Blown Circuit

by Lars Guignard

  “Hello,” I said hopefully.

  “Hello to you too.”

  I opened my other eye. The pain in my head was sharp and constant, like a hangover that just wouldn’t quit. My contact was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, nothing so fashionable as the tailor-cut pantsuit she had had on the night before, but she looked good, her hair still damp from her morning shower. I remembered the contact code.

  “Turkey is a fine bird,” I said.

  “Not if you prefer fish,” my contact replied crisply.

  Her accent was as thick as I remembered it being at the bakery. English was obviously not her first language, and by the time she had said fish, I was already thinking that I needed to talk to whoever was responsible for coming up with that ridiculous code. She beat me to it.

  “What is this stupid code?” she said. “Turkey is a country. That is it.”

  “No, the food turkey,” I said, defending the indefensible. “The bird.”

  “Ahh,” she said, as if she was getting it. “Like Turkey food. You like Turkey food?”

  “Only on holidays.”

  My contact grunted.

  “Then enough with the stupid bird,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like somebody beat on my head with a bat,” I said.

  “It was a whiskey bottle,” she corrected.

  I felt at my chin and found a bandage there.

  “It may leave a scar. I don’t know. They drugged you,” she said.

  “I gathered.”

  I needed to tread very carefully. I didn’t know what she’d discussed with Jean-Marc, and I didn’t know why they had arranged to meet in person. I didn’t know whether this woman had any connection to the Dragons at all, except that she’d been Jean-Marc’s last point of contact. Most significantly, I didn’t know why she had been surveilling me at the bakery. No sense beating around the bush.

  “Back at the bakery. Why were you following me?” I asked.

  “Slow down,” she said.

  “I need to know why.”

  “Fine. It was a tip.”

  “A tip that I like coffee?”

  “A tip that an American spy was going to blow up a Turkish freighter. I followed you from the Galata Bridge.”

  “How did you know I would go to the bakery?”

  “I got lucky. I saw that where you were going was not yet open. I thought that perhaps you would return to the bakery to wait. I showed the man in the back my ID. He let me take over from there.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We at MIT, we like to know who we are doing business with, Mr. Raptor.”

  I was happy to hear her say the name. It suggested that my cover might still be intact. I was well aware that MIT in this case did not stand for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The acronym, as I understood it, stood for Milli İstihbarat Teşkilatı. It was the Turkish National Intelligence Organization—basically their version of the CIA.

  “Of course you do,” I nodded.

  “Great. I am glad we have the introductions out of the way. Now clean yourself up.”

  My contact rose from the opposite bed and walked through a low doorway leading down a set of stairs. I was in some kind of third-story loft. The room was bright, windows on all sides. I pulled myself out of the single bed and onto the ceramic-tiled floor. The floor, like the walls, was white, giving the place a clean look, but not a modern one, the workmanship was too haphazard for that. I walked out of a glass door and onto a rooftop deck. It was dusty outside, the morning sun already heating the day. On three sides of me were gritty fields spotted with olive groves and partially constructed homes. On the fourth side, to the west, was a village, maybe a mile and a half away.

  That said, I had no idea where I was. I decided to take a shower. I located the bathroom and, sure enough, there was a modular shower unit. I stripped and stepped inside, turning on the water. The shower head was a little low, but the water was hot and it washed away both the grime and some of the pain in my aching head.

  Whatever it was they had drugged me with, it hadn’t worked out. Maybe because I’d only taken a sip of the beer, it hadn’t put me out fast or completely. But the fact remained that somehow the men at the bar had been alerted to my presence. They were waiting for me. I soaped up and considered my next move. I was undercover now. My immediate goal was to get close to my contact. Close enough to determine whether she was on the Dragon payroll. If so, I could leverage that relationship to learn exactly which city the Dragons intended to destroy with the Tesla weapon. Then I could stop them.

  I grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower, studying myself in the mirror. My face was bruised from the hard right that Azad had landed. It was a little swollen, but at least I didn’t have a black eye. I was more concerned about my chin. I hung my towel over my shoulder and gently pulled off the gauze to take a look. Fortunately, the cut wasn’t deep. Nothing that a butterfly bandage couldn’t handle.

  “Raptor.”

  “I’m in the shower.”

  I heard footsteps on the ceramic tile and my contact opened the door. She looked me up and down. I guessed the Turks weren’t big on privacy.

  “Hurry. We eat breakfast. Then we work. Take this.”

  She handed me a new butterfly bandage.

  “Thanks. Can I have a moment first?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, I’m wearing no pants.”

  She looked at me as if I was an alien, which I put down to a language issue. Then she shrugged and walked away.

  Chapter 19

  BREAKFAST WAS ON the veranda overlooking a rolling garden. The Turks knew how to do their safe houses. There didn’t seem to be anybody else around, but there were fresh tomatoes, and cucumbers, and golden loaves of bread. There was also freshly churned butter, black olives, goat cheese, and a glass carafe of dark amber tea. No coffee that I could see, but I figured I’d make do. I sliced myself a couple thick pieces of bread and assembled a sandwich, my contact staring back at me from behind her oversized sunglasses. I realized at that point, that though she had taken to calling me “Raptor” per my code name, I still didn’t have a name for her.

