by Lynda Filler
No one had anything to say. Except for the black girl. “I knew Sude. We met at University. She is one of the most vivacious and crazy women I’ve ever known. She was the one who took the playboy, DJ Turk out of the dating pool.” They all smiled in spite of the severity of the moment. “Himanish, what are you holding back? Is she alive?”
“You’ve all been vetted to the nth degree. What I’m about to say must never leave this room.”
He waited. No one spoke.
“According to the media, Sude is dead. But she’s badly injured, and there are security concerns as to who the actual targets were. I’ve been working with Yunus, the Turk, on cyberterrorism. He needs our help. We must find out who is responsible for this attack and why. I’m making some calls right now, so get to work. I don’t think this is coming from the west. It could be inside Turkey. They tried once before in 2016. But if we find crypto links in large sums originating in the Middle East and somewhere somehow, Turkey is involved, let me know.”
“Boss, I don’t know if this is relevant, but in the last hour in one of my war rooms, I heard something about a bio-chemical statement to wake up the world. Maybe these events are connected.” No one spoke. The looks on their faces said it all.
“This photo might have been doctored. See if you can manipulate it. I know the other two faces are obscured, but I need facial recognition on any points of reference you can get. And put in a search to all the rooms you play in for bio attacks and any chatter on the Turk’s wedding. You won’t find much in the mainstream news sites. Turkey knows how to silence journalists. And get the list of the dead politicians. Interrupt me or text me when you find something, no matter how insignificant.”
Himanish sat at his desk, earphones on, listening to a Brahms Symphony. His keyboard clicked constantly. He stopped after twenty minutes to respond to a text that appeared to originate in Ukraine containing co-ordinates. He simply replied, “In the air.”
He packed up his notebook and spoke to the team.
“Contact me through the usual drop. Links only. You know what to do.”
He took the back stairs, walked past a dumpster overflowing with refuse, and hailed a taxi on the fourth main street he encountered. After two taxi switches, he headed to a private airport terminal. A Cessna Citation X+ waited for his journey to Istanbul.
20
Tehran, Iran
“I don’t care what it costs!”
The Mosque was devoid of worshippers at this hour. And the ones that did show up were mainly to fool the spy satellites that monitored their country’s activities from space. The light shone through the mosaic-glass windows.
“But sir, the drain on electricity is unprecedented. The miners have set up their huge operations in schools, poultry farms, and even mosques, to get free energy!”
“Yes. However, the industry is unregulated for a reason. The whole purpose is to move funds without government or international oversight. This is how we exist without the US and European intervention in our affairs. They cannot sanction or block what they cannot see. Our very financial and political existence is at stake. You, more than anyone else, should understand this.”
The man hung his head. For a moment, a millisecond, he felt shame for the bribes he was taking and the money he was hiding. But the US had frozen his assets years before, and he needed that money in case anything happened to his beloved Iran. How else would he protect his family? Maybe it was time to get them out.
“I think anyone watching Iran’s actions closely will eventually figure out what we’re doing.”
“Of course. But look at what we’ve accomplished so far! By the time there’s any oversight, it won’t matter. We will have enough off-shore funds to do whatever we want.”
They sat in silence, mulling over the various goals of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
“Sir, what will be the official statement to the Americans about the oil tankers?”
“The usual rhetoric. Deny. Blame someone else.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Turkey?”
“Yes. Everything is falling into place. I have everything under control.” The cleric studied the young man. “You realize that you speak to no one of our conversations. That includes your boss, Abdul. Understood?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Is he here today?”
“No, Saudi Arabia. His father requested his presence.”
The cleric looked completely different in the photos from the desert. He was not a well-known politician but rather a strategist who existed in the shadows. He was brilliant and always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. Of course, the Americans were going to back out of the Iran nuclear deal. It was purposely designed to cause second thoughts. Iran was simply buying time to move the newly released money. Iran would never bend to the will of the Western world. It was only a matter of time, and the caliphate would spread to the west. Maybe not in his lifetime, but he would never stop fighting. They were almost ready to proceed to the next stage.
His under-Minister left. His mind returned to Turkey.
21
Ankara, Istanbul
The forgotten Ancient Theatre of Ankara was the perfect meeting place to discuss treason.
Barat arrived early, not because he wanted to be prompt, but he needed to be sure he wasn’t followed. He stumbled on broken stone and rubble while cursing each turn of his ankle and bemoaning the fact that his country was so rich in ancient monuments that some stood untouched and unpreserved for centuries. Under normal circumstances, he might admire the vaulted passages that still stood leading to the orchestra, or the semi-circular space once occupied by the choir. Today, he only had time to maneuver around a body sleeping off the remnants of a night of debauchery before he reached his meeting place.
Earlier today, the funeral for the Minister of Defense and his wife had been a somber affair. Barat could smell the fear amongst his fellow mourners. He chose to ignore their glances and refused to show weakness. He must set an example to his staff and those who hadn’t been murdered by this heinous attack.
