- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,347
The taxi took two quick lefts, then merged into the thinning traffic near the Ulus underpass. Kutay drove, eyes flicking between the rearview and the road ahead. The city was waking, but the early hour still offered them shadows to work in. Murat sat beside him, wiping dried blood from his nose with a torn napkin.
“Anything?” Murat asked.
Leyla answered from the backseat, scanning a cracked tablet synced to two burner phones running overlapping signal-mapping apps. “No tails or no patrols. I’d say we’re clear.”
Tekin sat beside her, pistol in hand, the barrel pressed to the side of Başol’s knee. The man groaned from the trunk, bound and hooded. His head lolled forward, breath shallow.
“Don’t get cocky,” Cem’s voice came over the comms from a tail vehicle.
They ditched the taxi near a burned-out apartment complex in Yenimahalle. Kutay rolled it into an alley and wiped down the handles with a gloved hand before disappearing into the stairwell. Cem was already waiting beside the freight elevator of the safehouse an abandoned bottling plant converted into a forward cell during the old anti-IS operations.
Inside, the interrogation room was little more than a concrete box with no windows. An exposed bulb hung overhead, its light stark and yellow. A drain in the floor. One chair, bolted to the ground. Zip ties. Steel brackets. A single space heater in the corner hummed faintly, failing to take the chill out of the room.
They dumped Başol into the chair. He slumped, coughing, the hood torn from his head. His lip was split, right eye already swelling shut.
Tekin cracked his knuckles. “Tell us where the AİAB Director is.”
Başol spat blood onto the floor. “No idea. He vanished after the purge started.”
Murat leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” Başol gave a dry laugh. “He ran before we could get him.” You’re chasing shadows.”
Leyla waited for the convulsion to pass, then leaned in.
“You know how this works, Erkan. You’ve done this to others.”
Başol coughed, turned his head. “You think I’ll give up names just because you broke my ribs?”
“We haven’t started breaking anything yet,” Tekin said.
From the doorway, Cem spoke calm, dispassionate. “We have time. You don’t.”
Başol’s eyes flicked to him, then to Murat, who remained motionless, arms crossed, the way he always was before something ugly started.
“You’ve already burned your career,” Murat said. “Might as well tell us where the bodies are.”
Başol smirked, but it was strained. “You’re not getting them back.”
Leyla stepped behind him, dragging the table with the tools closer. The legs scraped against the concrete, a slow, shrill sound that made even Tekin flinch.
She set the pliers down, then laid out several other instruments a soldering iron, a scalpel, a curved surgical clamp. She didn’t speak.
Başol tried to turn, but the straps cut into his arms.
“Let me guess,” he muttered. “She’s the bad cop?”
“No,” Murat said. “That is for amateurs. You'll be speaking soon don't worry.”
Leyla lifted the soldering iron from the tray and switched it on. The faint electric hum filled the silence. A red coil began to glow at the tip.
Başol’s smirk faltered.
“She’s bluffing,” he said.
“You burned a man alive in Çorlu,” Tekin said. “What did he say as you lit the match?”
“That was sanctioned.” Erkan said as he squirmed.
“So’s this,” Cem added quietly.
Leyla took a step closer, crouched beside the chair, and held up his hand, pressing her thumb against the sensitive skin just below the fingernail.
“You have thirty seconds,” she said. “Or we start with your trigger finger.”
Başol inhaled sharply. “This is illegal.”
“You disappeared three hours ago,” Murat said. “You’re not in the system. No file. No arrest. You’re not even a name right now. Once we're done with you...no one will even care to look for where we've left you.”
Tekin looked at him before adding, “And nobody’s coming for you.”
Başol's bravado began to slip. He swallowed hard, sweat forming at his temples.
Murat knelt down in front of him, lowering his voice. “Tell us where they are, Erkan. Before this becomes something you can’t come back from.”
“You think this changes anything?” Başol snapped. “Even if I tell you, you won’t get near them. The sites are guarded they will kill you before you even make it inside.”
“Let us worry about that,” Leyla said. She lifted the pliers again and clicked them once metal against metal.
Başol stared at the tool, then down at his own hand.
There was a long silence. Then finally, he sagged in the chair and let out a shaky breath.
“Kırıkkale,” he muttered. “Agricultural inspection center. East perimeter, repurposed warehouse. They moved a group of them there last week. The holding cells are beneath the inspection floor. Temperature controlled.”
Leyla jotted it down without a word.
“There’s another group,” Başol continued reluctantly. “Old mineral processing facility near Balıkesir. Closed since ‘09. GMD swept it clean and rebuilt the sublevels. They’re using the blast tunnels as isolation cages.”
“And the last group?” Murat asked.
Başol’s eyes flicked toward him, blood still drying at the corner of his mouth. “A few… maybe five… are being held in a decommissioned hydro plant outside Sivas. You’ll know it when you see the fence rusted, triple coil. Half the compound’s underwater.”
