The Istanbul Conspiracy

by Lynda Filler

  “RB sent more links. Anything he thinks might be relevant to the attack. We’ve seen the photos. We are about to dig into them now. But there is nothing online but speculation, no official statements. No one is bragging about the attack.” Samaar kept searching.

  “I don’t know how much you know about Turkey today, but after the coup attempt in 2016, things changed. Many dissidents were jailed, considered to be traitors. Maybe not all clampdowns were justified, but we did experience an attack on the legitimate government of Turkey. Also, the media was blocked. Journalists were left out of the loop. Turkey went so far as to arrest some reporters and outspoken international figures. And the internet was restricted in subtle ways. You still can’t go to Wikipedia without specific browsers.”

  “That explains why it’s so easy to keep the speculation off the web. The Turks are extra cautious.”

  “Wait, I just received a message from Firestorm.” Luke read something on his cell, while Samaar looked more closely at Yunus. She sensed he was holding something back.

  “Yunus, tell us about your wife. Her name is Sude, yes?”

  Yunus’ smile relaxed his features and revealed the young boy he’d once been.

  “I actually knew her before I went into the military. She was the daughter of the Minister of Defense. Any social gatherings, her picture would show up in the news. I was just an impoverished teenager from a small village up in Turkey. My family is very religious, and I tutored the Quran in Arabic to the young kids at school. We moved in very different circles. We were poor, and Sude was rich.” He hesitated, then decided to go for it.

  “By the time I met Sude in person, I was an ex-commando known as DJ Turk. I was Dj’ing New Year’s Eve, and she was there partying with her friends. In those days, I didn’t really have a type. I was known for my playboy ways. But the moment I laid eyes on Sude, I knew she was my destiny.”

  Luke looked towards Samaar.

  “I followed her into the ladies’ room and locked the door!” The team laughed for the first time that day.

  “I mean, we were front-page news on TMZ! I had to make an honest woman out of her, right? We moved in together soon after.” The handsome young Turk smiled but then sobered.

  Suddenly Yunus’ couldn’t hold his tears.

  Rachel was closest and moved towards him.

  “What’s wrong? You said Sude’s recovering.”

  “She is, but she was also pregnant and never told me. Those bastards killed our baby!

  17

  Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

  A non-descript Indian man of medium height and intelligent brown eyes closed his phone as his Mercedes limousine pulled up to the portico at the Mandarin Oriental in Kuala Lumpur. The exclusive hotel situated beside the eighty-eight stories of the Petronas Twin Towers was the meeting place for the rich and famous. It sent the proper message if you wanted to make a splash in the burgeoning IT world in Asia.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Anand. Let me take your bag, your suite is ready, sir.” He handed the key card to the esteemed client.

  “No, I’ll carry my bag. Thank you, Umar. I will need the limousine at 9 pm.”

  “Not a problem, sir. There is no need to reserve the limo. It’s at your disposal your entire time with us.”

  The Indian nodded as if this was the response he expected and walked towards the private elevator that would take him to the top floor. He discreetly observed his surroundings looking for anything out of the ordinary. He’d already hacked into the security cameras and made a thorough check of the premises before arriving, but you can never be too careful. If anything had changed in the last five minutes, any out-of-the-norm security, or unexpected guests, he would immediately return to his vehicle, claiming forgetfulness and leave the location.

  The elevator to this elite floor was accessible only by a special keycard. The story was not even in view on the numbered levels. The entire area was also off-limits to everyone except carefully vetted cleaning staff. Any personnel going to this floor by a private service elevator was physically matched to ID, computer information, thumbprint, and eyeball scan. Guests were known to carry valuables in the form or currency or gems. Discretion and security were what they would receive. The hotel was well rewarded for such diligence with the hefty sum of $10,000 US dollars per night. Well worth it to a man of Mr. Anand’s status and business acumen.

  There was no need for Mr. Anand to unpack any belongings. This suite was reserved for thirty days, so his personal items were waiting neatly laundered and pressed. He eyed the special package on the counter. His single-malt aged chocolate from To’ak in Ecuador lay unopened. He brewed a perfect cup of espresso. Then he sat down to enjoy his sweet obsession and check his email before preparing for the evening meeting.

  He opened his iPad and made a quick Facetime call to Geneva. A tiny young Chinese girl popped up on his screen.

  “Papa!”

  The words spilled out of her mouth, and Himanish couldn’t stop smiling. His adopted daughter Yu Yan had such difficulty saying Himanish. So, he and Cara, his long-term lover, and now his wife, agreed. “Papa” felt perfect.

  “Yes, love.”

  “You didn’t say goodbye, Papa!”

  “But I kissed you, sweetheart. You were sleeping and your guard cat, To’ak kept me from waking you.” Himanish could hear purring coming from his Bombay beauty. She rolled on her back and stretched at the sound of his voice. But Yu Yan had definitely stolen To’ak’s heart.

  “Papa, Momma says you call her To’ak because she likes chocolate. But when I give her some of my chocolate, she won’t eat it.”

  “Yu Yan, my love, To’ak only eats her namesake chocolate. I will bring some from my business trip, and you can feed it to her.”