The body of the daughter of the dead Minister of Defense was still being held. Her new husband, some famous DJ, refused to allow investigators into the morgue, nor could the Iman perform burial rites as per Islamic law. Everyone was too pre-occupied with death to notice.
The new minister wandered amongst the grave markers adjacent to the ancient site, his mind in a state of fear and turmoil.
“Barat.”
His body jerked involuntarily.
“Yes.”
A tall bearded man stood before him. Some said he acquired the scar that ran down the left side of his face as a result of hand-to-hand combat with the PKK during an assassination attempt near the Syrian border. Either way, botched surgery caused children to run away in fright. In spite of his custom hand-made French shirts highlighting a toned muscular body, his intense black eyes and a long clerical beard spoke of violent radicalism barely hidden beneath the surface. In the bearded man’s view, Turkey, as a nation, was far too secular. It was a Muslim country and must become more outwardly fervent. It was time for the far-right to prevail and the country to follow in the path of the Middle Eastern nations and the literal interpretation of Sharia law. Barat disagreed. But if he valued his life, and the well-being of his family, he had to go along.
“Have you spoken with the others?”
“It was impossible at the funeral. Everyone has stepped up security, and the opportunity to speak freely was not there.”
“It’s straightforward. The reward we have given you must be taken by the remaining persons. If not, our plan will go forward without them. We will spare no one. Join us or suffer the consequences.”
Barat thought of his family legacy. He was humiliated. But the circumstances meant he would live to see his children become adults. And hopefully, the world they would inherit would be one of peace. He can only hope that this era of violence, too, shall pass.
“I understand.”
“Now, here is what you can expect in the coming weeks. When we initiate, you will be advised as will the others who are with us.”
Barat was horrified at the depths of depravity required to carry out this immoral and deadly attack. He desperately wanted to know who was behind this plot. Barat had his suspicions, but his life depended on his ignorance and complete obedience. He maintained an even demeanor and nodded his agreement.
“I understand. Will that be all? I must return to my official duties.”
The man stared at Barat. “Yes.”
Barat turned back towards the exit to the theatre.
“One more thing.”
Barat waited.
“If you make any efforts to foil our plot, you will be executed, but first, we will kill your family and make you watch.”
Barat stumbled. The waves of evil emanating from this repulsive man propelled him forward.
22
Istanbul
Yunus stared at his sleeping bride. Sude’s face was at peace. Her doctors kept her sedated. They said she’d heal faster if they allowed her body and her mind to rest. He studied the monitors. He pulled a chair up beside her bed, took her hand, and put his head near her shoulder on the bed. He must have dozed off because he awoke to gentle strokes on his cheek.
“My love, you are awake!!”
“Yes, Yunus.”
“You were so lucky, darling. I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Hush, baby, don’t cry. I’m going to be fine. Whatever drugs I’m on, I feel no pain.”
They both smiled.
“And if you think this replaces the honeymoon, you promised me…”
Yunus touched Sude’s hair, pink along her hairline from traces of blood.
“You are so beautiful, my love. I thought you were dead, but here we are.”
“Yunus, I’m tired. Please, my love, tell me about the others. The last thing I remember is the scream, the machine-gun fire, my father crying out.”
“Sleep, honey. There’s time to talk later.”
“Yunus! They are dead, both of them?” He couldn’t respond.
Sude turned away. He should have foreseen the possibility of this tragedy. Why didn’t he make the wedding a private event? He got up to leave. Sude called out.
“No. Stay with me until I fall asleep. I feel safer with you by my side.”
Ten minutes later, a soft knock interrupted the Turk’s sleep. He turned to find Raven standing beside him. He whispered softly.
“We’ve found some things. We need to talk.”
Zach, Rachel, and Samaar spoke sparingly their minds focused on their devices. An Indian man’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The door opened abruptly.
Himanish code-named Firestorm immediately closed his laptop and walked towards Yunus. Both men had tears in their eyes. Himanish took Yunus into a big manly hug, “I heard there is good news. Sude is out of danger.”
“Yes, she even smiled for a moment just now.”
Even though they were contemporaries, Himanish patted Yunus’ back like a child.
“You didn’t think I’d stay away, did you? This is what friends are for.”
Yunus didn’t know what to say. He’d been in this business all alone for so long, he was overwhelmed with emotion.
“Okay, enough with the feely-touchy stuff. Let’s get RB online.” Raven pulled up a chair for Yunus.
When the secure video came up, Raven acknowledged the presence of the Turk and Firestorm.
“Fill us in, RB.”
“Cryptocurrency, your expertise Firestorm and Turk, is the smart terrorists’ new way to arrange finances. It’s secure, almost undetectable, but fortunately for us, two parties, in any event, must communicate either by text or in person. Usually, a series of conversations will happen before the money is transferred. In this case, we have a watchlist the Raven Group has compiled of the most operational of each countries’ players. MVBG, our Most Valuable Bad Guys. And we monitor all their phone traffic.”
Everyone waited.
“For the moment, I’m focusing on Turkey, Russia, and the Middle East—specifically Iran. These countries may have changed the way the money travels, but they’ve not changed the way they communicate. Nor have they changed their multiple devices.”
