Deep State (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 4)

by Oliver Tidy

‘You killed her?’

  ‘Them.’

  Zeynep made a face of non-understanding at Acer. He held up a finger to her: I’ll explain after.

  ‘You killed Kemal? Why did you do that, Mr Sansom?’ Oktay’s tone was hard, accusing.

  ‘To stop him from killing me. He seemed quite intent on it. Quite serious. Would you know anything about that?’

  ‘No. Of course, not.’ Oktay’s tone had softened to be something reasonable.

  ‘I hope not. That would not fit with our trust-building exercise, would it?’

  ‘I give you my word, Mr Sansom. Kemal could be a little. . . impetuous. Given to misguided initiatives.’

  ‘What shall I do with them? There could be difficulties with a quick repatriation of both.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that neither of their deaths is going to make a myopic police probationer on his first day think either was of natural causes, never mind a trained pathologist. It’s just the way it turned out. Your sister was resourceful and not easy to kill. She just refused to hold still.’

  There was a drawn-out silence. Acer let it draw. He realised he was giving Oktay a big decision to make with little time to consider it.

  Acer said, ‘I can either bury them or leave them to be discovered as they are.’

  ‘Leave them,’ said Oktay.

  Acer guessed the man was thinking that discovery would lead to local news reporting, something he would be able to check up on remotely through the Internet.

  ‘Send me images of their bodies.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Just do it, Mr Sansom.’ Oktay sounded a little irritable.

  Acer said, ‘When I’m finished here, I’m coming back for my daughter. That’s still the deal, right?’

  ‘Of course. Keep Kemal’s phone. Let me know when you are back in Istanbul. I can arrange to have you collected and brought here.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Acer terminated the call.

  Zeynep said, ‘Why did you change things? Why tell him you killed Kemal?’

  ‘I want a reason not to trust him when I get back to Istanbul. I want a reason not to go to Heybeliada. We all know there’s a high probability he won’t keep his side of the bargain, if he’s got me on my own.’

  Mo said, ‘It was a good move.’

  Acer said, ‘He didn’t seem very upset to lose his cousin.’

  Zeynep said, ‘There is only one person my brother cares about: himself. Everyone else, no matter how closely related, is expendable. That’s always been his way.’

  ***

  14

  They were not able to park close to the boat. But there were trolleys that boat owners could use to transport heavier stuff to their vessels. With little else for it, Acer stuffed the well-wrapped and still-flexible corpse of Kemal into one of them and pushed him down to the marina. Nobody gave him a second look. Just a boat owner going about his business. Stocking up on this and that.

  With Kemal stowed safely aboard, they headed out into the channel. Once clear of the speed-restricted area, Mo opened the throttles and pointed the boat in the direction of the sun and the open sea.

  As the boat skimmed across the water, Acer looped a long length of heavy galvanised chain around Kemal’s tarpaulin shroud.

  Far enough from the shore so as not to be seen, Mo cut the engine revs back to ticking over and they began to drift. The sea was calm but the little boat still rocked dangerously with the gentle rise and fall of the water, like something breathing deeply in its sleep.

  Acer eased Kemal over the side. His body hit the water with a dull splash. Acer and Zeynep watched it quickly disappear into the murky gloom.

  Acer said, ‘He was your cousin, too, wasn’t he?’

  Zeynep said, ‘In name only. Real family don’t fly to the other side of the world to kill each other.’ She turned away from the water and signalled to Mo that they should go.

  They headed straight back to the marina on the same direct line they took out of it. Their lie of a phone call regarding something needing their urgent attention was ready to be run out for anyone nosey enough to ask why they were back so soon. No one did. For Acer, the disposal of a dead body had been chillingly simple.

  They traded phone numbers and agreed that they wouldn’t talk again until they were at the airport unless they needed to.

  *

  Back on the mainland, Acer drove straight back to the hotel. The marketplace on the ground floor seemed to be doing a good trade. He cleared his and Kemal’s rooms and settled their bill. The day shift was on and looking harassed. No one asked about Acer’s earlier-than-expected departure. The food smells that wafted up to the floor of the hotel encouraged Acer to head down for something to eat.

  On the drive back to the airport, Acer dumped Kemal’s bag in a roadside dumpster. He’d removed anything that could lead to the owner of the contents being identified. Those few items he distributed among other bins along the way. He kept only one thing: the charger for Kemal’s phone.

  With three hours to spare before their flight left Vancouver International Airport, Acer was sitting in one of the airport’s bars drinking beer, which he hoped would help him to sleep on the plane. He saw Zeynep and Mo in a coffee shop across the eating area. They acknowledged each other with brief nods and nothing else.

  ***

  Day 3

  15

  Despite sleeping most of the long flight from Vancouver to London, Acer was feeling jaded when the second, shorter flight touched down on the European side of Istanbul at Istanbul Atatürk Airport. It was almost midnight local time. He guessed that crossing multiple time zones in a short time – plus the chemicals he’d been injected with that were probably still in his system – were all having an effect on his body clock.

  They met up outside the terminal. Zeynep waved along a taxi from the rank and they shared an expensive ride to the Anatolian side of Istanbul. They hardly exchanged a word the whole way.

