The Shadow Wars

[Jay]

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.

 

[Jay]

The windows were blacked out with sheets of industrial foil, every seam duct-taped to seal out light and thermal signature. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, its glow a sickly yellow that buzzed like an angry wasp. Around the folding table stood six men and women, all from the Organization,

Murat leaned over the map laid flat across the table. Red marker rings circled Sivas, Balıkesir, and Kırıkkale. Coordinates scribbled in shorthand. Next to them, photographs of detainees, guards, terrain diagrams, and surveillance screenshots.

Murat pointed to the map. "Kırıkkale is built like a layered egg with a perimeter fence, internal motion sensors, and guard towers with overlapping sectors of fire. We’ll have to breach the outer fence silently. Once we’re inside, it's ten meters to the processing wing. Two guards on rotation. Fast takedown. Get the officers, burn the files, grab whatever is of value."

Serkan added, "We’ll need shaped charges for the east corridor. It's narrow and reinforced. I can rig a focused blast to breach without collapsing the frame."

"Balıkesir," Tekin said, "has a different layout. Old industrial plant. Large floor plan, minimal segmentation. We can probably make it through the east access shaft. Power’s routed through an auxiliary grid. If we can kill the lights, then it’ll make our jobs easier.

Murat moved his finger to Sivas. "This one’s a fortress. A decommissioned hydro plant where they’ve reinforced the intake structure and set up checkpoints along the spillway. We’ve seen two HMG nests, roving patrols, and a pair of fast-response teams."

"We use the spill tunnel," Derya said. "Three meters wide, runs half a klick under the mountain. If we time it with the grid fluctuation from Nilay’s spike, we can get inside the turbine chamber undetected."

"This is our window," Murat said. His voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. "After this, GMT will clamp down. The Chief of Staff flipped, which means they’re reorganizing. Fast. We either strike now or it’ll likely be us under the foot of the GMT as they phase us out."

Opposite him, Derya exhaled through her nose. "If we do this, we might as well join the army in their plot."

Serkan placed his hands on the table. “What choice do we have? The GMT is working to undermine us at every turn and the regime is increasingly dismissive of our views.”

"The AİAB officers won’t survive another week," added Kadir, "They broke Kemal’s deputy last week. He gave up two comms safehouses. They raided both of them. If it wasn’t for your warning Murat, those generals would’ve been caught already."

Serkan nodded. “I think we can all agree that our relevancy is slowly diminishing as an institution. After the killing of the GMT Chief, eyes will slowly turn on us. I think it has been decided for us Derya.”

Murat nodded. "Then we have to act.” He looked around the room before pointing to the board.

“We hit the three facilities simultaneous staggered insertion, synchronized breach. Sivas is our primary attack, but if we don’t knock out Balıkesir and Kırıkkale at the same time, the GMT will either kill or take the officers somewhere we won’t be able to find them.

"What do our resources look like?" asked Serkan. "Do we even have the manpower for three sites in a simultaneous operation?"

Murat tapped the edge of the table. "We do, if we coordinate with ex-field assets. I’ve contacted friendly nodes in Erzincan and Manisa. No traceable links to us."

"We’re trusting them with this?" Derya asked.

"No. We’re using them for disruption. I think if we’re going to do this right we need to use our own, including cyber-ops for false signals, logistical jamming. All hard-coded into the operation tree."

Nilay, pulled up a tablet and flicked through a diagram. "We can spoof their movements on GMT networks. That should force them to reroute some of their SIGINT bandwidth."

"We take advantage of the clutter," Kadir said. "Hit hard, extract faster. No standoffs.”

Murat looked at each of them. "We breach at 03:00 local. Kırıkkale team goes in first. Smallest resistance, shortest extraction. Serkan and Nilay will lead that. Leyla and Tekin take Balıkesir. I’ll take Sivas."

"And exfil routes?" Serkan asked.

"Pre-staged vehicles, Ditch points every twenty klicks. Change vehicles. We’re not going back to the safe house. We go dark after this. Each team disappears until you get a message from our internal system."

