A Deceit to Die For (87 page)

“Google is promising to cooperate, but they are requesting that we file a formal request.”

“Fine. Do we have the keyword filters in place?”

“Yes, sir. Phones and internet are all being monitored.”

“What about city records, website date stamps, search engine caches, B.O.D. meeting minutes, bank accounts...”

Bob cut him off.

“It’s all ready, sir. Don’t worry. The organization looks legitimate. The tech guys have been on it for forty-eight hours straight.”

“Great. Let’s hope my B.S.er is working today. This needs to sound convincing.”

He grabbed his notes and headed for the conference room with Bob in tow. It was hard to believe that any of the men in his department were rotten, but Gilbert’s hint could not have been clearer. McIntosh opened the door and a hush fell over the room. The Chief Superintendent did not often take a direct interest in a case.

“Good morning, men. As you know, this case has been particularly frustrating. We are receiving a lot of pressure from the Ministry to gain some traction, especially since it involved the death of an important foreign national. However, it looks like we may have gotten a break. Today, we received an anonymous tip that we believe has some validity. A Turkish non-profit organization established here in London for the purpose of helping immigrants has been implicated. We do not have a motive or any connection outside of this anonymous tip, so we need to move carefully. However, if we can establish reasonable suspicion, the sooner we get a warrant issued the better. Drop whatever else you have going today and focus on this case.”

Everyone looked around the room. McIntosh pursed his lips.

“Bob will give you the details.”

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In a small, white office with no windows in a separate wing of the complex, a single operator sat at a super-computer. Jack’s only duty for the next week was to run a communications package developed by MI6 that would catch every occurrence of the words “Society for the Assimilation of Turkish Immigrants.” The computer had been loaded with backdoor encryption keys from MI5 and SO15, so most encrypted traffic would be monitored as well. He was told nothing about the objective of his assignment, but the mission was plain enough. The order came from Internal Affairs. This was a rat-hunt.

Jack’s job was simple. Capture chatter with concurrent sender, receiver, channel and time data, and then hand deliver this information to Bob Gaston every two hours. He was just starting his second twelve-hour shift, and so far, there had not been a single hit.

The only amenity in the bare room was a coffee pot. He walked over to refill his mug. It was going to be a long day, and he couldn’t imagine a more boring assignment. He pulled an MP3 player out of his pocket, put in the earphones and walked back to his computer. He looked at the screen.
Holy shit!
He almost spilled his coffee in a rush to get situated at his desk. The filter was sending a constant stream of hits on the key term. Most of them were internet searches, but there were already two cell phone hits as well. Somebody somewhere had done something to bait the hook and now the fish were swarming. Now, all they had to do was wait for one of them to swim away from the school.

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V
IENNA
 
Zeki walked out of the church, glad to leave the oppressive spirit of empire behind. On the other side of the square, he could see Patrick standing on the opposite corner, just under the arch leading to St. Michael’s Plaza, staring at the Lipizzaner horses. Turning his back towards Patrick, he took a right hand turn and hit the speed dial. On the third ring, Patrick rejected the call. This was the all-clear signal. Patrick would follow at a safe distance.

The buildings on either side kept the narrow street in almost perpetual shadow. As he walked towards the Albertina Palace Museum, he passed a string of curio shops, all selling wooden puppets of Pinocchio. The irony hit him suddenly and out of the blue. Here he was, standing outside of the library that boasted the only extant copy of the entire G.O.B. in the world, and the first thing he sees is a shop dedicated to the lying puppet created by Geppetto. The universal recognition accorded to Pinocchio’s story of human weakness was testimony to man’s propensity for deceit. The G.O.B. was just another chapter in the sorry tale.

When he reached the end of Augustiner Street, Zeki stepped out into the bright sunlight of Helmut Zilk Plaza and dialed Yusuf. He clung to the right side of the small square, waiting for Yusuf to pick up.

“Hello.”

“Yusuf, it’s me, Zeki. Gilbert will be exchanging the document for his family tonight on the beach outside of Kisirkaya.”

“So, you found what they needed?”

“Let’s just say we have found ways to be persuasive.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It went even better than I hoped.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What’s that?”

“An Interpol bulletin has been issued for Gilbert O’Brien. He’s wanted in connection with charges of corporate espionage.”

“I already know that.”

“Then you also know that I’m supposed to bring him in.”

“And I know that you won’t. He’s not asking for your help. It would put his family at risk.”

“Of course, but what about after the exchange?” asked Yusuf.

