by Lynda Filler
He set the newspapers aside and opened his laptop. He entered a few security codes before finding the information he was after. He shot off a couple of emails to his office in Iran, then poured more coffee.
His mind wandered to his old college friends. What were they up to? Some would be married with a couple of kids, others, who knows. He thought about the hours he spent on the dark web with Cruz. She was probably hanging out in internet cafes playing games with the guys, maybe working in government. Who was he kidding? She was so counterculture, they’d never give her a government position. Especially with Erdogan’s right-leaning religious attitude. Abdul would love to reconnect with Cruz. He laughed at the image of Cruz with her tattoos visiting Iran! Just thinking about her made him smile. And then there was Sude.
His thoughts were interrupted by a ping on his encrypted private mail server. The account had been set up by the Americans, so it could only mean one thing. It was time to go to work.
But first, he had one essential phone call to make.
He tapped in the number from memory. His call immediately went to voice mail. That was strange. Sude’s voicemail was still full.
Maybe she was on her honeymoon. Of course. No dinner with her tonight. Abdul went online to check her Instagram page for photos of her engagement party or possibly her wedding. What he found shocked him to his core.
Condolences instead of congratulations? Could his Sude be dead?
He dug deeper until he found an obscure French fashion website with one photo posted. “Fashionista dies at her wedding. Was it a terrorist event? Information is being withheld by the Turkish government until a full investigation has been made.”
Abdul stared at a horrifying photo of Sude’s husband, DJ Turk, holding Sude’s bloodied body in his arms.
“Damn!”
32
She took the stairs two at a time, her body rebelling from hunching over a computer screen for too many hours to count. A break from her frustrations was in order. She smelled the frying fish, and her mouth watered. She grabbed a grilled mackerel sandwich, a sugar-free Coke, and found a vacant bench overlooking the sea.
Ocean waves soothed her mind and provided a welcome release from her non-stop thinking. She was lulled into a lovely sense of peace and relaxed for the first time in days. Cruz watched the ferries shuttle the locals back and forth from Galata to the Asian side of Istanbul. She nibbled on her food and chilled while the fishermen cast their lines into the royal blue Bosphorus strait. The monotonous rhythm of cast, return and throw again reminded Cruz she hadn’t had a proper sleep for the last three days. Did these guys ever catch anything, or was this an act of distraction in a world that somedays made her want to scream at the madness?
Cruz received a message on a private server very few people knew about. She wasn’t sure what she should reply, so she waited. Yunus called.
“Cruz, any headway with RB and Firestorm and the team?”
“We’re working on it. Nothing jumps out yet. But I know it’s there. We just haven’t found it.” She checked for any new messages from Malaysia or the US.
“You seem distracted. What’s up, Cruz.”
“I took a break. I’m sitting on a park bench gazing at the Sea. You should do the same, Yuni.”
“Yes. I know. Sude’s sitting up today! She’s doing really well.”
“That’s great news!”
“Yes. As far as the world is concerned, Sude’s dead. Don’t let the information out.”
“Of course.”
“But.”
“What are you not telling me, Yunus?”
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
The full impact of the word “was” hit Cruz.
“No.”
Cruz waited. There was nothing to say, nothing could make this better except finding the people responsible.
“I’m sorry, Yunus.”
“Yeh, well… Anything on the biochemical attack?”
“Yes. The rumor looks like it originates from the USA, but there's something about a Ukrainian server. How strange is that?”
“Very.”
Neither spoke. Then Yunus brought Cruz up to date.
“We had to move from the hospital. Luke put extra guards at Sude’s suite, and one for my mother as well. We had a breach. Samaar detected listening devices.”
“None of this is good news.”
A stranger chose the empty space beside Cruz to sit and light up a cigarette. She noticed the American packaging, a tourist brochure splayed on his lap. But the shoes gave him away. The runners were a cheap Turkish brand and were far more than a month old.
“Anything on the photograph?”
“Nothing yet, honey. What’s for dinner, aşkım?”
“You have a tail?”
“I’m not sure I like that. Maybe you could make something different? You always make Turkish food, honey. How about American food for a change?”
“He’s a Turk trying to be an American tourist?”
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
“He might just be plainclothes tourist police. The guys that make sure tourists are safe without them seeing a huge police presence. Leave and see if he follows. If he does, we’ve got a problem.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be home early. But I have some things to do first.”
“Call me when you’re sure you’re safe.”
“Yes. I will let you know.”
How stupid could she be talking to Yunus in open spaces? Her tradecraft sucked. She could die if she weren’t careful. She grabbed her knapsack, put the empty sandwich package in the garbage, and made her way back towards the office. She stopped at the antique shop and checked the windows for a tail. The man remained seated on the bench.
Now that she was aware, she could feel eyes on her. How strange. Maybe it was her tattoos. They’d never had a breach before. She picked up a coffee at Starbucks then doubled back towards the office, undecided if she should return or not. She looked far ahead of her, but still, she couldn’t see anyone standing out in the crowd. She turned the corner, and there he stood. Casual and sexy leaning under a grapevine, a stupid grin on his face.