There was silence. Then Serkan spoke: "After this, there’s no walking it back. The Party will call it treason."

Derya nodded. "And we might get caught in the crossfire between the AİAB and the GMT."

Murat folded his arms. "If we don’t act, there won’t be a line to cross. The regime will wipe out the AİAB and then us. And the Army will walk in when it’s too late. We hit now, and put ourselves on the side that is actually fighting for this country.”

No one answered for a long while.

Then Kadir spoke, grim but resolved. "Then we better not miss."

Murat nodded once. "Gear up. Our go time is four days from now at 5:25."

 

[Jay]

Kırıkkale Agricultural Inspection Center H-20 Minutes to Breach​

The wheat fields around the compound whispered as the wind blew around them. The cold, dry air carried no scent, no hint of what was coming. From a distance, the Kırıkkale Agricultural Inspection Center looked abandoned. Windows blacked out. Barbed wire coiled atop a perimeter fence. A single guard tower on the south side, floodlight panning slowly across the empty fields.

Altan crouched in the irrigation ditch, watching through thermals. Three GMT sentries. Two were on regular patrol, and one nested near the entrance checkpoint.

"Two-man rotation, five-minute intervals," whispered Serkan beside him. He was already priming the charges.

"Confirmed," Nilay added over comms. Her voice crackled in Altan's earpiece. "Signal jammers are live. GMT won’t be able to call out."

Altan checked his suppressed rifle, then flicked his night vision into place. "Team One, breach on my mark. Team Two, secure the west flank."

There was a sharp click from Serkan, who simply muttered “Ready”.

"Three... two... one. Go."

The first sentry never heard the shot when a round from Altan’s rifle dropped him mid-step. The second turned, confused, just in time for Serkan's blade to open his throat.

The checkpoint guard reached for his radio, but Elif shot a single round from his sniper rifle which caught him just under the eye.

"Perimeter clear," came Serkan's voice.

They moved fast through the fence with pre-cut gaps. Over the open ground, low and fast, as they hugged the shadows. Altan took point with his rifle held high.

The main structure rose like a concrete slab under moonlight. A single steel door guarded the processing wing. Serkan unrolled the thermite strip while Kadir kept watch.

"Charge set," Serkan said.

"Do it." Altan

The strip ignited in silence, hissing molten orange along the lock mechanism. Ten seconds later, the door creaked inward.

Inside a tiled corridor, fluorescents flicker. Two guards were at the end of the hall. Altan dropped the first with a double-tap. The second scrambled for cover, but Kadir caught him with a clean burst to the chest.

"Moving." Altan

The holding cells were at the far end. Altan checked the manifest on a clipboard nailed to the wall. Seven detainees listed. Two red crosses. Five left.

He keyed the radio. "Cells located.” Altan looked at Kadir, motioning for him to open them.

Kadir worked the lock panel, which took him twenty seconds. The doors clanked open. With five men, gaunt, looking like they hadn’t seen light in a while. Still wearing their military fatigues, which we bloodied and dampened.

"Who are you?" one whispered, voice hoarse.

"You rescue team. Get up,” Altan said, extending his hand.

The man looks dazed and confused as he takes their hand.

“Are we going to make?” The intelligence officer asks.

“We won’t if you don't move. Get up. Now." Altan

They formed up. Light, quick. No limps. Still usable.

"Nilay, status?"

"You've got five minutes. Thermal signatures are spiking. GMT QRF en route. We need to move"

"Copy. Exfil point Bravo. Route Alpha. Move."

They pulled out fast. Through the admin wing, cleared rooms. No more resistance until the stairwell. There were GMT soldiers waiting there. Four-man team which were searching around for the assailants. Altan took the first two with a snap burst. Serkan lobbed a flashbang, which blew up, followed by screams. Muzzle flashes stuttered in the dark as Kadir and Serkan fired. Kadir caught one with a clean shot to the thigh, then the head. The last one ran, but Tekin dropped him before he reached the gate.

