The Cyprus Coverup

by Ethan Jones

  Justin glanced over his shoulder, trying to be as discreet as possible. He did not want to draw the cabbie’s suspicions. But the man was very observant, because he asked, “Everything wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” Justin replied. “Checking out the city.”

  “This first time?”

  “Yes, my first time in Istanbul.”

  “What your work?”

  “I’m a photographer. I take pictures for magazines.” Justin tapped the Nikon camera with a long lens hanging around his neck, completing his tourist look.

  “What magazine?”

  “National Geographic. Ever heard of it?”

  The driver shook his head.

  Justin did not expect him to. A part of Justin’s cover when traveling to hot areas was that he worked as a freelance photographer and reporter for National Geographic. That cover offered him the credible explanation for taking pictures and asking questions. The CIS had provided him with authentic-looking credentials from National Geographic Canada. The phone number on Justin’s business card would ring at a CIS Ottawa desk, where the officer would verify Justin’s story. His cover was solid.

  Justin shifted in his seat and glanced again through the back window. A silver SUV was gliding right behind them, keeping up with the taxi’s dangerously high speed. Justin peered hard, but could not make out the facial features of the driver. He tried to focus his camera, but the foggy windows and the rainstorm made it impossible to take a clear picture.

  He wondered if that was a team from the Milli Istihbarat Teskilati or MIT, the Turkish intelligence agency, or another Turkish security agency following them. The passport officer may have flagged my passport for a thorough check, and they’ve matched my photo to their records. Justin nodded. That would explain the SUV.

  But he could not be certain. It was difficult to determine surveillance, especially now that they were zipping along the three-lane E5 Highway, where all vehicles followed one another, traveling at about the same speed and in one direction. The taxi driver was not the fastest on the road. Others were zooming past him, and three other vehicles were right behind the SUV. Justin doubted they were all following him.

  So he needed to verify his suspicions. Then, depending on the result, he could determine his next move.

  Justin waited for another five minutes, while casting the occasional glance and taking the rare picture. The silver SUV was still there, about twenty yards behind them, maintaining a constant speed and staying on the same lane. And so were two other vehicles.

  Justin leaned forward and said to the driver, “You know that coffee we were talking about?”

  The driver shook his head. “Coffee . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I’d like some coffee. Let’s stop somewhere.”

  “Now?” The driver arched his eyebrows.

  “Yes. Find some good place, with excellent coffee. Away from the highway.”

  “Sure, sure. Excellency coffee, for my friend. What is name?”

  “Clint.” Justin gave him the false name on his passport.

  “Oh, Clint, the movie actor, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know Clint Eastwood, yes.” The driver smiled and cleared his throat. “Go ahead, make my day,” he said in a sad attempt to imitate the movie star.

  “Very good,” Justin said.

  He was glad his real name was not Clint. It would be insufferable to hear Eastwood one-liners for the rest of his life.

  Justin said, “So about that coffee?”

  “Yes, coffee. Next exit we try.”

  “Good.”

  Justin glanced another time over his shoulder. The SUV was still there.

  A couple of minutes later, the driver switched lanes. He slowed down as he entered the exit ramp. Justin drew in a deep breath and turned his head around.

  The SUV had also moved to the ramp.

  Coincidence? I don’t think so. But we’ll find out in a moment.

  Chapter Ten

  February 11

  Ismail Erez Boulevard

  Istanbul, Turkey

  The taxi driver stopped on Ismail Erez Boulevard, a few blocks south of the highway, near Lunapark Amusement Park. Loud music and bright lights came from the park, although the sidewalks leading to it were almost empty. The driver nodded toward a small café to the right, across the park. “Excellent coffee? Here, this café.”

  Justin nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “No, wait, wait, I park.”

  He turned left and entered the almost-full gravel parking lot. The rain had slowed down, but heavy drops still pitter-pattered on Justin as he stepped outside. The air was heavy with humidity. He avoided a couple of puddles, then casually cast a quick glance around.

  The silver SUV had followed them and was now coasting along the boulevard. At this point, Justin was almost positive the vehicle was tracking him. But he needed one last piece of evidence. If the SUV was still on their tail after Justin and the driver had enjoyed their coffee, there was no doubt the people in the SUV were surveillants.

  The driver offered Justin a large umbrella, but he shrugged it off. “You need it too.”

  “Old man no fear rain.” The driver tapped his chest.

  Justin smiled. “Young man no fear rain either.”

  They both laughed.

  The driver closed the umbrella and hurried toward the café.

  Justin followed behind.

  The café was packed with men smoking, drinking, and chatting noisily. Justin saw no women as he walked next to the driver, who found a seat near the counter. He waved at the bartender, who nodded back.

  Justin sat across from the driver and glanced at the door. He was not expecting anyone from the SUV to walk in, but he had been surprised one too many times. Then he returned his eyes to the driver, who gave him a nod. “Coffee come soon.”

  Justin shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry.”

