by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric
Jolo nodded. He stepped gently into the guesthouse.
A great cry went up. Jolo screamed in Kurmanji. ‘To the ground!’
The guns in the courtyard fired a death rattle into the tense air. The goat bleated wildly as it trailed the severed hand of the terrorist behind it, dragging it into a blood-soaked heap of goat’s flesh. With a single stroke from his knife, Jolo had hacked the terrorist’s hand clean off. The terrorist, his right wrist spurting blood like a fountain, ran madly after the goat. The goat turned and raced in panic towards the Baba Sheykh, then into the courtyard.
The terrorist fell to the hot flagstones and grabbed the cable with his left hand, his amputated right hand still swinging from the flex. He stood up, fumbling desperately for the detonator. Behind him, the door of the sanctuary flew open. The sacrificial bull was about to be released for his last run, down to the Shrine of Sheykh Shems. For a second, the terrorist stared into the Baba Sheykh’s eyes, but before he could plunge the detonator pin, the rampant bull charged and impaled him on its horns.
Jolo ran after the fleeing goat as the men in the courtyard fired more shots. The sacrificial bull thundered down the valley towards the shrine of Sheykh Shems, the limp body of the terrorist bobbing from left to right over its head, the crowds parting to let the animal through.
Ashe, breathless with relief, caught Sinàn’s eye. Around them, the holy men and Yezidi nobility cheered.
‘Now you must meet the prince. Please, come.’
‘Sorry, Sinàn. I must see the Baba Sheykh. Urgent.’
‘But the prince!’
‘Tell His Highness we can meet later. I ask one thing. That bull deserves a medal, not to be sacrificed.’
‘There is always a sacrifice today at the shrine of Sheykh Shems!’
‘From where I’m standing, Sinàn, you’ve just had it.’
Ashe broke away. He brushed aside Princess Laila, stunning in her blue-and-gold embroidered abaya, and pushed his way to where the sheykh had been standing. The Baba Sheykh was gone.
Ashe had seen the look in the sheykh’s eyes when he had confronted the terrorist. The sheykh had blamed himself for attracting danger to his people. Ashe saw intuitively that something terrible was happening in the Baba Sheykh’s mind. He must find him, before someone else did.
108
The next few minutes passed in a blur for Ashe, as if the colours of the world had been left in place, but all its substance removed. The world was in the wind, scattered in the sky.
He remembered Laila clutching his arm, pulling him close, calling to him, as the liquid tapestry of people flooded down the valley towards the Shrine of the Sun. He saw her mouth move, her eyes imploring.
He caught sight of a grey head as Baba Sheykh marched forwards, children all about him. He heard a call from behind. He turned. Amongst the bouquet of faces was Sherman Beck’s, out of place, out of time. Laila tugged at Ashe’s arm, pulling him on. Beck was shouting. ‘Ashe! Dr Ashe! I gotta speak to you. You gotta speak to me!’
Ashe stopped. Was he running away? He wouldn’t run away.
‘This Aslan guy, Toby. You shoulda told us! God! All these people!’
‘Take your shoes off, Beck!’
‘What?’
‘Take your fucking shoes off!’
‘Who’s the guy on the bull?’
Laila called to Ashe. ‘You must come!’
Beck grabbed Ashe’s arm. ‘Listen, man, I gotta see this Baba Sheykh guy! I ain’t taking my shoes off until I do. D’ya hear me, Ashe?’
Ashe looked down at Beck’s fist, gripping his arm. He stared Beck in the eye. ‘This valley is holy, Beck.’ He pushed Beck back hard into the crowd.
Ashe ran on, past the crowds, past the bull now surrounded by pilgrims, past the Shrine of Sheykh Shems, into the woods, among the olive trees and tiny oaks. A flash of colour in the distance. The voice of Laila, screaming. ‘Tobbi! Please!’
Ashe came to a ridge. Laila was sobbing on the ground. ‘He ordered me to stay here, Tobbi. He told me, for my own soul, I must wait.’
‘Where is he?’
‘There! Down there!’
‘Well what is it?’
