandered over to the desserts, Ben caught my eye and inclined his head in the direction of the buffet, which I took to mean he wanted to speak to me in private.
Once everyone returned to their seats, I headed over to the sideboard, and Ben followed me a few seconds later.
There were a couple of dessert choices that immediately appealed to me, kadayifi, a bread pudding soaked in syrup and served with thick cream, and baklava, thin layers of dough filled with chopped nuts doused in syrup.
But, rather than choosing one, I slowly made my way down the length of the table, studying each item as if I were having difficulty making a decision.
Ben followed close behind me, pretending he was discussing the choices by gesturing at the desserts. However, his sweet tooth was the last thing on his mind.
Pointing over at a confection, he lowered his voice and said, “I’ve been thinking about how Nazim might make his move tonight.”
“You and me both.”
“I believe it has something to do with the fireworks.”
“Copy that. I told Douglas the same thing, and he agreed.”
“That was your phone call?”
“Right.”
We stopped to gaze at a plate of kazandibi, a thick creamy pudding with burnt caramel topping. As we looked it over, he said, “Kamila keeps looking at her watch like she’s worried about the time.”
“Maybe it’s the fireworks.”
“I don’t think that’s it. It’s not dark enough to start shooting off the fireworks yet.”
“What then?”
“I believe she’s supposed to help Nazim in some way, and the timing is crucial to his plan.”
“Any idea about what his plan could be?”
Ben placed a slice of the kazandibi on his plate. “I’ve narrowed it down to two choices.”
“Okay. I’ve come up with two of my own. Tell me yours first.”
“I believe it’s possible Nazim’s men could already be on the property. I suspect they’re hiding out somewhere, like maybe in one of the guest cottages.”
I nodded. “I see that as a possibility, and it’s similar to something I’ve been thinking, like maybe Nazim’s men are the ones in charge of the fireworks, and they’ll be shooting off something besides fireworks.”
“Exactly.”
“So what’s your next choice?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red.
It was Kamila in her bright red dress.
She slipped up behind Ben and put her arms around him. “Yes, tell me, Ben, what’s your next choice? Or is one dessert enough for you?”
Even though Kamila’s sudden appearance startled Ben, he quickly recovered. “I can’t just pick one dessert when all of them look so delicious. The problem I’m having is making up my mind.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why don’t you help me decide?”
“It won’t be an easy choice for me either.”
I motioned down at the far end of the sideboard. “I’ve decided to try the kadayifi, but I’ll be looking forward to hearing about your other choice, Ben.”
He looked over at me and shrugged. “It looks like my second choice is entirely up to Kamila.”
I didn’t think he was just talking about the Turkish desserts.
While I was irritated I didn’t get to hear more of Ben’s thoughts on Nazim’s plans, I was glad to know we were both on the same page when it came to focusing on the fireworks.
However, being aware something was going on with the fireworks wouldn’t do us much good if we couldn’t stop Nazim’s men from kidnapping the Imam, so when I returned to the table and noticed the Imam and his wife were occupied with some of the other guests, I held a whispered conversation with Jennifer.
“Do you remember the other day when we were out at The Meadows, and Frank was showing us some photographs of Hasan Nazim?”
“Sure.”
“When you were looking at the photographs, you pointed out Nazim had on a Turkish Air Force uniform.”
She nodded. “I was an Agency analyst before I transferred over to covert ops. Identifying military uniforms was part of my job.”
“Do you recall Nazim’s rank?”
She thought for a moment. “I believe he was a captain.”
“Do you remember what Frank said he did in the Air Force?”
She looked away from me for a second or two, and then she slowly turned her head toward me. “He said Nazim used to be a helicopter pilot. You aren’t considering the possibility he—”
“Think about the aerial views we’ve seen of the compound, and how easy it would be for him to land a helicopter in that grassy area over by the tennis court.”
She thought for a moment. Then, she nodded. “You’re right.”
Looking directly at the spot in the center of my eyeglasses where the WAV device was embedded, Jennifer said, “I know you’re discussing this with me, but I’m assuming you’re really talking to Frank in the safe house and to Douglas back at the Ops Center.”
“Yes,” I said, focusing my eyes on the black onyx pendant she was wearing, “I’d like to know if you think this is a viable possibility or not. Do we have any intel about Nazim having access to a helicopter in the area? Could he rent a helicopter and pilot it himself? I’d like to hear from one of you ASAP.”
Jennifer said, “I’m sure one of them will contact you as soon as they have some answers.”
A few seconds later, my cell phone vibrated.
It was a text from Frank.
“We’re looking into these questions. We’ll get back to you shortly.”
