“Oh, oh,” Helen squealed. “I will be holding tight to my purse.”
“Hayat, this is a personal question, but I hope you do not mind.” Melanie blushed. “Those young men at the bazaar—did none of them interest you? They must have been interested in someone as attractive as you.”
“Melanie, you flatter me. But it is true. There was a young man. His father’s shop was next to ours in the bazaar. We entered university at the same time and even became betrothed. But we had a disagreement over the paths that our careers should take, his and mine. So I broke off the engagement. I have never married. I prefer my freedom.”
“Well, that is a choice many professional women are making these days,” Melanie agreed. “Pardon me for asking. I was just curious.”
It was a conversation that Dave would try to recall in every detail in the days to come. But for now, they were content to wander the maze of streets in the Grand Bazaar for hours on end, looking for bargains and, for the most part, ignoring the pleas of merchants to spend their money. They limited their purchases to a beautifully embroidered shawl for Hayat, in appreciation for her hospitality, and several glazed porcelain pieces as souvenirs for themselves.
Then came the time to bid farewell. Hayat said that she would not accompany them to their hotel because she had an errand to run before going home. She advised that they take a taxi because the Metro did not extend to the Grand Bazaar, and the trams would be too slow. However, to ensure that the driver would not take them on a grand tour to pad his fare, she negotiated the fare with him before they got into the taxi. She stood on the curb, waving until they were out of sight.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The next morning, Melanie and Helen waited in the lobby with their luggage while Dave checked out. He had just finished paying the bill and was filing it away in his briefcase when a serious-looking receptionist informed him that the hotel manager would like to speak to him. Dave suddenly became aware of the hotel manager, who was standing quietly behind him.
“How was your stay, Mr. Bigelow?”
“Very pleasant, thank you.”
“Excellent. Mr. Bigelow, I do not want to delay you unnecessarily because I know that you plan to fly back to New York today, but there is someone in my office who would like to speak to you.”
“Yes, we need to leave in a few minutes. We have a 1:00 p.m. flight.”
“I will mention that to the gentleman.” The hotel manager opened the door to his office and invited Dave to step in. The sole occupant of the office was a police officer who introduced himself as Inspector Adem Polat. After the hotel manager explained the time constraints, he excused himself and left.
“Mr. Bigelow, I do not expect to detain you long. I just have a few questions concerning Professor Hayat Yilmaz.”
“Yes, of course. My family and I had dinner with her two evenings ago, and then yesterday, she accompanied us on a tour of the Topkapi Palace and the Grand Bazaar.”
The inspector nodded his head. “That confirms what her parents told us. Have you known her long?”
“No, we met her on this trip to Istanbul for the first time. We were introduced by a mutual friend, Jeff Braunstein, who resides in New York.”
“Did she—during dinner or yesterday’s excursion—express distress about anything or indicate fear for her personal safety?”
Dave looked curiously at the officer, a man of medium height, black hair, and a round and earnest face. He was close-shaven except for a neatly trimmed mustache. Where were these questions leading? he wondered. “She seemed to be in good spirits for the most part.”
“Nothing at all? The reason I am asking, Mr. Bigelow, is that I am looking for clues to the brutal beating of Ms. Yilmaz last night. Her parents reported that she was missing when she did not return home by 10:00 p.m. A fisherman saw two men tossing her into the Bosporus at dawn this morning but rescued her before she drowned. She is in hospital now in intensive care, where she was identified as the missing person.”
“Oh my god! How terrible! Which hospital is she at?”
“I am not at liberty to say. Only immediate members of her family know. Her life could be in danger.”
“Is she able to speak?”
“No, she is unconscious. She was beaten savagely on the side of her head with some blunt instrument.”
“But who would do such a thing?”
“That is why I am here to ask questions, Mr. Bigelow.”
“You don’t think that we …?”
“No, no, Mr. Bigelow. You are not a suspect,” the officer said patiently. “I am just looking for clues … anything that she said or did.”
“You don’t think she was attacked for political reasons, do you? She participated in street demonstrations against development plans for Taksim Gezi Park.”
Inspector Polat shook his head. “Most unlikely. Neither the government nor the developer would have anything to gain from hiring a thug to beat up a university professor, who was a leading figure in the protests, months after the demonstrations have ended. Of course, one cannot exclude the possibility of a crazy person acting on his own. But that is still a low probability.”
“Okay, let me think. Yesterday afternoon, she was moved to tears by the sight of Syrian refugee families begging for their living in front of the Blue Mosque.”
“You are suggesting that she befriended a Syrian refugee family, who then attacked her?”
“No, that seems as unlikely as a crazy person acting on his own.” Dave paused then looked at his watch. The minutes were slipping by, and they needed to check in at the airport two hours before flight time. He thought hard.
“Okay, I have another idea. Yesterday, we were walking along the Nuruosmaniye Caddesi toward the Grand Bazaar, and we stopped to admire some furniture and decorative objects in the display window of one of the shops.”
“Yes, there is a famous furniture shop on that street.”