‘There is the last sight of the Zemzem stream. Then it flows underground, into the mountains.’
Behind them, they could hear the singing of the pilgrims, gathered around the bull, building to a crescendo: the drums beating hard, the flutes insistent, the voices ecstatic.
Ashe caught sight of the Baba Sheykh. He stood tall against the sky, his back turned, his arms outstretched, greeting the sun.
In the valley behind them, all was suddenly quiet, as specially selected men from the Mamusi, Qa’idi and Tirk tribes raised their swords before the eyes of the beast. The sun hid behind a cloud.
A cry pierced the calm. ‘From the earthly Lalish to the heavenly Lalish. From the world of men to the abode of the angels!’
The sun’s rays suddenly enveloped the body of the sheykh as he crossed his arms over his heart. Then, greeting the Peacock Angel at the second of sacrifice, he hurled himself into the whiteness of the Zemzem stream to be borne swiftly into the mountains.
‘Hey Toby, I gotta talk to the Baba Sheykh!’
Ashe turned to the sweating Beck, footwear dangling by laces from his raised arms.
‘Look man, I took my fuckin’ shoes off!’
‘Yes, Beck. But you left your socks on.’
109
On 8 November 2004, US troops entered Fallujah in force to flush out and destroy a stronghold of the Iraqi insurgency. Major Richmond, limping slightly but otherwise recovered, was on hand to help identify any rebels who tried to blend in with the civilian exodus from the city. One of the prizes was Hafiz Razak. Thanks to Richmond’s positive identification, the Syrian terrorist had made his last bomb and forged his last passport.
That same day, Ashe was instructed to attend a cursory MIT briefing in a secure room at Ankara Esenboga Airport. Also invited were Matthias Fless and Sherman Beck. The dull meeting turned out to be merely a prelude to a ride in a four-seater jet to the furthest reaches of eastern Turkey.
From the Turkish air-force base at Hakkari, the party was driven by military truck to a barren crossroads near Güzeldere, only ten kilometres from the Turkey–Iraq border. As a private from a platoon of regular Turkish soldiers waved them down, a black Mercedes limousine emerged from behind a covered troop-carrier. The limo’s rear door opened and the party was ushered in.
To the right of the chauffeur sat the rotund figure of General Ahmet Koglu, representing the Foundation for the Strengthening of the Turkish Security Forces (TSKGV), the army’s economic development wing. Koglu signalled the driver to follow the military truck. The convoy soon left the road and headed up a farm track that skirted a dull grey escarpment.
Koglu turned to his guests. ‘Today is an auspicious day, gentlemen. A special day for you and for my country. It gives me very great pleasure to demonstrate three things that bring credit to my country.’
Beck interrupted. ‘And will the press be seeing what we are about to see, General?’
‘Naturally, the press will in due course see what is of most significance to the public. You, however, will be privileged to report to your superiors the essence of three facts. First. The Turkey of today will not tolerate surprising developments that threaten the principle of national progress and democracy. Second. Our great army is fully in accord with this principle. Third. We shall show today that where the United States and Great Britain have failed, my country will succeed.’
‘I only wish Major Richmond were here,’ Ashe muttered to Beck.
‘Didn’t you know? He’s confounded the surgeons and is back in his boots!’
Ashe’s heart rose.
The car stopped at a temporary checkpoint. Ashe had the awful feeling that they had been dragged in to witness some appalling show-trial, the kind of thing Bolshevik Russia used to arrange for compliant foreign journalists.
Koglu spoke a
nimatedly to the checkpoint officer. The officer pointed out the perimeter of a distant facility. Koglu nodded with satisfaction.
The truck continued up a hill. The limousine followed, its suspension tested to its limits. Fless began rubbing his fingers, anxious for his absent firearm. Beck tapped the sides of the windows. The general turned to them with a milk-curdling smile.
‘You are perfectly safe, gentlemen. The limousine is bulletproof.’
Ashe, seated uncomfortably between the two agents, was not reassured.
As the limo approached a breezeblock gatehouse, the party had its first view of the intended destination: a flat-roofed concrete army base, the size of a village school. Covered in cracked grey plaster, the facility extended from a main block to a small barrack block at the rear. A barn-like structure, next to the barrack, was still under construction.