  “Okay, Papa.” She blew big kisses to her daddy.

  “Mommy says we are going on a trip.”

  “Good, honey. Don’t forget to tell Mommy to call me every day. Bye, darling. Kiss Mommy for me.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Himanish signed off. Since Cara had come back into his life, along with her Chinese daughter, he’d found the sense of peace that had always eluded him. Cara’s desire to help the orphaned and unwanted children in China aligned with his fundamental mission to fight for the rights of women and children through the UNHRC. And he would do whatever it takes, lawful or not, to keep the world a safe place for all mankind.

  He had three critical alerts waiting on his computer. One, a news service that kept tabs on the subjects and people Himanish follows around the globe. The second, an advertisement on an obscure Help Wanted site. The first shocked and saddened him, the second he correctly assumed, would be urgent and likely related to the news event. And the third, a despondent message from his young partner on his wedding night, heart-breaking considering the first two.

  Himanish, aka Firestorm by a select group of operatives worldwide, acknowledged the third with a short message: “You can count on me.”

  He immediately went to work. He’d been hacking since he was a kid. It didn’t take him long to get the political and medical details. Some considered Himanish to be a genius. Personally, he didn’t feel there was a word to describe how his mind worked. He read voraciously and remembered everything he read. His interests spanned science, medicine, the arts, anything he studied in depth. And right now, his interest was money. Who had it, how they got it, how they hid it; and how to keep it from being used to destroy the planet.

  And last, he responded to a help wanted advertisement: “In the air soon.”

  At 8 pm sharp, Firestorm entered an office on the 25th floor of the Petronas Towers in KL. The sign on the door read MAGE Investment Holdings LLC. A key code was required to gain access, and no staff was present in the outer office. Other than one large boardroom, the space was virtually empty. It wasn’t a shell exactly; it merely meant that the business of this corporation took place at another location away from prying eyes. Either way, discretion was what the clients of MAGE required,
and privacy and protection are what they would receive.

  He shuffled through the mail, mostly junk advertisements, until one piece, in particular, captured his attention. Sometimes old-fashioned James Bond tactics were safer than sending everything by the net. Each day a younger, smarter kid made his mark by hacking into a seemingly impenetrable network.

  He opened an envelope and removed a photo. “Now, we’re making progress.”

  He lit up a Gauloises and smiled.

  The limo waited at the north entrance as requested. However, its purpose was simply to keep up the appearance of an affluent businessman in Kuala Lumpur. He had the driver take him downtown to a highly recommended Asian restaurant in China Town.

  “That will be all. You’re off for the evening. Thank you.”

  Himanish entered the restaurant by the front door, took a seat at a table reserved for three. He ordered Whisky and an appetizer, occasionally checking his watch and his cell phone. He nodded as if in response to a message and motioned the waiter for the check. He left the premises by the front door, wove in and out of aromatic Asian food stalls, and completed the five blocks to Petaling Street. He entered the bustling population-dense marketplace.

  When he felt sure he hadn’t been followed, he exited to another busy area where several taxis waited for fares. He walked fifty feet and flagged down a taxi discharging five boisterous young people. He flashed American dollars and bribed the driver.

  “I will double the fare if you step on it! I’m in a hurry.”

  18

  Ankara, Head of Government operations, Turkey

  The young politico draped his black linen jacket over the shoulder of his crisp white shirt. He took one last glance at his freshly trimmed beard and red-rimmed eyes. Then nervously fingered his prayer beads, silently repeating Allah’s name.

  He kissed his young wife and two toddlers, goodbye, then walked six blocks to the metro. His new position warranted a car and driver, but in the confusion of the past evening’s events, he’d neglected to organize his transportation nor security for this morning. It was just as well. He needed the time to think.

  Within twenty minutes, he’d picked up his tea and entered offices conveniently located not too far from the Presidential White Palace. He opened his computer and browsed international news sites to see what the world was saying about the past evening’s events. His unauthorized personal cell phone vibrated.

  “I told you, never call me at this time of day!” The distraught man hissed into the phone.

  “I think you’re forgetting who you are speaking with.”

  Silence ensued.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m sure you now understand how powerful we are and what sacrifices we will make to get what we want.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sending through a list of names. Do whatever it takes to make sure these people take over the vacancies created by the recent events.”

  Silence ensued.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “I will do what I can.”

  “No, you will do what I tell you! As you can see, we will stop at nothing to achieve our objectives. You’re either with us or—not.”

  The line went dead.

  Barat opened his desk drawer and grabbed the flask hidden under a stack of papers. He took a long drink of Vodka, then popped a blood pressure pill. How did he get into this mess? A thousand times a day, he asked the same horrifying question. Then he opened his phone and looked at the photos of his two little girls and darling Jamila. How will his family survive if something happens to him?

  Suddenly his phone pinged.

  He opened his What’s App, and the same photo stared back at him.

  It pinged again. A copy of emails between Barat and his handler showed his knowledge of an impending violent act. And finally, a photo of a receipt for one million USD in cryptocurrency and a hashtag to access the funds sealed his fate. There would be no turning back.

