The Gigolo Murder

by Mehmet Murat Somer

  Chapter 14

  An analog phone line would be preferable, even though it would be a slow connection. It’s easier to detect someone—or be detected—on a digital line. The very fact that analog lines are so old and inefficient is a kind of built-in security system.

  I took the office laptop away with me. Then I visited a few of the Internet cafés in Beşiktaş where students hang out. They all have digital lines. But I was certain there were still analog lines in use; Cihad2000 lived in Beşiktaş and he had both types. The last café I entered was nearly full, with groups of teenagers gathered in front of each screen.

  The cubicles were tiny, and by massing in front of the screens the students concealed them completely. Their silence, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath, made me doubt whether they were in the café to do their homework.

  I found an empty computer near the door. There would be a lot of traffic behind me, but it was worth a try. And it wasn’t as though the content on my screen would attract attention. First I tried out the connection on the PC. Analog, just as I’d hoped. I turned on my laptop as well.

  I opened a few browsers, so that if someone suddenly appeared behind me, I could switch to an innocent music, travel, or news Web site. The connection was slow, and the PC antique. I connected the PC to the laptop. Identity shield safely in place, I began browsing in security.

  The first of the numbers Money-counter Ali had given me worked at the first try. The site was not open to the public. I had been connected to a modem line that had been left open. It would make my job much easier.

  Fine. I would cause the entire system to crash and not leave a trace of data behind, but I couldn’t help having a peek at what I was about to obliterate. The connection was strangely primitive, full of redirections and substandard shield programs. It was obviously an outdated example of amateur software. The first image on the screen was a long list. A long list of numbers.

  I scanned through the programs in order to get a better understanding of what they could be. The numbers were too long and irregular to be bank accounts. I began looking for alphabetical characters. I was in no hurry; I was just beginning.

  One of the young café workers suddenly asked me if I’d like anything to drink. I looked nothing like the others at the café, and he wasn’t about to leave me in peace and forgo the prospect of a tip.

  “What have you got?” I asked.

  Stuffing both hands into his jeans pockets, he shrugged slightly.

  “Tea . . . Nescafé . . . cola . . .ayran . . .”

  There was no need to cause a stir by asking if they had herbal tea. My outfit and open laptop connected to their PC already had marked me as slightly unconventional. Asking for a cup of fennel tea would have been downright eccentric.

  Tea would be too cheap to justify a generous tip, so I opted for a cola. “Not too cold,” I added.

  I would have to leave my work and surf through other sites until the pimply youth returned with my refreshment. He reappeared in no time, his grubby fingers touching the yellow straw in my can of cola. I thanked him and asked how much.

  “Pay on your way out,” he said.

  Alone and undisturbed once again, I got back to work. Lists of numbers were still flowing down the screen. If they were a code of some kind, it would be a tough nut to crack. We hadn’t agreed to anything like that. They’d asked us to crash their system, not decipher it. What’s more, I had no way of even knowing if it was in fact their system.

  I activated a search program to locate any letters. The first characters seemed randomly ordered. Then I identified names followed by cities and fragments of sentences. In the search program, I entered the first name that came to mind: Haluk Pekerdem. While that name was never far from my thoughts, it didn’t appear on the screen. Deciding to be more rational, I canceled the search. If I was looking at bank account numbers, the name Faruk Hanoğlu would be more likely to appear. I entered his name and waited. I believe in coincidence: There before me, clear as day, was the name Faruk Hanoğlu.

  Now I was truly intrigued. What was Faruk’s name doing in this system, and what kind of system was it anyway? I’d crash the whole thing, as agreed, but I could well find something useful before I did so. There was no way for me to transfer all the data to my laptop. It didn’t have the hard disk space. What laptop does?

  Something told me the information before me was valuable. It would be foolish to destroy something that could be of use to me later. But I had promised Ali. The terms of the agreement were that I would crash the system that night. I had a few more hours. In any case, in the name of professionalism, if nothing else, I would have to become better acquainted with the system in order to ensure that I didn’t leave behind any virtual fingerprints.

  In order to get my thoughts in order, I imagined I was a game-show contestant faced with four alternatives: a) simply look the other way and delete all the data on my screen; b) somehow create a copy for my personal use at a later date, then delete the data; c) drop the whole project and face the consequences—even knowing as I did that the client would then employ Cihad2000 to get the job done; d) meet with Faruk Hanoğlu immediately, and let the shit hit the fan.

  Openly courting danger, that is; meeting now with Faruk Hanoğlu, who was a chief suspect in the case, would be ill-advised, to say the least. And compressing and copying the enormous system before me would be next to impossible in the time frame allotted. Not only would it take all night, but I’d have to locate a state-of-the-art computer with an expanded capacity. And I didn’t have the option of merely trying to copy the bits that seemed important; I still had no idea what the file after file of numbers and names contained or what it all meant. And time was running out.

