- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,863
The boat creaked as it cut through the Aegean swells, leaving Marmaris shrinking into a haze of lights behind them. Diesel fumes hung in the salt air, mixing with the sharp tang of rope and rusted steel. The hull shuddered with every wave, a steady rhythm. The sea was empty and secluded leaving the boat alone in the great blue sea.Murat stood at the stern, boots braced against the rocking deck. Beside him, Leyla, the agency’s field officer, silent, steady, watched the captive with unreadable eyes. The man sat bound to a bolted chair, wrists cuffed, ankles lashed with nylon ties. A coarse black hood covered his face, fluttering slightly with every gust of wind.
Murat yanked it off.
The man squinted against the dim deck light, blinking furiously. His face was swollen from the raid in Marmaris, a split lip already crusted with blood. He looked around at the empty horizon, the sea a black sheet stretching forever, and his chest tightened. Out here, no one would hear a thing.
Murat crouched, his voice low, conversational. “Tell me who ordered the bombing.”
The man’s eyes darted between Murat and Leyla, then fixed on the deck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Murat’s jaw flexed. He drove a fist into the man’s gut, hard and fast. The suspect choked, coughing bile onto his shirt, the chair rattling against the deck bolts.
“Who was responsible?” Murat repeated, his tone colder. “Did your people do it?”
The man wheezed, coughed again, and forced out through clenched teeth, “You can kill me here. I’ll never talk.”
Murat hit him again, this time across the jaw, knuckles splitting on bone. Blood sprayed across the man’s chin, dripping onto his shirt. The waves drowned his groans, the sound vanishing into the night.
He sagged in the chair, breathing hard, head lolling, but his eyes held defiance. “You think pain will break me? We’ve been trained for worse than this. Do what you want.”
Murat’s breathing was steady, but his eyes were dark, unblinking. “Good,” he said. He stood, straightened his coat, and walked to the bench where a heavy canvas bag lay at rest.
He unzipped it slowly. The metallic clink of tools shifting inside carried over the hum of the diesel engine. Leyla did not move, did not flinch. She only watched as Murat slid his hand into the bag and paused.
The suspect’s eyes widened as the sound of steel scraping against steel filled the deck. His defiance faltered for the first time, his breath catching in his throat.
Murat turned, one hand still inside the bag, his face unreadable in the half-light. “You say you’ll never talk,” he said softly. “That tells me you already know too much.”
The suspect swallowed, sweat beading on his temple despite the sea wind. For the first time, he looked less like a resistance fighter and more like a man realizing he might not leave the deck alive.
Leyla’s voice cut through the silence “Then make him choose. Words, or the sea.”
Murat’s hand closed on something from inside the bag. Murat’s hand emerged from the canvas bag, not with a wrench or a pistol, but with a dripping slab of raw meat. The captive stared for a moment, then burst into laughter, raspy, unsteady..
“What is this?” he choked out between coughs of mirth. “You drag me to sea for a butcher’s joke?” He spat blood at the deck, grinning through swollen lips. “Your bag of tricks is pathetic.”
Murat said nothing. He walked to the rail, his boots thudding steadily against the deck plates. Without a word, he heaved the meat into the black water. It hit with a sodden splash and vanished beneath the rolling waves.
The captive sneered. “That’s it? Do you think…”
Leyla’s eyes narrowed, fixed on the dark water beyond the stern. For a heartbeat, all was still. Then she saw them, triangular shadows cutting the surface, slicing in erratic arcs. Fins. One, then two, then five. Circling where the meat had sunk.
Her composure cracked, the first sign of unease she had shown all night. “Our friends are back…there they are….”
The suspect’s grin faltered as the water erupted in froth and violence. A dorsal fin knifed through the surface, jaws flashing white as the predators tore into the meat. Chunks of flesh sprayed upward before vanishing again in the churn. The sea boiled red.