  Zeynep instructed the driver to take them to the Hotel Suadiye – a hotel that overlooked the Sea of Marmara and had a view of the Princes’ Islands.

  They arrived in the early hours of the morning. The night staff let them in and saw to their luggage. They went to their rooms with an arrangement to meet in the restaurant at eight o’clock in the morning.

  Acer’s room on a high floor faced the sea. Showered and ready for bed, he turned out the lights and stood at the open sliding doors to the Juliet balcony staring out at the Princes’ Islands, twinkling with thousands of lights, just a short boat ride away. His thoughts were occupied with his daughter and how he could get her back. He did not believe that Kaan Oktay was the kind of man to honour his word if it did not suit him. But that did not stop him from hoping.

  Mrs Botha had made it clear that Oktay did not view Pearl’s continued presence on the island as something desirable. Might it not just be easier for the man to simply give Acer his daughter and then a ride to the island’s ferry port?

  Life had taught Acer to hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Hoping for the best in this case was easy enough; but without an idea of what he could do if things didn’t go well made preparing for the worst something temporarily impossible.

  As he considered these things, he came back to another cornerstone of his thinking where his daughter’s emotional welfare was concerned: she didn’t know him. That was something easily rectifiable with time under the right conditions. The right conditions would not involve Pearl being taken away from the woman she believed was her mother, someone whom Acer had immediately seen she had a close emotional bond with. Her ‘siblings’, too, would be part of those right conditions – all of them living together free from the domineering patriarchal influence of the Oktay men, with their warped ideas of family values.

  Acer understood that for the sake of his daughter, for the sake of any chance of a healthy relationship that he might be able to build with her, he was going to have
to leave Heybeliada with Mrs Botha and all of her children.

  ***

  16

  Acer’s enquiries told him the women had chosen to breakfast on the roof terrace of the hotel. He went up to join them. Zeynep and Mo were not the only ones up there taking advantage of the sun’s early morning warmth and the spectacular views across the sea. They welcomed him to their table.

  Acer sat. ‘What a view. What a beautiful morning.’

  Mo said, ‘It’s not British Columbia, but it’s not bad.’

  Acer smiled at her. ‘After less than a day in Canada, I know what you mean. I’d like to go back sometime. For longer. With my daughter.’ To Zeynep, he said, ‘Did you grow up in Istanbul?’

  With a mouthful of orange juice, she nodded. ‘I was born and raised on Heybeliada. Did you see much of the island?’

  Acer shook his head. ‘Next to nothing. The boat that took me there went straight around to the back and the private bay of your family’s home.’

  ‘It’s a time warp of a place.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘There are no cars on the roads, for a start, only on private property. Transport is limited to things without engines – mostly it’s horse and cart and bicycles. It makes it quiet and peaceful and relaxed – and the tourists love it.’

  ‘You sound like you don’t.’

  ‘I do. But it wasn’t a place that I wanted to live my whole life. Not with my family.’

  ‘Is that what would have happened if you hadn’t left?’

  Zeynep shrugged. ‘Either that or an arranged marriage. And we can all guess how that would have turned out.’

  A waiter arrived at their table. Zeynep ordered for all of them and he went away.

  Acer looked across the sea towards the islands. ‘Are they all inhabited?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did your family come to live there?’

  ‘My grandfather – my father’s father – was a very well connected and powerful man in Istanbul. The Princes’ Islands were popular weekend retreats with the rich and influential members of the city back then. If you were anyone in Istanbul in those days you had property on the islands.’

  ‘Having seen your family’s home, I can imagine your grandfather must have been a big player.’

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Healthy appetites, it seemed, had not been affected by what had happened in the last hours of their shared time together or at the prospect of what was to come.

  When the waiting staff had moved away, Zeynep said, ‘Do you have any idea what we can do?’

  Acer smiled at the directness of the question. ‘Yesterday, it was all about getting my daughter back. Last night I fully realised that it needs to be more than that. My daughter doesn’t know me. I can just imagine the emotional stress she’d suffer if she was suddenly wrenched from the woman who is to all intents and purposes her mother now and dragged off kicking and screaming by a strange man.’

  Mo said, ‘You’re saying that you need to take the mother, too.’

  ‘And her children. At least it ties in with why you’ve come back, Zeynep. We have a common goal, just different motives.’

  Zeynep said, ‘I can tell you now, they are not going to let my sister and her children just leave. No way. I know how the men in my family think. Despite what they feel for my sister for marrying a foreigner, they won’t let her go. Because she’s got sons. Those boys, my father’s grandsons, my brother’s nephews, will be marked for being active in the family business interests when the time comes. Using family is how my father has always ensured loyalty. Good, well-brought-up Turkish family men cannot be corrupted by outside influences. They are loyal to the blood. It’s an archaic notion, but highly effective.’

  Mo said, ‘So where does that leave us?’

  To Acer, Zeynep said, ‘We both want my sister and her family off the island. That is our common objective. But don’t forget I have another reason for being here: me. What you said back home was true – I’ve had enough of living in fear from assassins. I’m also here to put a stop to that.’

