Başbakanlık

[Jay]

 

[Jay]

Ayşe Çiller stood alone in the Prime Minister’s private office. The late morning sun spilled through the high Ankara windows, warming the deep walnut paneling and the gold-trimmed drapes. Everything was precisely arranged: two identical pens on the blotter, a leather chair too polished to sit in just yet, the national flag behind the desk. Across from it, the portrait of Atatürk stared down with his usual, impossible sternness.

She didn’t move for a moment. The silence was startling, but not oppressive. Rather, it felt like a held breath. Her fingers hovered above the edge of the desk. Her eyes drifted over to the bookshelf on the right wall, mostly legal volumes, the Constitution, thick compendiums of economic policy, and tucked among them, a few biographies of İsmet İnönü and Adnan Menderes, with a spine-worn copy of Türkiye'nin İkili Güç Dengesi that she used one too many times during debate class.

She took one cautious step forward and then another, adjusting the lapel of her cream-colored suit jacket. Aide footsteps echoed faintly from the corridor beyond the doors, but none entered.

“Başbakanım?” came a voice, muffled, from behind the door.

Ayşe turned her body to the door, clearing her throat. “Yes, come.”

The door opened more assertively this time. Can Yaman, her Chief of Staff, entered without hesitation, but not without courtesy. His tie was slightly askew, causing Ayşe’s head to tilt slightly.

“You have three minutes,” he said in a low voice. “Admiral Özbal has already been waiting in the situation room.”

Her brow lifted in confusion. “This soon?” She asked, looking down at her watch.

Can nodded. “He says it can’t wait. He brought a classified satmap. The Navy’s red-flagged something in the Bosphorus. Something left over from the coalition war.”

She straightened herself, withdrawing her hand from the desk’s edge. “How serious?”

“He wouldn’t say over the phone. Just that he needed to speak with you urgently.”

Ayşe exhaled slowly through her nose and nodded once.

“Tell the Admiral I’m on my way.”

Can had already turned, pulling out his government blackberry. “They’re waiting for you in the situation room.”

She paused at the doorframe, giving one last glance at the office, hers now, at least until the next vote of no confidence or scandal or breakdown of coalition discipline, she thought almost sarcastically.

The door shut behind her, and the heels of the Prime Minister of the Republic of Türkiye clicked down the polished hallway.

The doors opened to a cool corridor lined with a muted blue carpet and glass walls. Aides and security personnel parted instinctively as the Prime Minister emerged from her office, Can Yaman falling into step beside her with his usual strides.

Behind them, a tight cluster followed, a uniformed naval aide-de-camp in his black dress, her personal protection officers, and a junior press advisor already checking her government-issued BlackBerry. Ayşe caught the rhythm of the footsteps trailing hers—too many, too close—and cast a sideways glance at Can.

“Do I always have to walk with an entourage now?” she murmured.

He didn’t look at her. “You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.” He sent a message on his phone before looking up and pointing her to the left.

Ayşe exhaled slowly, her pace steady. The clack of her heels echoed down the corridor as they passed through the internal security checkpoint and turned into the main staircase that led to the secure wing. Guards snapped to attention as they descended.

“You’re taking this very well,” Can remarked lightly.

“Taking what?”

“Being thrown into a national security crisis before lunch.”

“I’m not new to crises,” she replied, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

They reached the sealed doors of the situation room, which hissed open with the sound of pressurized security locks disengaging. A circular table occupied the center of the room, with four leather chairs already filled and one seat conspicuously vacant, hers.

Admiral Özbal rose the moment she stepped in. He was tall with a ramrod posture. His uniform bore the dark blue of the Fleet Staff, with four silver stars gleaming on each shoulder. He didn’t smile, but his voice was warm.

“Madam Prime Minister.” He came to attention, offered a salute, and then extended his hand. “Welcome to the Blue House. It’s an honor.”

Ayşe shook it firmly. “Thank you, Admiral.”

“I regret that I’m the first person you have to meet this morning,” he added, his tone shifting, “and that it has to be like this.”

She nodded once. “Not at all. I understand there is a situation developing in the Bosphorus.” She said cautiously as she took her seat.

The Admiral moved to the screen. A satellite map of the northern entrance to the Bosphorus was already projected, the blue of the Black Sea interrupted by a series of red and yellow markers along a curved arc.

“As you’re aware,” Özbal began, tapping a pointer against the screen, “during the Coalition Intervention, Russian submarine forces laid mines across this approach. Bottom-laid, magnetic-acoustic influence mines, designated MDM-2. Forty-eight in total.”

“During the blockade,” Ayşe said quietly.

