The Istanbul Conspiracy Page 2

  Yunus was sure this wasn’t a random act of terror, although the jihadists wanted it to appear as such. They knew exactly who their targets were and made sure the killing spree began at the most opportune moment for the maximum number of kills.

  Yunus was inconsolable. Even though the press was banned from posting the massacre in the Turkish newspapers, it didn’t stop unscrupulous photographers from selling or posting their images internationally. Yunus stared at a particularly painful photo of him, cradling the bloodied body of his Sude. His pain was unbearable. Another image captured the dead bodies of her parents, along with several prominent members of the government.

  Yunus demanded and received copies of all photos available from the horrific massacre. He needed to understand why this happened and who was responsible before the event became a footnote in Wikipedia.

  He refused all requests for interviews. Instead, he sat alone in his room with a half-empty bottle of Chivas and tins of warm Red Bull. A carton of his favorite M&M’s sat unopened on the carpeted floor.

  Twelve hours had transpired and still nothing from any of his sources. He called the hospital, as he’d been doing every hour since the event. Then he used his encrypted cell and placed a call.

  “What do you know?” His voice was hoarse from screaming at anything and anyone.

  “We don’t have much. We don’t think it was personal to you, nor was it directed at your fiancée. But, your guest list, the special advisors, and Sude’s father, the Defense Minister, were definitely targets. We think it was political, even though the perpetrators wanted it to look like terrorism. Maybe it’s the opposition. As you know, there are rumors of another coup attempt. This could be the beginning. We’re not sure, but we’ll keep digging.”

  Yunus could hear the hesitation in her voice.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “We question why the President canceled at the last moment. And why he sent his security team anyways. From the onboard videos, it appears to be the Presidential security team that killed the terrorists. You would think security might want to keep someone alive for questioning.”

  Yunus had come to a similar conclusion. But he didn’t respond.

  “Come in, Yunus. I don’t know where you’re calling from but come to the office.”

  Yunus didn’t respond. He closed his cell and stared at Sude’s clothes spread across the bed. Unopened wedding gifts lay stacked in the corner. At this moment, they should be swimming in an infinity pool at an exclusive hotel on the island of Bali, making love and planning their future.

  His Sig lay in pieces. He took up a rag and meticulously cleaned each part all over again. He shot Sude’s attacker, but he knew the man was a nobody, a foot soldier, a terrorist. Still, if he hadn’t lost his control—his team was right—they might have been able to learn something from the killers. But he and the other terrorists could have had suicide belts, and detonators. In the chaos, the right response was shoot-to-kill.

  “My love, can you forgive me? How could I have let this happen to you?”

  His tears blocked his vision. He blindly rebuilt his Sig, cursing his life and the circumstances that led to this horrific massacre.

  He used all his training to calm himself. He had to take every precaution. He could feel that something was off. There was more to this than he had first imagined. Still, no matter what he uncovered, at this moment, all he could imagine was revenge.

  3

  The Maldives

  Clustered amongst a breathtaking group of unspoiled atolls stood the private enclave of a reclusive American philanthropist and billionaire, Luke Raven. The shimmering aquamarine ocean lapped against the shores of the pristine and mostly unpopulated island. Tonight, this breathtaking atoll was elegantly lit with fiery torches as the sun bled into the Indian Ocean. The atmosphere was both romantic and passionate in preparation for the nuptials of the island’s patron, Luke Raven, and his exotic wife-to-be, Samaar.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, Maggs.”

  Samaar took one last look in the mirror. She was self-conscious even though an elegant and beautiful woman looked back at her.

  “Well, this will change your life, but it is your first marriage, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you and Raven known each other?”

  “I met him when he came to Israel to do joint training in the Mossad. Before Alice was born.”

  “Raven was a SEAL?”

  “No, he had some kind of deal with the US Government. In return for the work he did for them, they agreed he could do BUDS training. And then he somehow used his charm—or more than likely, his financial and business influence—to train with the Mossad.”

