“I don’t believe we should have troops in Turkey right now,” Nick said. “I think it’s a mistake. The only reason we’re there is because Turkey is part of NATO. They’re an ally and we need to show support to our allies.”
Nick was a professional interrogator. Unlike most of his colleagues, he understood the difference between law enforcement interrogation and intelligence interrogation. Nick wasn’t there for a confession. In fact a confession could actually hurt him because it would only reinforce the fact that Nick and Semir were opponents.
Now, he sat next to Semir, on the same cot, behind the same bars. For that moment, they were no longer enemies. Nick rubbed his fingers across his forehead and said, “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone. Not my boss, or my partner. No one.”
Nick waited a second for Semir to give him his full attention.
“My wife Julie is pregnant.”
Semir’s eyes rose.
“That’s right,” Nick said. “She doesn’t want anyone to know until the she’s three months along. Apparently, that’s when the baby has a better chance of going to term.”
Finally, Semir said, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I felt like sharing. I feel it’s part of communicating. Maybe there’s more common ground between us than you think.”
Semir looked down. Nick could tell he was thinking about the comment.
Nick adjusted his arm sling, momentarily grimacing until he found the right spot.
“Either Barzani or I have to die, Semir. I think you understand that.”
Semir nodded.
Nick waited again before saying, “Who would you have your money on, if you were a betting man?”
There was no arrogance on his face when Semir said, “Barzani.”
“I see,” Nick said. “What makes you believe that?”
“Because I know something you do not.”
“Ah.” Nick wagged a finger at Semir. “Now you’re sharing. That’s good. What exactly is it you know that you think I don’t?”
Semir looked genuinely sad. His expression had so much compassion, Nick’s eyelid twitched. “He’s going to send someone after you, which you will not be able to survive.”
Nick didn’t want to hear it, but his professional side had to know. “Who?”
“I don’t know his name,” Semir said. “But he will not fail.”
Okay, Nick thought, that was a big concession for the young man.
“Thank you, Semir,” Nick said. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Nick checked the time on his cell phone. He pointed the remote at the TV and CNN sprang to life. It was the top of the hour and Nick didn’t have to guess what the lead story would be. He’d received word from President Merrick’s press secretary an hour earlier which story was the lead that morning.
“I think you may enjoy this news update,” Nick said.
On the screen, a female reporter sat stoically behind an oval news desk and said, “Good Morning, here are the top stories. Turkish Prime Minister Hakim Budarry is making an unscheduled visit to the White House later today. Reports are he’s meeting the President about the possible withdrawal of U.S. troops from Turkey. Budarry has been steadfast in his opposition on the occupation of the KSF in Kurdistan. It is possible the President is attempting to help negotiate peace talks between the KSF and Turkish officials. President Merrick has announced a press conference at 8 P.M. Eastern Standard Time.”
Semir couldn’t hide the faint smile growing on the corner of his mouth. He looked at Nick and wordlessly made eye contact. The report seemed to lighten the mood in the cell. Just two men understanding their roles in the political power play they were in.
Nick was about to click off the TV when the reporter said, “And in Baltimore this morning two FBI agents were found dead outside an eastside apartment complex. Agents Rolley Chandler and Ed Tolliver were shot by a sniper at 12:40 A.M.. Neighbors claim to have heard the gunshots, but no word on any witnesses. There was also a woman murdered in the very same complex at around the same time. Officials say there appears to be a connection between the three killings. No word yet on the identity of the woman.”
Nick turned off the TV and dropped the remote on the cot. He stared at the dark monitor while the blood drained from his face and left him lightheaded. He felt as if he’d jumped from a tall cliff and desperately wanted to go back. Julie thought the move to the mountains would solve their problems. Now Nick understood, his family had no future as long as Barzani was alive.
As his mind raced with ideas and maneuvers and wishful fantasies of a terrorist-free world, he heard a voice next to him.
“Back home we have a saying,” Semir said with a dour expression. “Don’t go buying any green bananas, Agent Bracco.”
Chapter 17
Matt watched Stevie Gilpin take fingerprints, examine the contents of the refrigerator and extract DNA samples from the toilet. But it wasn’t until Tommy walked into the kitchen from the backyard that they finally got their first break.
“I think I got something here,” Tommy said, holding up a cigarette butt.
At first Stevie didn’t appear impressed. He grabbed a pair of forceps from his duffle bag and clenched it around the cigarette butt Tommy was holding. “Let’s see.”
He held up a magnifying glass to the butt and smiled. “Ah,” Stevie said. “This is good.”
“What is it?” Matt asked.
“Well,” Stevie said squinting through the magnifying glass with one eye shut. “This particular cigarette is Turkish. A very rare brand.”
Stevie put the magnifying glass down and looked at Matt. “How long did you say these guys were here?”
“At least six months,” Matt said.
“That’s great,” Stevie said.
“Why?”
“Because chances are they had to purchase them here. How many places sell Turkish cigarettes in Payson, Arizona?”
Matt finally understood the significance. He smiled. “Only one.”
President Merrick stood in the kitchen and leaned over a plate of leaf-wrapped finger food.
He held up one of the wrapped pieces and asked, “What’s this called?”
The chef, who was on the opposite side of the stainless steel table, said, “It’s called Dolma. It’s stuffed with a rice and meat mixture.”
Merrick took a bite of one of the pieces. “Mmm. This is delicious.” Then the spices kicked in and he flipped his fingers at the chef.
The chef grabbed a bottle of water from the massive refrigerator and handed it to him. Merrick guzzled down half the bottle before coming up for air.
“Geez,” Merrick said. “You trying to kill me, Jason?”
“No sir,” the middle-aged chef said, concern on his face.
Merrick dropped the rest of his Dolma into the chef’s open hand and patted the man on the back. “It’s okay,” he said, coughing. “As long as the Prime Minister likes it, that’s all that matters.”
“He’s just left the Map Room,” a voice said.
Fisk entered the kitchen and headed for the plate of Dolma.
Merrick grabbed him. “Don’t do it, Sam. It’s lethal.”
Fisk took a bite of one, then smiled. “What’s the problem?”
Merrick folded his arms across his chest. “Just wait.”
Almost a minute passed and Fisk took another bite to finish off the Turkish delicacy. He pulled a paper towel
