A Deceit to Die For (70 page)

Yusuf didn’t know how to respond. He was so surprised that before he could think better of it, he blurted out,

“You haven’t given up your faith, have you?”

Zeki continued staring out the window at the blue waters of the Bosphorus and thought of all the Ottoman sultans who had lived and died in the palace along this coveted stretch of water, spending their entire lives in the service of Islam, leading the armies of the Crescent into battle with the infidel, enslaving the subjugated populations. He thought about all the pain and suffering inflicted on both sides. He remembered how the Asian side of the Bosphorus, the Muslim hinterland across the water, had not only supplied the men and raw materials for the never-ending jihad, but how they had also chaffed at the ruling aristocracy. For centuries, the most serious threat to Ottoman power had been from its own oppressed Muslim populations. He remembered sheikh Bedreddin and the dozens of insurrections, the uprisings aimed at throwing off the yoke of the throne. Yusuf’s great grandfather had fought in the war of independence. His entire family had heartily embraced the secular republic and the abolishment of the Caliphate. He couldn’t blame them.

Yusuf cleared his throat. The long silence made him uncomfortable and he worried that he had offended Zeki.

“No, my friend,” said Zeki slowly, “I have only concluded that abstaining from food for the daylight hours will not earn me points with the Creator. It would also impair my ability to think clearly in this crisis. But you shall never convince me that creation is the product of time and chance.”

“Well, that is the most sensible thing I have heard you say on the subject,” said Yusuf with a sigh of relief. “I’ll consider it progress.”

“And you aren’t calling me an ignorant jackass like you did when we were in the military. I’d say that is progress too. Listen, I need to know if there has been an uptick in activity in Gülben’s group over the last week.”

Yusuf shook his head and said, “Not that I know of. I’ll look into it, but Turkey is changing. Sometimes I think there are more of them in the government than there are of us.”

“I know. The danger to the Republic seems to grow graver every day. Do we have anybody in London, somebody from the old team, who could research this for us? I know MIT has identified suspected radical groups overseas that might work for regime change here in Turkey. Is there a Gülben group in London that we have under surveillance, or better yet, one we have penetrated? I suspect these guys will be close to banking, commerce and technology. I know one thing. They didn’t make this much money selling
halal
meat, like Bekir’s group did. They would require an excellent cover for the technology I’ve seen them use in the last few days. I tell you it is a miracle that girl is alive, or any of us for that matter.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. Call me in the morning.”

“Great. I knew I could count on you. Now, do you know if Baba is still in business?”

“Are you kidding? The Turkish movie industry is going gangbusters, so he’s always got work.”

“I hear they are exporting films with an anti-Western slant throughout the Middle East.”

“Yep, a bit strange for a NATO-member country still on the road to membership in the EU, don’t you think? But, the dream of resurrecting the Ottoman Empire and restoring the glory of Islam is alive and well. Economic initiatives and overtures to poor countries in the Balkans, major industrial investments in the region, a film industry that targets the Arabs, and a resurgence in diplomacy with states hostile to the Atlantic alliance certainly seems like a change in strategy. What do you want with Baba?”

“I need a facelift.”

“It won’t be cheap,” replied Yusuf.

“How much?” asked Zeki with a grimace.

“Five thousand dollars.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“Inflation . . .”

“Well, I need it done tonight.”

“Tonight? You’ve got to be joking.”

“I also need a passport, biometric if someone can do it,” continued Zeki. “It’ll be a Turkish passport.”

“You don’t want much, do you? I suppose you’ll want Marilyn Monroe for an escort.”

“No, too much of a distraction.”

“You need to see Kopyaji,” said Yusuf dryly. “He’s the only one who might, and I stress the word
might,
be able to help you.”

“Does he still have database access?” asked Zeki.

“Would he be in business if he didn’t?” replied Yusuf. “But, I hope you are carrying some serious cash because this isn’t going to be cheap.”

“Now that you mention it, I
am
having a bit of a cash flow problem. You don’t suppose I could borrow about twenty thousand dollars, do you? I’m going to have a few other expenses as well.”

Yusuf didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

“Look,” continued Zeki. His tone was apologetic. “I’ve got a summer house in Bodrum. I’ll sell it as soon as this is over to pay you back. I know I’m putting you on the spot, but . . .”

“Even if I had it, I couldn’t get it for you tonight, and these guys are a cash-only operation,” explained Yusuf.

“I know, but if you come with me, and promise to send the money tomorrow or the next day, we might be able to squeeze a bit of work out of them. After all, you carry a big government stick, and we’ve got enough evidence between us to arrest them both and send them to the boy’s room if you had to.”

He was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
 

“You’re an adrenaline junkie, you know that?” said Yusuf finally, shaking his head. “This is not a one-man show. They run a syndicate, and we don’t even know who all the members are. Locking up a couple of guys at the top is just asking for trouble.”