  “Did you two have a thing going on back then?”

  “No, definitely not. My Iranian lover had recently disappeared, presumed dead, and I was pregnant with Alice. No one knew about my baby, but Luke seemed to have a sixth sense that something wasn’t quite right with me. We became friends. Well, as much as you can be friends with someone when you are both active in the clandestine world. And then I told him everything about my life. And look where that got me!” She smiled. “It’s over eleven years ago, maybe twelve.”

  “Not even a one-night-stand?”

  “No. I was in mourning for Ali. Still hoping he’d show up although I expected the worst. Iran was a country in turmoil, and Ali was an outspoken journalist. Luke was grieving, too. We shared a common sadness more than anything. Then, when I got in trouble, he rescued Alice and me from the South American cartels. And we became closer. Alice was just a young child then. Luke is the only father figure she knows.” Samaar laughed, “Wait. When I think about it, the entire Raven Group are father figures to Alice.”

  “Yes. So, it’s time.”

  “Yes, I suppose. We’ve certainly gone through a lot together. After his wife and daughter were murdered in the Bahamas, he formed the Raven Group to exact revenge on Sying, the woman responsible for their deaths. He could never follow rules. I think that’s why the US Government used him for top-secret work. Deniability. We knew Sying would never be arrested for her crimes, nor convicted. I joined him to help exact revenge. It was the least I could do for all Raven had done for Alice and me.” Samaar stopped to adjust the creamy satin gown that hugged her figure and showed off her cleavage.

  Maggs found Samaar, code-named Luci by Israeli intelligence, extremely attractive. But over the years, their friendship was more important to Maggs than pushing a sexual attraction that wasn’t mutual.

  “You make an elegant bride.”

  “Two powerful words I never thought would apply to me. I’m much more comfortable in workout gear doing midnight Parkour on the rooftops of Paris!”

  “Here, let me help you with the Frangipani crown.” Maggs took the woven flowers and placed them securely on Samaar’s head. After South Africa, and the modifications to Samaar’s face, she’d grown out her long auburn tresses down past her shoulders. They smiled at their images in the mirror.

  “Maggs, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”

  “Sure, you did.”

  Samaar was confused a moment, and then she laughed. “Yes, of course, the Katching Kittens Ball in the Palais de Versailles, France!”

  “Yes.” Maggs fussed over final touches on Samaar’s hair. “You look stunning, Agent Luci! No one would ever guess that Raven’s lovely bride once worked as a trained assassin for the Mossad.”

  Alice chose that moment to enter her mother’s bedroom. A young lady, close to puberty, stopped, momentarily taken aback by her mother’s attire. She had the same striking looks of her mother only mixed in the shape of her face were the sharp contours and deep eyes of her Middle Eastern ancestry. The white dress she’d agreed to wear for the wedding was short and shimmery, slightly more mature than Samaar would have liked, but Alice was growing into an exotic-looking young lady, tawny skin made darker by the last few days on the island. And more importantly, she wa
s confident, kind, and smart. Samaar was very proud of her loving daughter.

  “Mommy, wow.” She snapped a quick photo with her ever-present phone. “You look very beautiful. But Luke said he will start the ceremony without you if we don’t hurry!”

  4

  In another part of the villa, a tall craggy New Mexico cowboy often mistaken for a young version of Bill Gates, masqueraded as a groom in a tux.

  “Hey, you look pretty sharp there, boss.”

  “I’d be more comfortable in jeans. But Samaar insisted, and you know she’s always right.”

  “Yes. Sorry to interrupt, but RB’s online from Seattle, and he said it’s urgent.”

  David, another ex-Seal and Raven’s pilot, delivered the message while scrutinizing the mounting excitement of island locals and close friends in the Maldives. Everything was very last minute. How they’d managed to keep this compound a secret was still something of a miracle as far as David was concerned. He had preparations to make and quickly left.