"We're burning time," Altan growled. Worried that the GMT QRF would arrive on their head.

They reached the fence and jumped over as an engine lights blinked twice in the wheat field. Their vehicle growled to life. Detainees loaded first. Then the team.

Altan looked back once at the field as a GMT convoy fled back to the building. He keyed his comm. "Bravo package secure. Moving to dust-off."

---

Balıkesir, 5:25 Hours​

The rain had stopped, but the ground was still slick. Their footfall muted beneath a sheen of wet concrete. The industrial plant loomed above the treeline, its jagged silhouette slicing into the night sky. Steel girders and rusted piping formed a lattice of shadows under the ghostly white spill of floodlights.

Leyla crouched behind a water silo, goggles pulled low, breath fogging the lenses. Beside her, Tekin checked the charge on his carbine, eyes scanning the service tunnel ahead. They’d memorized every centimeter of the layout, every turn and incline. The access shaft was marked by a corroded hatch ten meters ahead. It unlocked as Kadir kicked open the coreded and abandoned hatch.

"Movement on the catwalk," Tekin whispered.

Above them, a guard in a rain-soaked poncho trudged across a steel bridge, rifle slung loose. He paused to light a cigarette.

Leyla looked up at him as Tenkin and the other operatives walked by. She aimed her rifle and fired a single suppressed shot that snapped through the air. The guard crumpled, falling with a quiet clatter into the drainage duct below.

"We’re on the clock," she said, rising out from behind the collapsed body as Guven dragged the body away from the moonlight seeping through the rain clouds.

They reached the second hatch and slipped inside. The shaft narrowed quickly, the walls slick with decades-old condensation. The darkness pressed against them, only broken by the occasional flicker of Tekin’s low-powered flashlight. Pipes ran above their heads, some hissing with residual steam.

"Two-minute window," Leyla said. "Jammer goes up when we hit the generator room. Then it’s all analog."

The access tunnel opened into the lower turbine hall. Below them, they could see eight GMT guards, two of whom were manning a central console, while the rest patrolled the catwalks or clustered near the old production lockers. The prisoners were kept in the south wing, behind two blast doors, repurposed from the original plant design.

Tekin set the breaching charge on the upper vent. "Ready."

Leyla nodded. "Go." Doga and Guven jumped down on cue as the violent explosion sent a rip of dust and heat through the shaft. They dropped fast, boots crunching onto the grated floor.

"DOWN!" Doga bellowed, firing first. A guard spun, weapon rising, before Tekin shot him in the throat. Leyla fired several rounds, punching through their Kevlar. The console lit up in red as one of the GMT tried to call for backup. She fired several more rounds at him cutting him down before he reached the radio.

Two guards fled toward the blast doors. Tekin took one down with a burst; Leyla got the second as he fumbled with his keys.

"Clear," Doga said, breathing heavily.

Leyla moved to the console. "It is Hardwired. I’ll need to cut the lock manually."

"Covering," Doga said, pulling his rifle closer, watching for any other GMT officers.

She knelt and pulled out the plasma cutter. Sparks sprayed as she worked the seal. The door gave a groan, then creaked open.

Inside, five officers stared back. Pale. Gaunt. Alive.

"MİT," Leyla said, stepping in. "You’re being extracted."

One of the men tried to rise, legs buckling.

Tekin caught him. "Can you move?"

He nodded. Weakly.

Leyla keyed the comm. "Balıkesir secure. Exfil in ninety. Package recovered."

Outside, the wind picked up, tugging at the sagging rain tarp as Leyla and Tekin led the officers into the dark, leaving behind only silence and the scent of burnt steel.

---

Sivas Hydro Plant - 05:27 ​

The sky over eastern Anatolia was ink-black, moonless. A cold wind whispered through the mountains, threading its way along the chain-link fence that marked the perimeter of the decommissioned hydroelectric station.

From a shallow depression five hundred meters out, Murat watched the spillway checkpoint through thermal binos. Two GMT sentries, armed with MPT-76s, smoked in the open, their silhouettes glowing against the cold stone.