“Of course, but we won’t actually do that. I’m just talking about a little persuasion, a little reminder that the law sometimes needs help too. It might go a long way tonight. This is urgent. I’m not going to stiff them. I just need an installment plan. That’s all.”

Yusuf shook his head and sighed.

“Okay, but I can’t be out more than a couple of hours. Which one are we going to visit first?”

“Baba. It’ll take him a good twelve hours to get the mask ready. In fact, call him now. Tell him we’ve got an urgent job, and he’s going to need a couple of assistants to meet the deadline, but they have to be his most trustworthy people. If this gets out, we’re both dead.”

“Who do you need to be?”

“Fatih Gülben.”

Yusuf gripped the steering wheel tighter and swore.

“Damn it, Zeki! How do I let you talk me into this shit? You’re going to get us both killed!”

“All in good time,
and
at the right time,
and
not a minute before,” he replied solemnly. “Remember, ‘Fear of death will not delay it.’”

Yusuf put on his left turn signal, pulled out his cell phone, and hit the speed dial for Baba. His studio was close by. They would be there in half an hour.

“Baba, this is Yusuf. Zeki sends his greetings . . . Thanks, it’s been a stressful day. Listen, something’s come up and we need a piece done tonight . . . No, it can’t wait . . . We’ll be there in half an hour . . . I think you’re going to need some help with this one . . . Yeah, you could say a particular person . . . No, we don’t have a picture, but finding one on the Internet won’t be hard... Who is it? I’d prefer to tell you in person, but if you can start right away . . . It’s Fatih Gülben.”

Yusuf held the phone away from his face and grimaced at the cursing the name elicited. Zeki could hear the string of expletives as well. The profanity-laced tirade even included some novel variations he had never heard before.

“Listen, I don’t like this either,” continued Yusuf at the first break in the swearing. “But, for a friend, a man could do anything, even eat raw chicken, right? We’ll be there in half an hour.”

He closed the phone and turned back to Zeki.

“He’s going to be happy to see you.”

CHAPTER
54

W
ASHINGTON,
D.C.  
Kiyomi felt weird handing the cashier at Starbucks Gilbert’s credit card. It had been delivered to her that morning via courier with a short handwritten note that explained nothing and said only,

‘
Please, use this to make a few small purchases on Monday. All your meals are on me today
.
’

There was no explanation; none was needed. Gilbert wanted somebody, a very powerful somebody who could access credit records, to believe that he was in D.C., and she couldn’t believe she was doing this for him. The last twenty-four hours had been nerve-wracking. The same London number called almost every hour. She ignored it every time. She had nothing to tell them.

“The cranberry cheesecake muffins are delightful. Would you like one with your latte?”

The cashier’s voice startled her.

“No, thanks. I’m trying to cut down on the sweets. It’s just more calories I have to burn off in the gym.”

She said it without thinking and then realized that the cashier was at least sixty-five pounds overweight and probably had Starbucks desserts to thank for it. She felt like a heel.

“Besides, I’m in a hurry. They look delicious though. Maybe next time.”

She had argued with herself for the last hour. In the end, she did it out of pity for Gilbert’s predicament. She also had a healthy dose of confidence that her boss was a decent fellow and wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger. So, instead of going down to the cafeteria for lunch, she had walked out the back exit onto 11th Street NW to the trendy coffee house cattycorner to her office. She chose Starbucks because she was a regular and hoped they wouldn’t ask for ID. Still, she had an answer prepared just in case. Gilbert wouldn’t have approved, but she couldn’t think of anything to say except that she had mistakenly pulled out her boyfriend’s card.

><><><
 

C
AIRO
 
 
“When did this happen?” asked Ahmet

“Just about five minutes ago,” replied Jabbar. “But, I have a hard time believing that Gilbert would use his credit card to stop in at Starbucks after what happened at the Chunnel.”

“Salih may have been right about that being a goose chase,” replied Ahmet, “but what if he bought the tickets and then changed his plans? Maybe he decided to go back to Washington D.C.”

“It’s possible, I guess,” said Jabbar scratching his chin thoughtfully. “But I’ve already checked with our people, and they say his passport never scanned in London or the US, so if he is in D.C., that means he’s travelling on a different passport, and if he’s that gun-shy and has those kinds of contacts, then he wouldn’t be using his credit card.”

“Sometimes even smart people do the dumbest things. Salih made a bunch of assumptions too, which is why we are in this predicament. We can’t afford not to follow up every lead.”

“Or, maybe he was mugged in DC, killed by a common thug, stuffed in a dumpster and some piece of street trash is using his credit card. That would put a kink in our kidnapping plan,” replied Jabbar with a smirk.

Ahmet smiled at his friend’s sense of irony.