“Abdul?”
“Cruz!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I took a chance. I’m in Istanbul, and the phone number I have for you is out of service. Last time I spoke with you, you mentioned working near the Starbucks in Karaköy. I needed my fix, so I thought I’d wander over and hang outside for a bit. I see you just got a coffee, too.”
“Yes, I spent some time watching the guys fish and came for a shot of java. It’s so good to see you again. It must be seven or eight years?”
“Do you have time for a glass of wine? Or do you still drink vodka?”
“Abdul, you have a great memory.”
Cruz checked out the very handsome Iranian man in front of her. Black linen dress pants, loose white linen long-sleeved shirt. She was trained in observation and caught a glimpse of the gold Rolex on his left wrist, and if she wasn’t mistaken, those were Dolce and Gabbana calf-skin loafers. Her eyes immediately checked for rings. Not that all Middle Eastern men wore them, but if he’d married an American while living in the US, it would be the style.
“Sure, I have a bit of time. I’m in the middle of finishing a project right now, though. But, one drink would be perfect.”
“Great. Let’s hit the bar near the Charlie Chaplin street art. I forgot how amazing this area is—so creative. Do you still spend your working hours playing serious war games on the deep web?”
They both smiled at the memories.
“I don’t know how I could have gotten through those boring political science classes without blowing off steam shooting and killing guys for fun!”
“You never change, Cruz. Still single?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. If my family had their way, I’d be married with three kids by now. But I have other plans.”
The waiter stood p
atiently while Cruz and Abdul caught up.
“Hey, Cruz. Let me take a photo of you and your friend. Give me your phone.”
“Sure, that would be great. I don’t think we have any photos together.” He took Cruz’s phone and composed a great shot.
“You like it?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. Thanks.” The waiter returned with their drink order and lingered. He checked out Abdul, then looked at Cruz with a question.
“Omer wants to know if you’re gay.” Abdul choked on his drink, the waiter hurried away, his embarrassment evident. Cruz knew she’d pay for that another day!
“If we were in Saudi Arabia now, I could get arrested just for visualizing the act, never mind participating!”
They both laughed. It had been days since Cruz laughed like this.
“It seems like yesterday we were sitting in the commons area complaining about our lives. And then you got accepted into Stanford!”
“Hah, right. There’s that. Friends in high places.”
“Like a Saudi Prince or two Abdul?”
God, she’d forgotten how sexy he was—not that she was usually into men. Actually, she hadn’t been into anything in months. She was so immersed in Yunus’ puzzles she’d forgotten that the world has sexual energy, and most people look to get laid once in a while. Abdul could help a girl remember.
Abdul watched Cruz. She looked good, tired, maybe worried. But then if you think about the photograph, he’d found online of Sude, Cruz must be freaked out.
“So, tell me, Cruz, what happened to Sude? I got an invite to her wedding. I had to pass. And this morning, I find out she’s dead!”
Tears leaked from Cruz’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Abdul, you know as much as I do. I can’t talk about any of it. It’s too fresh.” Abdul reached for her hands. A jolt of electricity shot between them. Both were surprised.
“What kind of work are you doing now?” It was an innocent question. But with everything that was going on, any query was second-guessed by Cruz.
“Marketing. I work for an advertising and marketing group. They get my un-orthodox style! Pun intended.”
“Perfect. You have to tell me more.” Those deep brown eyes were hypnotic. Really Cruz! You’re so sexually confused. But at this moment, any kind of sex was out of the question.
“Look, I’d love to talk, but I have to go. How long are you in town, Abdul?”
“Yeah, well, I’m here to stay for the near future. I’ve got a contract with a company from the US, and I’ll be looking for a place to live and work in the next few days. I thought maybe you could push me in the right direction. A Real Estate firm, perhaps? But I understand how work can be overwhelming.” Cruz didn’t respond right away.
“Anyways, I’ve got a lead from a company that does relocations services. I’ll try that first. I’m sure my new employers have some ideas as well. Let’s share phone numbers. We can meet for a drink one of these nights. Here’s my new Turkish number. At least I got that done this morning.”
A non-descript working man stood down the street from the café. He observed his partner as he casually leaned down to pick up a fallen napkin and at the same time, planted a transmitter under the table behind Cruz. The sophisticated listening device picked up the conversation in its entirety. The boss wanted reassurance that there were no loose ends, so they were following up with any known acquaintances of the daughter of the Minister of Defense. The bride hadn’t been buried yet. If she had, they couldn’t find her, or any notice of when or where the body was placed.
He waited for the two to share their numbers. What a stroke of luck this would be. They could hack her phone and find out what she knew. Instead, the two exchanged phones to type each other’s cell numbers. He signaled for his partner to retrieve the bug. These two were college friends of the daughter of the dead Minister. They already knew that about the Iranian. It looked like following him had been a complete waste of time.
