“All right, let’s split up. You see anything that could lead us to Abood and her mystery boyfriend, call me and I’ll bring the boys running,” Makal said to Sengor.
Sengor nodded, looking at the rubble-strewed streets. His mind was more on the catastrophe than finding their fugitives.
“Listen, if we find the drugs, we can help all those citizens you feel need it,” Makal reminded him.
Sengor ran his fingers through his highlighted hair. The Turkish lawman frosted his normally dark hair to give him a more European look. It made him a little more attractive to women in the clubs, even though his partners razzed him about it. “Okay. If it’s to help get the drugs back, except for what’s going into our retirement funds—”
Makal rested his hand on Sengor’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit, blondie.”
Sengor puffed out his jowls and took off.
Makal frowned as he watched his man leave, then checked the CZ-75 on his hip. He was going to need a deniable weapon in case he ran into Trug and his boys. Granted, Turkish forensics were a joke, but Makal was known for his big Czech pistol, a sign of how truly elite he was among the Jandarma. Most of the other paramilitary types still used postwar 9 mm Walther P-38s or Glocks. It wouldn’t be hard for even a Turkish investigator to place the CZ-75’s unique firing pin strike on spent brass, and Makal wasn’t about to stick around to police his empties after emptying his gun into his Kongra-Gel coconspirators.
He went to the back of his van and opened a case, setting down his gun and choosing a P-38. He inserted a full magazine, charged the chamber, then lowered the hammer with his thumb. For a cheap reload, he did the same with two more of the guns, tucking them farther out of sight under his jacket. Spare magazines went into his pockets, in case he’d have time to reload.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, and he looked at the locked and cocked CZ lying alone in the case. He pursed his lips, then picked it back up and tucked it into his usual holster. He might need some high capacity if he got into real trouble. Makal also grabbed a collapsing stock G-3 and a bandolier of extra magazines. A quick check of the charge on his cell phone, and he was set.
LEM SENGOR CAME ACROSS the overturned truck as Turkish military units were helping the crash survivors. Major Baydur was talking with a young man wearing only one shoe, and Sengor jogged up to find out what was going on.
“Lem,” Baydur spoke up, noticing him, “did you spot anything on Abood or the other man who attacked Makal?”
“Not a thing,” Sengor said.
“They attacked Jandarma officers?” the one-shoed youth asked.
“The man did. He opened fire on them when they were questioning the woman. Catherine Abood,” Baydur stated.
The youth frowned.
“You’ve seen them?” Sengor asked.
“They were the first ones here,” the young man told them. “They helped rescue us, and did what they could to minimize the risk of the truck’s fuel igniting.”
Sengor tilted his head. “A tall man, black hair, dark skin, wearing some kind of commando outfit?”
“No. He was wearing normal clothes. A jacket, jeans, tight shirt,” the youth replied.
“Which way did they go?” Baydur inquired.
The young man seemed to think about it for a moment, then pointed southeast. “They looked like they were cutting out of town. I don’t think they wanted to hang around for any more aftershocks.”
“Sounds like a smart plan,” Baydur mused. “What do you think?”
Sengor’s brow furrowed as he looked at the young man. “Yes. I can believe it. Only someone with a death wish would want to cross the city as it is.”
“But something’s bothering you,” Baydur replied.
“They might try to circle around the city. Especially if they’re involved with the Kongras,” Sengor responded. “Try to find where the drugs are.”
“You think they know where the relief supplies went?” Baydur asked.
“It’s a possibility,” Sengor told him. “I just don’t know how.”
“I don’t care about how they’re involved. If we ever needed relief supplies, now is the time,” Baydur informed him. “Can you find them?”
Sengor outlined his plan. “I’m going to check with my informants. Go through the city, get a little bit ahead of them. If I do find out I’ll call in backup.”
“Do that,” Baydur responded. “I could assign a team to work with you—”
“My informants might not like that,” Sengor replied. “And your boys will only slow me down.”
“In other words, you’re going to get rough,” Baydur translated.
Sengor shook his head. “Not like you’re thinking.”
“Makal has a reputation for skinning Kurdish separatists. And you’re one of his elite team,” Baydur replied.