"Grid spike in ten," Nilay whispered over comms.

"Copy," Murat replied, adjusting the foregrip of his suppressed HK416. He gave a hand signal, three fingers. His team fanned out in the dark: Armagan to his left, positioned behind a berm, and Atesh further up the slope with overwatch.

Inside the turbine tunnels, the ground team was already crawling through the old maintenance duct with three men in black tactical gear, inching forward with cold resolve.

At precisely 05:25, Nilay triggered the spike. Lights flickered once across the hydro facility and then died. The plant's backup generator didn’t kick in.

At the backup generator, Baci sliced the neck of a GMT Technician and disabled the generator. Leaving the rest of the facility in the dark, Baci and Burcu walked up the staircase and entered the facility from underneath.

"Go," Murat said.

Armagan rose first, loping through the grass, a shadow with teeth. His rifle muzzle flashed as his round found the throat of the first sentry. The second turned too late as Murat’s rifle fired next droppin the man with a thud.

"Checkpoint clear," Murat said.

Inside the tunnel, the duct team reached the terminal bulkhead. Explosive paste was shaped along the hinges as Tan looked. "Ready to breach," he whispered.

"Stack," Murat ordered. When the team was ready, he gave Tan a squeeze on the shoulder.

The breach blew inward with a thump no louder than a door slam. The MİT agents surged forward, guns sweeping as they cleared the room. The hallway beyond was lit only by the glow of emergency lights.

Two guards turned the corner. Armagan dropped to a knee, squeezed off two clean shots. The guards crumpled.

"Move. Sweep left," Murat ordered.

The team fanned out, clearing offices and storage bays with practiced fluidity. The turbine chamber was next, reinforced concrete, steel catwalks overhead.

The GMT quick reaction team opened fire too early. Muzzle flashes lit up the far gantry. Murat dove behind a pillar, shards of concrete whipping past his cheek. Atesh, from the catwalk above, answered with controlled bursts. Three silhouettes jerked and vanished. But then muzzle flashes erupted from the room. Thud. Thud. Thud. There was a silence as two black figured pulled out and saw Murat below.

“Clear top Sir.” Burcu said as she and Baci moved to the next room above.

At the door, Tan tossed a flashbang across the chamber. It detonated mid-air, sending a white light flashing around the room. Murat rushed forward, firing two rounds into a guard. Another came up behind him but before he could get a round off was killed.

Murat turned around to see Baci and Burcu turning behind him. He gave them a simple nod as the other operators swept the rest of the room. No resistance.

"Target secured," Derya called from the containment corridor. "I have eyes on the detainees. Eight, restrained. One wounded."

Murat entered. The AİAB officers sat against the wall, hands zip-tied, bruised but alert.

One of them, an older colonel with sunken eyes, squinted. "Are you with the Army?"

"No," Murat said. "We’re MİT."

The colonel blinked. "Has the coup started?"

Murat hesitated. The air smelled of blood and spent cordite. Somewhere behind them, a fire alarm chirped.

"Not yet," he said. "But it will."

Another officer, younger, tried to stand. "They said the Army was crushed. That the Party knew everything. We thought... we thought we were dead men."

Murat cut his bindings. "You’re not. Not tonight."

Kadir handed out fresh magazines and bandages. Derya marked the floor with chalk arrows.

"Exfil in three minutes. We’ve got two escape corridors. Either the spillway or the access shaft. Atesh is watching both."

As they moved out, the colonel turned to Murat. "Why now?"

Murat checked the hallway and answered without looking back. "Because the window's closing."

The colonel limped as Murat gave him a shoulder to shift his weight on. The MİT and AİAB officers fled the building through the Spillway and got into their escape vehicle. Driving off, Murat listened to the radio, waiting to hear if any of the other teams had succeeded. After another fifteen minutes, he heard the positive news.

They had won this round. Only time would tell if they were on the right side.