  “What should I call you?” I asked.

  “Meryem,” she said. “You may call me, Meryem.”

  “OK, Meryem. Can I pour you a cup of tea?”

  Meryem nodded and I poured two glasses of steaming, dark amber chai. Meryem had hers black. I dumped a few spoonfuls of sugar in mine.

  “What do you know of my mission?” she said.

  It was exactly what I had been dreading. A direct question that required a direct answer. I had only one move. To play the silent type. But she took my silence for an admission.

  “Don’t play that game with me. Your sloppy attempt at contact ruined an operation I had been working on for six months. I let that monster touch me,” she said.

  “Monster?”

  “Azad. The Kurd I was going to marry. Six months. Six months I worked to nail that criminal and you walk in and destroy my operation,” she said.

  “I didn’t exactly just walk in. You knew I was coming.”

  “So did they, didn’t they? You come in shorts and a T-shirt? How could they miss you? The group you sat with, both of those men worked for Azad's organization.”

  “Organization?”

  “Kurdish crime family. That’s what you call them in America isn’t it? Family? Mob?”

  “Wait. You went undercover as a mob bride?”

  She took a sip of her tea. “I did,” she said. “For my country, Turkey. Not the bird.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? That is what you have to say?”

  “Look, it’s done now.”

  “Yes,” she said. “On this point we can agree. The operation is over. I think we both know I will not be marrying Azad anymore.”

  “I still don’t get it,” I said.

  “What?”

  “If your operation was so sensitive
why did you arrange to meet me at the bar?”

  “Please do not ask me this question. I have already asked myself the same thing, many times. It was, what do you say, terrible timing? By the time I learned that the party was happening, it was too late to call it off with you.”

  I thought about it.

  “Look, let me say it again. I apologize for blowing your op.”

  “Blowing my op?”

  Meryem said the words as if she had no idea what I meant.

  “Yes. Blowing it. Ruining your operation.”

  “Ahh, yes. You blew my op good.”

  She removed her oversized sunglasses, her dark, liquid eyes sparkling with life.

  “What else?” Meryem asked.

  “And I thank you for saving my ass.”

  “I got blood on my new white suit you know. From your chin.”

  “I did not know that. Thanks. Really. I would have been dead without you.”

  I thought I saw her smile. Not a lot, just a small curl of her full lower lip.

  “Stop groveling,” she said. “This is finished now. My commanding officer has given the new mission priority. Come.”

  WE STROLLED AROUND the side of the safe house to find a Honda Transalp all-terrain motorcycle. I couldn’t say I recognized it from the night before, but I did recognize my backpack strapped to the rear rack. Given my condition, I would have been skeptical that I could have hung on in my semiconscious state if I hadn’t experienced a similar thing before.

  I’d gone on a motorcycle trip with my father when I was twelve. We’d covered thirteen hundred miles on a Harley Speedster from Seattle to the Grand Canyon, and I had, believe it or not, fallen asleep many times on the back of the bike. I guess the rumble of the machine put me into some kind of road-induced trance. I’d wake to feel my rear end slipping down over the back fender, at which point I’d grasped my father more firmly around the waist, stood on the pegs, and pulled myself back up. Not the safest way to travel, but I knew it could be done and, hence, I had little doubt that I had done it again, especially because I was beginning to remember parts of the ride in fits and starts.

  I checked out the bike. It was a 700cc European model. An on-road, off-road beast that might not win a speed contest against a Ducati, but would dance circles around it in the dirt.

  “How far?” I asked.

  “How far what?”

  “How far did you drive us?”

  “Far. Over five hundred kilometers. I had to be careful. You were, what do you say? Passed out. We are now in Geyikli. This is where we begin our search.”

  “Search?” I probed.

  “Please. Don’t bullshit me.”

  Meryem reached into her handbag and pulled out Tesla’s journal.

  “I read your book last night. I know everything about you, Mr. Raptor.”

  Chapter 20

  I SMILED AT Meryem. Clearly she had done her due diligence.

  “So what else do you know about me?” I asked.

  “You like your iPhone. You don’t carry many clean clothes. Your allegiances are complicated.”

  I thought about it. Now was as good a time as any to press the issue. If she was going to find me out, I preferred she do it now, while I stood a fighting chance.

  “Am I supposed to know what you mean by that?”

  She shrugged.

  “Please. Everybody’s allegiances are complicated. You would not have contacted us if my government’s goals were not aligned with your, how shall we say it, personal mission? Together we shall find what you seek.”

  “And what is it you think I seek?” I said.

  “The same as everyone. Love, wealth, happiness, and perhaps this…” she said.

  Meryem took out her smartphone and flashed a picture at me. It was the same faded, color photograph that Crust had shown me in the surveillance van. The one with the metal tower against a bleak backdrop.