“Yes, ma’am. They were strategically placed not within Turkish territorial waters, but at the head of the strait, right at the maritime threshold. Russia provided the coordinates to us a few days ago, after some intense effort on our part to get them. They’ve honored their disclosure commitment, likely in anticipation of a normalization push, especially with you coming into office now.”

“And the mines are still active?”

“Yes,” Özbal said, zooming in on the display. “All forty-eight are presumed to be live. The MDM-2 is difficult to sweep. It’s built to detect ship signatures, sound, magnetic fields, and pressure displacement. And it’s patient. These are still very much capable of sinking a destroyer, but it does not discriminate and will destroy any civilian ship.”

Ayşe folded her arms. “What are we doing about Civilian traffic?”

“Suspended from that sector. Temporarily. The problem is if one of these drifts, or is disturbed by an unsuspecting fishing vessel, the consequences would be immediate. Moscow says the route they used is safe, but only they know the pattern. Even then, it’s potentially a gamble.”

“What’s our capability to deal with it?”

“We have sufficient minehunters and MH-60Rs on station. We’ll use acoustic-magnetic simulators to try to trigger them in place. If that fails, we’ll deploy combat divers and ROVs with demolition charges. One by one.”

“What is the potential casualty risk?” She asked as she looked over the briefing report, skimming the details.

“Minimal, if we control the sequence. We’ll isolate each detonation zone by at least 250 meters and schedule them at two-hour intervals.”

“It says you are going to try to attempt to recover some of them?”

Özbal hesitated. “We will attempt to recover up to three. We want to study their fuse integrity and confirm no modifications were made post-war. But if they’re unstable, we blow them.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Has this been briefed to the President?” Ayşe asked.

Can answered first. “Not yet. You’re the first civilian outside the military circle to receive it.”

She turned back to Özbal. “I’d like to loop in the Defense Minister today. I’m sure he is busy getting up to speed at the Ministry. We’ll notify the President after the clearance plan is in motion. Keep the press out of it. I don’t want to cause panic. We already have enough issues with the current economic crisis.”

“Understood, ma’am.” Özbal said, looking at his aide who had been taking minutes of the meeting.

Ayşe nodded and looked back at the map. Forty-eight red dots still glared at her. “If that is all, gentlemen, I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” She said, getting up, the three naval officers snapped to attention as she got up. Can nudged her out of the office, staying behind to thank the Admiral before joining Ayşe, who had already begun taking long strides to the office.

The corridors were quieter now. As staffers lightly conversed though the building itself had grown tired.

She entered alone this time, Can trailing a few paces behind her. Ayşe slipped out of her heels as soon as the door closed. She stepped softly onto the Turkish carpet beneath her desk and stood at the wide windows, arms folded, gazing out toward the distant hills, now only shadows against a pink-lit sky.

Can set down the red folder marked Operation CLEAREYE on her desk, then busied himself at the sideboard. He poured two glasses of cold water and placed a porcelain teapot on a lacquered tray.

“Take it in,” he said gently. “You made it through your first day.”

She looked at him with a raised brow. “Is that what that was?”

“Prime Ministers don’t get normal ones. Just variations of crisis and complication.”

She turned from the window and settled into the armchair across from her desk. “It’s surreal,” she admitted. “This morning, I was still giving interviews about coalition unity. Now I’m reading detonation protocols and naval fuse types.”

“You’re doing well,” Can said simply, handing her a teacup. “Better than half the men who’ve sat in that chair.”

She took it, both hands around the porcelain. “It’s nothing like being a lecturer at Columbia.”

He grinned and took the seat beside her. “It might’ve been easier.”

She laughed quietly. “Back then, I was arguing hypotheticals in seminar rooms. Deterring office politics and who got what in the journals.”

“Now you’re dealing with national politics.” He said as he joined her in looking out of the window.

She nodded slowly, sipping her tea. “Do you ever miss it, the outside world? Before politics?”

“I was never really in it,” Can said. “I came into this straight out of law school. If I ever knew what normal was, I forgot it a decade ago.”

They sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of the teapot and the rustle of papers as Ayşe opened the briefing folder. She flipped through the documents, each page annotated in a naval officer’s neat hand. Maps, sonar overlays, and force composition tables. There was a section highlighted in red: Mine Recovery Attempt – Limited Scope. Proceed only with maximum isolation and fuse integrity confirmation.

She set the folder down and looked over at him. “They’re really going to blow them one by one?”

“Unless the trigger systems work. The Admiral says that’s the safer bet, but there’s no guarantee. These mines were meant to stop a fleet. They could hurt a lot of people.”

Ayşe leaned back, eyes briefly closed. “This is what it means to be a leader.” Can said softly. “Not to win arguments, or give good speeches, or make moral gestures. It’s to be the one in the room who has to decide when to pull the pin, or cut the wire.”

