Don Pendleton - Double Blindside

“Rein it in, cowboy,” Gary Manning quipped. The brawny Canadian fighter held the distinction of being Phoenix Force’s demolitions expert. Former RCMP, Manning had extensive knowledge of global terrorist groups. “Your time will come.”

“From the little intel we’ve received, there’s a group organizing itself for some kind of extreme protest,” Brognola continued. “There was a name in the transcripts that came up a number of times. Kadir Polat is a Turkish national. He’s a guy who wants to be counted when it comes to opposition against our presence in the country.”

Brognola glanced down the table to where Aaron Kurtzman, head of Stony Man’s dedicated cyber team, sat quietly in his motorized wheelchair. The big man had been crippled from the waist down a number of years back when Stony Man Farm had been hit for the first and only time. Despite his disability, Kurtzman had proved himself countless times by providing information that assisted the Stony Man field teams. His ongoing mission was to maintain his department as the best around, and to offer the Stony Man teams the ultimate in backup. Kurtzman was never more at home than when presented with a complex technical problem. If there was a need for something, Kurtzman would find the solution. His understanding of the internet was matched only by his innate curiosity and the need to keep learning.

“Getting into Makerson’s laptop gave us the opening we needed,” Kurtzman said. “That guy had put down everything he’d sourced—names and locations and images he’d captured on his cell. He’s left us a hell of a legacy.”

Kurtzman used the remote he held to bring up the information on the wall-mounted plasma screen. The data Makerson had gathered had been assembled into understandable order and the Stony Man teams were able to follow it clearly.

“The first image is Kadir Polat himself.” Another image flashed on-screen. “Then we have this guy—Hakan Kaplan. Polat’s second in command and lifelong personal friend. Makerson has him down as the harder man of the two. Both these guys are part of Özgürlük. Pretty well are Özgürlük. It’s Turkish for freedom , for those interested. Nice little choice of words. Their politics are well-known, and on the surface they appear as people with grievances concerning Turkey’s involvement with the U.S. and NATO. Makerson had tracked them both to meetings with other activist individuals.”

Kurtzman clicked to a second image of Polat. It showed a close-up of the strong-faced, good-looking man, his dark eyes seeming to actually stare at everyone in the room. The effect was unsettling. The man had a head of thick black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. The set of his lips showed a hint of a smile.

“Polat. Early forties. A devout advocate of Turkish withdrawal from NATO and involvement with the U.S. His opposition is on record and he openly defies the elected government. He’s highly visible. He criticizes the elected government for being a sycophantic ally of the U.S. He is,” Kurtzman added, “an extremely popular guy. Has an immense following and the backing of influential people in business and politics.”

Barbara Price studied the face, admitting to herself that Polat was more than just good-looking. There was something in his dark eyes that could easily have been tantalizing. Maybe it was the light olive complexion. His black hair. The way he stared into the camera lens. The mesmerizing expression in the deep pupils…

The Stony Man mission controller mentally shook herself, hoping her brief lapse had not been noticed. Price was no giddy schoolgirl. What the hell was she thinking? A faint warmth crept across her cheeks. She was a woman dedicated to her work and not the kind to be easily seduced by a simple photograph of an attractive man. She became aware again of Kurtzman’s voice as he explained more about Polat. She realized she had zoned out for a few moments and pulled herself back to the present.

“Polat’s background tells us he comes from a wealthy family. Extremely wealthy. And I emphasize wealthy . The Polat dynasty goes back decades. Very traditional Turkish. They own businesses around the country, including a shipping line. They have homes in Turkey. A villa on the Costa Brava. Run aircraft like normal people run cars. And there’s an ocean-going cruiser Kadir keeps moored in the harbor outside Istanbul.”

“Married?” McCarter asked casually.

It was an innocent question on the surface, but when Price caught the Briton’s gaze she could see a thin smile edging his lips.

“Just filling in the background.”

Dammit, she thought, had he noticed?

“No,” Brognola said. “Though he has been linked with some well-known women.”

“Interesting,” McCarter said. “Quite a bloke, then.”

Price felt a flash of anger at his remark. She pushed it out of her mind instantly. She realized McCarter was simply teasing. He was well-known for his dry wit and the pointed way he could deliver his sly retorts.

“So what’s Polat done that gets him in this report?” McCarter asked, his attention back on Brognola. “Is he suspected of being involved in the deaths of the agents?”

“Lots of suspicion,” Brognola said. “No hard proof. But Polat is smart enough to stay in the background and surround himself with people to make his history interesting.

“Polat has a younger brother who is involved with Özgürlük. Amal Polat. He has the family money behind him and a rep as a hothead. He’s twenty-four years old but still has the willful attitude of a teenager.”

They went over the files again, taking in the data that applied to each team.

“This is one of the good guys,” Brognola said, nodding at the cyber boss. “To be politically correct, one of the good girls.”

Kurtzman brought up another image on the plasma. This time a young female. She was strikingly attractive. Her fall of thick black hair framed an oval, mobile face. She had large brown eyes and a full mouth, light brown skin and dark brows.

“Now, she is interesting,” Encizo said. “And she’s on the side of the good guys?”

“Agent Berna Kartal,” Brognola said. “And, yes, she is. Kartal is an agent with the NIO—the Turkish National Intelligence Organization, aka secret service. Early thirties. Did a couple of years in active military service when she was eligible. Her current assignment is investigating Özgürlük. She had the local contact with Makerson and his partner until they disappeared. The next time she saw them was in the morgue. Dead agents push this a step up the ladder.”

“So what’s the bottom line here?” Lyons said.

“Polat is suspected of having a desire to push his group further along the dissent road. Behind the outer charm he’s funded rallies expressing dissatisfaction with American presence on Turkish soil. He has the ear of powerful Turkish groups who also have big money behind them. Industrialists. Old-time Turkish families, like his own, who would prefer nothing better than for the country to be free from foreign influence. And there are groups within the Turkish government who have the same feelings. Kartal believes there may also be some military backing coming via General Demir Marangol.”

The next photo showed a thickset man in a Turkish military uniform bedecked with ribbons. The man’s broad face stared out of the picture with a belligerent scowl. His dark eyes and thick mustache gave him a powerful expression.

“Marangol. Old family friend of the Polat dynasty. Also extremely pro–Turkish independence. Makes no bones about his feelings. Wants his country independent of foreign influence. Has a lot of power behind him in the military.”

“So no solid evidence of anything except hot air?” Lyons growled.