Murat turned back, his expression carved from stone. He grabbed the prisoner by the collar and dragged him, chair and all, to the edge of the deck. The man’s laughter had died, his face draining to an ashen mask.
“If you won’t talk,” Murat said, his voice flat as iron, “then I’ll feed you to them.”
The captive began to struggle, kicking his bound legs. He wrenched the man forward, tilting it until the prisoner’s head plunged beneath the surface.
The man screamed, bubbles bursting as saltwater filled his mouth. Beneath him, shadows brushed past, thick, muscular shapes moving with terrible speed. A shark’s flank grazed his shoulder, and he convulsed, certain that teeth would follow.
Murat hauled him up by the hair. The man gasped, sputtering, his eyes wide with primal terror.
“Who ordered the bombing?” Murat demanded.
“I…I’ll never…” The prisoner spat seawater, defiance still clinging to him.
Murat shoved him down again. This time, through the froth, the man saw the unmistakable silhouette of a shark charging, jaws gaping. He thrashed violently, kicking at nothing, feet scraping against scales that slid past like steel cables.
At the last instant, Murat ripped him back onto the deck, the man collapsing in a drenched, heaving mass. He vomited seawater and blood, coughing so hard it tore at his throat. His eyes darted wildly to the rail, back to the circling fins, then to Murat.
Murat crouched, calm, almost conversational. “Last chance…”
The sea roared around them. The sharks circled closer, their fins cutting arcs in the moonlight.
The man’s lips trembled, and for the first time, his resolve began to fracture.
The prisoner’s lips trembled, his body shivering more from fear than the night wind. At last, the words broke loose, ragged and desperate.
“It was the PKK,” he gasped. “Damn it. You know that. ALRIGHT.” He said almost pleading. “The PKK they ordered it. The bus bombings in Ankara, the metro station bombing in İzmir. All of it.” His voice cracked. “We were handed the targets, nothing more. We trained in Iraq and then crossed the border. I swear that is all I know. I SWEAR. I don’t know anyone outside of the cell. Just our handled. ‘Sipan.’ Some former Turkish border official. I met him once. Only once.”
Murat’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
The man swallowed, his chest heaving. “A coffee shop. In Kadıköy. He gave me the documents, the phones. After that… nothing. I never saw him again.”
Murat’s expression didn’t change. He gripped the back of the chair, dragged the prisoner closer to the rail. The man started thrashing before Murat even moved.
“NO,” the captive pleaded. “I swear to you, I’ve told everything…”
The words were cut off as Murat shoved him forward, plunging his head beneath the surface. The sharks were still there, circling, slicing the water with sharp, deliberate arcs. Salt stung his nostrils, and his muffled scream rose in bubbles that vanished into the froth.
Murat’s voice was calm, almost patient, as he pulled him back up. “NAMES, or I’ll feed you.” After a brief silence he pushed the man’s head back into the water.
He pulled the man up again, his head jerking back, gasping for air.
“DETAILS!” Murat barked. “Times. Contacts. How did he find you?”
The man coughed, choking. “They just told me to meet him. I swear. I SWEAR.” The man said as Murat began dragging him back into the water. “WAIT WAIT WAIT…” The man pleaded, his voice cracking into a sob. “There are communist officials. In the Ministry of Interior. 8 okay 8. 8 of our guys. I’ll give you their names. I swear.” He began sobbing as Murat let him back into the water.
Murat studied him for a long moment, then shoved him backward onto the deck. The prisoner collapsed in a wet heap, coughing brine and blood, eyes wide, every trace of defiance washed away.
Murat straightened, breathing steady. “Names. Now.” He said, looking straight at the man, his fists curled. The man gave him the eight names, and Murat simply turned to Leyla. She was still at the wheel, knuckles white on the throttle, her gaze locked on him, startled, but steady.
“Drive us back,” Murat said, his voice low, final. “We’ve got what we came for.”
The engines roared louder, pushing the boat eastward. Behind them, the sharks lingered, circling aimlessly in the dark water, as if waiting for the next offering.
