by Lynda Filler
He was flustered by the interruption of his rendition.
“Eren. This is my family’s restaurant. We are from Gaziantep, the home of the best pistachios in all of Turkey, all of the world! And the best baklava. Do you like chocolate?”
“Yes!”
“Then I will bring for you, chocolate baklava. My grandmother bakes it right here in Istanbul.”
Alice pulled out her cellphone and took photos. David gave her a look.
“I know! No Instagram. I got it, David.”
Five minutes later, the young boy placed the dessert in front of Alice. David smiled to himself. The waiter waited for Alice to take her first bite. She sighed, then graced him with her mother’s smile.
“I will tell my grandmother. She will be so happy.”
“Wait.”
He turned back.
“Can I take your photo with the baklava?”
The flustered boy smiled enigmatically. Now it was David’s turn to roll his eyes. He did so with a smile on his face. Poor Samaar. She had no idea what she was in for with this femme fatale.
“Write down your Facebook name, and I will forward the photo to you!”
“Really? But then we must take a photo together.” He scribbled his name on a card he pulled from his apron pocket while Alice passed her phone to David to take their photos.
“Thank you. This is so great!”
David sipped his tea and casually observed his surroundings. The whirling dervishes finished a dance, several tourists applauded while inhaling the sweet smoke from their hookahs. David looked for anything or anyone that didn’t belong. Possibly someone who turned away quickly when he looked in his or her direction. The place was so crowded. No one stood out. And then he tensed up when he saw them.
He looked away.
“David?”
“You’re not listening to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She leaned over and whispered. “Is it the two men who are following us?” Alice took a bite of her chocolate baklava. She licked her pink lips.
“Try it, David. It’s so good.” She smiled at the smitten waiter.
David looked at Alice closely.
“What? Mom taught me when I was a kid. It was a game we played in Paris. She said a good observer always knows her surroundings. She said I needed to be aware of being followed. Then I could let my security guards know in case they missed a tail.”
David looked very closely at Alice. A spy in the making—it was in her genes.
“I thought you noticed them before. Those are the guards who followed us from the house we’re staying in.” She cleaned the plate with her fingertips. “They work for the owner of the house. I bet they don’t like following us with all these people around. But everyone has their job to do.”
They sat in silence. David motioned for the waiter to bring more baklava. “More tea also. Alice?”
“Yes, David.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“RB says that to me all the time. He’s teaching me everything about coding, programming. He says I’m smart like my mommy.”
“I have to agree with that.”
“But David, I have a request.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Will you teach me how to fly a plane?”
35
Taksim Area
Samaar closed down communications with RB.
“What did you learn?” The team had been in and out of the bustling 3-star hotel all day. Luke watched the crowds in Taksim Square.
“I discreetly borrowed Sude’s cell, downloaded everything on it, sent it to RB, and returned it to her room. She didn’t notice it was missing. We have no information on the other two guys in the photo, but one was her father. Who knows if there’s information on her phone that might be helpful? They’re going through everything.”
“The Turk will be upset that we missed that. He thought all the cellphones were at his office.” Luke studied an incoming message on his cell.
“We need to get to the hospital asap. Yunus is meeting us at Sude’s room.”
Samaar and Raven arrived at the top floor of the hospital. Yunus and Himanish were waiting at Sude’s door. It was early evening, so there would be a change in the security team. They acknowledged the arrival of Raven and Samaar with a nod.
“I’ve come across some new information. I want to discuss it with Sude, and I need you here in case you think of any questions that I might miss.” The Turk filled them in on what he knew so far while Samaar told him about Sude’s cell phone.
“You were out when we realized it had never been checked. Is Sude well enough for a conversation?”
“Yes. Mentally, Sude's fine. Emotionally not so great. And physically, the doctor said she will start some physical therapy tomorrow, and then we can get a better idea of her prognosis.”
