Aslan squatted uncomfortably in a Bauhaus steel-framed chair. He was unimpressed by the state-of-the-art reception area and its portraits of the Turkish army’s high command, interspersed with colour prints of oil refineries, vehicle assembly lines and telecommunications facilities, terrestrial and orbital.
Aslan always dreaded the regular summonses to the Foundation for the Strengthening of the Turkish Security Forces. Ankara was another world, and the Foundation was a world within a world. Aslan accepted Turkey’s status quo for its broad social and political advantages, and preferred to overlook the details; it was none of his business how the army funded its activities – so long as the cheques kept coming. That the Foundation was exempt from taxes, or any democratic financial control, and that it owned considerable shares in Turkish Telecom, Goodyear, Shell and Renault, might look strange to an outsider, but it was simply logical given the overall shape of modern Turkey. The army must survive and flourish, and this he understood: that you get nothing for free in this world.
In spite of a civilian ministerial presence, Turkey’s National Security Council was still dominated by the army. While a rebalancing had recently been initiated in favour of the government, the army had a great deal of Turkey under exclusive control. The Foundation for the Strengthening of the Turkish Security Forces (TSKGV) was army owned and army run. General Ahmet Koglu, Chief of Staff of the General Secretariat of the National Security Council, had his agile fingers in this business, as he had in every politically and economically significant pie in Turkey.
Koglu had summoned Aslan to Turkey’s capital, Ankara, for a briefing. This was Koglu’s favourite office – far from Istanbul, the way he liked it.
The once handsome general, his chest emblazoned with medals, thrust open the large oak door. Aslan was hit by the chill of air-conditioning.
‘I hope you like medals, Colonel.’ Koglu smoothed the creases from his dark-blue uniform. ‘I have a meeting with the American Secretary of Defence this afternoon. Unofficial visit, but appearances…’ Koglu looked derisively at Aslan’s nylon zip-up jacket and open-necked shirt, ‘must be maintained. When did you cease wearing uniform in the Liaison Department, Colonel?’
‘We’ve never worn it, General. We interact with civilian personnel. That’s the point of the department, sir. Not to frighten the democrats!’
Koglu’s eyebrows rose in a slightly bored kind of way. ‘Yes… still, there’s always the danger of fraternising with them.’
The general showed Aslan into a vast, beautifully carpeted office, filled with antique furniture and Ottoman Caliphate porcelain. Exquisitely framed medieval manuscripts adorned the walls.
Koglu retired behind his white marble desk, grandly constructed in a crescent-moon shape, like the crescent of the Turkish flag. Aslan sank back into a modern red sofa while Koglu rubbed his second chin and tickled his finely trimmed black moustache. He reached for a small paperback in Arabic.
‘Ever read this, Colonel?’ Koglu tossed it over.
Aslan caught the book in mid-air, then flicked through the book with disdain. ‘Yes, sir, a long time ago. The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. But… don’t you have a copy in Turkish?’
Koglu smiled weakly. ‘I believe, Colonel, that this book has been made into a TV drama series in Cairo. And the title, by the way, is The Protocols of the Meetings of the Learned Elders of Zion.’
Aslan threw it back onto the general’s desk. ‘Hardly material for a daytime soap.’
‘Nevertheless, let us take a page at random. Ah! This looks interesting:
Who and what is in a position to overthrow an invisible force? And this is precisely what our force is. Gentile Masonry blindly serves as a screen for us and our objects, but the plan of action of our force, even its very abiding-place, remains for the whole people an unknown mystery.
‘This comes from Protocol No. 4. I can’t help thinking, Colonel, that this little book could be central to your investigations.’
‘It’s bullshit, sir.’
The general tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘It states here, Colonel, that these are the secret minutes of the first Zionist Congress, held in Basle in 1897. This is nothing less than a blueprint for the long-term project of Jewish world domination.’
‘Very long term, I should say, sir. Israel seems to be having a job defending a territory smaller than some of our lesser-known provinces.’
The general smiled again. ‘Quite so, Colonel. But I cannot help observing that the Jewish people have come a long way since 1897. In those days, Istanbul was the centre of the Ottoman Caliphate with an empire extending west and east from Bosnia to Medina. And the Jews were dhimmis: tolerated, but in their place; hardly even to be considered, other than for the demands of courtesy and good manners.’
Aslan couldn’t help raising his eyebrows. ‘Sir, The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion is a piece of shit concocted by some clever bastards in the Tsarist secret police – the Okhrana.’
‘Why would they do such a thing?’
‘Many Jewish intellectuals in Russia were communists, sir. They were perceived as threats to the Tsarist religious and social order. The Protocols were a clear attempt to play on the fears of invisible enemies – a concept familiar to you, surely, sir.’
‘I wonder what you might mean by that, Colonel.’
‘This was how the Tsarist order was governed, with the full backing of the Russian Orthodox Church. The leaders of the Orthodox Church have always hated Freemasonry. For them, it’s a rival spiritual power. So the Russian secret police put Jews and Freemasons together and… abracadabra! Conspiracy!’
Koglu sat back in his chair. ‘You seem very well informed in these matters, Colonel. Especially for one who, if you don’t mind me saying, told my – I mean our – chief of police, that he had never entered a Masonic Lodge before last week.’
Aslan coughed as he tried to think of an answer. ‘I can read, sir. I’ve been consulting the latest and the best research on the subject.’ That sounded a bit weak.
‘Good. Very good, Colonel. Then you will also agree with us, I hope, that where there is smoke, there is fire, and that all non-Turkish forces, are a threat—’
‘Potential threat, General.’
‘Potential threat, yes.’ The general looked to the ceiling for inspiration. ‘Tell me, Colonel. Was the bombing in Kartal a potential threat?’
Aslan also looked up to the plain ceiling. He felt Koglu’s eyes boring into him.
‘I’m sorry, was that a rhetorical question, or did the general want an answer?’
‘Answer.’
‘Could you repeat the question, sir?’
‘Was the bombing in Kartal a potential threat?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good!’ Koglu smiled. He felt on top, at last. He took a deep breath, but Aslan got in first.
‘I mean, yes and no, sir. The bombing was not necessarily itself a threat. It could be seen as the execution of a threat already made, or it may have been a kind of opening salvo – a threat of worse to come. Perhaps the first stage in a demand. But that was not your original question, was it, sir? You were saying that all non-Turkish forces were a threat.’
‘Covert forces, Colonel! I said covert forces!’
‘Ah! I didn’t catch that.’
Koglu started sorting through papers on his desk in an effort to regain his composure.
‘Colonel Aslan, we are concerned – as you must be – that there may be more than meets the eye to this business.’