“Hayat saw the reflection of a man getting out of his car on the other side of the street. She turned to look at him, and they seemed to recognize each other.”
“Anything unusual in her reaction?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she smile and wave at him? Perhaps an old friend?”
“She seemed to get tense, even angry. Her face flushed, but she made no gesture toward him.”
“What did the man look like?”
“I did not get a good look at his face, but he was tall and thin. Then he walked into an office building across the street. The entrance was to the left of a ground-level shop.”
“His car? What kind of car was he driving?”
“A Mercedes-Benz. He had a driver who dropped him off.”
“Nuruosmaniye Caddesi is primarily a shopping street. Corporate offices are usually located elsewhere in the city. Are you sure that it was an office building? Perhaps he was just stepping into one of the shops.”
“No, I am sure that it was an office. It was a fairly modern building rising several stories above the shop. There was a brass plate to the left of the entrance, very discreet. No big sign that I could read, announcing the name of the company.”
“That is helpful. I will check out the address. There is only one large company, to my knowledge, with corporate offices on Nuruosmaniye Caddesi. It is a very old company with roots going back to the eighteenth century—the Ottoman Trading Company.”
“That could be relevant. Two nights ago, when we were having dinner with Hayat, she learned that her cousin was captain of a cargo ship arrested by the Greek Coast Guard for illicitly carrying an arms shipment, maybe destined for the Syrian rebels. That really upset her.”
“How did she come by this information? Who told her?”
“Why, I did. You see, my family and I were on a cruise in the Aegean Sea last week, and we were in Rhodes when the arrest took pla
ce.”
“The captain’s name is …?”
“Husayin Yilmaz. The name of the ship is Light of the East.”
“You think this is an Ottoman Trading Company ship?”
“Golden Horn Shipping, but Hayat said it is controlled by Ottoman Trading Company.”
“Mr. Bigelow, this is very interesting. You have been very helpful. Here is my card if you remember something else and would like to contact me. You are free to go now.”
Dave pulled a card from his briefcase. “Here is mine as well if you need to reach me.” He walked out of the office to the lobby dreading what he would have to tell Melanie and Helen.
Chapter Thirty-Five
On Monday, Dave’s first day back in the office after his return from Istanbul, he called Jeff Braunstein about the attack on Hayat Yilmaz. Horrified by the news, Jeff was determined to do something, even if he was thousands of miles from Istanbul.
“Look, some members of our team working on the Europa Bank money-laundering project have connections to the CIA. Why don’t I ask one of them to contact Langley for a little background information on Golden Horn Shipping?”
At the initial organizational meeting for the Europa Bank project, at which Jeff presided, several representatives of obscure consulting firms located in the suburbs of Washington, DC, had sat through the meeting without uttering a word. Dave had wondered whether they were linked to the FBI or the CIA, and now his suspicions were confirmed. But Dave readily agreed with Jeff’s proposal. It could provide a lead.
Jeff continued to prod. “Think, Dave. Did Hayat say anything that might give us a clue?”
“On the flight home from Istanbul, I racked my brain trying to remember everything she had said. When she told us that Golden Horn Shipping was owned by the Ottoman Trading Company, she referred to it as an octopus with tentacles stretching into trading, banking, shipping, and real estate. The next day, we were walking along Nuruosmaniye Caddesi toward the Grand Bazaar when we stopped at a shop window. She saw the reflection of a man across the street and turned to look at him. The sight of him bothered her. When I told the police officer about the incident, he thought the address across the street could be that of the Ottoman Trading Company. Right after it happened, we stopped at a café, and over coffee, she described her childhood memories of the Grand Bazaar, where her father owns a shop. She compared the Grand Bazaar to a beautiful cove where dangerous sharks and octopuses lurked.”
“So your point is what?”
“Did you ever take a college course in psychology which explored the underlying meaning of word associations? Look, Wednesday evening, Hayat refers to the Ottoman Trading Company as an octopus. Thursday afternoon, she talks about the dangers posed by giant octopuses. You get it? Ottoman Trading Company equals octopus. Danger equals octopus. Therefore, Ottoman Trading Company equals Danger.”
“Dave, I think you were reading too many novels on your vacation. This would never stand up in court. You ought to know that better than I do. You’re the lawyer.”
“I am not suggesting that this is evidence that could be presented in court. But it might give us some insight into what she was thinking a few hours before she was attacked.”
“Okay, did the police officer provide you information where he can be contacted?”
“Yes, I have his card right here. Adem Polat, telephone number, email address.”
“Good. Why don’t you send him an email? See what he thinks. Did he tell you where Hayat is hospitalized? I’d like to send her flowers and a get-well message.”
“No, he won’t do that. Only immediate members of her family know because her life could be in danger.”
“I see. Okay, why don’t you call me when you hear back from the police officer?”