  Luke opened the collar of his white linen shirt and looked towards the master suite where the women could be heard laughing and enjoying preparations for the wedding ceremony. What was taking them so long?

  Luke entered the secure communication room.

  “RB, I still don’t understand why you didn’t come.”

  “Boss, we have too much going on. I’ll come to your next wedding!”

  “Very funny, RB. This will definitely be my last, what’s up? We’re about to begin the ceremony.”

  Luke glanced out his office window to the azure sea. The fiery sunset reminded him momentarily of his deceased wife and daughter and their fatal trip to the Bahamas many years ago. Their murder was never officially solved, but Raven knew that he and his team had unofficially avenged their deaths. He dropped the painful thoughts and focused on today.

  Now he was in the Maldives with Samaar and her daughter, Alice. This was his wedding night. Life does go on.

  “We could have a problem. It’s about Alice. I strongly urge you to leave the atoll immediately. I will fill you in once you and the family are air-born. David is aware of the change in plans and is preparing the helicopter for departure.”

  “Right.”

  Luke grabbed his briefcase, his ever-present weapons, and prepared to depart. He had learned to never question his number one operative.

  “Samaar.” He opened the door to her suite and stopped cold. A woman of incredible beauty stood before him. She blushed at the interruption, and Luke’s heart skipped a beat. He’d wanted her since he’d first laid eyes on her in Israel. Was it twelve years already?

  “I’m so sorry. We must leave immediately. Maggs, Alice.”

  Alice looked at her mother, then back at Luke. She might be young, but she recognized the concern in his eyes and coldness she’d come to know not to question.

  “We will talk once we’re air born. Grab what’s important, and we will board the helicopter in five minutes. The guests will be advised and will party without us.”

  The sun had hit the horizon when they met at the helipad. The world was bathed in fiery reds and purple—the perfect backdrop for a romantic evening and an island wedding reception. Instead, five people quickly boarded the Sikorsky. David initiated takeoff within sixty seconds, and they were flying back towards the main island of Mali and Luke’s private jet.

  5

  Istanbul, Turkey

  Yunus dreaded going home. Sude’s scent lingered. He cursed his lack of security and foresight all over again. But there was no more time to feel sorry for himself. He showered and changed into his uniform: black jeans, white sneakers, and a black t-shirt.

  He looked like every other Turkish Millennial walking the crowded streets of Istanbul. Only he carried a Sig hidden under his black nylon jacket. He put remote speakers into his ears, blasted his music, and began walking. Everything on his playlist reminded him of happier times with Sude. He pulled his phone from his jacket and connected through a VPN to sites not available in his own country. He searched for further facts or speculation that had leaked to the International press about the wedding.

  The air was crisp and salty. But when Yunus inhaled deeply, all he got were noxious exhaust fumes mixed with memories of death. He walked by the Vakifbank and crossed the busy street to get to the tramway. At the last minute, the Turk appeared to change his mind and continued walking. For the first time ever, he ignored the Mosque issuing the call to prayer. It wasn't that he didn't want to pray, but he questioned if Allah was listening.

  He couldn’t function if he allowed his emotions to overtake logic. He had work to do and no time for this overwhelming self-pity. No time for recriminations. He’d grieve once he’d hunted down every single one responsible for this atrocity and killed them all.

  He got a grip on his feelings and moved to logic. Sude would insist he keep his strength up. So, he bought a sesame roll slathered with a tahini-molasses from the vendor in Findikli Park. He had to force himself to eat it. Yunus felt like he might vomit.

  All the time he kept watch for a tail.

  Was he being followed?

  Did they know his true identity?

  Was it a targeted hit or an act of jihadi terrorism, or something else entirely?

  Did they get who and what they wanted? And why, the bigger question was why. If he could figure out why he’d know where to look and get whoever was responsible for the deaths. He touched the gun in his waistband for reassurance.

