Aslan stormed into his office and slapped down a wet copy of Hürriyet in front of Ali.
‘See that?’
‘The official communiqué is on your desk, sir.’
‘Why bother when it’s all over the newspapers?’
‘Might be different, sir.’
‘Is it different, Ali? I presume you’ve read it.’
‘Not really, sir.’
‘Not really you haven’t read it, or not really it might be different?’
‘The odd word; nothing of substance.’
‘See what it says here in Hürriyet? Did you read it?’
‘I read the story in Sabah, sir. It all comes from the same place.’
‘Well, Ali, in case there is any difference, let me read this to you.’
Ali’s tired eyes looked heavenwards and blinked. Aslan carried on regardless.
‘“Istanbul’s governor, Muammar Güler, said that a new group with plans for further atrocities was behind the attack on the Masonic Lodge in Kartal District. He assured the public that eighteen suspects are currently in custody and have confessed to planning and preparing…” Get that, Ali? “Planning and preparing”, what the hell’s the difference? Suggests they’re trying to pile up charges. Ah, look… it gets better. “We know they received political and military training in camps in Afghanistan and Pakistan, but police have so far found no links between them and al-Qaeda. The governor added that ‘It does not have links to currently known organisations. We are investigating whether it has links to al-Qaeda.’” Are we currently investigating links with al-Qaeda, Ali?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Are we?’
‘If the governor says we are, Ali.’
‘Then of course we are, sir. There was a bit more in Sabah, sir.’
‘A bit more what?’
‘A few more details that do not appear in the official communiqué on your desk, sir.’
‘What is it?’
‘Not much.’
‘Not much is all we’ve got. Let’s hear it.’
‘Only, sir, that Celalettin Celik considered the attack to be the work of amateurs.’
‘Since it’s difficult to make a profession out of suicide bombing, he’s on safe ground there. Is he suggesting blowing oneself to smithereens is a kind of hobby?’
Ali swallowed a laugh.
‘And why the hell didn’t Celik tell me he’d ended his so-called news blackout?’
‘There’s something else, sir.’
‘Well?’
‘The London-based Arabic newspaper al-Quds al-Arabi reported receiving a statement from the al-Qaeda linked group Jund al-Quds, Soldiers of Jerusalem, claiming responsibility.’
Aslan paused, weighing up the value of the statement. ‘London, you say?’
‘Yes, sir. According to Sabah.’
‘Why’s there always someone in London who knows more than we do?’
‘It’s been called the terrorists’ international café, sir.’
‘Really? More like a review bar, Ali. In the interests of what the British call fairness, every arsehole gets a hearing in London. Which reminds me…’
Aslan pulled up his plastic chair and grabbed the communiqué.
‘What’s this?’
‘I think it’s a codicil, sir.’
‘Have you read it?’
Ali bit his lip.
‘All right, Ali. You may now retire to your Mac and begin composing your resignation.’
‘Sir! Please!’
‘Only joking, Ali. It’s only right my secretary should be better informed than I am. I might have to lose my memory one of these days.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Ali saluted and turned on his heels.
Aslan speed-read the communiqué, then turned to the codicil. He squinted as a shock blast of sunlight punched its way from behind a cloud and burst through the wet air into the office. Aslan shielded his eyes and struggled to come to terms with what he was reading.
‘Sons of bitches! Two-faced bastards! Ali! Come back in here, now!’