When Dave sent his email to Inspector Polat on Monday, he expected a quick response, certainly within twenty-four hours. The response did not arrive until Thursday, seventy-two hours later:
Mr. Bigelow, I appreciate your interest in helping the Istanbul Police Department in solving the case of Professor Hayat Yilmaz. Unfortunately, I no longer have operational responsibility for the investigation, and the case has not yet been reassigned to one of my colleagues. As of yesterday, I have been transferred to the division responsible for training new recruits. I can only report that Ms. Yilmaz is still unconscious so that she has been unable to provide us with details about her attackers. Doctors fear that she suffered brain damage and that she may never recover.
Dave immediately forwarded the email to Jeff Braunstein. Within five minutes, Dave’s telephone was ringing. It was Jeff.
“Dave, my sensitive nose smells a cover-up. Our friends in Langley have found very little on Golden Horn Shipping—how many ships they own, where they are registered. Even details about the Sierra Leone registry of Light of the East are murky. But this is interesting. Yesterday, in the legal notices section of one of the business newspapers in Turkey, there was a short item announcing the liquidation of Golden Horn Shipping. No information about where the assets are being transferred. Our friends also checked with the Greek Coast Guard. No one has come forward to claim Light of the East. It may now become the property of the Greek government.”
“And now the police officer investigating the attack on Hayat has been reassigned,” Dave added.
“Yes, that arouses my suspicions too. By the way, our friends in Langley found the trace of heroin on the Light of the East intriguing. This was probably not the first time the cargo ship had been used to ship arms to belligerents in Syria. They suspect the arms were destined for the Al Nusra Front, an al Qaeda affiliate in Syria. They pay for their weapons purchases with heroin. Whoever was selling the weapons is involved in the drug trade.”
“That is what the captain of our cruise ship speculated as well.”
“You know, Dave, I think it is time you and I made a site visit to Europa Bank’s branch in Istanbul. While you were on vacation, I drew up a priority list of site visits that our anti–money laundering team should make. Istanbul and Mexico City are at the top of the list, followed by London, Hong Kong, Dubai, and Singapore. We can split up the team among the different sites. Any interest?”
“The second week in September would work for me. I am taking my daughter back to college right after Labor Day.”
“The second week it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
In the Sisli district of Istanbul, at the intersection of Buyukdere Caddesi and Levent Caddesi, are found many of the large plazas and high office towers housing major foreign and Turkish banks. The gleaming headquarters of Europa Bank’s Turkish subsidiary are located at 159 Buyukdere Caddesi.
Dave and Jeff were invited to the top-floor office of the chairman of the Turkish subsidiary, Aydin Budak, toward the end of their week in Istanbul. For three days, they—with the assistance of a team of auditors—had interviewed staff at headquarters to determine whether appropriate procedures were being put into place to prevent money laundering and bribery by drug syndicates and terrorist organizations.
Aydin Budak gestured with his hands to emphasize the point he was making. “Let me assure you, gentlemen, that we are doing everything that is humanly possible. But, by now, you must recognize the magnitude of the problem. Turkey is not the United States. The underground economy accounts for half of all economic activity in our country, and most of it is unaudited. Knowing your customer is a goal that we are trying to impress on all of our staff, but old habits die hard. We have branches and millions of customers throughout the country. In small towns and villages, transactions are often based on trust, with no questions asked.”
Jeff responded diplomatically, “We are impressed with your efforts in Istanbul. Nonetheless, I am puzzled why the Turkish government has not passed laws prohibiting the establishment of personal gold accounts by customers.”
Budak grinned broadly. “For many of our wom
en, especially in eastern Turkey, buying gold jewelry has always been like setting up a savings account. As they gain in financial sophistication, they may melt down the jewelry into ingots, which are then placed in a bank account for safekeeping.”
Dave shook his head, “I don’t think Jeff is talking about small savers. We noted several instances where foundations made large deposits of gold into accounts at your bank. For instance, in November of last year, gold ingots worth twenty million dollars were deposited into the bank account of the Emir Tilki Foundation.”
“Ah yes, the Tilki Foundation is one of the largest philanthropies in our country. It has invested generously in medical research and hospitals in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir.”
Dave persisted, “The point I wanted to make is that if large deposits of gold are accepted, without questions asked as to the origin of the gold, and the gold is converted into its equivalent in cash, then the money can be transferred anywhere in the world electronically. This concerns us because foundations, unlike businesses, are not audited.”
“That’s not true,” Budak protested. “Some foundations are audited.”
“But the vast majority of nonprofit entities are not because government auditors are too understaffed. Am I correct?”
“That is unfortunately correct,” Budak conceded.
“Wouldn’t you agree that this is a potential loophole in your anti–money laundering compliance system?” Dave asked.
“Well, be realistic!” Budak sounded annoyed. “If we do not accept gold deposits but other banks do, we will lose business!”
“You could lobby the government to change the law,” Jeff suggested.
Budak rolled his eyes in dismay at the ceiling. “It could take years before agreement is reached in parliament. As Americans, you should appreciate that. You have political gridlock of your own.”
“The name Tilki sounds familiar. Is there any connection to the Ottoman Trading Company?”
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