Bursts of submachine-gun fire echoed from behind the main structure.
‘Please be calm, gentlemen.’ Koglu drew his pistol and stepped out of the car. He approached the gatehouse. Two soldiers from the truck in front restrained the terrified guard while the general calmly removed a cellphone from the guard’s trembling hands. Koglu walked back to the car and leant into the window. ‘Formalities, gentlemen. Please forgive the delay. Security, nothing more. Please be comfortable.’
Ashe pointed through the rear window. ‘Look!’ Fless and Beck turned to see lines of Turkish Special Forces in black combat suits emerging from cover to surround the facility. ‘They’ve been waiting for Koglu’s signal!’
‘Sure about that, Ashe?’
Before Ashe had time to answer Beck’s troubling question, the party caught sight of a group of tired-looking troops in green fatigues slinking out from behind the barrack-block, their hands on their heads. Right on cue, Special Forces from the truck in front jumped out to form a cordon for the disarmed men. At the end of the line, each man was body-searched, handcuffed and shackled.
Koglu directed with oily ease, returning again to the limousine.
‘These captured men have abused their position in the Special Forces. They are very extreme. Very extreme views. Fanatical types exploiting the requirements of the state in this troubled area.’
Ashe looked at Fless and raised his eyebrows. The two men knew well enough that, in the past, extreme rightists had proved useful enough to the dirty conflict that had been waged against Kurdish terrorists in the eastern provinces.
Koglu poked his head through the front window again, smiling. ‘I trust you will inform your superiors that Turkey always tidies up its own mess. We do not need to be told. See for yourselves!’
The captured men were herded miserably into the troop-carrier which then manoeuvred round and trundled off as fast as it could down the approach track. Koglu got back in the limousine.
Ashe looked at him pointedly: ‘The purpose of this facility, General?’
‘Yes, this has been an… interrogation centre, a centre for Special Forces. Fortunately, as a result of successfully dealing with PKK activity within our country, it has functioned chiefly as a supply and rest centre.’
‘It hasn’t been used as a spearhead base for sending forces into Iraq then, General?’
Koglu laughed. ‘You know as well as I do, Dr Ashe, that the Turkish army does not undertake such activities. Our government forbade helping the invasion of Iraq from across our borders. This, however, did not deter the invaders.
‘But, as Mr Beck is fully aware, the Turkish state is fully committed to the global war on terror. And to prove the strength of that commitment, we are bringing you here today: a special privilege. Here, gentlemen, you will see for yourselves the very weapons of mass destruction developed under the protection of Saddam Hussein that the Americans, the Israelis and the British failed to find. You are witnesses to the professionalism of Turkey’s military forces that have rendered this prize to the forces of justice without endangering the life of a single civilian.’
Fless looked at Beck and shook his head. If Fless had only been permitted to do his work…
Ashe was intrigued. Turkey would get both the credit and the weapon. Had he not been in such mixed and febrile company, he would have laughed his socks off. Turkey: ever a wild card, not to be underestimated.
Beck was having none of it. Scoring cheap points off the USA’s high-risk anti-terror and pro-democracy agenda was intolerable. ‘With respect, General, just ask the question: who’s providing the greater part of security for the Free World? Is it you?’
Koglu turned and looked Beck in the eye. ‘At this particular moment in your life, Mr Beck, it is. And I trust, on reflection, you’ll thank God for your ally.’
110
The limousine drew to a halt by the entrance. The chauffeur opened the doors, saluted the general and returned to the driver’s seat for a cigarette.
The party was shown through the front door to a comfortable mess-room at the front of the main block, with soft black sofas, a widescreen TV, a bar, fine carpets on the walls, and a large desk. Behind the desk, in a green combat jacket and jeans, sat Colonel Mahmut Aslan. Aslan slowly rose to salute the general.
‘Please come out from behind your desk, Colonel. I regret I must relieve you of your command, as I have relieved your men of their weapons. Your associate is under guard in what looks suspiciously like an unauthorised laboratory. If al-Qasr attempts to move, he will be shot. Before we take you away, I have undertaken to our allies that they will have an opportunity to acquire information for their enquiries. Not something I personally approve of, but I have been overridden in this matter.’