The silence settled again, denser this time. Then a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Ayşe called, setting her cup down.

The door opened, and Admiral Özbal stepped in. He removed his cap and nodded to Can respectfully before addressing her.

“Madam Prime Minister.”

“Admiral.”

“I thought I’d bring you the final operation schedule in person. We’ve confirmed mine locations by sector. First detonations begin at zero-six-hundred. All systems are ready.”

She gestured to the tea set. “Would you join us?”

He gave the faintest smile. “My mother taught me that it was rood to say no to tea.”

Ayşe poured him a glass, which she handed to him. Once seated, she flipped through pages on the report. “Walk me through it. I want to understand everything.”

Can rose quietly stepped to the sideboard and began preparing another cup.

---

The night deepened beyond the windows, and inside the Prime Minister’s office, situation maps and satellite prints were quietly unfolded under lamplight.

It was just past 0500 when the convoy of unmarked black vehicles pulled into the military pier at Gölcük Naval Base. The eastern horizon was still heavy with the slate-grey hue of pre-dawn, and the air smelled of salt and diesel.

Prime Minister Ayşe Çiller stepped out of the lead vehicle, wrapped in a charcoal coat against the breeze, her hair pinned back tightly. At her side walked Admiral Özbal, already dressed in his cold-weather bridge uniform. He had briefed her on the operation already, but now she had asked for something else to meet the people doing the job.

Along the length of the quay, the TCG Anamur loomed quietly, lights on deck glowing low amber. Nearby, the Underwater Defense Group was in formation three squads, fully suited in drysuits and rebreather gear, with their mission packs at their feet and sidearms holstered against their hips. Slightly behind them stood a group of navy technical crew including sonar operators, drone techs, and flight support staff for the MH-60Rs moored further down the pier.

The moment Ayşe approached, the officers called the line to attention. The sound of boots and gear snapping to stillness cut through the morning silence like a signal flare.

“At ease,” she said immediately, her voice getting used to being in command.

Their posture softened. She glanced across the faces.

“Madam Prime Minister,” said Captain Tolga Üstün, the diver unit’s commanding officer, stepping forward. “We’re honored.”

She returned his salute, then looked at the divers behind him. “No. I’m honored. You’ve drawn a dangerous assignment, and I didn’t want to authorize it from a safe office chair without meeting the men who would carry it out.”

She stepped closer to the line of divers, now within arm’s reach of them.

“I’ve been told this is delicate work. That even with our best equipment, we can’t always know what these mines will do.”

She continued. “But I also know that Türkiye sleeps safer because of people like you. You volunteered for this job. You didn’t have to. You chose it. And for that, I’m grateful, not as your prime minister, but as a fellow citizen.”

She turned to one of the sonar technicians nearby. “What’s your name?”

“Petty Officer First Class Erdem Koç, ma’am.”

“How long have you been on mine duty?”

“This is my fourth year,” he said, clearly proud but humble. “First time in a live operation, though.”

“Are you ready?”

He nodded. “Yes, Prime Minister.”

She smiled. “Good. Keep the divers alive for me.”

Behind her, a diver called out, “Only if they don’t get lost again, ma’am!”

The line burst into quiet laughter. Even Captain Üstün cracked a grin. Ayşe raised an eyebrow with mock severity.

“Lost?”

“Ma’am,” said the diver who’d spoken. “Lieutenant Alp Serdar. Long story. But it involved a wrong trench and a whale that caught their attention.”

“Let’s not repeat that, Lieutenant.” Ayşe with a smile.

He gave her a playful salute. “We’ll try.”

Another diver leaned toward his buddy and whispered something she couldn’t quite hear, but a ripple of quiet amusement passed down the line.

She paused. “You all understand the stakes. I want to make sure you all return home safely. Please, take whatever measures necessary and make sure we are all here again by the end of this.

They nodded.

Then, from somewhere at the back, a young voice called out, half-shy but audible:

“Başbakanım, can we take a photo?” There was a flicker of hesitation. A few of the crew looked to the officers, uncertain.

Ayşe blinked, and then smiled, wide and without hesitation. “Of course.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Phones appeared in seconds, handed to aides and naval photographers. She stepped into the middle of the group, flanked by the divers in full kit, the sonar techs, and a few curious engineers who had quietly joined in.

“Everyone in tight,” someone said.

“Don’t block the Prime Minister,” said another.

One of the younger divers lifted his mask onto his forehead, his grin unmistakable. Ayşe looked around the group just as the flash went off. A moment later, the camera clicked again. This time, she was laughing with the sailors. She couldn’t help but admire them. For a second she forgot the weight of office on her shoulders.