 

[Jay]

The windowless chamber inside the Millî İstihbarat Teşkilatı complex smelled of old coffee and smoke as a heavy projector beam cut through cigarette smoke, throwing the grainy still-frame of a captured hard drive across the wall.

Colonel Çolak, an army intelligence officer, sat stiff-backed. Across from him, Hakan Ağçay of MİT leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. They had been staring at the same decrypted fragments for two hours, waiting for something more than half-coded jargon and coordinates scrawled in the PKK’s loose, almost taunting shorthand.

“This is thin,” Ağçay muttered. “No radio chatter, no courier reports, no signal intercepts. Nothing. For an operation this ambitious, I’d expect noise in the ether. But it’s clean. Too clean.”

Colonel Arpag Yavuz, crossed his arms. “Maybe they’ve learned from Syria. The jihadists used to chatter on open bands. Made our work easy. These cells are quiet and compartmentalized. It suggests higher discipline.”

Çolak tapped the table with a knuckle, eyes still on the projected files. Red circles marked Sivas, Balıkesir, Kırıkkale. “Discipline implies command. Somebody is reorganizing the PKK. This doesn’t read like guerrilla work. It reads like an operations order. That means some of those bastards escaped when we retook the country in December.”

Yavuz shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “The communists are still trying to reconstitute their networks in the cities. Meanwhile, the TAK and PKK are starting the fighting season in the southeast. And the Syrian border is as lawless as usual. Every direction we’re being stretched thin. We may not have the bandwidth to chase shadows if this is a false lead.”

Ağçay looked up sharply. “False lead or not, the cost of ignoring it could be catastrophic. Do you not see what this implies? Coordinated strikes on our entire government. This isn’t about freeing prisoners or hitting our supply lines. It’s political. A statement. One that could very easily cause the downfall of our entire country.”

Nilay, an analyst adjusted her glasses and spoke for the first time. “There’s one more thing, sir. The timing. Their notes reference an ‘American precedent.’ At first, I thought it was bluster. But after cross-referencing dates, I believe they mean the attack on the U.S. Capitol.

The room fell silent. Even Çolak blinked once, his composure cracking. “You’re suggesting they took inspiration from the Capitol bombing?”

“Not just inspiration,” Nilay replied, sliding another decrypted file across the table. “They cite it as proof. That even a strong state can be destabilized if you strike the seat of power fast enough. They believe the Turkish state is weaker, more divided. If we could figure out what happened on that day outside of the sound bites, then we could thwart an attack of this scale.”

Arpag Yavuz cursed under his breath. “If they attempt something even half as brazen here…”

“They’d succeed,” Ağçay finished the thought, flat and cold. “Our forces are too committed on too many fronts. We would be late. We found this by mistake, gentlemen. A mistake. We can't afford any. They can afford many."

For a long moment, nobody spoke. The bulb overhead buzzed like an insect. Then Çolak exhaled, leaned forward, and placed both palms flat on the table. “We need to know how the Americans handled their breach. Every security failure. Every vulnerability. If these radicals studied it, we must study it deeper.”

Erdem frowned. “You’re proposing… what? Official contact?”

“Not official,” Ağçay said, shaking his head. “Quiet. Through liaison. The FBI has the after-action files. Counterterror, counterintelligence, security assessments. We ask the Bureau what they saw, what they missed. And more importantly, if any of their suspects or financiers had Turkish contacts.”

Nilay looked doubtful. “Do you think transnational support is possible?”

Çolak’s voice dropped, as though the walls themselves could listen. “When ideology and money meet, anything is possible. The PKK has friends in Europe, sympathizers in America. The communists have old back channels with Thai cutouts. If there is even a trace linking these plots, we must uncover it before the first shot is fired.”

Ağçay nodded, his jaw set. “Then I’ll make the call to our Washington station chief. Quiet channels only. We’ll request a briefing with the Bureau’s CT division. If these terrorists believe they can pull off such an attack, we’ll prove them wrong.”