Aslan looked Koglu up and down. ‘You know, General, there is a spiritual purity about this place you can’t quite find anywhere else in Turkey.’
‘You’re a criminal, Aslan! The only question my superiors have is why you should obtain this terrible weapon and keep it to yourself. We presume you’re trying to sell it to the highest bidder.’
Aslan shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, General. There is no weapon of mass destruction here. Or at least… not quite the kind of destruction you dream of.’
Koglu rubbed his boot heels in frustration. ‘You should have been a novelist, Colonel. Always weaving tales.’
‘I thought you liked fiction, General.’
Koglu sensed a loss of control. ‘You’re bluffing of course.’
‘No.’
Aslan’s ‘honest’ look incensed the general. ‘Are you saying, Colonel, you no longer possess the DNA weapon?’
‘Can Professor al-Qasr join this discussion?’
‘No discussion. You’re under arrest.’
‘But you do want something. You can use the intercom link with the laboratory. It’s here, General, here on my desk.’
The general inspected the intercom speaker housing.
‘Where do I switch it on?’
‘Press “Laboratory”.’
Al-Qasr sat in the dark, wrapped tightly in sealing tape. A hard-faced guard watched him, his Uzi submachine gun trained at the professor’s head.
The buzzer went on the intercom. The guard raised the butt of his weapon. The buzzing continued. The guard warily approached the intercom. As his right finger caressed the Uzi’s trigger-guard, his left hand glided over the possible buttons.
‘Try “Mess-room”.’
The guard pressed the button.
Al-Qasr leant towards the microphone. ‘Let me speak to Aslan.’
In the mess-room, Koglu nodded Aslan to answer.
‘Sami, listen to me. Our only chance is to explain the operation to General Koglu. Tell him straight, Sami. Don’t fuck this up.’
Al-Qasr smiled weakly at the guard, cold as stone by the door, then addressed his audience. ‘I want it to be known that I am, and always have been, a scientist, dedicated to truths that will help the human race in its evolution. I always wanted the world to know what I’ve achieved. This reward I have sacrificed.’
‘Noble bastard,’ muttered Ashe.
/> Aslan was irritated. ‘Just explain the plan, Sami.’
Koglu pushed Aslan away from the desk. ‘Come to the point, al-Qasr!’
Al-Qasr laughed maniacally. ‘Everyone wanted my weapon. Saddam wanted it. The Pentagon wanted it. Al-Qaeda… Everyone! Now you come to me with insults!’
Koglu interjected. ‘Keep making speeches, and your last chance will become your last words!’
‘Humility befits those standing on the holy threshold of genius, General. I have made the most devastating weapon to the nations of the world—’
Koglu erupted. ‘Bring al-Qasr here! Guard! Drag him to the main block!’
111
The guard shoved al-Qasr into the mess-room on the end of his Uzi. Still bound with tape, the professor shuffled forwards.
‘Well…’ Koglu licked his lips. ‘Al-Qasr is finally under control – something the British, Americans and Israelis failed to achieve. Sit here, Professor, and answer my questions.’
‘Ask yourself some questions, General. What is the nature of deterrence?’
‘You tell me!’
‘I will. And you will thank me.’
‘What is the nature of deterrence, Professor?’
‘One side has a mighty bomb. The other side also has it. In the old days, that was enough. There was some reason, if not honour, among the thieves. But now we see men in charge of nations so inspired by dreamworlds they risk the annihilation of their countrymen.’
Aslan winced at al-Qasr’s rhetoric. ‘Just tell them about the weapon, Sami!’
‘The leaders have bunkers of course, for themselves, their friends and their families. Above all, they have their beliefs. In these they hide. How can we reach them?’
‘Tell us!’
‘With bunker-busting shells? No! I put it to you that the only deterrent that is going to work is the one that hits the beliefs of the enemy where it hurts most.’
Intrigued, Koglu’s eyebrows rose. ‘And how do we do this?’