A Deceit to Die For (72 page)

“Don’t you like it?” asked Gary.

“The eggplant kebab is wonderful, but I’m stuffed,” she replied.

“There are starving children in Africa,” said Matt playfully. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

She pushed her plate towards him with a smile.

“I’m not sure how it will help them if you eat it, but go ahead.”

Gilbert had hardly touched his food, nor had he joined the conversation unless asked a direct question.

“You’ve probably got an ulcer,” Gwyn said to Gilbert. “Not eating will just make it worse.”

“I don’t have an ulcer. I just don’t have an appetite,” he replied.

“Do you mind if I try some of your
iskender
?” asked Matt, with an impish grin. “Maybe it is different from the one I had.”

“No, go right ahead,” said Gilbert. “But, I don’t know where you’ll find an antacid for the heartburn you’re giving yourself.”

“You worry about your ulcer, and I’ll deal with my heartburn.”

“You know,” said Gwyn, “With Zeki gone, I don’t feel nearly as secure here.”

Everyone was thinking the same thing. They were alone in a city of fifteen million. Except for Gary, none of them could speak a word of the language.

“There’s no reason to worry,” said Gilbert finally. “That is something mother would disapprove of. What did she always say? ‘Worry wouldn’t cure a wart, and our problems are much bigger.’ I’m going to spend some time with the logs if you’ll excuse me.”

He got up from the table, and walked into the living room to get his laptop. In minutes, he was immersed in a world that gave him a sense of control,
but didn’t stop him from worrying about his family. Gwyn started clearing the table and gathering up the styrofoam boxes the food had been delivered in.

Gary leaned back in his chair and addressed Matt,
“Were you able to contact your friend here in Istanbul, the one who might be able to find Angela’s sister Bianca?”

“In fact, I did. He gave me the name of a captain in Ankara with the Counter-Terrorism Bureau. Apparently, there was a big operation a little over a week ago on the Black Sea. The target was a terrorist who uses the white slave trade to finance his activities. They didn’t capture the terrorist, but dozens of girls were rescued. He said this Captain was now heading the investigation to bring down the whole network.”

“Do you think we could call him now?”

“Sure, let me find the number. I wrote it on the back of an envelope from the hotel.”

Matt rummaged through his backpack.

“Here it is. Yusuf Demir is his name. The number is 312 221 1212.”

Gary got a queer look on his face and reached into his pocket for the slip of paper Zeki had given him.

“Yusuf Demir?”

“I’m probably pronouncing it wrong, but that’s what it looks like.”

“No, I’m sure that’s right, but the card from Zeki has the same name, different telephone number. This one is a cell phone.”

“You think it’s the same person?”

“I don’t know. We could call and find out.”

“Did this girl Angela tell you anything else today?”

“Have you ever heard the name Elvir Zubak?”

The fork stopped halfway to Matt’s mouth.

“I should hope so. He’s the fifth most wanted human trafficker in the Middle East. Bosnian by birth, the man is a veritable shadow. We don’t even have a good picture of the guy. Are you telling me he’s in Istanbul?”

“I don’t know where he is or who he is,” replied Gary. “That was just the name a prostitute gave Angela, along with a warning to forget she had ever heard it and leave the country. She said there’s no hope for the girl.”

Matt dropped his fork.

“I’ll be hornswoggled!”

Startled to hear one of her father’s favorite phrases, Gwyn felt the corners of her mouth rise in a smile. Matt and her father had gotten along so well.

“This Yusuf guy, we’ve got to give him a call. He’s our man,” continued Matt, suddenly very excited. “I’ve been trying to find Elvir for six months. He runs a drug and human trafficking ring to finance a terrorist named Bekir Kaya. Turkish Counter-Terrorism must have been hunting Bekir and stumbled on a stash of their girls. If that’s true, then the captain is the best person to contact about Elvir. The government of Romania has a bounty for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on Elvir’s head because he or his organization killed five border guards almost ten years ago at a routine car inspection. There are smaller bounties offered by other Eastern European countries too.”

“So, you do it for the money?”

Gwyn said it with a nip in her voice, not because she thought it was true but because she could not filter the pain out of her voice.

Matt was stung by the question. His instinct was to lash back. Instead, he sat there arguing with himself, trying to control the raw emotions he felt boiling up. He failed.

“Yeah, Gwyn, I do it for the money. But, I also do it because I’m a warped person who receives some debauched pleasure from bringing perverts to justice. You see, I came to the conclusion that pushing pencils at the State Department so that we can sell fighter jets and T-bills to the Saudis, or facilitating back-door deals with third-world countries so that multinational corporations can exploit cheap labor and raise their profit margins on MP3 players while putting Americans out of work is not nearly as satisfying as playing some small role in stamping out the exploitation of little girls. Forgive me, but I thought someone with your moral compass might be able to understand that.”