Finally, Colonel Yavuz broke the silence with a bitter edge. “Then we had better pray the Americans are more honest with us than they were with themselves.”

No one disagreed as they started to file out of the room. Ağçay went back to his office. The office was dim, a single desk lamp throwing a pale arc of light across the maps and folders stacked like barricades.

Murat stood by the window, jacket slung over his shoulder, the glow of a cigarette tip punctuating his silhouette. He hadn’t spoken in a long while, letting the silence stretch until it felt like a weight pressing against the walls.

At last, he said quietly, “You know, Hakan, for years we fought the same enemies. The PRGC pulling strings in the shadows, the GMT trying to box us in, humiliate us in our own game. I thought when they fell, it would be us cleaning the floor. Closing the chapter.” He turned, face hard in the lamplight. “And yet here we are. Still chasing ghosts.”

Ağçay leaned forward as he took his seat, fingers steepled. His eyes were rimmed red with fatigue. “There is a new war, Murat. You feel it as well as I do. Our enemy is not clear anymore. It does not sit in Athens, or Moscow, or Qandil, waiting for us to mark it on a map. It has shifted. It has infiltrated us, our own ministries, our parliaments, our so-called civil organizations. They move behind the mask of government itself. And that…” His voice dropped lower. “…is more dangerous to weed out than an enemy we know.”

Murat frowned, grinding the cigarette into the ashtray. “You mean when the PKK came into power?”

Ağçay exhaled sharply. “Yes. Letting them into government was a mistake. A grave one. They’ve had their hands on our modus operandi. How we hunt, how we watch, how we cut. And they are evolving. Adapting. They know our patterns, Murat. They know where we will look and where we will not.”

Murat straightened, crossing the room to the desk. His voice was low, measured, “what does that mean for us, Hakan?”

“It means,” Ağçay said, leaning forward, eyes locked on his old counterpart, “we need to evolve too. Stop thinking of them as a band of insurgents hiding in the mountains. They are something else now. A parasite that feeds on the state itself. And we must learn how to cut them out without killing the body.”

Murat’s jaw tightened. “What if this is all smoke? Hot air to distract us from something else? We have reports of attacks planned along the entire western coast. Ports, tourist hubs, refineries. If those come true. That'd be worse than anything.”

“Other teams are on it,” Ağçay said firmly. “Signals, naval intelligence, coast guard, they’re stretched thin, but they are watching. But this...” he tapped the stack of decrypted PKK documents, his knuckles rapping on the desk like a drumbeat, “this is different. If they are preparing a decapitation strike against Ankara, Murat, then our government will be gone in a single night. And with it, the country. We can't afford that after the last decade of utter shame.”

Silence hung heavy between them. Murat finally said, “You’re certain this isn’t just bluster? That they actually have the means?”

Ağçay’s eyes flicked back to the glowing monitor, the blurred faces and grainy coordinates. “I’m not certain of anything anymore. And that terrifies me. These people learned from us. They are writing an operation order the way we would. That alone makes them more dangerous than any commander hiding in the Zagros.”

Murat let out a dry laugh with no humor. “So we hunt ourselves.”

“No,” Ağçay corrected, his voice a low growl. “We outgrow ourselves. We find their weakness, not by fighting them as they expect, but by anticipating their next evolution before it happens. That’s the only way we survive.”

Murat looked at him long and hard, then shook his head. “You’ve become a philosopher in your old age.”

“And you’ve become careless in yours,” Ağçay shot back. Only fatigue could be felt as even he recognized this could be far deeper than they wanted to admit.

Murat sat down across from him, leaning forward until the lamplight carved deep shadows across both their faces. “Then tell me, Hakan. Where do we start?”

Ağçay stared at the map for a long moment before answering. “By treating this like the war it is. And by accepting the truth neither of us wants to say out loud...that some of the enemies we will have to kill wear the same flag as we do.”

The words hung in the air like a gunshot. Murat didn’t flinch. He simply nodded once, slowly. “Then God help them. Because we will send them to meet their maker.”