The Istanbul Conspiracy

by Lynda Filler

  “Maggs. Remember your promise. Krav Maga every day, right?”

  “Alice, this is a wedding. A ceremony to honor love. We shouldn’t even be thinking about lethal martial arts.”

  “But you know that evil will always exist. And we have to be prepared.” A young lady, soon to be a teenager and far too mature for her years, clasped Maggs hand tighter.

  “Oh, look, Maggs. He’s here!”

  “Who?”

  “Eren! His family owns the Baklava restaurant in Sultanahmet! I invited him on Facebook, but I didn’t think he would come. What should I do?” All of a sudden, the wise young woman was a child again.

  “Let’s go over, and you can introduce us. Then we will offer Eren food, and he can meet your Mom and Dad.”

  “Yes. Okay, perfect.”

  Abdul and Cruz were busy congratulating Yunus and Sude.

  “Isn’t it a small world, Cruz? Who would have thought that Abdul would show up on our turf looking his hot and handsome self and stirring up trouble for the Republic of Turkey!” Sude put an arm around Cruz. They both ogled, Abdul.

  “He looks pretty hot in his tux. Leave it to Abdul to get a custom tux on short notice!”

  “Come on, guys, give me a break. And don’t rub it in about my role in all this. I couldn’t have known what I was getting into. Although I do have some important matters to discuss with my father. I’m only hoping he had nothing to do with everything that has gone on. But I’m sure the Raven Group will know what to do about that. In the future, I will do much better research before I get into bed with...! Speaking of which…” He looked towards Cruz and laughed.

  Cruz turned crimson.

  “Really? Cruz? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sude’s laughter bubbled over.

  “Well, you know, with the wedding attack, your near-death experience, your recovery, the arsenic, and now preparing for these weddings, we haven’t really had time for girl talk!”

  Sude looked at Yunus, then Abdul. She lowered her voice, so only the four of them could hear her. “Just tell me one thing Cruz, is it true what the girls said about Abdul?”

  “What? What did they say about me?” Abdul turned his own shade of red.

  “Yes. Every single salacious detail.”

  Congratulations were exchanged amongst the guests, and toasts were made. A trio played Turkish music in the background, and the small group chatted amiably. No one would guess that this same group of well-dressed revelers had recently saved the Republic from an overthrow of the Turkish government by a dangerous blood-thirsty foreign power.

  And it wouldn’t be their last mission.

  68

  Tehran, Iran

  Undisclosed location.

  “Your younger brother let us down tonight.”

  The emaciated man kept his eyes downcast. He hadn’t thought about his brother, Abdul, in weeks. It made it easier to think of his family as dead because he was sure they thought he was dead after all these years.

  “The plan was perfect. We had the people in place, the method was unusual, unexpected. We even had exactly who we wanted in our crosshairs. We could have had it all. Except for him. Your pitiful brother.” The jailer hissed his message of doom.

  “We think the girlfriend figured it out.”

  No response. He was beyond reacting to any taunts they could throw at him.

  “No one knows you’re here, you know. It’s been what, twelve years? They think you’re dead.”

  Nothing.

  “Let me rephrase that. Your father knows you are rotting in a jail cell a traitor to your country. You are dead to him. And dead to that Jewish bitch. You remember her. The spy that cost you your life. You gave her our state secrets. She disappeared.”

  The beaten man controlled his emotions, but grief overwhelmed him. There was nothing more they could take from him. He was dead inside and had barely existed for years. They only kept him alive to taunt him.

  “She was supposed to be dead. But we have Intelligence that says she was last seen alive and living in Mexico. We’re going to search until we find her. We’ll make a video just for you so you can watch her die. And we will play it for you, over and over again.”

  The prisoner remained silent. He could barely picture what she looked like. She was the only woman he ever loved.

  The last thing the man remembered before he was knocked unconscious is the way he held his lover after her parents died. He thought the two of them could disappear and be together forever. But before he could ask her, his own father had betrayed him.

  He had nothing to barter with, no one that knew where he was. Instead, he was resigned to a life behind bars.

  Every day he prayed for death.

  69

  Paris, France.

  “It feels good to be home.” Samaar was trying to decide where to place the mosaic lamp Alice had bought them in Istanbul. The Turkish carpet would be mounted on the wall behind Raven’s desk. Samaar smiled while she re-organized her home to provide private space for her new husband.

  “Yes, of course. But still, we always need to be vigilant. Especially now that we are married and will be spending more time together. Speaking of time together. Where is our daughter?”

  “She could hardly wait to run off to the restaurant to see Amir.”

  “Really? I’m surprised. I thought she was all about some young man in Turkey.”

  Samaar rolled her eyes. Her phone pinged.

  “Luke, I’m not sure how you feel about this, but Alice asked us to meet Amir and his family at their restaurant. We’re invited to dinner. How sweet is that.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. Now that I’m officially Alice’s father, I want to check out anyone she is talking to. I think we should beef up her security!”

  “Hah, I should have known. Over-protective.”

  “Have you met this Amir yet?”

  “No. Luke, Alice is only eleven. Don’t be so worried.”

