camera to also trigger CS gas, but I don’t wish to leave traces of my presence if I don’t have to. The main thing is simply to get the guards out of the way.
I load the gun and aim at a building directly in line from where I am, some fifty yards away. I check to make sure the suppressor is fitted correctly, take a bead, and squeeze the trigger. The soft
Sure enough, the two guards look over at the sound. They mumble to each other and then walk in that direction. Hurrah. Now’s my chance. I inch around the corner, and the light meter on my OPSAT goes up to the danger area. I’m in full sight. I run to the sixth building on my route, exposed for approximately eight seconds. By the time I’m there, the guards have reached the diversion camera and are probably wondering what the hell it is.
The path is clear for me to scoot across the road and small parking lot to the Tirma building. It’s very different from the rest of the structures in the compound. The two-story Tirma building seems to have been designed after an American Colonial house, something you’d see in a middle-class New England neighborhood. It’s made of wood, is painted white, and has two fat columns on opposite sides of the front door. Instead of a number to mark the building’s location, the word
I slink around to the back of the building, where there is less chance of being spotted. Luckily there’s no lighting back here. I can look out across the vast lake and see the town square marina about a mile along the shore. The wind coming off the lake is icy cold.
There’s a back door, presumably used as an emergency exit, and a couple of windows on the ground floor. I try the windows first, but they’re both locked. It’ll have to be the door. Once again my lock picks are useful, and I’m able to open the simple bolt lock in six seconds.
I’m inside the building, in a room that’s apparently used for putting stuff that doesn’t fit anywhere else. There are stacks of folding chairs that I guess must be for big meetings. I see shelves full of office supplies and a bunch of boxes beneath them. There’s a soft drink vending machine here, too.
This room leads to a hallway that shoots straight to the front door on the other side of the building. I listen carefully for any signs of occupation and hear nothing. I move on and see that the hallway connects to a large conference room, complete with a big-screen television and A/V equipment, and another room that appears to be a social parlor. They must hold fund-raising cocktail soirees in there. The largest room on the floor contains samples of the various goods that Tirma sends out for relief. I figure the complete stock is stored elsewhere on the campus, in one of the storage sheds or a warehouse. These include medical supplies, dried food, water bottles, grain, and articles of clothing. Besides a couple of modern bathrooms there’s not much else on the ground floor, so I quietly ascend the staircase to the second. The place is furnished with thick carpet, even on the stairs. My movements are relatively silent except every now and then the wooden floor creaks beneath the carpet. That can’t be helped.
Upstairs I find four offices. One is obviously for support staff — there are three desks, computers, filing cabinets, a copy machine — what you’d normally find in an office. The other three offices are probably for administrators of the charity organization. In one of them I find a lot of company literature printed in several different languages — pamphlets and brochures explaining Tirma’s purpose and goals. I take a handful; some are printed in English, some in Farsi, some in Turkish, and some in Arabic. I place these in my Osprey and move on.
The other two rooms are executives’ offices. I boot up the computers in each room and spend a little time at them. I don’t need any security passwords, and I’m able to browse through the files easily. I’m unable to find anything suspicious, even when I search for the names
For all intents and purposes, it appears that Tirma is a legitimate charity organization.
I make my way out of the building and exit through the door I came in. The next stop is Basaran’s office, inside the building that’s a couple of doors down. This one’s going to prove more difficult. It’s very well lit and I’m sure the security is stronger. There may be people inside. I stay in the back and dart to the next structure — the employees’ cafeteria — and then the next… until I’m looking at the main administrative building where I met Basaran earlier. There are no guards in the back, but I know that at least one is patrolling the front.
The back door has a keypad lock. I’m betting that the same code is used throughout the building, so I punch my OPSAT to recall the sequence I noted earlier. I press the buttons 8, 6, 0, 2, 5 and the door unlocks. I know there are surveillance cameras all over the place, so I open the door just a sliver and use the corner periscope to peek inside. Sure enough, there’s a camera trained at the door.
If I wanted to I could take it out with the Five-seveN pistol, but that would only call attention to the fact that someone had been in the building. I’d rather get around it another way. The camera appears to be a standard off- the-shelf model that continuously records, but only if there’s sufficient lighting in the room. There has to be a switch just inside the door — I maneuver the periscope until I see it, then reach my hand in quickly and flick off the lights. I then enter the room and shut the door. With my night-vision goggles I can see fine, but the camera is recording nothing but darkness.
I move out of the room and look through an archway to the outer lobby, which is well lit. Glass windows face the front and I can see the guard standing with his back to me, looking toward the parking lot. He’s bundled up, smoking a cigarette, and probably hating every minute of this assignment. I scan the ceiling, walls, and corners for more cameras and find one aimed directly at the front doors. I can easily scoot past this one because I’m already in the building. While the guard’s not looking, I move across the outer lobby, through the double wooden doors and into the main receptionist’s office. Thank goodness the lights are already off.
I go to the keypad, punch in the same code, and enter the hallway leading to Basaran’s office. The lights are on here and I see no way to turn them off. I know there’s another camera around the corner up ahead, so I use the periscope again to take a look. It’s a motion-detection camera that pivots in a wide arc. Midway in the arc is Basaran’s office. There’s no keypad for his door — they must figure that once you’re past the reception desk, you’re clear to roam wherever you want.
I have to distract that camera. I take the camera jammer out of the Osprey and turn it on. The thing vibrates a little, so I know it’s working — I sure can’t see the microwave pulses coming out of it — and it works best if you’re moving at the same time. So I aim the jammer in front of me, turn the corner, and quickly move down the hall. I hear the camera lens zoom in and out as it attempts to focus on whatever it thinks it detects, but it’s very confused. I open Basaran’s door and slip inside just as the camera regains its functionality.
The overhead lights are off in the office, but mood lighting is on — behind the wet bar, on the desk, and here by the door. Curtains cover the big glass window overlooking the lake, and fortunately they’re closed.
First, I examine the desk and its contents. The drawers hold nothing of interest — just a bunch of personal items, credit card bills, employee phone numbers, and other papers relating to the company. There’s also that hand exerciser, the rubber ball I saw Basaran squeezing when I first met him. I boot up the computer and see that a password is required to gain access. Damn. If only I had Carly St. John’s expertise now. I had informed Lambert I’d be coming here tonight, but Carly didn’t have much notice to try to hack Akdabar’s server. There’s not much I can do.
I shut down the computer and then notice for the first time that there’s a framed photograph sitting on the desk. It shows a veiled woman with two young girls, ranging maybe six to eight years old. Basaran’s family? The thing is, they don’t look Turkish. Most Turkish women, even very religious ones, don’t wear veils as they do in, say, Iraq or Iran. I quickly snap a copy of the picture and store it in my OPSAT, then move to the filing cabinets.
The lock picks open the cabinets easily, and I find more documents relating to Akdabar Enterprises — employee records, accounting books, and other boring stuff. One drawer, however, contains files marked Cyprus. I pull these out and thumb through them. I see records relating to the shopping mall that Basaran is building — expense reports, schedules, press releases, and company memos. The place is located near the city of Famagusta, a seaport that is perhaps Northern Cyprus’ most strategic urban center after the capital, Lefkosia.
At the back of the drawer is a document portfolio with twine tied around it. I remove it, untie the twine, and