Jennifer read the text along with me, and then she glanced across the table at where Ben was sitting next to Kamila. “Should I text Ben and let him know what we’re thinking?”
“That’s probably not a good idea. Kamila isn’t letting Ben out of her sight, so there’s a possibility she might see the text.”
“Yes,” she said, shaking her head, “she’s pretty much all over him, isn’t she?”
“At some point, she’ll have to leave his side and make the announcement about the entertainment. As soon as that happens, I’ll go have a chat with him and let him know what’s going on.”
“Let’s hope that happens soon,” she said, as we watched Kamila feeding Ben a spoonful of kazandibi.
Ten minutes later, when I noticed Kamila standing to her feet, I was sure her announcement about the evening’s entertainment was about to take place.
She reinforced that impression when I saw her look down at her watch as she walked over to where the Imam and Miray Hanim were sitting at the head of the table.
A moment later, I started to second-guess myself when she leaned over and whispered something in her mother’s ear.
But then, she stepped back and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know my father has already thanked you for coming to Camp Tamal tonight to celebrate my mother’s
birthday, but I want you to know how much I appreciate your presence as well. I’d also like to thank my sisters, Esel and Ceylan, for doing such an outstanding job with this beautiful meal.”
After everyone showed their appreciation for the sisters by giving them a round of applause, Kamila continued, “As my father mentioned earlier, I was put in charge of the entertainment, and for this momentous occasion, I’ve made arrangements for us to have our very own fireworks display tonight right here at the compound. We’ll be able to see it from the backyard in about thirty minutes.”
When the kids heard this news, they voiced their excitement, and the adults joined in with a few oohs and aahs of their own.
The moment things quieted down, Kamila laid her hand on the Imam’s shoulder and said, “When you go out to the patio, you’ll get a chance to see what an excellent gardener my father is, and if you have any questions, I assure you, he won’t mind answering them.”
The Imam smiled and nodded. “If I’m not allowed to make a difference in my own country, at least I can make a difference in my own backyard.”
Kamila squeezed her father’s shoulder. “Perhaps one day all that will change, and you’ll be able to make a difference in your own country as well.”
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
Good question.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Kamila stepped out in the hallway to direct the guests how to get out to the patio, I motioned at Ben, and he quickly walked across the room to speak with Jennifer and me.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Jennifer will tell you what we’ve been discussing,” I said. “I’m headed outside so I can keep an eye on the Imam.”
By the time I got out to the patio, the Imam and his wife were engaged in conversation with some of the guests. Since he didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger, I took the opportunity to survey my surroundings.
While there was nothing outstanding about the patio, other than the amount of furnishings it contained—three outdoor couches, a dozen cushioned chairs, a fire pit, a gas grill, and an umbrellaed table—the same thing couldn’t be said about the backyard.
It was awash with color, a feast for the eyes.
The well-manicured emerald-green lawn provided the backdrop to a half-dozen flower beds, each with its own unique color scheme. There appeared to be a variety of flowers in each of the rock-lined beds, plus a substantial amount of ground cover and shrubbery.
While the flower beds covered the whole backyard, there were wide-opened spaces between them where chairs had been set up to accommodate the guests who wanted to be seated during the fireworks display. A few guests had already wandered over and claimed a spot.
Since it was beginning to get dark, I figured Kamila had given the guests the thirty-minute window so they could find a seat and have a chance to admire her father’s green thumb before she turned off the patio lights to view the fireworks.
As I stood at the edge of the patio and looked out at the scene in front of me, I wasn’t that interested in the beautiful flowers or the well-manicured lawn. Instead, I was laser-focused on a plot of ground beyond the backyard, next to the tennis court, where there weren’t any trees.
I figured at one time it had been Camp Tamal’s soccer field. Now, I wondered if Nazim was planning to use it for a different purpose.
I also wondered if the two men I could see down at the tennis court were members of his NTI cell.
“Are you admiring my father’s handiwork?” Kamila asked, as she came up behind me.
“Yes. His gardening skills are truly outstanding.”
“He’s a multi-talented man. It’s a shame he’s had to spend the last twenty years languishing in exile here in the U.S., where his ideas of how to reform Turkey haven’t received the attention they’ve deserved.”
“From what I hear, he’s still been able to influence his countrymen through publishing his writings on the internet.”
“Yes, but it’s not nearly enough.”
She turned away from me to speak to a member of the staff who was pointing at the tennis court and handing her a cell phone.
As she put the phone to her ear and started to walk away from me, I suddenly recognized the person handing her the phone.
It was Yusef Kaynar.