  “He’s Iranian! He might be a terrorist!”

  Neither could keep a straight face, they both laughed.

  “Well, I’m ready if you are.”

  “Sure, let’s go meet the family.”

  “Stop it, Luke, you’re making me nervous. Anyways, I’m hungry. It’s not far. The restaurant is in the 16th arrondissement.”

  “I think security can drive so we can enjoy a nice glass or two of Shiraz.”

  “But they’re Iranian?”

  “Luke, Alice tells me the grandfather keeps a bottle in the kitchen!”

  “Let’s get going. This should be fun.”

  Samaar texted Alice when they were ten minutes out. She was waiting at the door of the restaurant when they arrived.

  “It smells so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

  “Me too.”

  “Mom, Amir went home to get his mother. They should be here soon. Come meet grandpa.”

  Luke and Samaar entered a gaily lit café. Middle Eastern music played in the background. Groups of people shared several different dishes set in the middle of each table. And Alice ruled the place like a maître’ d.

  “Luke,” Samaar whispered. “Alice is far too comfortable. I think I have to talk to her security. She’s spending more time here than I thought.”

  “Let’s check out grandpa.”

  They followed Alice through the crowded restaurant noting a table reserved for six people near the kitchen.

  “Grandpa! My mother and father, Samaar, and Luke.”

  Grandpa wiped his hands on his apron then reached over to shake Luke’s hand. He bowed slightly to Samaar but didn’t touch. He’d been in Paris for many years now, but he was more comfortable with his Muslim ways. A woman should be respected and not touched except by her family. He smiled at Samaar.

  “Thank you for lending me your lovely daughter. She helps me cook most days. After her homework is done, of course.” The balding man had to be over sixty, yet he was robust and seemed to command a kitchen staff with plenty of ener
gy left over to entertain. He snapped his fingers, and two more wine glasses appeared. He poured Shiraz from a big jug behind him.

  “One must drink while preparing a feast, n’est-ce pas?” He passed each glass to his guests and continued cooking.

  Suddenly a door swung open, and a mother and son appeared. Both embraced Alice and waited to be introduced.

  “You must be Amir.” Luke held out his hand to a boy in the beginning stages of puberty. Tall for his age, no doubt, with tawny skin and a touch of a mustache. Alice was suddenly shy when she looked over at her mother.

  Samaar smiled sadly. Her daughter was growing up, and her life was changing now. Samaar was no longer the center of her universe.

  Amir’s mother spoke up.

  “Please, come, you are our guests. We have a table ready. I see my father-in-law has already introduced you to our Iranian Shiraz. Welcome to papa’s restaurant.”

  “Thank you, it’s so nice of you to invite us.”

  “You are welcome anytime. Your daughter is learning how to cook Iranian food from my father-in-law. Sadly, it is all we have of our homeland. This and our memories.”

  The four of them settled in comfortably. Grandpa and Amir began bringing foods from the kitchen until the table was covered with delicacies.

  “Try the Kabab Koobideh, momma. I helped make the sauce. And the rice. I always make the saffron rice. Right, Papa.”

  Samaar was intrigued by the passion her daughter felt for the food. When she thought back to their time in Mexico, Alice was the same about the Mexican food. Maybe it’s time for Maggs to work with her on the French cuisine.

  “Alice, I didn’t know you were that interested in cooking.”

  “Mom. Sometimes you are so busy with your work you don’t notice. I’ve already been learning from Maggs and from Grandpa.” Luke took Samaar’s hand under the table. He could feel her sadness. Maybe she wasn’t paying enough attention to her daughter.

  And then she took a good look at Amir. He was quite attractive, actually. There was something about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “Do you ever go back to Iran, Azara?”

  “No. No, we can’t go back. Our family was involved in politics. And Amir’s father, well…” She lowered her voice and continued, “He was a scientist. He was worried about some of the things he was working on. He was forced to share results with Syria.” She looked away from Samaar and Luke, ashamed and possibly frightened. “No, we can’t ever go back.”

  Samaar felt Azara wanted to add more.

  “Amir was young when his father was murdered. Yes, I witnessed his murder, but I was hidden. The politics of Iran are very complicated. We are proud of our Persian heritage but ashamed of the direction the country has taken and its support of terrorism around the world.”

  Azara looked away from the table. Raucous laughter from too much Shiraz rang out from the table beside them.

  “At least now you have safety, yes?”

  “Yes. And we have the restaurant where many Persians join us for dinner each evening. It’s our little bit of home.”

  The two young people were busy on their cell phones. Probably texting each other or sharing videos. They were both lost in their own world.

  “And the rest of your family?”

  “I have a brother and father in Tehran. I think they are still in Tehran. We lost touch. And an older brother who disappeared around the time my husband was murdered. Grandpa is my husband’s father. When he got news of my husband’s murder, Grandpa came to get us. We escaped in the middle of the night.” Luke and Samaar kept silent. What can you say?

  “My husband was working with top-secret projects. If they came for him, they might decide to come for us. We would have lived in fear, or worse, disappeared. I couldn’t bring my son up in that type of regime. I had already lost one brother.”

