Beren looks at both of them. “Because just being here talking to you is a threat to me.”
“Nothing will be traced back to you,” says Julia. “You have our word.”
Beren pauses. “All of them have been paid off. Paid for their silence.”
“Who? The victims?”
“Yes.”
“How? Why? I mean who would do that?” says Julia, shocked.
Beren lights a fresh cigarette end-to-end with the old one. Her face disappears in a cloud of smoke.
“Have the police been helpful?” she says, pulling the ashtray toward her.
Julia shakes her head. “Not exactly. I’m pretty sure we’re being kept in the dark about a lot of things.”
Beren nods. “Corruption is everywhere. It fuels laziness. A culture of doing nothing and looking the other way. A few years ago there was a big clean-out targeting corrupt officials. Over three hundred fifty police officers were dismissed, some of them very high ranking. But, sadly, it did not change a thing.” She taps her cigarette. “Two years ago I noticed one rape then another coming across my desk. Young, western, white. I wanted to dig deeper but my editor warned me against it. I went out and spoke to people at the bars. One name kept coming up. Mustafa Saat. I found a pattern. Each time he was arrested on suspicion of rape, the charges were dropped and the victim would leave the country.”
“And you think they were paid off?”
She nods grimly. “I know this for a fact. I have a friend, let’s just say she’s sympathetic to my cause and good with computers. She provided me with some excellent information. I was able to verify the payments to the women.”
“Do you have a picture of Mustafa Saat?” says Julia.
Beren removes her tablet from her leather satchel and brings up a photograph. A handsome man in his late thirties.
Julia and Leo stare dumbfounded at the screen. “Oh my God, Leo, that’s the man in the yellow Lamborghini.”
Beren looks at them. “That’s not all.”
48
Beren reaches into her bag and takes out a folder. She removes a stack of financial statements secured with a bulldog clip and a large A3-sized Venn diagram. She smooths out the diagram on the table, holding it in place with the salt and pepper shakers. As far as Julia can tell, it appears to be an analysis of different companies and various shareholdings.
“Mustafa Saat comes from a very powerful family. He is the son of a high-powered minister, Ahmet Saat. Three years ago, I was working on a money laundering case linked to Mustafa. The Saat family owns every museum shop in Turkey, which Mustafa oversees as managing director. There is a well-known rumor in Turkey that these museum shops are fronts to launder money gained from another side venture of the Saat family. Drug wholesaling, opium mostly. Trying to prove all this was another matter but I wanted to give it a try. My hacker friend helped me gain access to Mustafa’s financial records and I found something unusual. Regular lump sum payments of US currency deposited by a company called Indigo Enterprises, the same entity that had deposited money into the rape victims’ accounts.” She pauses and looks at them. “Indigo Enterprises originates from the USA. It’s a shell company used by the CIA.”
Julia stares at Beren. “The CIA?”
“Yes.”
Julia tries to keep her voice even. “Isn’t that a little far-fetched?”
Beren gives her a look. “You believe me, you don’t believe me, what do I care?”
Julia leans forward. “Listen, Beren, I don’t mean to cause offense but I’m finding it hard to make the leap that my own government might be involved in this.”
Beren gathers up her papers. “I guess this conversation is over then.”
“Wait,” says Julia. “Assuming for a moment that what you say is true, why would the CIA want Mustafa on their payroll and buy the silence of his victims?”
Beren pauses. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a photo of an impeccably dressed man and puts it on the table.
“Because of him,” she says, tapping the photo. “Babak Saglam. A thirty-nine-year-old Iranian tycoon worth over thirteen point five billion dollars. The US government believes he’s involved in illegal arms dealing, including chemical weapons and other weapons of mass destruction. The US has been after him for years. He is Mustafa’s best friend. They socialize together. Mustafa is part of his inner circle. In other words, Mustafa has access to information that the US government wants and wants badly.”
“You’re saying the US government paid for the victims’ silence to keep Mustafa out of prison so the CIA could continue receiving intelligence from him about Babak Saglam?” says Leo.
Beren sits back. “Precisely. He’s what they call a platinum asset. The highest there is. They will move heaven and earth to protect him. Mustafa has information they want and they’re willing to pay a high price for it, including covering up his crimes.”
“And you can prove all this?” says Julia, rattled.
“Yes,” Beren says, smiling. “Yes, I can.”
49
Trust no one. That’s what she used to tell Toni. Trust no one, not even me. Because you never know what’s motivating a person, because they might tell you they are doing something for your benefit, when really, they’re just in it for themselves.
Now, as the implications of what Beren Aslan told them begin to sink in, Julia looks at Leo as they cross the Golden Horn lobby and realizes he’s the only person she can really trust.
“You believe her?” he says.
Julia lets out a breath. “I don’t know. She seems credible but we really don’t have any evidence apart from her say-so. That makes me nervous, and her claims just seem so outrageous.”
They enter the hotel elevator and Leo hits their floor.
“I get it,” he says, nodding. “Should we trust the word of an unemployed journalist who holds all sorts of grudges against the establishment?
