Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

“What would be the motive?”

“The typical incidences of mosque bombings, as we’ve seen in Iraq, are Shia attacks on Sunni mosques, or visa versa,” offered the CIA officer. “Though in the case of Turkey, I believe the Shia Muslims in the country are a nonviolent minority.”

“That’s correct,” O’Quinn stated. “A more likely culprit would be Kurdish separatists. Turkey is holding national elections in less than four weeks. It’s possible that the Turkish attacks were instigated by the Kurds, or another fringe political party trying to stir up trouble, though I’m not sure that would explain a link to Cairo.”

“I would think the Turkish authorities would have been quick to publicly blame the Kurds if they thought they were actually behind the attacks,” Braxton said.

“You’re probably right,” O’Quinn replied, flipping through his briefing notes. His fingers stopped at a copy of the NSA intercept transcript recorded by George Withers.

“Sir, there’s another development on the Turkish front that may be cause for alarm.”

“Go ahead,” the general said.

“Altan Battal, the Muslim Mufti of Istanbul and a leading fundamentalist cleric in Turkey, will be entering the upcoming presidential election, according to an NSA call intercept.”

“President Yilmaz has had a stable leadership run for several years,” Braxton noted. “And Turkey is strongly secular. I can’t imagine that this Battal fellow represents more than a marginal candidacy.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the case,” O’Quinn replied. “President Yilmaz’s popularity has waned considerably due to the poor state of the economy, and he’s been stung by recent corruption charges within his administration. Mufti Battal, on the other hand, has become a rising public figure in the country, particularly with the poor and unemployed. There’s no telling how he’ll perform as a political candidate, but many fear he could represent a legitimate challenge to the incumbent.”

“Tell me more about this Battal,” the general asked.

“Well, sir, his claimed bio states that he was orphaned at an early age and forced to fight for survival in the ghetto slums of west Istanbul. He escaped a life of poverty when he came to the aid of an old man being robbed by a neighborhood thug. In gratitude, the man, a mosque elder, sent Battal to a private Muslim school, where he paid the boy’s room and board well into his teens. The school was heavily fundamentalist, which apparently drives his views today. He has a heavy scholarly bent yet also a gift for oration, which helped accelerate his rise through Istanbul’s Muslim hierarchy. He now stands as the chief theologian for all of Istanbul. Though personally charming, his writings and sermons espouse Taliban-like interpretations of Islam, with plenty of rallying about the evils of the West and the dangers of foreign influence. There’s no telling what would happen if he was elected, but we’d have to face the real possibility of losing Turkey overnight.”

“Does he have a chance to win the election?” Braxton asked with rising dread in his voice.

O’Quinn nodded. “Our assessment is that he could have a real shot at it. And if the Turkish military should sustain his election, then all bets are off.”

An Air Force colonel seated at the table gasped. “A fundamentalist takeover of Turkey? That would be an unmitigated disaster. Turkey is a NATO country and one of our strongest allies in the region. We have a variety of military resources in the country, including tactical nuclear weapons. The Air Force base at Incirlik is critical for our operations in Afghanistan.”

“Not to mention the listening posts on their soil we use to monitor the Russians and the Iranians,” added the CIA man.

“Turkey is currently a key transfer point for supplies into Afghanistan, as they were for Iraq,” grieved an Army major seated beside the colonel. “Loss of those supply lines would jeopardize our entire Afghan campaign.”

“We foresee all kinds of potentially disastrous scenarios,” O’Quinn added quietly, “from a closure of the Bosphorus, and its flow of Russian oil and gas, to an emboldened Iran. The entire Middle East would be affected, and the impact of such a change on the balance of power is nearly impossible to predict.”

“Turkey has been a quiet friend and trading partner of Israel, exporting large quantities of food and fresh water, among other things,” the CIA officer said. “If Turkey and Egypt were both to make a turn toward fundamentalism, it would heighten Israel’s isolation. In addition to emboldening Iran, I would fear a greater aggression from Hamas, Hezbollah, and other frontline adversaries of Israel, which would only lead to greater violence in the region. Such a turnabout in ruling power could in fact become the trigger point that we have long feared, the one that sparks World War Three from the heart of the Middle East.”

The room fell silent as Braxton and the others digested the words with quiet dread. The general finally shook off the uneasy tension and barked a stream of orders.

“O’Quinn, I want a full report on this Mufti Battal on my desk first thing in the morning. I’ll also need an executive summary for the Presidential Daily Brief. We’ll reconvene here Friday, where I expect a full assessment from both State and CIA. Assign whatever resources are necessary,” he added with clenched teeth, “but don’t let this get ahead of us.” He slammed his briefing book shut, then glared at the CIA man.

“World War Three?” he hissed. “Not on my watch!”

10

THE CALL TO MORNING SALAT DRIFTED THROUGH THE open hotel window, waking Pitt earlier than he would have preferred. Leaving the warm comfort of Loren’s side, he rose from bed and peered out the window. The black-tipped minarets of Istanbul’s Sultanahmet Mosque scratched a hazy sky just a few blocks away. Pitt noted wryly that the Islamic call to prayer no longer came from a muezzin shouting from the heights of the minaret but rather from loudspeakers situated around the mosque.

“Can you turn that racket off?” Loren mumbled from beneath a blanket.

“You’ll have to take it up with Allah,” Pitt replied.

He closed the window, then gazed through the pane at the towering architecture of the nearby mosque and the blue waters of the Sea of Marmara just beyond. A large contingent of freighters was already assembling in line, waiting their turn to sail up the narrow Bosphorus Strait. Loren materialized out of the bed, slipping into a robe and joining her husband at the picture window.

“I didn’t realize that blaring came from the mosque,” she said a bit meekly. “It’s quite beautiful. Built by the Ottomans, I presume?”

“Yes, in the early seventeenth century, I believe.”

“Let’s go have a look after breakfast. But after last night’s excitement, that may be all the sightseeing I’ll be up for today,” she said with a yawn.