  A few moments later, a middle-aged man appeared tableside. He began to talk to the driver in Turkish. Justin recognized the word “coffee” and read the driver’s hand gestures. When the man glanced at Justin, he said, “A strong coffee?”

  “Where are you from?” the man asked in heavily accented English.

  “Canada.”

  “Oh, Canada. Vancouver?”

  Justin shook his head. “No.”

  “I have family in Vancouver. They say is a great city, but it rains too much.”

  “It does rain a lot, yes.”

  “Anything in your coffee?”

  “No, just black and strong.”

  “The one we make has a horse-kick punch. Will keep you up all night.”

  “I like that.”

  “I warned you.” The middle-aged man grinned, showing Justin his yellow crooked teeth.

  The driver waved at one of patrons and stood up. “I come back. You stay.”

  Justin nodded. He tried not to cough as the smell of smoke assaulted his nostrils. He sat back and looked around, observing the people. The driver exchanged a hug with the patron who had waved, and sat at their table.

  Justin returned his eyes to the door that had just opened. A young man in a dark blue jacket entered in. His hair was wet, and he seemed to have been sprinting, considering his heaving chest and his reddish face. Is he one of the surveillants making sure I’m not sneaking out a back door?

  Justin feigned paying attention to a large portrait of a gray-mustached man with receding hair, who had an aura of solemnity. The Prime Minister or the President? But he kept an eye on the red-faced man, who kept his head down, stealing glances and trying to appear secretive about it.

  He was doing a poor job.

  The man’s eyes met Justin’s for a split second, then the man looked away. It was enough for Justin to confirm his doubts. The man had come inside the café to check on Justin.

  He shook his head. It was a big mistake following him into the café. If I’d been running the surveillance, I would have sent him around the
back of the building. He wouldn’t have been burned.

  The waiter brought their coffees in two small porcelain cups and saucers decorated with a beautiful flowery motif. Justin took a small sip. The coffee was very bitter, but also very strong. He could almost feel the caffeine rushing through his body. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, because I know I’m being followed by Turkish secret services.

  The driver returned to the table and brought the cup to his mouth. “What did I said? Most excellency coffee, right? Right?” he said cheerfully in his broken English.

  “Yes, the best.” Justin nodded.

  He sipped it slowly, but without any enjoyment. His mind began to run different scenarios on how to evade the surveillance. He had already decided not to let the opposition know that he knew about their presence. At this point, it would not serve any purpose. The surveillants would call another team, which most likely was not far away. Justin would not go too far on foot, and he did not feel like hijacking or robbing the taxi driver who had been so kind to him. Once I’m close to the hotel. Then I can lose them.

  He nodded to himself as he finished the last of his coffee. “Ready to go?” he asked and pulled out his wallet.

  “Yes, we go, but I pay,” the driver said.

  He paid the bartender and waved “goodbye” to his friend.

  Back in the taxi, Justin turned to a detailed map of Istanbul on his phone. As the driver began their race toward the Novotel Hotel, Justin began to look for the right location for his exit. A place with at least a couple of intersections and a lot of meandering back alleys. If it was near a bazaar or a large public square, that would be even better.

  He kept flicking and tapping the map until he found what he deemed suitable for his objective.

  Yes, that’s my way out.

  Chapter Eleven

  February 11

  Aksu Avenue

  One block away from the Velifendi Hippodrome

  Istanbul, Turkey

  Justin glanced around as the taxi drew near the hippodrome. The area was surrounded by a series of industrial businesses and warehouses. Further to the south and the east, there were houses and apartment buildings. If he could put some distance between himself and the SUV, he could lose them.

  So he reached for his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He was not sure how much the fare was, as he had not asked the driver about it. But Justin felt that would be sufficient. “You can drop me off here.”

  “What?”

  “I will get out here.”

  “Why? Not close to Novotel.”

  “I changed my mind. Your money. Stop there.” Justin gestured with his hand up ahead and to the right near the entrance to what looked like a warehousing complex.

  “I . . . I don’t—”

  “Just stop the car, okay? Now, stop.”

  The driver hit the brakes.

  Justin shoved the money in the driver’s hand. “Thanks for the ride. Keep the change.”

  He opened the door and bolted outside.

  The taxi driver said, “Your bag and camera, hey . . .”

  Justin shrugged. He could easily replace the clothes in his suitcase. There was nothing classified or sensitive in there. The camera was expensive, but it would be unwieldy. His wallet, passports, and cellphone were in his jacket pockets. That was all he needed.

  He dashed toward the warehouse gate. The rain had made the rusty iron slippery, but Justin had no problem scaling it. He dropped onto the other side and ran toward the nearest building.

  A few men were huddled near a large truck loaded with lumber and other construction material. Justin slowed his pace, so he would not draw their attention, then walked in the other direction.

  Once he reached the corner of the building, he broke into a fast sprint toward the other side of the fence. His plan was simple: confuse the surveillance. If he gave them the impression he had disappeared inside the warehouse complex, they would search it, while Justin escaped through the adjacent neighborhood.