Leyla looked up. “How many guards?”
“Rotating teams. Four to six per shift. GMD paramilitaries.”
“Anyone high up?” Leyla said buzzng the coil.
“Regional commander in Kırıkkale is involved. Name’s Yusuf Erkal.”
Murat turned away, walking slowly toward the steel door.
Cem crossed his arms. “Well. At least now we know where to start digging.”
Leyla gave Başol one last glance. “I’m glad you told us.” She gave him a curt smile.
“You’re not getting them all back,” Başol said, almost conversational now, resigned. “Some of them won’t even know who they are anymore. You think this country’s waiting for your little coup to succeed? It’s already moved on.”
Başol’s voice cracked as he said it, lips bloodied and swollen. Leyla scribbled the location on a stained notepad beside her sidearm. The sound of the pencil was the only thing in the room for several seconds.
Murat stood motionless in the corner, arms folded. “Where’s the Chief of the Defense Staff?”
Başol didn’t answer.
Murat didn’t ask again. He just gave Tekin a look.
Tekin stepped forward and slammed the back of Başol’s head into the steel brace behind the chair. A sharp crack rang out. The man groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Where?” Tekin repeated, voice low, deliberate.
Başol coughed. “Go to hell.”
Tekin leaned in closer, “I know the directions.” He grabbed the man’s fingers, twisting until joints popped, and Başol shrieked, eyes watering.
“Enough,” Murat said coldly. “Talk.”
It took a minute. When Başol finally spoke, it was through clenched teeth.
“Kayseri. An old air field. Eastern hangars. They moved him there after breaking his aides.”
Cem exhaled. “We knew he was in the region. Not that deep.”
Başol wheezed a broken laugh. “They flipped him.”
Murat’s stare didn’t change.
“I’m serious,” Başol rasped. “They cracked the old man open like a walnut. He gave them everything. Your safehouses, your comm frequencies. Even the internal split in the general staff. He named names.”
Leyla’s expression didn’t shift, but she stopped writing.
“Bullshit,” Tekin said. “You’re just trying to shake us.”
Başol grinned through the blood. “You think I’m bluffing? You think he didn’t talk when they dragged his aide’s corpse in front of him? When they threatened to gut his family on live feed?”
Başol kept talking. “He didn’t just give you up. He believes now. He thinks this coup is treason. Thinks you’re burning the republic to save it.”
“He’ll never stand beside the GMT,” Leyla said.
“He already has,” Başol replied. “They’re dressing him up for a press conference in three days. He’s going to publicly denounce the AIAB, swear loyalty to the Revolutionary Assembly. They’ll parade him like a trophy.”
Murat moved forward, staring down at the broken man in the chair. “Why are you telling us this?”
“Because you asked.”
“No you're trying to rattle us.” Murat said examining the man.
Başol coughed and looked up. “You’re already rattled.”
Leyla brought her electric coil back in before holdingthem up, turning them in the pale yellow light.
“You’ll tell us where they’re holding the AIAB’s remaining field archive.”
Başol blinked. “What do you think I am, a logistics officer?”
Leyla didn’t respond. She set the pliers down and drew a scalpel from the kit on the side table.
“Wait, wait,” Başol said, panic creeping into his voice. “There’s a warehouse near Edirne. It’s labeled as agricultural records, but I’ve seen the manifests encrypted field reports, intercepted traffic, raw surveillance dumps. Probably your field archive.”
Murat looked to Cem. “Mark it.”
Başol spat blood again and leaned back, defeated. “What now? You shoot me and vanish into the dark?”
Silence fell.
Then Leyla asked, voice soft but not kind, “What do we do with him?”
The room hesitated.
“He’s burned,” Cem said. “Everyone at GMT will know he’s gone son. They’ll be crawling trying to find him or eliminate him.”
“If we let him go, he talks,” Tekin said.
“And if we kill him, that could stop their focus on us for now,” Leyla countered
“He’s not innocent,” Tekin said flatly. “Men like him...”
Murat rubbed his temples. “He’s not a target. He’s an asset right now.”
“Not anymore,” Cem said. “He’s compromised.”
Then the comm unit on Leyla’s belt crackled.
“Do not terminate. We need him for follow-up. Transfer to MIT Central Holding, secure route. He is not to be seen on grid. GMT will already be tracking the loss.” Murat concluded as he met Tekin’s gaze.
“He’s too valuable to kill. Too dangerous to keep,” Murat muttered.
Başol chuckled hoarsely in the chair. "You think you’ve won something here. You haven’t.”
“No,” Murat said as he walked to the door. “But we’ve survived. That’s always the first step.”
He motioned to Tekin. “Bag him. Strip the room. We move now.”