Yunus had prepared Sude for visitors. Her hair was washed, the traces of blood no longer present. She was propped up by pillows. Her color had come back. You might never have guessed that three days ago, she was close to death and the world she knew had crashed. At some point, the state of her physical position would be leaked. Yunus would have to decide what to say.
“My love, I don’t want to tire you out, but we are searching for answers, and I have some questions for you. The explanations might help us.” Sude nodded and took Yunis’ hand.
“First, tell me about Abdul.”
“Abdul? You mean, my friend from University?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, some background, anything you remember or know about him.”
Samaar opened her phone and discreetly began recording the conversation.
“We met in Political Science. We were both majoring in politics. He’s from Iran, and I think his family has a history in the Government of Iran. I don’t know that much about them. We were great friends—before I met you, Yunus. Actually, he was at the Club the night you and I met, my love. He used to tease me about you all the time. Don’t you remember meeting him?”
He thought for a moment, and then a clear picture of a young, brash, Middle Eastern friend of Sude’s came to mind.
“Yes. Wasn’t Abdul with a girlfriend of yours?”
“Well, maybe for a night or two. But he was single. Actually, I don’t remember if he ever had girlfriends. He kept to himself that way. I assumed it had something to do with his closed Iranian culture. What I do remember is his desire to break free from his family, his father in particular. His goal was Stanford. He wanted to study for his MBA and work in politics in the USA.”
She took a sip of water and continued.
“He aced his exams. I would say he was better at finance than political science. But he got great marks in both majors and got accepted into Stanford. Today it wouldn’t be as easy for an Iranian to get into a US Ivy League school, but then if your family had money or connections, it was a given. It probably helped that he applied through his Saudi citizenship. The Americans love Saudi’s.”
“When was the last time you heard from him?”
“You remember, Yunus. We were invited to his cousins’ wedding in Riyadh.”
“Yes, of course. But I had a gig in Berlin, and it was too big to cancel.”
“My father went with me instead. I showed you the photos. Why are you asking?”
“Soon, my love. Let me get a clearer picture. Did your mother join you?”
“No. Mom was not that social. She wasn’t feeling well, the cancer treatments, remember?” Sude began to tear up. She turned away to compose herself.
“Yes.” He looked at his friends. “Sude’s mom had a bad reaction to her treatments for breast cancer. I think they were planning a trip to the US for a new type of treatment, yes?”
Yunus stroked her fingers and squeezed her hand. Sude’s eyes filled with more tears.
“I’m sorry to stir up sad thoughts. But all of this is important.”
“I know
.”
Samaar spoke up. “How long did you stay in Riyadh?”
“Only three days. Dad had to get back to work.”
“Did you spend time with Abdul?”
“We had lunch one day, but it felt rushed. He seemed on edge. I think he was flying out somewhere. He was working on a project for his family, I believe. And he’d applied to several companies in the USA. His focus was on emigration to work in US politics. But we also discussed the immigration policy of the current US administration. He was rather discouraged.”
“Did your father have any meetings during your stay? Any absences, for several hours?”
“Yes. The night after the wedding. We stayed an extra day. Dad said he had a business dinner to go to. I went to the spa then ordered room service. I called his room around eleven to say goodnight, but there was no answer.”
They gave her time to pull herself together. She took more Kleenex and wiped her eyes.
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
“My love. Don’t be concerned. We are putting together a time-line of events.”
“What have you learned, Yunus?”
“Please don’t think about such things. The best you can do is get better so we can go home.”
“My parents? Did you bury them?”
Himanish motioned to the Samaar and Luke to leave the room.
The Turk stayed behind.
They didn’t return to their make-shift office or the new hotel they’d used that morning. Instead, they left the building and headed to a busy coffee shop across the street. Luke and Samaar gathered more details.
“What did you find, Himanish?”
“We are still correlating data with RB. We have found something exciting about one set of major Buys my team has been monitoring out of Iran. It came from one of the big players I told you about.”
