Crescent Dawn (13 page)

T
HE U.S. DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SAT quietly through his weekly staff briefing on Eurasian and Middle Eastern affairs. A taciturn retired Army general named Braxton, he was the President’s chief intelligence funnel for the Defense Department, Homeland Security, the CIA, and a dozen other agencies responsible for protecting the nation’s security.

The briefing was dominated by the usual field updates of events taking place in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and Iran. A parade of intelligence officers and Pentagon officials marched in and out of the secure conference room at the Liberty Crossing Intelligence Campus, the recently constructed home of the DNI located in McLean, Virginia.

The briefing was on its third hour before the agenda turned to Israel. John O’Quinn, a deputy national intelligence officer for western Asia, slipped away from the mammoth conference table to refill his coffee cup as a CIA intelligence officer discussed the latest developments on the West Bank.

“All right, all right, there’s nothing new there,” Braxton interrupted impatiently. “Let’s move on to the rest of the Med. What’s the latest on the al-Azhar Mosque bombing in Cairo?”

O’Quinn hurried back to the table as the CIA officer fielded the question.

“The final death toll was only seven, as the blast occurred at a time of sparse attendance. We don’t know if that was intentional or not. There was a single explosion, which severely damaged the mosque’s main prayer hall. As you know, al-Azhar is considered the state mosque of Egypt, and is also one of the oldest and most revered sites in Islam. The public outrage has been intense, with several anti-Israel marches taking place throughout the streets of Cairo. We’re quite sure that the protests are being organized by the Muslim Brotherhood.”

“Does Cairo know who is responsible for the bombing?”

“They don’t,” the CIA man replied. “No one with any credibility has taken responsibility, which isn’t surprising given the nature of the attack. Our fear is that the Muslim Brotherhood will gain renewed traction from the attack to make further inroads into the Egyptian parliament.”

“That’s all we need is for the Egyptians to go fundamentalist on us,” Braxton muttered with a shake of his head. “What’s our intelligence assessment as to who pulled it off?”

“We really don’t know, sir. We’re looking at potential al-Qaeda connections, but have nothing firm at the moment. There’s a somewhat curious detail from the Egyptian National Police, and that is that they claim to have found residue samples of HMX from the blast site.”

“The meaning being?”

“HMX is a tightly controlled plastic explosive. It’s high-end stuff, mostly used for nuclear devices and rocket propellant. It’s not something we’d normally associate with al-Qaeda, and we find it a bit odd that it surfaced in Egypt.”

Sitting in an adjacent chair, O’Quinn felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He quickly cleared his throat.

“You sure it was HMX?” he asked.

“We’re awaiting our own test samples, but that’s what the Egyptians reported.”

“That mean something to you, O’Quinn?” General Braxton asked.

The intelligence officer nodded. “Sir, there was a planted bomb explosion at the Yeşil Mosque in Bursa, Turkey, three days before the al-Azhar blast. You may have seen a field brief on it. Three fatalities, including a prominent leader in the fringe Felicity political party. Like in Egypt, it was an old, venerated mosque.” He took a quick sip of his coffee, then added, “The Turkish authorities have confirmed that the blast was caused by a planted parcel of HMX explosives.”

“So we have two planted bombs in two countries three days apart,” the general stated. “Both in historic mosques, both ostensibly with a low designated kill rate, and both ostensibly using the same explosive material. All right, then, somebody please tell me who and why.”

An uneasy silence filled the room before O’Quinn finally braved to speak.

“Sir, I don’t think anyone was aware of the similarities in explosives until just now.”

The CIA man agreed. “We’ll get some analysts to search for a possible link right away. Given the nature of the explosives, I might speculate that the Iranians have some involvement.”

“What do the Turks think?” Braxton asked.

“Like Egypt, there have been no claims of responsibility. We have had no indication that the Turks have identified any suspects.”

The general began fidgeting in his seat, his cobalt blue eyes boring into O’Quinn like a pair of drill bits. O’Quinn had worked for the general for less than a year but had slowly gained his professional respect. He could tell by his demeanor that the Director wanted more, and finally he asked for it.

“What is your assessment?” the general asked gruffly.

O’Quinn’s mind churned to expel a coherent reply, but he had more questions than answers.

“Sir, I can’t formulate the Egyptian blast, but, as far as the Bursa mosque bombing, some believe there may be a link to the recent artifact thefts at Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.”

“Yes, I read about that,” the general replied. “I understand a Congresswoman was somehow involved in the incident.”

“Loren Smith, of Colorado. She recovered a portion of the stolen artifacts but was nearly killed in the process. She somehow managed to keep her name out of the papers.”

“Sounds like someone I could use on my staff,” Braxton muttered.

“I believe some sort of explosives were used during the Topkapi break-in,” O’Quinn continued. “I will make an immediate inquiry to determine if there is a match to the Bursa and Cairo bombings.”

“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!”

T
HE 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.

“No shop-till-you-drop at the Grand Bazaar?”

“Maybe next time. I want our lone full day together in Istanbul to be relaxing.”

Pitt watched a red freighter chug off the shoreline, then said, “I think I have just the ticket.”

They quickly showered and dressed, then ordered breakfast brought to their room. They were readying to leave when the phone rang. Pitt answered and spoke for several minutes, then hung up the receiver.

“It was Dr. Ruppé, calling from the airport. He wanted to make sure you were okay,” he explained.

“I’d feel better if you told me the police had captured those criminals.”

Pitt shook his head. “Apparently not. Rey is a little irate, as the local media is blaming the break-in and murders on an anti-Muslim movement. Apparently, some valuable jewelry was ignored at Topkapi in favor of several Muhammad relics.”

“You said murders in the plural,” Loren remarked.

“Yes, there were a total of five security guards killed in the ordeal.”

Loren grimaced. “The fact that several of the murderers were Persian-looking didn’t clue the police in another direction?”

“The police have our account. I’m sure they are operating under a different scenario.” Deep down, Pitt wasn’t so sure but hid his anger at the thought of his wife’s kidnappers escaping scot-free.

“The other news, according to Ruppé,” he continued, “is that they kept our names and involvement out of the paper. Apparently, there is widespread outrage at the theft, which is being viewed as a deep insult to the Muslim community.”