Yunus spoke up, “that’s because a bunch of old-school guys is trying to take over the world.” The team nodded. RB was in his zone, his voice told them he was on to something or someone.
“Yes, that’s the good news. These key players only worry about the soldiers, their jihadists on the ground. They think the leaders are untouchable, so they don’t switch out their phones or chips as often as they should.”
“Okay, RB, so what have you found out?”
“I’m still connecting the dots.”
“Does this resonate with you, RB? One of my team in Malaysia, heard chatter in the last twelve hours, about a major bio-chemical attack.”
“Give me a second while I set up a search for that. Then let me explain what I’ve got so far.” The group waited.
“Firestorm put me in contact with the Turks team. Your kids are good, by the way.”
“I know, and don’t try to recruit them!” Everyone laughed, but Yunus wasn't joking.
“Let’s go to a visual. If you want, open up your laptops, I can bring you into our secure net and conference on each of your screens. It will just take a couple of minutes. Raven, Zach, Rachel, and Samaar are online, so you already know how we do this.” The Turk’s finger flew across his keyboard. Firestorm followed.
“Now, due to the location of Turkey and the challenges of the US-Iran conflict, well the whole nuclear deal, we’ve been intensely monitoring the area for the last six months.”
“If I may ask, who is we?” The Turk was not an official member of the Raven Group.
“My past business relationships have allowed me to keep friendships within the National Reconnaissance Office of the USA. We occasionally share intel. I already had some of the pieces to this puzzle under surveillance. I extracted this: the map you will see is 2018 cyber traffic, messages going into Ankara from Iran. I’ve further refined my search to anyone affiliated with the Turkish government, from assistants to actual ministers.”
The group focused on the images on their various encrypted devices. More than ever, security was their number one concern.
“Now, in diagram two, 2019, look at the difference. I’ve color-coded the escalation. This shows not only government lines, but also private cell phones, unregistered phones as well. We based the parameters on location, home, and office of anyone in the circle of influence in Turkish politics. Do you see the difference?”
“Yes.” Luke was the first to respond. “Do you have any idea what it means?”
“No. Not definitively.”
Himanish spoke up. “Let me bring you up to speed on what I’m working on. Yunus is aware that we have our own cryptocurrency based in Kuala Lumpur called MAGE. The entire purpose is to follow the money for trafficking, both human and drug. We purposely set up our crypto-currency company to be inexpensive and easy to use, and absolutely secure—except for us. We solely targeted the Middle Eastern channels. We used our intelligence sources, so we could lure the insiders in the terrorist organizations. Because they like to keep their financials easy to access and understand, one bad guy told another, and they gave us their money. During the night, I told my core team to start searching for anything that could be related to your attack. I should know more in the next couple of hours.”
Yunus added. “My group went through the bank accounts and all the records they could access online for the government officials that died as well as the key players who are still alive. RB, we should compare our lists so I can make sure we didn’t miss someone you are watching.” RB nodded.
“I’ve created all kinds of ways to compare and look for anomalies. Send me everything you think might be relevant.”
“Cruz
, my team leader, said the politicians looked clean. We figured the old guard would still be into cash payments. But we have to assume if payoffs were coming from Iran, they came by way of cryptocurrency. Although Cruz did mention money transfers into Istanbul banks, from Iran. There are significant increases this year. Still, the deposits didn’t go directly into politicians’ accounts—at least not that we are aware. Crypto changes everything. After the events, I’ve been distracted. Of course, Iran’s hidden funds, or drug money would have to be transferred in crypto! If we can cross-reference with Himanish, that will save us huge amounts of time.”
“I’m sending a link to your phone. Forward it to both your teams. I’m in Seattle. I don’t sleep anyway, so let me co-ordinate the cross lists. Himanish, send me your key leader contact. Turk, I assume yours is still Cruz. My phone has a special RB encryption. Send files that way.”
They both nodded and took out their phones.
“Okay, got them both. Give me 30 minutes.”
The Turk spoke up, “We’ve unlocked and cracked the security on all the cellphones we gathered after the event. Now we’re searching thousands of messages, both current and deleted.”
Firestorm remained silent. His team was missing the cell phone access but had a list of thousands of suspicious hash codes.
“Yunus, Fatimah leads my small insider group. Send any hash codes to us, and we will search the sources.”
RB questioned the Turk. “Are you looking for corruption, collusion, or just any kind of connection?”
“My team has been at it all night. At first, there was nothing that fit any of your three ‘c’s. We weren’t looking for hash codes. Just bank accounts. Then we found a photograph taken in the Middle East. I sent it to Himanish.”
“And my team already had it when I showed it to them during the night.”
Yunus was stunned. “How?”
“It seems Cruz and Fatimah have stayed in touch although neither explained the nature of her work, they assumed both might have kept up their interest in politics and international security.”
Zach interrupted. “Now, you have my attention. The Middle East is my playground. Tell us about the photograph. Have you figured out where it was taken?”