Читать книгу Deadline Istanbul (The Elizabeth Darcy Series) - Peggy Hanson - Страница 43

CHAPTER 39

The sun moved the shadows over me. Power and its crimes are remembered, the revolts against the decisions of the powerful all too easily forgotten.

Mary Lee Settle, Turkish Reflections

I wrote as fast as I could while my New Best Friend, Haldun Kutlu, filled me in on what was happening in Turkey and the stories I’d be covering. After the abrupt end to our conversation yesterday, I’d asked if I could come back at what amounted to the crack of dawn the next day, nine a.m. I’d said I needed a longer talk and advice about things other than Peter Franklin.

To make sure I didn’t lose any of it, I was taping our session. Haldun’s concise and well-informed review indicated that his mind was more orderly than his office—and he gave unstintingly of his stored information.

“As you know, the Kurdish question has vexed Turkey since independence in 1920. It’s not easy having a fierce, nomadic minority that spills across your borders into Iraq and Iran. Unfortunately, our army has usually tried to deal with Kurds by stamping out their individuality by force—I do not defend the tactics.”

I was nodding and writing as he went on: “The result of a very complicated scenario is that now we have Kurdish extremists who receive training from other radical groups and set off bombs in our cities. They kill innocent people, just like the leftist groups back during the Cold War… And like more recent rightists… And, of course, like the secret police, that shadowy presence that has helped to give Turkey a bad name on human rights for many years.”

I hated to break in but feared that Haldun would get tired or busy and send me away.

“On the Kurds. Was Peter by any chance doing a special story on that?” His notes showed some urgency.

“Hmmm. I see what you are thinking.” His voice came slowly, almost hesitantly, not at all like his confidence a moment ago. “I’m not sure. Of course the Kurdish extremist question ties in with some of the drug and arms smuggling, too. With Iran and Iraq to the east, Chechnya and Armenia to the north, and Bosnia, Bulgaria and Rumania to the west.…” He jabbed a nicotine-stained finger up, down, right, and left as he spoke. “And all those former communist mafias lurking in the area—you are going to have tie-ins. Terrorist groups need money and arms. Drugs often are the way for getting them.”

Haldun lit another Yeni Bahar. Its aromatic smoke filled the air and added a layer to the smudge on the window. I choked in as polite a fashion as possible.

“And Islamic fundamentalism…does that tie in, too?”

Haldun stirred his tea and sipped. “Of course, the Islamist movement should be helping to curb the drug trade. The country is a lot more religious than it used to be. You’ve probably seen more women wearing scarves than they used to—my own wife has started doing it and people in villages have always been conservative. It’s a swing of the pendulum after the years dominated by Atatürk and his secularism. But extremists enter every movement, good or bad, and when they do, all bets are off.”

“Especially when Iran is your immediate neighbor,” I murmured.

“Yes. Yes! Then, of course, there are the ultra-nationalists to think about. The right-wing neo-Nazis.”

“You mean the terrorist groups that target professors and intellectuals they find too liberal?” They’d been doing that back when I lived in Turkey.

“Exactly. The biggest group is the Silver Wolves.”

I was writing as fast as I could. “Quite a cast of characters… But you still haven’t answered my question about Peter. Did he ever talk to you about any of these stories?”

Haldun stood up, stretched as he lighted yet another cigarette, and signaled for me to turn off the tape recorder.