“What did you discover?”
“The Buys are coming from a specific physical location. Investors think they’ve masked their whereabouts, but when we started MAGE, international security took precedence over making money. We’ve narrowed it down and used satellite technology to view the mining operation. We have a man on the ground as we speak.”
Firestorm was excited yet concerned.
“We hacked into the national electricity accounts. From there, we made a comparison of the last thirty-six months. Then we took the largest increases and matched them with their physical locations. Simple. Until Iran realizes someone is inside their security wall, we will continue monitoring.” Himanish added.
“I received this from my team leader in the last fifteen minutes. It’s a mosque.” He showed a photo on his cell phone. “We have an Iranian national who set up cameras two weeks ago. It’s a top-secret project exclusive to me. Until I know what I’m dealing with and where the funds are going, I won’t involve any other group within the United Nations. The US has good intel in Iran but too many loose lips in the State Department. The politicians think they are so safe in the US. They really don’t understand the reach of terrorism. Fortunately, the horrific events are physically removed from those in Washington. Everyone is looking for sound bites on CNN or witty Twitter post likes. They get a small piece of secure intel and find a way to be the first to leak it. They just don’t know when to keep their mouths closed. Everything is about staying in office. Luke, it must make you furious.”
Luke Raven knew exactly what Firestorm was talking about.
“You know, years ago, the kind of conversations taking place in the USA in public, in the newspapers, on the web, and on TV—all of it would have been called classified and anyone leaking it would be charged with treason. The way the politicians throw around threats on Twitter, I think they have no idea that this is the real world. People are dying every day. It’s not some video game they are playing with their grandkids!”
“Don’t get Luke started. He’s old-school NSA. If I tell you, I’ll have to shoot you.” Samaar added.
This conversation was making everyone tense. Himanish decided it was time to lighten up.
“By the way, Samaar. Did I hear something about Luci and the new mosque on the Asian side? Climbing it must be quite a feat. It’s labeled the largest mosque ever built. I bet the view from the top is spectacular.”
“I claim the fifth!”
“Too late.” Himanish laughed. “Most people make hot chocolate or herbal tea when they can’t sleep. I’ve heard that a spy named Luci prefers to parkour the rooftops in Paris, instead.”
Luke added to the conversation. “Samaar, Security tells me you even climbed Sacre Coeur at the Butte Montmartre before the big fire destroyed Paris’ most iconic Church.”
Samaar rolled her eyes. Last night on the Asian side, she didn’t know she’d been followed. She was getting sloppy. Or maybe she was bored and looking for action.
“Don’t worry about the mosque. The security said they saw you leaving. We told the team to keep eyes on you, so they followed. Obviously, they don’t know who you are! They complained bitterly when they lost sight of you on the mosque.” Luke could feel Samaar’s concern about her lapse.
Himanish shook his head. “The new mosque? It can hold 68,000 people at prayer! It must have been quite an experience climbing those minarets. I shudder to think what might have happened if you’d been caught. You wouldn’t want to try that in Iran!”
Now Samaar was really laughing. He knew that look so well.
“No!! Tell me! You didn’t.”
“It was a long time ago. I was young and really foolish. It was a dare! Remember, Alice’s Dad was Iranian.”
“Yes. I remember.” Luke thought back to the days in training with the Mossad. He’d been eager to learn their tradecraft. That’s when he met Samaar.
“By the way, did you ever locate your ex’s family?” Himanish, ever the pragmatist yet sometimes insensitive, spoke before he thought.
“I never tried.” A quick look of anger crossed her face. Her journalist/lover had disappeared without a goodbye. She was told he was dead. Either way, he was gone, and Samaar’s pride refused to look further. If he was alive at least he could have said goodbye. For all she knew, there might even have been a wife somewhere.
Luke gave Himanish a look that said time to change the subject.
“You expect a video later this evening, Himanish?” Luke deftly moved the conversation to safer subjects.
