Walter Williams - Deep State

He went to his office to send off messages. The drama in Ankara continued-and then came the announcement that the mayor of Bodrum, acting in concert with the governor of Mula Province, had ordered local forces to seal off the Bodrum Peninsula, which he was now prepared to defend against the military government. Bodrum, the fashionable resort town known in ancient times as Halicarnassus, was now in a state of self-imposed siege.

“That’s not gonna last,” Richard remarked. “The Turks have a freakin’ navy. They can just sail around that stupid blockade and land however many troops they want.”

Hellmuth nodded. “Our allies could benefit from having played more strategy games in their youth, that’s for sure.”

More news came in, of demonstrations in Manisa, in Denizli, in Edirne, and once again in Trabzon. It was Friday afternoon and a lot of people had started the weekend early, swarming the streets. Hundreds were now waving banners from atop Ataturk Stadium in Beyolu, across the Golden Horn from Istanbul. The reaction of the authorities varied: some demonstrations were attacked, others blockaded; others proceeded without opposition. Though Turkish networks didn’t mention the demos at all, international news networks were reporting the events live, though their reportage tended to rely heavily on amateur video downloaded from the Web pages created and maintained by the Lincoln Brigade.

Alparslan Topal, the political liaison with the Turkish government-in-exile, appeared in the ops room. Dagmar hadn’t seen him in days. He went into conference with Lincoln behind closed doors.

Lola was sent out for sandwiches. Dagmar realized with a guilty start that she had intended a memorial to Tuna and Judy this afternoon and she hadn’t even announced it.

At that moment her satellite phone rang.

“Briana,” she answered.

“This is Ismet. I’m in hospital.”

Driving to the airport in Nikosia he had encountered a police roadblock and upon showing his Turkish passport had been pulled out of the car by Greek Cypriot cops, who had then beaten the shit out of him. If they’d had any reason other than the fact of his Turkish passport, they hadn’t mentioned it.

His injuries involved cuts, bruises, sprains, and a possible concussion.

“I’ll come get you,” Dagmar said.

In a white-hot rage, Dagmar stormed into Lincoln’s office to tell him what had happened. He was waiting on the phone-apparently whoever he was talking to had put him on hold.

“You are not leaving,” he said. “There’s too much happening here. I’ll send some of our guards to bring him.”

“But-”

Lincoln pointed back to the ops room. The sympathy he had demonstrated earlier seemed to have faded.

“Go do your job,” he said.

She went, impatient, still furious.

Ismet came in about ninety minutes later. His lips were cut and swollen, one eye was blackened, and there were random cuts and bruises scattered over his face. His glasses were held together with tape. He walked like someone who had been kicked several times in the kidneys.

Dagmar went to him and gently embraced him. He smelled of disinfectant, adhesive, and blood. She kissed an unbruised part of his cheek.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He spoke carefully through his cut lips.

“Pain pills help,” he said.

Lincoln heard his voice and came out of his office.

“Fuck!” he said. “We can’t send you into Turkey like this.”

Dagmar turned to him. “No,” she said. “You can’t.”

Lincoln made a disgusted gesture.

“A face that marked up, you’d stand out.”

Ismet spoke with careful dignity. “I’ll get better,” he said.

“Come into my office,” Lincoln said.

Dagmar winced at the careful way Ismet lowered himself into a chair. Alparslan Topal was already in the second chair, so Dagmar remained standing. While Topal commisserated with Ismet, Lincoln asked her to close the door, which she did.

“We’ve both spoken to ex-mayor Erez on the phone,” Lincoln said. “I’ve been able to assure him of support provided that he modifies his original statement proclaiming himself head of the government. Instead he’ll say that he’s the provisional head, until the elected prime minister and president can return to power.”

“What support can you give him?” Dagmar said.

“Money,” Lincoln said. “Funds to help certain people see the wisdom of democracy. Money to provide a secure retirement for certain officers. And-” He waved a hand in the direction of the ops room. “We have some intelligence that might be useful to him. We’ve got Rafet on the scene, and the Skunk Works, and our various networks. We have to decide what they’re going to do.”

“Something a little less hazardous, I hope,” Dagmar said, “than forting up in a government ministry and waiting for the government to come and kill them.”

Alparslan Topal winced a little at the thought.

“Perhaps Rafet needs to do something more active,” Lincoln said. “You need to get into the ops room and work out what’s necessary, and how to do it.”

Indignation straightened her spine.

“I have damn little information to work with,” she said. “We’ve only got what the demonstrators themselves are putting online, plus some footage from the drones.”

“Make your best guess,” said Lincoln. “Get Rafet and everyone the network can reach on the streets tomorrow, supporting Erez and the elected government.”

Dagmar glanced at Ismet.

“I was hoping to get Is-Estragon comfortably settled in his bed, with his medicines and-”

“We’ve got guards that can do that,” Lincoln said.

“I’d rather stay here,” Ismet said. “I won’t be any more or less comfortable in the ops room than at home, and I might be useful.”

Dagmar saw Ismet settled into his desk chair, then got the disk with the email addresses on it and sent out a preparatory email telling people to be ready before noon the next day. She returned to the ops room and asked for updates. Nothing startlingly new had happened, only more of the same. The Skunk Works drones were having their batteries recharged.

While going about their normal tasks the Lincoln Brigade discussed their options. All agreed that Rafet and the various Brigade-controlled networks should create a major demonstration or marches while the authorities were distracted by demonstrations elsewhere, but it was difficult to tell where some of the actions already were and therefore what locations were safe. And of course it was completely impossible to tell which locations would be safe the next day.

They already had scouting reports on any number of locations, all completed before any actions had even started. Dagmar chose three, then sent orders to the Skunk Works for drones to scout them before nightfall.

It was while Dagmar awaited the news from the drones that she heard a series of exclamations from others in the ops room, all in about a ten-second period.

“Damn!” muttered Richard.

“Fuck!” said Byron.

“Crap!” From Magnus.

Dagmar looked up.

“What’s up?”

“408 Request Timeout,” Richard said. “And I’m looking for a page I just uploaded onto a server I know is there.”

“Allah kahretsin s?u Interneti!” Lloyd snarled at his computer through half-clenched teeth.

“Download’s frozen,” Magnus said. He reached for his mouse. “I’ll cancel and restart.”

“And with me it’s an upload,” Byron said. “Motherfucker!”

“408 Request Timeout,” Magnus said.

“408,” said Helmuth. He looked up at Dagmar. “What’s next? 418 I’m a Teapot?”

Dagmar thought for a moment, then turned to Richard. “Are we being attacked?”