  Cihad2000 was the only person who could help me. But getting him involved would be tricky, and I cringed at the thought of what he would then demand of me. I tried and failed to come up with alternative plans of action. There was no one to turn to for help but Cihad2000. I knew exactly how to enlist his help; seducing him would be easy enough. But I shuddered at the thought of coming up with the goods once our work was done.

  Dispensing with security precautions, I entered a private chat room where I knew he always he lurks.

  Good evening, sweetie,

  I began.

  There was no way he wouldn’t recognize me. He immediately sent me an impressive float.

  where are you? that’s not your address!

  Clever boy; he’d already checked where I’d logged in. Ignoring his question, I got straight to the point.

  help!

  I need your help now

  are you free?

  He answered back in a wink of the eye.

  when have i ever refused you

  but you’ll have to pay for it

  I wasn’t about to go into more detail; it was too complicated for that.

  Can I pop round?

  NO WAY

  I hadn’t expected to be refused. A wheelchair-bound computer whiz, Cihad2000 was living in Beşiktaş with his parents. The capital letters indicated that he was either about to climax or that something strange was up. I repeated:

  I need your help now

  This time he took some time to respond. Perhaps he really was busy.

  it’s impossible right now

  After a pause, a flood of letters appeared on my screen.

  if it’s what i think it is, stay away!

  they’re dangerous

  stay away!

  It wasn’t like Cihad to pause before writing something. I knew he was monitoring me, but he couldn’t know what I was doing or anything about the files I’d just opened. I’d taken every security precaution. Actually, I reminded myself, I was now chatting from a run-down café. Some security!

  I don’t understand

  what are you talking about

  I need extra storage space

  find me some

  to transfer some data

  I can’t transfer a whole system to a PC


  There was no response for a couple of minutes. Then he sent me a float. Instead of the usual sermons and doomsday quotes, he’d inserted numerals into all the spaces between words and letters. It took me some time to decipher it.

  it’s that client!

  drop it

  or you’ll burn

  so many numbers

  but not the lottery

  stay away

  I was confused. There was no way he could know whether or not we were working on the same project. And even if he was trying to protect me, in the end, we were rivals.

  don’t be an idiot

  don’t you recognize what’s on your screen?

  I finally got it. The numbers he’d sent, which I thought was just an ordinary float, were in fact the database of the system I had set out to destroy.

  what do you think you’re doing?

  get out of my line

  I was cross when I wrote that. Enough was enough. Despite having gone online at a café, he’d still managed to track me down. We were going to have to fight it out once for and all.

  it’s my contract

  YOU SHOULD GET OUT, NOT ME

  And he closed the connection.

  I called him on his private cell phone number.

  “You’re starting to get on my nerves!” I hissed.

  “What do you think you’re doing? This is my contract. What gives you the right to steal my work? It’s mine. I respect you . . . but get lost!”

  “We landed this contract,” I told him. “Don’t try to pinch it. Stop tracking me. The market’s big enough for both of us. You’re always on my tail! I’ve had it. We both lose if we undercut each other.”

  “What do you mean your contract? I closed the deal a week ago and was waiting for an appointment with them. They give me a day and time, and who appears? You!”

  “They gave us an appointment. We’re supposed to finish this in two hours.”

  “Wait a sec,” he said. “Who’s your client?”

  “It’s confidential. Who’s yours?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  Then an outrageous thought occurred to me: Two top-notch hackers employed to do the same job!

  “What exactly did they ask you to do?” I asked. “They wanted me to crash their entire system, with all its data. What did they want you to do? Shield their system?”

  “No, nothing like that,” said Cihad2000. “All they wanted me to do was to create an intermediary link connecting their system to another system at a specified time. Theirs was too unwieldy.”

  “Look,” I said, “I think they’re using us both. Your computer is acting as a sort of intermediary portal, opening up their system to the outside. They’ve assigned you the task of bypassing security. Then I’m supposed to enter through the channel you’ve opened and obliterate the database. Don’t you see? They’re using us both, so we’re both mixed up in this. Neither of us is fully responsible; both of us are kept in the dark. Speaking of which, this whole business is a lot shadier than I’d realized.”

  “You must be serious,” he said. “You haven’t said ayol even once.”

  I had to laugh at that.

  “Technically, what you say is possible,” he continued. “But why would they do it? Why should they pay us both?”

  “I’ve got no idea. But take a look at the connection code they gave you . . .”

  When I read out the code, it was his turn to be stunned.

  “That’s a virtual code I created just for my computer, so they could link to me from abroad.”