He got up without saying another word and walked out of the room. Gary looked at his sister. He could see that she was struggling with old emotions, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Geez, Gwyn. Did you have to do that? Can we just focus on getting Ginger and the kids back safely?”

She started to say something and thought better of it. Gary looked at Gilbert. He gave no sign that he had even heard the conversation; he was too absorbed in his computer.

The phone Zeki had left with them vibrated on the table. Gary picked it up.

“Hello.”

“This is Zeki. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back tonight, and I’ve got an early flight out in the morning. My friend Yusuf will be in touch with you tomorrow.”

“Say, would this Yusuf be with the Counter-Terrorism Unit in Ankara?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Why do you ask?”

“Matt is looking into a case of human trafficking and his contact in Istanbul gave him Yusuf Demir’s name.”

“Then your friend Matt has very good contacts.”

“Okay, thanks for confirming and for all your help.
Iyi yolculuklar ve basarlar
.”

“Your Turkish is good.”

“I’ve picked up a bit in the last couple of months, enough to get me in trouble,” said Gary.

“No trouble comes from wishing people well, my son.”

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 “I don’t know what you plan to do with this, but it damn sure better not come back to me. Can you guarantee that?” The skinny man with a stylish goatee ran his fingers nervously through his long hair and looked to Yusuf and Zeki for assurance.

“Do you really have to ask that question, Baba?” said Zeki quietly.

“You want me to help you impersonate the Anti-Christ and wonder that I am a bit antsy?”

“He’s not the Anti-Christ, Baba. He’s just a popular religious teacher.”

“I thought that ‘being a popular religious teacher’ was a prerequisite for being the Anti-Christ,” retorted the wispy man fiercely. “Do you know how many people there are in this country who want him to be the Caliph? Anyway, what about the money? Will it be here tomorrow?”

“Or Wednesday at the latest,” replied Yusuf.

Baba clearly didn’t like the arrangement. He ran a cash business. There was no line of credit. But Zeki’s opening speech about past jobs and his client portfolio had worked its magic. If there was one thing Baba knew besides masks, it was seeing past them to read people. He knew a veiled threat when he heard one.

“Am I going to read about this in the newspapers?”

“Not a chance. Totally risk-free, absolutely benign,” said Zeki confidently.

“Well, don’t just stand there then. We have to get started if you are going to make your flight tomorrow. When I’m done with you, you could fool the man’s wife until she got your clothes off.”

“That good?”

“Isn’t that why you came to me?” he said with a grin. “You’re going to look good bald too.”

He pointed to what looked like a barber’s chair surrounded on three sides by mirrors and bright lights.

“Bald?” asked Zeki, sitting down in the swivel chair.

“As a pumpkin,” Baba said as he walked away.

The inside of this dilapidated building looked like a swanky, state-of-the-art technology mall and a Hollywood set rolled into one. From the outside, one would have said it was a candidate for demolition. Zeki sat down and looked at himself in the mirror. It seemed strange to be back in the game after so many years working in academia. Yusuf had been right. He was an adrenaline junkie, and for the first time in the week-long whirlwind of events, he was seriously wondering if this was the right thing to do.
 

The decision to protect Gwyn had been simple. This felt different. For the first time in a long time, he was having trouble sorting through his own motives.
Am I doing this to repay a debt to a departed friend? Am I doing this for revenge? Is it because I am trying to show the O’Briens that not everyone in the Middle East sides with terrorists? Do I really think this man posing as a priest can be persuaded to talk? Or, is this just a desire to be back in the game and experience the adrenaline rush?
He didn’t know the answer. It didn’t matter either. He had given his word.

One of Baba’s assistants approached with the clippers and immediately began removing his thick salt and pepper hair in huge clumps. Another started dabbing splotches of skin tone paint on Zeki’s forehead until he found a perfect color match. Then, he began applying something that looked like petroleum jelly to protect his face from the chemicals that would be used to shape the mask. Zeki looked in the mirror to see Yusuf was still standing behind him in the shadows. Yusuf looked at his watch and then walked up to Zeki.

“In ten minutes, your face is going to be covered in straps of gelatinous plaster. There is something I should tell you.”

“I’m all ears,” replied Zeki.

“It’s curious that you are going to Vienna. Something is going on in that city. Two of the cells we have under surveillance there have disappeared, vanished without a trace.”

“So?”

“What would you say if I told you that all of the Turks killed in the Nazi attacks in Germany were Alevis?” asked Yusuf.

“I would say that is quite a coincidence except that even atheists like you know Allah allows no coincidences.”

“Exactly!” replied Yusuf.

Baba’s assistant had finished smearing the protective cream on Zeki’s face and was now dipping thin strips of gauze in a chemical solution.

“But, if you wanted to justify an attack on foreigners in Turkey, then posing as skinheads and killing Alevis would be framing one enemy while disposing of another.”