As the light bulb swayed above them, casting long, crooked shadows, the team began to break down the site. The chill outside had deepened as they left the room already desanitized and cleaned.
“Anything?” Murat asked.
Leyla answered from the backseat, scanning a cracked tablet synced to two burner phones running overlapping signal-mapping apps. “No tails or no patrols. I’d say we’re clear.”
Tekin sat beside her, pistol in hand, the barrel pressed to the side of Başol’s knee. The man groaned from the trunk, bound and hooded. His head lolled forward, breath shallow.
“Don’t get cocky,” Cem’s voice came over the comms from a tail vehicle.
They ditched the taxi near a burned-out apartment complex in Yenimahalle. Kutay rolled it into an alley and wiped down the handles with a gloved hand before disappearing into the stairwell. Cem was already waiting beside the freight elevator of the safehouse an abandoned bottling plant converted into a forward cell during the old anti-IS operations.
Inside, the interrogation room was little more than a concrete box with no windows. An exposed bulb hung overhead, its light stark and yellow. A drain in the floor. One chair, bolted to the ground. Zip ties. Steel brackets. A single space heater in the corner hummed faintly, failing to take the chill out of the room.
They dumped Başol into the chair. He slumped, coughing, the hood torn from his head. His lip was split, right eye already swelling shut.
Tekin cracked his knuckles. “Tell us where the AİAB Director is.”
Başol spat blood onto the floor. “No idea. He vanished after the purge started.”
Murat leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” Başol gave a dry laugh. “He ran before we could get him.” You’re chasing shadows.”
Leyla waited for the convulsion to pass, then leaned in.
“You know how this works, Erkan. You’ve done this to others.”
Başol coughed, turned his head. “You think I’ll give up names just because you broke my ribs?”
“We haven’t started breaking anything yet,” Tekin said.
From the doorway, Cem spoke calm, dispassionate. “We have time. You don’t.”
Başol’s eyes flicked to him, then to Murat, who remained motionless, arms crossed, the way he always was before something ugly started.
“You’ve already burned your career,” Murat said. “Might as well tell us where the bodies are.”
Başol smirked, but it was strained. “You’re not getting them back.”
Leyla stepped behind him, dragging the table with the tools closer. The legs scraped against the concrete, a slow, shrill sound that made even Tekin flinch.
She set the pliers down, then laid out several other instruments a soldering iron, a scalpel, a curved surgical clamp. She didn’t speak.
Başol tried to turn, but the straps cut into his arms.
“Let me guess,” he muttered. “She’s the bad cop?”
“No,” Murat said. “That is for amateurs. You'll be speaking soon don't worry.”
Leyla lifted the soldering iron from the tray and switched it on. The faint electric hum filled the silence. A red coil began to glow at the tip.
Başol’s smirk faltered.
“She’s bluffing,” he said.
“You burned a man alive in Çorlu,” Tekin said. “What did he say as you lit the match?”
“That was sanctioned.” Erkan said as he squirmed.
“So’s this,” Cem added quietly.
Leyla took a step closer, crouched beside the chair, and held up his hand, pressing her thumb against the sensitive skin just below the fingernail.
“You have thirty seconds,” she said. “Or we start with your trigger finger.”
Başol inhaled sharply. “This is illegal.”
“You disappeared three hours ago,” Murat said. “You’re not in the system. No file. No arrest. You’re not even a name right now. Once we're done with you...no one will even care to look for where we've left you.”
Tekin looked at him before adding, “And nobody’s coming for you.”
Başol's bravado began to slip. He swallowed hard, sweat forming at his temples.
Murat knelt down in front of him, lowering his voice. “Tell us where they are, Erkan. Before this becomes something you can’t come back from.”
“You think this changes anything?” Başol snapped. “Even if I tell you, you won’t get near them. The sites are guarded they will kill you before you even make it inside.”
“Let us worry about that,” Leyla said. She lifted the pliers again and clicked them once metal against metal.
Başol stared at the tool, then down at his own hand.
There was a long silence. Then finally, he sagged in the chair and let out a shaky breath.
“Kırıkkale,” he muttered. “Agricultural inspection center. East perimeter, repurposed warehouse. They moved a group of them there last week. The holding cells are beneath the inspection floor. Temperature controlled.”
Leyla jotted it down without a word.
“There’s another group,” Başol continued reluctantly. “Old mineral processing facility near Balıkesir. Closed since ‘09. GMD swept it clean and rebuilt the sublevels. They’re using the blast tunnels as isolation cages.”
“And the last group?” Murat asked.
Başol’s eyes flicked toward him, blood still drying at the corner of his mouth. “A few… maybe five… are being held in a decommissioned hydro plant outside Sivas. You’ll know it when you see the fence rusted, triple coil. Half the compound’s underwater.”
Leyla looked up. “How many guards?”
