- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,865
The MIT officers came across the apron before the rotors had finished winding down. Four of them, civilian clothes, no markings. One had a phone to his ear and pocketed it as he reached the hangar doors without breaking stride.
They went to Tessaphon first. The hood went on before he was fully standing. Two of the men had him by the arms and walked him out through the side door and across the concrete toward the vehicles. Two Chevrolets, black, windows tinted past, hummed silently with their engines idling. The rear door of the lead car was already open. They put him inside, one man on each side, and the door shut, and the vehicle moved before the second had completed its turn.
Çağlar watched until the taillights cleared the perimeter gate. Then he turned back to the hangar. The exchange took place at the folding table near the east wall. Çağlar's team laid the duffels in the order they'd been packed on the mountain, and the remaining MIT officer worked through the first bag with practiced hands, separating material into loose categories without looking up.
Çağlar set two items apart from the rest. A small notebook, dark cover, worn at the spine. Beside it, a manila folder with a sheaf of printed documents inside.
"Personal effects," Çağlar said. "The diary was on him. The documents were in a case near the terminal." He waited a moment. "The guy is Indian."
The MIT man stopped sorting. He looked up. "He's Indian?"
Çağlar shook his head slightly. "The documents and diary say so.”
The MIT man looked at him, trying not to laugh. “He doesn't look it. He looks British. Scottish, maybe. Definitely not Indian." The MIT man picked up the folder and opened it. He looked at the photograph clipped to the top page, at the documents beneath, then back at the photograph. His expression held, but the pause ran longer than the question had called for.
"Did the British leave someone behind in India?" he said, mostly to himself. He set the folder with the priority stack and returned to the bags.
Çağlar placed the drive on the table separately. "The computer files are on there. We pulled what we could. Your people will get the rest." The MIT man took it without comment as Çağlar and his team left.
The Chevys brought Tessaphon to a remote black site. When they arrived, the two men held him by the arms and walked him out through the side door and across the concrete toward the building. The facility was an unremarkable mine that had long since been abandoned. They put him inside one of the interrogation rooms. He sat there without any communication from the handlers, who simply left him.
Hakan Ağçay came into the intelligence room. The analysts stood. He waved a hand, and they sat back down, his eyes already on the glass.
The room on the other side of the glass was standard. Metal chair, bare table, one overhead lamp angled to light the face and leave the walls dark. Tessaphon sat straight, his wrapped hand resting in his lap, the other flat on the table. He had not moved in the time the camera had been running.
Hakan stood there a moment. Long enough to take in the posture, the stillness, the careful way the man on the other side was keeping himself contained. Then he turned.
Demir and Fahriye were at the central table. The material from the mountain was spread across it in organised sections, shipping manifests, financial printouts, the diary, two folders of photographs, and the processed laptop files. They had been at it for some time. The coffee near Fahriye's elbow had gone cold.
Hakan walked over. They began to rise. He shook his head and looked at them both for a moment, then looked down at the table. He picked up one of the folders and turned through the first few pages. Set it down. Picked up another. Found the personal documents near the centre of the stack and looked at them without sitting.
"The 25th did a great job, it seems," he said.
Demir nodded. "Better than we expected. The site was largely intact. They caught them just as they prepared to relocate and they caught a bunch of intelligence. Those guys actually took the time to figure stuff of value"
Hakan set the folder down and looked at the diary. "So who is our man. Does he work for the Greeks...Americans...Russians?"
Demir shook his head, causing Hakan to raise an eyebrow. "He is an Indian."
Hakan didn't know if Demir was joking or not. Just then Fahriye spoke.
"His history in the Honourable Company goes back years," Fahriye said, following his eyes. "Operational decisions, contact references, personal correspondence. There is more material here than we have seen from a single source."
"A goldmine," Demir said.
Hakan said nothing. He stood looking at the table for a moment, then looked back toward the glass. "Is he working for those Englishmen or?," he asked.
Fahriya looked at him. "We don't know. The good thing is we caught him."
"It should have come earlier," Hakan said with a huff. Neither of them answered. "Izmir. Ankara." Hakan continued flatly. "A hundred and twelve people. On buses. On a metro platform." A pause. "Going to work." He paused again. "The Başbakanlık wants answers." Hakan looked at Demir. "Make sure he talks."
Demir met his eyes. "He will."