“I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t have it coming,” Sengor answered. “Besides, I’m half Kurd, or don’t you read the files?”
“Yeah,” Baydur answered. “I just…A lot of people don’t like their families. Jews worked for Hitler. Palestinians assist the Mossad…”
“I’m not ashamed of my roots,” Sengor answered.
Baydur looked at the blond tints streaking through Sengor’s dark, upswept hair. “Right.”
Sengor’s face darkened and he sighed. “Just trust me, okay? We’re trying to do good here.”
Baydur studied him for a long time. “All right. But if Makal’s behind anything rotten—”
“I’ll tell you,” Sengor stated. “In fact, I’ll bring him in myself.”
Sengor turned and headed out, working his way toward the warehouse, feeling Major Baydur’s eyes boring holes in his back even after he’d turned the corner.
PEPIS AND BURSA WERE going over the maps, coordinating with the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Defense. Van was in a bad way.
“Both highways from the south were destroyed. We can’t get any trucks over them,” Bursa said.
“Refugees have blocked the roads to the north,” Pepis added. “With the roads to Mardin cut off, all we have is air transportation.”
“It’s going to be tight. The airport wasn’t designed for much more than tourist traffic,” Bursa lamented. “How’s the situation in the surrounding countryside?”
“We’re picking up aftershocks up to 3.9 as far away as Kars,” Pepis explained. “It’s dropped in magnitude, but Van’s being shaken like a chew toy.”
Bursa looked at the map before him. The lines in blue and red gave him the ability to turn the catastrophe into an abstract, instead of the nightmare that threatened to invade his concentration. A ringing phone sliced through the dread slowly building at the bottom of his stomach, and he grabbed the receiver.
It was Cahil Gordi, the minister of defense.
“Tell me you have good news,” Bursa said.
“We’ve got a nuclear aircraft carrier from the Americans. It’s coming in full steam and is going to park in the Gulf of Iskenderun,” Gordi told him.
“That’ll be a four-hundred-mile flight, both ways,” Bursa answered.
“It’s still aircraft. The British and Italians are also sending relief ships.”
“How soon will all of this be in place?” Bursa asked.
Gordi paused. “The carrier will pull in tonight, around eight.”
Bursa closed his eyes. He did the math. Even if their helicopters raced full-out at top speed, it was going to be more than two hours for them to send in supplies and emergency response teams. Add time for dispersal through the city, and it would be well after midnight before the Americans could lend a hand.
In the meantime, people needed help immediately. “It’s going to take too long,” Bursa murmured.
“The carrier has AWACS aircraft en route over the area,” Gordi said, hope tingeing his voice.
“Their radar planes?” Bursa inquired.
“They can do much more than just keep track of planes and ships,” Gordi explained. “Sure, they can identify aircraft two hundred nautical miles away, but they are also forward command and control centers.”
“Communications,” Bursa mused, his spirits starting to lift.
“Communications, and forward air traffic control for our own planes. Van’s airports are down. Power outages and damage have knocked out their radar and communications for now. One AWACS can guide relief aircraft in to give aid,” Gordi told him.
“Thank God.” Bursa sighed with relief. He looked over to Pepis.
The seismologist frowned as he looked at the readings coming in.
“What’s wrong?” Bursa inquired.
“We’ve got a buildup coming,” Pepis said. He pointed to three locations on the map. “Tremors in Elazio and Diyarbakir are building up. Faults in their area are starting to loosen up in sympathy with the main quake that hit Van.”
Bursa’s brow furrowed. “Are they…”
“It’s hard to tell how much pressure those faults have built up for now. But even if they release at less than 4.0…” Pepis began. The seismologist stepped away from the map. “Even if they release with a minimum of force, it’s going to send shock waves rolling back into Van.”
“Destabilizing things further,” Bursa concluded, lowering the phone. “Damn.”
Pepis rubbed his forehead. “The shock waves might null out in the center, but waves can reflect off each other. It’s simple physics.”
“And the shock waves will roll back into Van,” Bursa grumbled.
“The city has been hit hard. I’ll be surprised if any buildings are still standing now,” Pepis told him. “The aftershocks are only making things worse.”
“I’ll tell the minister,” Bursa said, leaving Pepis alone.