  Acer said, ‘Putting a stop to it how? You think you can negotiate with your brother?’

  Zeynep shook her head and smiled without humour. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Violence?’ Acer had lowered his voice and stopped eating. ‘You’re thinking of, what, killing him?’

  ‘Isn’t that what he’s been trying to do to me? Why do you look so shocked?’

  Acer looked at Mo for support and got no encouragement. He realised that he had no idea of how it must have been for these two women, just trying to get on with their lives and having to periodically defend themselves with lethal force against men who had come to kill one of them. Sooner or later they would lose a bout and each other.

  Acer said, ‘I understand. But could there be another way – something that doesn’t risk serious injury or worse for any of us or a long time rotting in a Turkish prison?’

  Mo said, ‘What other way is there? If he won’t be reasoned with, he has to be stopped.’

  ‘Does it have to be with violence?’ said Acer.

  Mo said, ‘You have a better idea?’

  ‘What about persuasion?’

  ‘Isn’t that the same as trying to reason with him?’

  ‘Sometimes. I’m thinking, what if we have something to persuade him to see things our way? Some form of leverage.’

  Zeynep said, ‘It would need to be something with some long-term prospects.’

  Mo said, ‘Like kidnapping someone he cares about?’

  ‘No. Not that. Too many risks. I don’t want to drag other, potentially innocent people, into this. And you can’t hold on to someone indefinitely,’ said Acer.

  Mo said, ‘A trade of something?’

  Acer shook his head. ‘When he got what he wanted, there’d be nothing to stop him going after all of us. And I don’t want to be living my life like you have. Not with a daughter.’

  ‘What about blackmail?’ said Zeynep.

  ‘Would be better. Could be perfect. If we could get our hands on something incriminating – information that could prove highly damaging to your family if it were to come into the public domain. Something with a long shelf life. Something we could lodge with a third party for distribution should an accident befall any of us.’

  Mo turned to Zeynep. ‘Any ideas?’

  Zeynep was quiet and still. Her eyes had taken on a distant look. Mo and Acer shared a glance and waited.

  Zeynep reached for her orange juice and took a sip. She put it down and said, ‘Maybe.’ But she wasn’t smiling.

  ***

  17

  Zeynep said, ‘How familiar are you both with the political situation in Turkey?’

  Acer said, ‘I know next to nothing about it.’

  Mo shook her head and turned down the corners of her mouth.

  Zeynep said, ‘Have either of you heard of the term deep state?’

  Acer said, ‘Do you mean the existence of a state within a state?’

  Zeynep nodded, encouraging him to say more.

  He said, ‘The idea is that a group of highly influential people from all walks of life – military, police, judiciary, civilians – are somehow working together outside the rule of law to pull society’s strings, to control things. It’s something beyond any country’s legally elected leadership. It’s clandestine and usually self-serving. It’s also something of an urban myth.’

  Zeynep said, ‘You’re right about the details, mostly. And in some countries it might be a convenient conspiracy theory. In Turkey, deep state has long been recognised as something very real.’

  The coffee arrived.

  Zeynep said, ‘In Turkey, deep state exists. Believe it. It’s an entrenched and influential underground network of military personnel and their civilian allies who have been operating outside the law for decades.’

  Acer said, ‘To what end?’

  ‘Essentially, to protect the se
cular order of Turkey established in 1923 by Atatürk. Deep state has had the power to destabilize governments not to their liking.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By circulating political propaganda, interfering with the economy, inciting sabotage, engaging in terrorist acts that caused substantial loss of life, and assassinating dozens of high-profile individuals – dissident political leaders, intellectuals and journalists, for example.’

  Mo said, ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely. They’ve used the media to exaggerate threats to the country’s security from individuals and organisations inside and outside Turkey. Most of the newspapers and television stations at the time were pro-military. They would run the stories they were told to, targeting and discrediting people as the military directed. Provocateurs carried out acts of violence or simply invented threats of social unrest from minority and extremist groups.

  ‘Everything was designed to create a backlash in society, to frighten the public. That would then allow the military to step in, claiming that they were acting in the public interest, maybe suppressing anarchy – saviours of the Turkish people and the Turkish Republic. They were ruthless with those singled out as threats – and because of the seeds of propaganda that had been sown beforehand, they often had public approval.’

  Mo said, ‘How were the military able to behave like that? As though legally elected officials and governments counted for nothing?’

  Zeynep smiled at her. ‘In the eighties, on the back of a coup that killed and imprisoned thousands, the military rewrote the constitution to grant it the explicit right to overthrow civilian governments.’

  Mo said, ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that. As I said, it started out as something honourable, if it could ever have been such a thing – a group of like-minded powerful people intent on protecting the secular state of the new Turkey introduced by Atatürk.’

  ‘Protecting it from who?’ said Mo.

  ‘Protecting it from the threat of what they saw as the unhelpful and destructive influence of a fundamentally Islamic-motivated political system that was lurking on Turkey’s borders. These people came from institutions, including national newspapers, big family owned holding companies and the heads of the country’s leading universities. Unelected people. People with no interest in pursuing a career in politics but who wanted to dabble in it for their own purposes. White Turks; everyone else is a Black Turk.’