  “Walk with me,” I said.

  WE WALKED BECAUSE I wanted to control the environment. I didn’t know who else was at the safe house, but depending on the turn of the conversation, I liked my chances out in the open better than I did back there. Besides, it was hell of a nice day.

  “I didn’t have a copy of that photo with me. Where did you get it?” I asked.

  “MIT had been looking for the Tesla Device for a long time. Longer than your CIA. Longer than even your Green Dragons,” Meryem said.

  “So what do you know about it?” I asked.

  “The photographic image is the Tesla Device. Circa 1954.”

  As we strolled through the olive grove, I was beginning to form a picture of Jean-Marc’s contact with Meryem in my mind. I didn’t know what they had shared, but I thought we had been correct in assuming the reason for the meet was to establish a working relationship—like a first date.

  “What I’m asking is, what do know about the Device?” I said.

  “Powerful. Dangerous. Many good people have died trying to find it,” she replied.

  I stopped under the shade of an olive tree. I could already tell that it was going to be a hot, dusty day. It was also becoming clear that the Dragons and the CIA weren’t the only ones who wanted the Device. The Turks wanted it too. I judged that my best option was to come clean—or at least as clean as I could.

  “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. Of course we’re looking for the Device. Isn’t everybody?”

  “So you have a special relationship with the Green Dragons, yes?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Spies. Always evading. Please. Answer the question.”

  I didn’t answer. That was one question I didn’t see the upside in responding to. Not at that point.

  “Fine. We play it your way,” Meryem said. “Listen. I don’t care who you work for. I don’t care why you do it. Later, yes, these things will be important. But for now, we have a problem we can help each other solve. For now, we work together. Are we agreed?”

  “Depends,” I said. “You’ve seen my hand. Now show me yours.”

  Meryem stared at me dumbly. Then she raised her hand so I could look at it

  “No, it’s an expression,” I said. “It means —”

  She smiled impishly.

  “Are you screwing with me?” I said.

  She took her hand away.

  “Yes. I am screwing with you,” she said.

  I have to say, I didn’t trust Meryem and I didn’t know whether I ever would. But I was beginning to like her. I liked her when she touched me. I liked the feel of her skin.

  “Listen carefully,” she said. “My people are looking for the Tesla Device. The CIA is looking for the Tesla Device. The Green Dragon group is looking for the Tesla Device. It is a very popular device.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “We believe the Device has been hidden in our country ever since it disappeared in 1955. Because we too have an interest in it, we have gathered information. Information that, in combination with the journal you found, will guarantee us success.”

  “So you say.”

  “You do not sound convinced.”

  “Because I’m not. Suppose we find this thing? What then? Who gets it in the end?”

  “In the end is not now, Mr. Raptor. But because you ask, there is more than one way, how do you say, to skin a cat? Perhaps MIT will be happy with only the design schematics. Perhaps we will share the Device. Collaborate. How do I know?”

  “Fine. Say we put the endgame aside. Convince me then,” I said. “You want to partner up? Show me what you’ve got.”

  Meryem turned away.

  “The information I have been given says that the Tesla Device consists of two parts. A pair of remote triggers used to fire the Device and a spherical focusing array from which the charge is expelled. Both components are necessary for the Device to function. Our job is to find these things.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “That’s your information? Do you really think I didn’t already know that?”
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  I thought back to a sketch in the journal that showed what looked like two brick-shaped mechanisms connected by a long cable to the sphere. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think that the mechanisms represented the triggers wired into the focusing array. The thing was, Turkey was a large country and, in terms of actually finding the Device, I had very little more to go on. It would be a big task, some might say an impossible one, to locate the components before anyone else. Regardless of the challenges, I was dealing with a weapon of mass destruction. Failure could mean a massive loss of life.

  I watched Meryem kick at the ground below the olive tree. There was a terra-cotta-colored rock there, but as she kicked it with her sneaker, a little more of the rock was revealed, followed by a little more. Soon I saw that it wasn’t a rock at all, but a baked clay tube, like a piece of drain tile.

  “My country is a very old place,” Meryem said. “You see this rock? I don’t know what you call it.”

  “It looks like a tile. A drain tile.”

  “Yes, this drain tile. You know what it is for?”

  “The sewer generally. They’re used to connect septic lines from a house to the city sewer system.”

  “But you know what it is for?”

  “I have a general idea.”

  “It is for shit. Shit flows through this pipe. But this is the difference between your country and my country. In America, the sewer pipes, they are new. Here, this piece of pipe is from the Greeks or the Romans, I do not know. What I am saying is, the shit has been flowing through my country for many thousands of years. Do you know what this means?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “My people, we are enthusiasts, no, we are experts in bullshit. When we see it, we know it. Do you know what I am telling you?”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter?”

  “Yes. You understand. That is the expression I was looking for. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. As long as we tell each other the truth, we will get along. Are you at peace with this, Mr. Raptor?”

  I didn’t need to think about it. “I am.”

  “Then come,” she said. “I will show you my hand.”