“Yes.”
“I think we should forget local hotels and meet at the compound on the Asian side. We know exactly how secure we are over there because we set it up.”
“Let’s plan our strategy. We will go back as soon as David and Alice show up. We will advise Rachel and Zach. Join us, Himanish. Let’s tell Yunus. I don’t want him to be alone. We should urge him to stay overnight. This mansion is built for lots of guests.”
36
Kuala Lumpur
“Fatimah, I’m still here in Istanbul. We aren’t making progress as quickly as we should. How are things going at your end?” Himanish spoke with Fatimah while reading emails and checking his private server.
“I’m working with RB. I’d really like to meet this guy. He’s funny and very bright. We’re pooling ideas and working on two fronts.” The black Turkish girl walked into Firestorm’s extra secure office space before continuing her conversation. Even though they swept their premises daily, you can never take enough precautions.
“I’m waiting for the video. Our guy in Tehran said we should have it in a couple of hours. He’s waiting for the call to prayer. Everyone will be busy in their mosques, and he should be able to retrieve what he needs without being observed. RB is running a thorough search on biochemical chatter. He’s set up parameters that blow my mind. Did you know he was on scholarship at Cal Tech? Raven was one of his professors.”
“Fatimah, focus. One thing at a time. Please.”
“Ah, Himanish. Sometimes a girl needs a social life too. By the way, he’s single.”
“So, you exchanged Faceb
ook pages, too?”
Fatimah snorted. “Very funny. Maybe dark web monikers.”
“Really? This must be serious.”
Himanish had to agree—there’s more to life than espionage and crime. He thought of Cara and the lovely Yu Yan. Where were they today? He knew they were traveling, but with everything going on in Istanbul, he had no idea if they were in China or the Middle East.
“Where’s Cara, my wife? You’re monitoring her, right?”
“Yes. Your wife is fine. Cara said, don’t worry. Everything is going as planned, whatever that means.”
“Right. That can mean many things with Cara. Now you can tell me what RB says about a bio-chemical attack.”
“So far, the talk is focused on Iran—and for some reason, Turkey. What would Turkey have to do with bio-chemical weapons? They aren’t fighting with anyone that would require this type of response. Unless the Republic is planning to set up a biochemical defense on the border with Syria. The Americans said they’d help with the safety zone. But so far, if Turkey wants it done, they have to do it themselves. There are no set definitions of responsibility. It looks like a political promise to me. And you know what that’s worth.”
“Fatimah, you just went from biochemical weapons to international politics in one sentence.”
“I know, but Turkey is still my country. I question if the Americans promised help as appeasement. They canceled the order for warplanes because they were angry at Turkey. Or maybe the US is using the safe zone as a bargaining chip to bribe Turkey to purchase more weaponry from the US instead of Russia.”
Neither spoke, both lost in the confusing and contradictory information coming from the web.
“Keep digging.”
“Boss?”
“Yes.”
“How’s Sude?”
“She’s doing well. Sitting up. Talking. But she’s still in shock from the loss of her parents at the wedding. She’s an only child. Her grief is acute. Yunus’ mother is some comfort to her. The best I can say is her body is healing quickly. That’s a good sign. By the way, Fatimah, how did you and Sude meet?” Always the spy, checking, double-checking. Make sure the stories match.
“We hung out a bit at school. University actually. After the military, Cruz and I both took computer science classes. We also had a keen interest in protecting our country, so we enrolled in political science. The president was in his prime. Or so it seemed at the time. He wasn’t yet President of the country because that role didn't exist. But, without a doubt, he was focused on holding on to his power for a very long time. The security of Turkey was important to us. All around us, we had war. Cruz and I met Sude over lunch one day. Her father was in politics but not yet the Minister of Defense. The three of us became fast friends who shared similar passions. I’m surprised Sude chose fashion when her heart was in politics. And then her fashion business took off, and she met The Turk.”