  “They told me to use a switching route from overseas, but when I found an analog line I decided not to bother.”

  “So that’s how I found you,” he teased. “You’re not up to snuff these days. You’ve fallen in my eyes.”

  So be it. If I fell in his eyes, maybe he’d get off my back and leave me alone. But it wasn’t just my skill as a hacker that drew him to me.

  “So are you going to store that data for me?” I asked. “Have you got enough space?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s such an old-fashioned database, too clumsy and unwieldy. And the codes are poorly devised. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

  “Don’t you have any idea what it is?”

  “I didn’t really have a good look,” he said. “I was at a video cam site. Two guys were doing the most unspeakable things to each other. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Maybe we can try it sometime.”

  “Don’t even think about it!” I said.

  Cihad2000 is into things like S&M and rubber. That sort of stuff not only fails to turn me on, I don’t even find it interesting.

  I glanced at the clock. I’d been connected to the system for about an hour, Cihad2000 for even longer. If someone was monitoring us, and had even the slightest experience, he would have noticed by now. But there had been no indication that anyone had.

  “I came across a name among the data. I don’t know why, but it caught my eye,” I said. “I’d like to do some further research before I crash the system. If you help me, you may find me a bit more . . . accommodating.”

  “But that’s blackmail!” he sputtered.

  “So what?” I said. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You’re pushing me,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing. The system I was linked to is an outside one. It’s not theirs. And here we both are, doing their bidding . . . Not even knowing who ‘they’ are. I find all these extra security measures a bit alarming. If I were you, I’d finish the job, take my money, and shut up.”

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “We’re getting into hot water here . . . But how can I say no to you? Okay, but I can’t copy the whole thing. Give me that one name.”

  I gave him Faruk’s full name.

  “And,” I added, “Haluk Pekerdem.”

  I couldn’t resist. And if Faruk Hanoğlu was listed, there was every chance Haluk would be too.

  “At your service, your royal highness. Start when the flowers arrive! I’m signing out.”

  The flowers he mentioned appeared on my screen about twenty-five minutes later: a huge bouquet composed of brightly colored characters!

  It was time to get to work. By ten I had sent Ali the agreed-upon text message: “I’m not hungry.” I’d even left the pimply waiter a big tip.

  Chapter 15

  Ponpon was waiting for me at home, in full war paint, ready for battle.

  “I’ve been worried sick,” she said the moment I stepped through the door. “You’ve got a phone. But it’s switched off! I call, no answer. Then I phone Hasan, and he knows nothing. So I try the office . . . Money-counter won’t tell me a thing. I don’t know, he says, and hangs up. I was sure something had happened to you. You’ll drive me crazy yet. It’s not as though you’re in perfect mental health yourself. The least you could do is leave me sane.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That was great for morale.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “So now it’s all my fault! We’ve been friends for decades, so I drop everything and leave my home to come here to yours. I’ve been cleaning and straightening for days—that is, when I haven’t been slaving away in the kitchen. Why? To help you. And what do you do? Disappear, as irresponsible as can be. And until the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what time it is? I even considered phoning that police chief friend of yours. Enough. I’m going. I simply won’t put up with this kind of abuse.”

  “Come on, Ponpon,” I said. “It was an important job . . .”

  Ponpon melts if she’s hugged. And that’s what she did. Actually, her leaving was a good idea, but I couldn’t deny that thanks to her I’d been living in comfort and feasting like a queen.

  “See, I’m fine,” I went on. “And it’s all thanks to you. Go if you want to, of course. I know I’ve been a real bore. I’ve worn you out.”

  “Don’t think you can sof
ten me up like that! And I was so busy answering your phone calls, I burned dinner. We’ve got nothing to eat!”

  That was the worst possible disaster scenario for Ponpon.

  “We’ll eat out,” I said. “My treat!”

  “It’s too late . . . I’ll barely make my show as it is. I’ve got to leave now.”

  “We’ll meet up later,” I said.

  “You mean you’re not coming with me?”

  “It’s high time I stopped by my own club. To see if the place is still standing.”

  What I’d just said was perfectly reasonable, but it didn’t stop Ponpon from scrutinizing me from head to toe before glancing at her watch in a panic and darting out the door with:

  “I suppose you know best.”

  I raced to the bathroom to get ready to go out. I had two choices: to knock them out as my usual glamorous self or resort to tragedy, winning their sympathy as a piteous creature who’d only just crawled out of her deathbed.

  I decided on the former.

  I’ve got no time for unpleasant surprises, so I phoned Hasan to let him know I was coming. He feigned pleasure, but I could see right through him. I was certain he’d been enjoying playing the tyrant while I was away. It was time for me to topple him from his throne, claiming my place as queen bee and relegating him to the role of drone if need be.