The last time I saw Kaynar was during our briefing when Frank showed us video of him driving up to the gated entrance and giving the security guard some papers—what appeared to be forms.
When we were viewing the video, Carlton positively identified Yusef Kaynar as a member of Nazim’s NTI cell.
Now, as I watched the man walk away from Kamila, I looked around for Ben or Jennifer.
Evidently, the two of them hadn’t come out of the house yet.
I decided I couldn’t wait for them to show up, so as soon as I saw Kaynar head for the sidewalk that led down to the tennis court, I followed him.
I used the WAV device embedded in my glasses to quickly tell Frank and Carlton what I was doing. “I just saw Yusef Kaynar hand Kamila a cell phone. I’m following him down to the tennis court. Let Ben and Jennifer know what I’m doing and tell them not to let the Imam out of their sight.”
There were two ways to get down to the tennis court.
Someone could walk through the flower gardens and make their way down a sloping hillside—the most strenuous way—or they could opt for the easy way down, as Kaynar had done, and use the sidewalk, a narrow pathway that meandered through a canopy of trees.
Although there were a number of footpath lights installed along the way, by the time I’d gone a hundred feet or so, it was almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of me.
Since I thought I knew where Kaynar was headed, I decided I wouldn’t try to keep up with him.
For one thing, I was afraid he might hear me following him. For another, I wasn’t sure I wanted to confront him just yet.
A couple of minutes later, when I saw the lights of the tennis court appear in the distance, I paused and assessed my situation.
The way I figured it, there were now three members of an NTI cell at the tennis court, and even if I wanted to confront them, the odds were against me.
Although I was sure Frank had put his SWAT teams on full alert, I didn’t think they were on the grounds of the compound yet, and they probably wouldn’t be until Frank was certain what was going on.
Perhaps Frank could sense what I was thinking, or at least he could tell I was hunkered down in the trees trying to decide what to do next, because a few seconds later, I received a text from him.
“Surveillance tapes show fireworks van arrived two days ago and never left. We’re still looking into the helicopter question.”
While I appreciated knowing the members of the NTI cell had been on the grounds of the compound for at least twenty-four hours, such information was of little use to me in my present situation.
As to the second item, I would have much preferred to hear the Bureau hadn’t found any evidence Nazim was in possession of a helicopter.
Since that wasn’t the case, I knew what I needed to do.
I had to determine if Hasan Nazim was one of the men I’d seen at the far end of the tennis court preparing the fireworks display.
The only way for me to verify that was to emerge from my hiding place, expose my presence to the men, and check things out for myself.
As I pulled my Glock from my side holster, I heard Kamila’s voice echoing from the patio down through the trees, and I realized she probably had some kind of amplification system on the patio so that all the guests would be able to hear her instructions.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you need to find a seat now,” she said. “The fireworks will begin in approximately five minutes, and in order for you to have the best possible view of the light show, I’ll be turning the patio lights off in a minute. As you find a seat, please reserve the front row seats for my father and mother. Enjoy the show.”
Five min
utes. That was it.
Five minutes to figure out what was going on.
As soon as I stepped out of the shelter of the trees onto the tennis court, I realized I didn’t have five minutes.
The men standing at the end of the tennis court were using mortar tubes to launch the firework shells, and they had already ignited their first shell. The moment it went off, Kamila doused the lights.
Just before she did, I glanced up at where the Imam and Miray were occupying the front row of guest chairs and spotted Ben and Jennifer sitting nearby, so I figured they’d gotten my message.
As the men prepared to launch another shell, I slowly made my way toward them, hugging the tree line as much as possible while trying to get a good look at the two men standing next to Yusef Kaynar.
I never got close enough to distinguish the features of the other two men because the second they launched the next shell—a fiery burst of color, light, and sound that reverberated throughout the atmosphere—all three men pulled out a weapon and began rushing up the hill toward where the Imam was sitting.
At that same instant, I heard the distinct thump-thump-thump of a helicopter overhead, and by the time it landed on the soccer field opposite the tennis court, I had sprinted across the length of the court and taken a position behind a tree, pointing my Glock at the door of the aircraft.
In the meantime, there was chaos up at the house as one of the men attempted to grab the Imam.
From what I could tell, Omer immediately rushed the man holding a gun to his father’s head, and Ben and Jennifer used the distraction to draw their own weapons.
At that point, I heard shots being fired.
However, I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening, because I was concentrating on the pilot inside the helicopter. The moment he saw his men were in trouble, he opened the cockpit door.
The pilot turned out to be Hasan Nazim.
No surprises there.
As soon as Nazim’s feet hit the ground, he removed a pistol from his shoulder holster.