  “That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, well, I later found out that my own father is part of the problem, not the solution. I always knew he was a hardliner, but I had no idea how far he was willing to go for his beliefs. Abdul, my kid brother, was very young at the time. He didn’t understand what was happening. He stayed with my father, although I wanted him to escape with us.”

  “Ah, I’m so sorry Azara, bringing up these old memories must be hurtful.”

  “No, sometimes it’s good to remember the past. It makes me appreciate the present and the beautiful life we have made for ourselves in France. We really enjoy the company of your daughter. Alice is a lovely young woman. Did you know that my son has taught her some Persian words? She’s a natural linguist.”

  “Yes, we lived in South America and Mexico. She’s fluent in Spanish, English, now French, and I taught her words in Hebrew also.”

  “Hebrew?”

  “Yes. Alice was born in Israel. She didn’t tell you?”

  “We never talked about it. I just assumed… well, I guess I didn’t assume anything.” Both women smiled.

  “You mentioned you lost one brother.” Something was bothering Samaar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She glanced at Amir who was whispering something to Alice, and for a moment, she was stunned. She grasped Luke’s hand tightly.

  Alice and Amir chose that moment to leave the table and join Grandpa in the kitchen.

  Her daughter called out over her shoulder, “We are going to bring the sweet things, mama.”

  “Perfect, darling.” Then Samaar turned to her hostess.

  “Azara, you mentioned you had another brother. You said he is dead? How did he die?”

  “He was a journalist. I think he actually did some work in Tel Aviv. But I always thought there was something more. I’m not sure what. These were challenging times in Iran. Ali was always very secretive.”

  Samaar turned white.

  “I’m sorry. I upset you somehow?”

  Luke put his arm around Samaar.

  “How did he die?” Lucy tried to pull away from Luke, her body was rigid. Azara wondered about her prurient interest but continued.

  “Everyone has their stories if they come from the Middle East. I really don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One day, they came for him, beat him badly, and he disappeared. We never heard from him again. My father used to say, Ali is dead.”

  Samaar started to shake. Luke held her tighter.

  “What was Ali’s birthdate.”

  Now Azara was totally perplexed. “Why do you ask?”

  Samaar couldn’t respond.

  “This is a long shot but,” Luke leaned over and lowered his voice so only Azara could hear. “Alice’s father was an Iranian journalist who was murdered. But as far as we know, his body was never recovered.”

  Azara was stunned. She opened her bag and took out an old leather diary. A well-worn photograph fell from the between yellowed pages. She looked at the photo for several moments and composed herself, then passed it to Samaar. But Luke took it first.

  A young woman covered from head to toe in a black hijab smiled at two boys. One was in his early teens, the other in his early twenties.

  Luke thought he recognized the teenage boy.

  “Do you have a brother named Abdul?”

  “Yes.”

  He passed the photo to Samaar unsure if he was doing something that would hurt her even more.

  She grasped the picture and traced the features of the older man with her fingertips. She sat in numbed silence. She cried out.

  “Luke. It’s him. Alice’s father!”

  Epilogue

  Four months later, Iran.

  A sandstorm came up at the last moment, but that didn’t deter the Raven Group. They came in under cover of darkness, flying low, undetectable by radar. As an extra precaution, the body of their helicopter was custom painted to mimic Iranian Military warships. Within ten minutes, they would get a signal to land at a pre-determined destination.

  “You know this is insane, right?”

>   “Uh, huh.”

  “We will all get killed.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Or worse, captured. Tortured.”

  “Right.”

  “And you still want to go in?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “Well, it’s your skin.”

  “No, it’s MAGE’s money. Himanish has frozen all the hash codes issued in the past month for the state of Iran. It’s our own form of sanctions. My buddy, an Iranian spy-turned-friend of the Raven Group, made a deal on our behalf.”

  “You know, you’re getting kind of old for running all these wild ops, Luke. What are you, fifty now?”

  “Not a day over 40! Don’t start! As I recall, you had something to do with the Bin Laden takedown, so you’re not a kid yourself, Zach. You’re the old man in this group, not me. And what’s this I hear you finally found a woman who will marry you? Does Rachel realize we’re going to have to retire you from fieldwork within the next couple of years.”

  “Hah, you’re still older than me. Why don’t you run for the Presidency of the USA? You’ve got the money. You can bullshit like the best of them.”

  “Samaar would kill me—literally—if I ever entered politics. Anyways, cut the chatter. Ten klicks. We’re almost there.”

  “You’re sure about this, right?”

  “I haven’t lost my touch or my connections. Money is still the only thing that all nations can agree upon. We all love it, want it, and need it to further whatever insane agenda we’re running. There was no record nor bragging about the capture of an Iranian journalist/spy. He just disappeared. We don’t think he was particularly important to Iran—it seemed to be more a family vendetta. The old man is powerful and vindictive. All we had to do pay off the right people until our mission was accomplished. Now stop talking and start watching. You will see a signal on the ground where we will land. We can thank Israel for lending us this prototype helicopter. She can land anywhere.”

  At precisely 0200, a bonfire lit up the sky. A tight sandy area came into view. Landing the Sikorsky was easy after that.