  He heard loud shouts and honking coming from behind him. The fence was but a dozen or so steps away. He was not sure he could make it and disappear without being seen. There was a small clearing on the other side. If someone was already following Justin, they would certainly see him.

  So he walked alongside the building and rounded the corner. A small truck was parked on that side and two men were standing and smoking next to it. Thankfully, they did not see Justin. He dropped behind the truck and circled around it.

  He was in the open now, so again he slowed down and headed toward the next building. This one was to his left, parallel with the other building, and the fence was behind it. Justin waved at a man driving a forklift, then cut behind it with a hurried step. He reached the second building and peeked around the corner.

  The red-faced man that Justin had seen at the café was talking to a couple of men. One of them was pointing toward the other building.

  Justin cursed under his breath.

  I’ve got to get out of here.

  He waited for a moment for the coast to clear.

  The red-faced man and the duo disappeared inside the building.

  Good.

  He zipped toward the fence.

  Justin was halfway there when angry shouts rang out from behind him. He did not look back and did not slow down.

  He was almost at the chain-link fence when a bullet whizzed past his head.

  Justin redoubled his efforts. His right hand grabbed at the fence, and he lifted himself up. He ignored the pain shooting through his left hand, still in the splint, and used the hand to throw himself onto the other side.

  He rolled onto the wet grass as another bullet struck close to his body. Justin was not sure if the surveillants were trying to kill him or just slow him down. It did not matter; he was not going to hang around to find out.

  He dove into the nearest shrubs, then sidestepped a pile of garbage and debris. No more bullets hit around him, at least none that he could tell. When he reached a couple of rusty, abandoned vehicles, he glanced back.

  The red-faced man was scrambling to climb the fence.

  Justin shook his head. I wish I had my Sig with me.

  He resumed his sprint, this time heading straight for the neighborhood. While he might outrun the red-faced man, Justin would have no chance against the SUV. The rest of the team was probably racing toward his location. He glanced to the left and then to the right.

  The silver SUV turned a corner, about a hundred yards to his right.

  Yes, change of plans.

  As he entered the neighborhood, he slowed down his pace and began to look around for a vehicle. In front of a convenience store, he saw a couple of young men getting out of their car. It was a white Chevy sedan. Yes, that will do, at least for now.

  Justin ran toward the men. “Hand me the keys,” he said in Arabic and pointed at the car.

  The driver shrugged, while his friend replied in Turkish, which Justin did not understand.

  “I need your car,” Justin said in English. “The keys.”

  “Go away, you drunk,” the driver replied.

  Justin shook his head. “Sorry about this.”

  “About what?” the driver asked.

  Justin reached for the keys in the driver’s right hand. When he tried to stop him, Justin gave the driver a shove. He came back with a fist, which Justin easily deflected with his right arm. Then he hit the driver in the chest. A light punch, not to hurt him, but to highlight Justin’s insistence.

  “Don’t make this harder. Hand me the keys.”

  The driver threw another fist that connected with Justin’s back. He struck the driver again, harder this time. The blow knocked him to the ground, and the keys flew out of his hand.

  Before Justin could pick them up, the driver’s friend came from around the Chevy. He had produced a switchblade and was waving it menacingly in front of his face.

  Justin said, “Put it away before someone gets hurt.”

&n
bsp; “I will cut your face,” the man shouted.

  He charged at Justin and stabbed at him. Justin stepped to the side and blocked the knife with his right arm. He kicked the man in the stomach and twisted his arm. The knife and the man dropped to the ground.

  Justin picked up the keys, then kicked the knife away from the two men groaning in pain. “Stay down,” he shouted at them.

  As he slid inside the car, three other men rushed out of a nearby café. Justin turned the key. The engine came to life. Justin stepped on the gas as one of the men slammed his fist against the side window.

  The Chevy picked up speed. Justin drove down the narrow street, then glanced at the rearview mirror. Two of the men had given up chasing the car, but the third was determined to keep trying. Justin eased up on the gas as he came to an intersection, then turned left, heading south.

  Just as he began to switch lanes, he noticed a silver SUV coming up fast to his right. It took Justin a split second to confirm it was the SUV that had been following him the entire time. He frowned and punched the horn.

  The van in front of him slowed down even more.

  Justin turned the wheel to the right, but a black-and-yellow city bus zoomed through that lane. He edged forward slowly, but a truck was speeding behind the bus. Justin would not be able to make it.

  So he jerked the wheel again and made the only move he could: drive into oncoming traffic.

  Chapter Twelve

  February 11

  Aksu Avenue

  Istanbul, Turkey

  Justin was lucky enough to squeeze into a gap between a small truck and a taxi. He yanked at the wheel and attempted to switch lanes.

  He was a split second too late.

  An oncoming SUV side-swiped the Chevy.

  The minor crash was sufficient to send him toward an incoming van.

  Justin stepped on the brakes, then swung the wheel. He drove over the dividing lane, banging against the nearest car and pushing it to the side. The maneuver secured him just enough space to avoid a head-on collision with the van. It zoomed passed to the left, smashing the side mirror.