  He cursed in Turkish, shoved the phone in his pocket, grabbed his jacket, and head out of the office. The previous minister’s funeral was in two hours.

  19

  Kuala, Lumpur, Malaysia

  The taxi took off at breakneck speed weaving in and out of traffic like a Nascar race driver. They left the multi-million-dollar skyline long behind. Within forty minutes, he stopped his car at a bustling industrial complex. Several businesses and individual mechanics worked twenty-four-hours a day on various modes of transport, from electric rickshaws to tourist buses.

  Mr. Anand paid the driver then walked into the office of one of the busy retail establishments. He hesitated, watching the street to be sure he hadn’t been followed and then proceeded to exit at the back of the shop. Fifteen feet down an alleyway, he stopped. He used a key to open the exterior door of a two-floor brick building and a touchpad code to enter the elevator. When he got off on the second floor, he faced a false entrance that was always locked. He went left to the emergency stairwell, entered a code on another keypad, and walked into a five-hundred square meter space. The building was non-descript from the outside, but the interior was state-of-the-art technology. Massive air-conditioning units hummed to compensate for the heat generated by rows of computer equipment. Rotating teams meant MAGE Holdings was open for business 24/7. The deed to the building was registered to a shell corporation out of Macau. Everything had been meticulously planned by Mr. Anand.

  The businessman watched his dedicated groups of bitcoin miners do their jobs. In between food breaks, computer game challenges, and sleep breaks, these incredible hackers worked tirelessly to make MAGE the bitcoin of choice.

  They were all members of Anand’s deep web teams. Most agreed to forgo a personal life for the cryptocurrencies they received. This team was no longer concerned about pensions. Each one could retire. Mr. Anand made sure that corporations were set up so there would be legitimate tax benefits on the income each chose to report. All accounting was handled by MAGE. The gains from the rapid rise in the value of the cryptos they played, made all of them millionaires in a few short years. The early recruits could simply stop but they were hooked. Just like the Wall Street wolves, these young players loved the challenge. Maybe one day, far into the future, My Anand would get his author friend, Layla, to come visit from Mexico and write their story.

  His team had top-secret clearances and worked on behalf of a non-reporting branch of the UNHRC headed by Mr. Anand, who was known as Himanish to his friends, and Firestorm by a small circle of international spies. His inner core was continuously monitored as were these premises to ensure absolute secrecy and privacy for a mission known only at the highest level of certain superpowers.

  MAGE had a two-fold objective. The outer team did traditional mining and focused on the business of MAGE. The inner core’s real objectives were hidden from family, friends, and even their countries. Crypto mining was a front, although an incredibly lucrative one. Their key focus was on one thing only, terrorism. And their mission was to follow the money—and in particular, shadow their own MAGE-coin purchasers.

  In this private place, Himanish could be himself. He went into a small office he maintained at the back of the building. He made sure this operation was protected from hackers, cyber thieves, and any kind of malware or spyware that was known to man. He had three people who worked in this particular room that operated as a safe room within his top-secret establishment. This team filtered through the workflow of MAGE worldwide. The outside group was unaware of the specific mission of this team. Again, Firestorm was security-obsessed, and so he should be. After all, he was intimate with the most in-depth part of the dark web and knew many of the international players. It was important that his signature change continuously, so he could never be tracked, nor their missions compromised.

  He nodded to the group, two Indian guys and a girl, and headed towards the espresso machine.

  “Who’s in?”

  Three hands went up. Himanish knew their preferences
and proceeded to brew for four.

  “Five minutes to wind down. I need to talk to you. We have a situation.”

  Fingers moved quickly. Grunts, groans, and sighs told Firestorm that his team was ready to speak.

  “Here’s the deal. Check out this photo.”

  They passed around the shot.

  “Who recognizes this man?”

  “I do.” A black girl from South Sudan responded. “Minister of Defense for Turkey.”

  “How could you tell? He’s dressed for rugged terrain, his face is half-hidden, and the photos slightly blurred.” The others were super impressed.

  “I’ve seen the photo before.”

  Himanish was immediately alert. “Where?”

  “I received it from a former colleague in Istanbul. She wanted to know if I’d heard any chatter. Or if I could put a name to the other two faces.”

  “How well do you know this source?”

  “We trained together for the Turkish military. My source doesn’t know what I do but understood when I left the military that I wanted to work in intelligence. She didn’t mention what she does, but they’re desperate for intel.” Himanish had a photographic memory and recalled her interlude in the Turkish military from her file. The others looked confused.

  “My Dad was Turkish, my Mom from South Sudan. Yes, I look like my Mom.”

  “Let me put it together for all of you. In the last twenty-four hours, an international couple had a wedding celebration on a mega-yacht in Istanbul. It turned into a massacre. You may know of The Turk?” Himanish waited.

  “The DJ?” The three of them looked horrified.

  “Yes.”

  “But why him? Why his wedding?”

  “His fiancée, Sude, was the daughter of the Minister of Defense. I’ve read the sealed hospital personal entries of the head administrator. Many people were murdered, including with several ministers of the Government of Turkey, most notably the Minister of Defense, in what we think was a terrorist attack.”