Hakan looked at the table once more, at all the information spread under the fluorescent light, and then turned back to the glass before he left to take the room.
They went to Tessaphon first. The hood went on before he was fully standing. Two of the men had him by the arms and walked him out through the side door and across the concrete toward the vehicles. Two Chevrolets, black, windows tinted past, hummed silently with their engines idling. The rear door of the lead car was already open. They put him inside, one man on each side, and the door shut, and the vehicle moved before the second had completed its turn.
Çağlar watched until the taillights cleared the perimeter gate. Then he turned back to the hangar. The exchange took place at the folding table near the east wall. Çağlar's team laid the duffels in the order they'd been packed on the mountain, and the remaining MIT officer worked through the first bag with practiced hands, separating material into loose categories without looking up.
Çağlar set two items apart from the rest. A small notebook, dark cover, worn at the spine. Beside it, a manila folder with a sheaf of printed documents inside.
"Personal effects," Çağlar said. "The diary was on him. The documents were in a case near the terminal." He waited a moment. "The guy is Indian."
The MIT man stopped sorting. He looked up. "He's Indian?"
Çağlar shook his head slightly. "The documents and diary say so.”
The MIT man looked at him, trying not to laugh. “He doesn't look it. He looks British. Scottish, maybe. Definitely not Indian." The MIT man picked up the folder and opened it. He looked at the photograph clipped to the top page, at the documents beneath, then back at the photograph. His expression held, but the pause ran longer than the question had called for.
"Did the British leave someone behind in India?" he said, mostly to himself. He set the folder with the priority stack and returned to the bags.
Çağlar placed the drive on the table separately. "The computer files are on there. We pulled what we could. Your people will get the rest." The MIT man took it without comment as Çağlar and his team left.
The Chevys brought Tessaphon to a remote black site. When they arrived, the two men held him by the arms and walked him out through the side door and across the concrete toward the building. The facility was an unremarkable mine that had long since been abandoned. They put him inside one of the interrogation rooms. He sat there without any communication from the handlers, who simply left him.
Hakan Ağçay came into the intelligence room. The analysts stood. He waved a hand, and they sat back down, his eyes already on the glass.
The room on the other side of the glass was standard. Metal chair, bare table, one overhead lamp angled to light the face and leave the walls dark. Tessaphon sat straight, his wrapped hand resting in his lap, the other flat on the table. He had not moved in the time the camera had been running.
Hakan stood there a moment. Long enough to take in the posture, the stillness, the careful way the man on the other side was keeping himself contained. Then he turned.
Demir and Fahriye were at the central table. The material from the mountain was spread across it in organised sections, shipping manifests, financial printouts, the diary, two folders of photographs, and the processed laptop files. They had been at it for some time. The coffee near Fahriye's elbow had gone cold.
Hakan walked over. They began to rise. He shook his head and looked at them both for a moment, then looked down at the table. He picked up one of the folders and turned through the first few pages. Set it down. Picked up another. Found the personal documents near the centre of the stack and looked at them without sitting.
"The 25th did a great job, it seems," he said.
Demir nodded. "Better than we expected. The site was largely intact. They caught them just as they prepared to relocate and they caught a bunch of intelligence. Those guys actually took the time to figure stuff of value"
Hakan set the folder down and looked at the diary. "So who is our man. Does he work for the Greeks...Americans...Russians?"
Demir shook his head, causing Hakan to raise an eyebrow. "He is an Indian."
Hakan didn't know if Demir was joking or not. Just then Fahriye spoke.
"His history in the Honourable Company goes back years," Fahriye said, following his eyes. "Operational decisions, contact references, personal correspondence. There is more material here than we have seen from a single source."
"A goldmine," Demir said.
Hakan said nothing. He stood looking at the table for a moment, then looked back toward the glass. "Is he working for those Englishmen or?," he asked.
Fahriya looked at him. "We don't know. The good thing is we caught him."
"It should have come earlier," Hakan said with a huff. Neither of them answered. "Izmir. Ankara." Hakan continued flatly. "A hundred and twelve people. On buses. On a metro platform." A pause. "Going to work." He paused again. "The Başbakanlık wants answers." Hakan looked at Demir. "Make sure he talks."
Demir met his eyes. "He will."
Hakan looked at the table once more, at all the information spread under the fluorescent light, and then turned back to the glass before he left to take the room.