  He continued walking past the Tophane Tram stop, circled around the 15th century Hammam until he came to the back alleys and side streets of Karaköy. He walked past Starbucks, checking his reflection in the storefront glass, and looking for someone who might be paying extra attention to him. Yunus stopped to grab a Turkish coffee from an outdoor vendor and took a small cup of milk for the ginger Starbuck’s cat. There was normally comfort in these everyday gestures, but not enough.

  The Turk was a celebrity from the Istanbul Club scene. Anything related to him, even if it didn’t show up in the news, spread through the Karaköy grapevine. The vendor knew him and nodded in recognition of Yunus’ pain. Sadness and hostility in his eyes told his fans and even some friends, it was a good day to walk on by.

  He stopped to give a stray pup the last of his bread. All the while, he continued the observation of his surroundings. He walked on oblivious of the new Frida Kahlo street art and moved along under the grape arbors, almost bumping into the garbage collection on the corner.

  Five minutes later, he crossed the street to an 18th-century building—modern by Istanbul’s standards—under re-construction like most everything along the Istanbul waterfront. The sign on the front stated that the Arts Council of Istanbul had currently re-located inside Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University three blocks away.

  He turned down a short alley, maneuvered past a gigantic dumpster, and used a constantly changing key code to enter through a battered service door. The passageway was monitored with well-hidden cameras; security was a priority.

  The elevator was intentionally out of service. Yunus took the well-monitored stairs two-at-a-time. He was restless and losing patience, and most importantly, he needed answers.

  He introduced another series of codes, then waited for the camera recognition software to co-ordinate with the body-temperature keypad to register a recognizable entry. A biometric mechanism was on the last doorway to the left. A final series of infrared lights allowed the agent to travel along the hallway. All this could be overridden by the observer in the control room. Allowances were made for hardhats, bicycles, and other props used by a team of professionals who daily put their lives on the line to make the world a safer place.

  “What have you got?” The team looked away from Yunus, embarrassed at their lack of progress. It was their responsibility to monitor all intelligence around Yunus’ wedding. Each member took personal responsibility for not uncovering the plot that resulted in the death of Yunus’ future family and several leaders
of the Turkish government.

  “That’s just it. There was absolutely no chatter, nothing we could find that was missed. It’s disturbing.” There were no designated leaders in this room of elite professionals, although Cruz took charge in most areas. The task force was so secret that the oversight committees, the military branches, and the head of the government were unaware of its existence.

  After the coup attempt in 2016, a man from India approached Yunus while he was performing in Amsterdam. His message was evasive, at best, but intriguing to a young man searching for meaning in a country that straddled East and West. Yunus was shaken by the coup attempt. He loved his country and would do anything to protect it from harm. The Indian man had a military intelligence background but informed Yunus that he worked with the United Nations. His specialty was cyberterrorism, with a passionate interest in the trafficking of people, arms, and intelligence.

  The Indian who introduced himself as Himanish, knew everything about Yunus’ military service, his education in computer technology, and the games he played in the deep and dark web. Himanish also knew about Sude and Yunus’ connections to the political community in Istanbul and Ankara.

  As much as Yunus loved Dj’ing, it was never enough to satisfy the fire inside his soul. Himanish told Yunus to form a team of the very best cyber experts he could find—preferably from the hacking community. Discretion and loyalty must be beyond reproach. Their work would be so secret that they would answer only to Yunus. And only Yunus would know they were working for the United Nations.

  He chose from ex-military commandos like himself, analysts, hackers, the best and brightest; then he put them in an office and threw away the key. They were paid from crypto-currency accounts so that absolutely no trace would be found of their existence, nor would there be any paper-trails to bank accounts or retirement benefits. All Id’s were fake, as were a series of passports that were bought on the black market. It requires a certain flexibility, creativity and fearlessness, to live outside the norms of society. These agents didn’t exist in the Turkish economy or intelligence community. And that was fine with each and every one of them.