The Saat museum interview comes on again and Julia feels her heart sink. “He could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.”
Leo goes to say something, to reassure her probably, but whatever it is dies on his lips. Sometime in the afternoon, Reyhan enters carrying a tray laden with steaming coffee, tomato slices, fresh pita bread, and feta.
“You’re very kind,” says Julia, staring at the perfectly cut cross-section of tomato.
But she can’t face the thought of eating right now. She would be at serious risk of throwing it up. She feels terrible. Reyhan has been so hospitable. Even Turan has been a joy and, apart from a few excitable moments of hand-clapping for no apparent reason, has played quietly on the mat with a large wicker basket of colored Legos.
“Look,” says Leo.
The news coverage has switched from the bird’s-eye view of Mustafa’s compound to a clutch of reporters camped outside the US Embassy building. They had been crossing live to reporters there every hour or so to little avail. This time, however, the camera blurs then focuses on the youthful-looking man emerging from the building. He stands on the steps, press release rattling in his hand, and recites the statement that the embassy does not wish to make a comment at this time. Unsurprisingly, Christine Fletcher is nowhere to be seen.
Leo shakes his head, angry. “Unbelievable. Our own government.”
The footage returns to reruns of Toni’s Facebook posts.
“What now?” says Julia.
“We regroup,” says Leo.
“Regroup and do what exactly?”
A text notification chimes on Detective Muhtar’s phone. He checks it. A large smile blooms on his face.
“What is it?” says Julia, standing.
His smile grows wider.
“Tell us.”
“Beren Aslan has found Mustafa Saat.”
54
Detective Muhtar pulls Leo’s laptop closer, taps on the keyboard, and brings up Beren Aslan’s live Facebook feed. Beren Aslan and Mustafa Saat are inside a car. She’s in the driver’s seat, he’s in the passenger’s. The phone camera wobbles as Beren tries to get a good vantage point. The interior light is on, glowing a rectangle of yellow, but it’s not doing much to illuminate the occupants, who appear gray-skinned and bleak. It’s difficult to see anything beyond the steamy, rain-streaked windows. Possibly an industrial area of some sort. But it could easily be a residential area, too.
This is a very different Mustafa Saat than the carefree one Julia has been exposed to all morning. This one is serious and drawn, with something close to outrage simmering beneath the surface. But despite the circumstances, there’s still an undeniable arrogance about him. It’s the way he holds his head, chin slightly elevated, and the unhurried way he blinks his eyes.
“Okay, we are live now, Mr. Saat,” says Beren.
He gives her a perfunctory nod.
Beren continues. “What is it you wanted to say?”
He licks his lips and turns to look at the camera. “I wish to seek asylum in the United States.”
His English is perfect. No doubt privately educated abroad.
“Let me understand this, Mr. Saat, you wish to renounce your status as a Turkish citizen because you have been an informant for the United States government?”
He shoots Beren a cross look. “It is not something I wish. I love my country with all my heart, but it is necessary given the recent events. I now have a target on my back. To stay in Turkey would be a death sentence.”
Beren pushes further. “So you do not deny you were passing information to the Americans?”
“I do not wish to go into details.”
But Beren isn’t about to give up. “You sold information about Babak Saglam, did you not?”
Saat looks at her darkly. Beren holds the silence until he sighs through his nose.
“All right,” he says. “I supplied information relating to the possible production of chemical weapons. I did not want to see them get into the wrong hands.”
“How long have you been working for the Americans?”
He shrugs. “That is irrelevant.”
“And the United States not only paid you, they made sure you stayed out of prison, didn’t they?”
He scowls, clearly unhappy the interview isn’t going his way.
Beren lets him sit in silence for a spell, then changes tack. “Tell me about the women, Mr. Saat.”
Saat sits back and laces his fingers together. “They all consented. They admitted this in their settlement agreements.”
“Settlement agreements arranged by the US government,” says Beren, matter-of-factly.
“If you say so.”
“You drug the girls.”
Saat scoffs. “I do nothing of the sort.”
“You are a rapist, Mr. Saat.”
Julia’s heart lobs in her chest. Beren Aslan is either brave or foolhardy given she’s alone in a car with a known rapist, possibly killer, with no one to come to her aid.
Saat rolls his tongue over his front teeth. “That is an absurd statement. I do not need to rape anyone.”
“What about the missing American, Toni Norris?”
“What about her?”
Beren holds up her tablet. “There is footage of her getting into a yellow Lamborghini outside Club Asena the night she disappeared.”
He shrugs. “Mine is not the only yellow Lamborghini in Istanbul.”
“What about the Civik brothers? Are you aware they had an item of Toni Norris’s in their possession? A necklace?”
“I have never met those men before in my life and I do not know anything about any necklace.”
“What’s your connection with Agri village?”
“None whatsoever.”
Beren pauses. “Where is Toni Norris, Mr. Saat?”
He doesn’t flinch. “I do not know.”
“Did you kill her?”
“That, Ms. Aslan, is an outrageous accusation that I vehemently deny. The very idea