33
Cruz walked in a direction away from the office. Her time with Abdul had allowed her to assess her security. She might have been observed from the street. Cruz didn’t feel threatened, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
She headed towards the Hammam, then turned down the alley by the gas station. She timed her actions so that anyone following her would have to make themselves known to stay on her tail. She observed her transport options. The tram going towards Sultanahmet came first. Without looking behind her, she passed through the turnstile just as the train was beginning to close its doors. She jammed her hand into the closing door and smiled sweetly at the conductor. He eased back to allow her on board, then immediately closed the doors. Instead of sitting, she casually looked at the train cars in front and behind. No one else got on.
She might have got off at the next stop and doubled back, but instead, she waited until Sirkeci. From there, she hurried to catch the next available underground metro and blended in with the crowds of tourists and shoppers. She had no set destination but used a combination of window reflection and eyes in the back of her head to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“On the metro.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. But I know I was followed and lured into a conversation. That was the watchers’ first mistake. Then a bizarre encounter with an old friend set me on edge.”
“Who?”
“Did you ever meet Abdul? Sude and I were friends with him at University.”
“The Iranian guy—the one who studied Political Science with Sude?”
“Yes.”
“Last I heard he was in Riyadh. Sude invited him to the wedding, but he declined. I remember him more from the Club scene. He liked the girls, but now that I think about it, he never brought a date with him, and I don’t recall ever seeing him leave with a girl, neither.”
“Men are so oblivious.”
“What?”
“He was in love with Sude.”
They say the boyfriend’s the last one to know. Was there anything else Sude forgot to mention about him?
“Did you know she went to Iran not too long ago?” Was Yunus missing a big piece of this insane puzzle?
“Yes. Sude told me she was going. I was surprised. I didn’t know she’d kept in contact with Abdul. I mean, with her engagement to you and everything…”
“Cruz. This is a rather important piece here. Why didn’t you fill me in before?”
“I assumed the two of you talked about all of this a long ago, and it was a non-issue. After all, we’re talking about friendship from what? Seven years ago?” Cruz wasn’t sure she should continue, but she had to ask. “Did Sude know about your work?”
The Turk was still thinking. He could hear the rhythmic sound of the metro stop, start, and announce each location.
“Switch SIM cards, Cruz, and call me when you get out of the train.”
Yunus stopped in Taksim square. With all the activity and the loudspeakers calling the faithful to prayer, he felt safe placing the next call. Himanish picked up immediately.
“I’ve got a question.”
“Sure.”
“Your team has been monitoring crypto-currencies out of Iran. You mentioned there’s one big player in the game. What’s his name?”
“We’ve only got a company name so far. I’m waiting for more intel.”
“Look, I think I know when that photo of Sude’s father was taken. Meet me at the hospital. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The Turk looked around. He observed the mosque under construction, and the latecomers rush to prayer. Yunus took a series of photos quickly. While doing so, he monitored anyone who turned abruptly to avoid him. Primarily a single or couple without kids. One young player stood out. He caught him before he moved. He chose the photo and immediately sent it to his office to be scanned by photo recognition software. If the guy was on any watchlist, he�
�d know. If he were working for Turkish Intel, he’d know about that too.
He looked down in time to see a missed call from a local number he didn’t recognize. He returned the call.
“Yes.”
“I got off in Taksim. No one followed me that I can see. I’m concerned.”
“Speak.”
“They may have been following me, or I have a ‘feeling’ they might be following Abdul. Is there something you’re not telling me?” The Turk didn’t answer.
“What if our office location is compromised.”
“Text Skye. Tell her to back up their work, close shop for the day. Take anything important, like the cellphones from the yacht. Our information is stored off-site. Tell her to set up the Marketing Ad works materials in case anyone gets inside. Take precautions upon leaving. Use the exit we have blocked oceanside. I have to check in with Himanish, then you and I will meet upstairs at Hafiz Mustafa in Taksim in thirty minutes.”
“Done.”
34
“This is so amazing, David. Thanks for bringing me to see everything. I know Mom doesn’t have time. She’s working again.” A worried frown passed quickly over Alice’s eyes.
“Alice. Let’s get tea.”
“Only if I can have baklava with it!”
“Okay, deal. There’s a cafe over there near the whirling dervishes. Or do you want to go watch the show?”
Alice rolled her far too sophisticated eyes. “David. That’s a hookah lounge. Everyone is smoking those pipes. Yuck. We can watch them from that café.” She pointed to a small outdoor spot that served traditional Turkish food from southern Turkey.
“We make the best baklava in all of Istanbul!” A young man somewhere in the vicinity of fourteen years old, ogled Alice.
“Really? Why?” Alice challenged the waiter, but David could see from the twinkle in her eye that she simply wanted to hear him speak. He had a delightful Turkish/English accent, and Alice looked older than her actual years.
“What’s your name?”