“Rotating teams. Four to six per shift. GMD paramilitaries.”
“Anyone high up?” Leyla said buzzng the coil.
“Regional commander in Kırıkkale is involved. Name’s Yusuf Erkal.”
Murat turned away, walking slowly toward the steel door.
Cem crossed his arms. “Well. At least now we know where to start digging.”
Leyla gave Başol one last glance. “I’m glad you told us.” She gave him a curt smile.
“You’re not getting them all back,” Başol said, almost conversational now, resigned. “Some of them won’t even know who they are anymore. You think this country’s waiting for your little coup to succeed? It’s already moved on.”
Başol’s voice cracked as he said it, lips bloodied and swollen. Leyla scribbled the location on a stained notepad beside her sidearm. The sound of the pencil was the only thing in the room for several seconds.
Murat stood motionless in the corner, arms folded. “Where’s the Chief of the Defense Staff?”
Başol didn’t answer.
Murat didn’t ask again. He just gave Tekin a look.
Tekin stepped forward and slammed the back of Başol’s head into the steel brace behind the chair. A sharp crack rang out. The man groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Where?” Tekin repeated, voice low, deliberate.
Başol coughed. “Go to hell.”
Tekin leaned in closer, “I know the directions.” He grabbed the man’s fingers, twisting until joints popped, and Başol shrieked, eyes watering.
“Enough,” Murat said coldly. “Talk.”
It took a minute. When Başol finally spoke, it was through clenched teeth.
“Kayseri. An old air field. Eastern hangars. They moved him there after breaking his aides.”
Cem exhaled. “We knew he was in the region. Not that deep.”
Başol wheezed a broken laugh. “They flipped him.”
Murat’s stare didn’t change.
“I’m serious,” Başol rasped. “They cracked the old man open like a walnut. He gave them everything. Your safehouses, your comm frequencies. Even the internal split in the general staff. He named names.”
Leyla’s expression didn’t shift, but she stopped writing.
“Bullshit,” Tekin said. “You’re just trying to shake us.”
Başol grinned through the blood. “You think I’m bluffing? You think he didn’t talk when they dragged his aide’s corpse in front of him? When they threatened to gut his family on live feed?”
Başol kept talking. “He didn’t just give you up. He believes now. He thinks this coup is treason. Thinks you’re burning the republic to save it.”
“He’ll never stand beside the GMT,” Leyla said.
“He already has,” Başol replied. “They’re dressing him up for a press conference in three days. He’s going to publicly denounce the AIAB, swear loyalty to the Revolutionary Assembly. They’ll parade him like a trophy.”
Murat moved forward, staring down at the broken man in the chair. “Why are you telling us this?”
“Because you asked.”
“No you're trying to rattle us.” Murat said examining the man.
Başol coughed and looked up. “You’re already rattled.”
Leyla brought her electric coil back in before holdingthem up, turning them in the pale yellow light.
“You’ll tell us where they’re holding the AIAB’s remaining field archive.”
Başol blinked. “What do you think I am, a logistics officer?”
Leyla didn’t respond. She set the pliers down and drew a scalpel from the kit on the side table.
“Wait, wait,” Başol said, panic creeping into his voice. “There’s a warehouse near Edirne. It’s labeled as agricultural records, but I’ve seen the manifests encrypted field reports, intercepted traffic, raw surveillance dumps. Probably your field archive.”
Murat looked to Cem. “Mark it.”
Başol spat blood again and leaned back, defeated. “What now? You shoot me and vanish into the dark?”
Silence fell.
Then Leyla asked, voice soft but not kind, “What do we do with him?”
The room hesitated.
“He’s burned,” Cem said. “Everyone at GMT will know he’s gone son. They’ll be crawling trying to find him or eliminate him.”
“If we let him go, he talks,” Tekin said.
“And if we kill him, that could stop their focus on us for now,” Leyla countered
“He’s not innocent,” Tekin said flatly. “Men like him...”
Murat rubbed his temples. “He’s not a target. He’s an asset right now.”
“Not anymore,” Cem said. “He’s compromised.”
Then the comm unit on Leyla’s belt crackled.
“Do not terminate. We need him for follow-up. Transfer to MIT Central Holding, secure route. He is not to be seen on grid. GMT will already be tracking the loss.” Murat concluded as he met Tekin’s gaze.
“He’s too valuable to kill. Too dangerous to keep,” Murat muttered.
Başol chuckled hoarsely in the chair. "You think you’ve won something here. You haven’t.”
“No,” Murat said as he walked to the door. “But we’ve survived. That’s always the first step.”
He motioned to Tekin. “Bag him. Strip the room. We move now.”
As the light bulb swayed above them, casting long, crooked shadows, the team began to break down the site. The chill outside had deepened as they left the room already desanitized and cleaned.