“That, my friend, is your call. I only want Gilbert to get his family back safely.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“What you always do. The right thing.”

“I can guess that Gilbert is being set up. I can turn a blind eye to that without a problem. Letting the bad guys get away after the exchange, though, is not something I’m willing to do.”

“If you move on them, you’ll expose yourself. There will definitely be an inquiry. Their friends in the government will want to know where you got the intel.”

“An anonymous tip.”

“They won’t buy it.”

“No, but they can’t prove it wrong either.”

“They don’t need proof.”

“From what you’ve told me, they’re guilty of kidnapping, extortion, the murder of two professors, the attempted murder of the young lady in Texas, and only God knows what else. I’m not going to let them get away. Besides, exposing this would set the organization back years. I’m not going to pass on this opportunity.”

“You know the risks.”

“I do, but I have sworn an oath to uphold the law and the Republic, both of which are threatened by these Islamists.”

“I’m only asking that Gilbert’s attempt to get his family back not be compromised.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m going to be hard to reach for a long time,” continued Zeki. “I’ve given Bahardir power of attorney to sell the summer house. It may take a while to sell, but he promised to send twenty thousand tomorrow. I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“Don’t mention it, my friend. What about the document? What shall I do with it when I recover it?”

“First of all, make sure no one knows about it. Leave a note on the blog and put it somewhere secret if you want to die a natural death.”

“Are you kidding? I only joined the police force because I hated the idea of growing old,” he joked. “Where are you going now?”

“There are some loose ends that I have to tie off.”

“I’ll follow you in the Interpol bulletins.”

“Only if something goes wrong.”

“Goodbye, my friend.”

“Until we meet again.”

Zeki terminated the call, and typed a short text.

Call in anonyms tip to Metro Plc. Insist on talkingw/ John McIntosh, tell him this number—07714 652222—is suspected of being involved in the O’Brien murder.

He had reached the far end of the square and veered right onto the narrow side street of Operngasse. The travel agency was less than one hundred meters ahead on the right. That morning, he had called to reserve a ticket for Madrid. With any luck, he would be in London on Friday. Operations like this shouldn’t be rushed, but he had to act quickly before his prey got away.
Ian’s death cannot go unpunished and the only way to see something done right is to do it yourself . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by an explosion. He saw all of the neon signs on the street go out. He didn’t know it, but Bekir’s boldest operation yet had just been launched. The banner of the Ottoman army recovered at the Battle of Vienna was housed in a museum less than two kilometers away. It would soon be making its way back to Istanbul.

CHAPTER
67

L
ONDON
   
There was a knock at the door. Bob looked up to see Jack walk in carrying a thick folder.

“Do you have something for us, Jack?”

“In fact, I do.”

“That was fast.”

He placed a gray folder on the desk in front of Bob, who sighed when he saw how thick it was.

“Don’t worry. There is no need for you to go through the whole thing. Your man is on page fifty-seven.”

“How do you know?” he asked, flipping through the folder, looking for page fifty-seven.

“Can you think of another reason why someone in the IT department would be posting a one-sentence comment with the phrase Society for the Assimilation of Turkish Immigrants on a personal blog and then deleting it five minutes later?”

“Who is it?”

“Adam Parker.”

“Parker!? That’s impossible,” exclaimed Gaston, in sincere disbelief. “We were classmates at university and went through the academy together. I’ve known him and his family for years. He’s as solid as they come.”

“Your sentiments are probably shared by many others in the department.”

“Damn right they are!”

“Which is probably why he hasn’t been caught. Being above suspicion is the best cover.”

“I’m going to have to see this to believe it,” Bob said doubtfully. “If he’s dirty, then a worse judge of men never walked the earth.”

Jack walked around behind Bob’s desk and began to walk him through it.

“This is Parker’s blog post,” he said pointing to a line about halfway down the page. “The blog has a number of RSS subscribers, so this list you see below his post is the same information being forwarded to all of the subscribers. Five minutes later, Parker returned to the blog and deleted the post. If we hadn’t been performing real-time surveillance, there is no way we would have caught it. So far, this is the only anomalous hit. The rest consists of internet searches, cell phone texts, emails and phone calls from the team you assigned and only with reasonable sources of information, such as the chamber of associations, municipal public records office and the like.”

“Do we have any idea who received the RSS feed?”

“I was able to retrieve the list of email addresses, but they are all hotmail, gmail or ymail addresses. I’m sure any identifying information is bogus. However, I know that the feed was picked up less than one minute later, here,” he said pointing to another line at the top of the next page.