Rogue Forces

“Don’t do it, Kurzat,” Akas said. “I know the situation is grave, but don’t make any rash decisions. Let me gather support from the Americans and the United Nations. They are sympathetic to us. The American vice president will listen. But if you do this, we’ll lose all support from everyone.”

“I’m sorry, Ays¸e,” Hirsiz said. “It’s done. You may inform the National Assembly and Supreme Court if you wish, or I will.”

“No, it’s my responsibility,” Akas said. “I will tell them of the agony you are experiencing at the loss of so many citizens of Turkey at the hands of the PKK.”

“Thank you.”

“I will also tell them that your anger and frustration has turned you insane and blood-drunk,” Akas said. “I will tell them that your military advisers are telling you exactly what they want you to hear instead of what you need to hear. I will tell them that you’re not yourself right now.”

“Don’t do that, Ays¸e,” Hirsiz said. “That would be disloyal, to me and to Turkey. I’m doing this because it needs to be done, and it is my responsibility.”

“Isn’t that what they say is the beginning of madness, Kurzat: to insist that you have responsibilities?” Akas asked. “Is that what all dictators and strongmen say? Is that what Evren said in 1980 or Tagmaç said before him, when they dissolved the National Assembly and took over the government in a military coup? Go to hell.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Don’t wait for the light to appear at the end of the tunnel—stride down there and light the bloody thing yourself.

—DARA HENDERSON, WRITER

ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ

THE NEXT DAY

“It’s total chaos and confusion up there in Ankara, Mr. Vice President,” Secretary of State Stacy Anne Barbeau said from her office in Washington via a secure satellite video teleconference link. Also attending was vice president Ken Phoenix, meeting with Iraqi leaders and the U.S. ambassador in Baghdad; and Colonel Jack Wilhelm, the commander of U.S. forces in northern Iraq, at Nahla Allied Air Base near the northern city of Mosul. “The Turkish prime minister herself called our ambassador on the carpet for an ass chewing because of an apparent airspace violation by an American aircraft, but now he’s sitting waiting in the outer office under heavy guard because of some security ruckus.”

“What is the embassy saying, Stacy?” Phoenix asked. “Are they in contact with the ambassador?”

“Cellular service is currently down, but outages have been the norm for a few days since the rumors of a state of emergency, Mr. Vice President,” Barbeau said. “Government radio and TV have been describing numerous demonstrations both for and against Hirsiz’s government, but they’ve mostly been peaceful and the police are handling it. The military has been quiet. There was some kind of gunfire incident at the Pink Palace, but the Presidential Guard says the president is safe and will address the nation later today.”

“That’s pretty much what the embassy here in Baghdad has been telling me,” Phoenix said. “Baghdad is concerned about the confusing news but hasn’t bumped up readiness levels.”

“I need an explanation of what happened on the Iraq-Turkish border, Colonel Wilhelm,” Barbeau said. “The Turks claim they shot down an American unmanned spy plane over their territory, and they’re hopping mad.”

“I can assure everyone that all American aircraft, unmanned or otherwise, are accounted for, ma’am,” Wilhelm said, “and we’re not missing any aircraft.”

“Does that include your contractors, Colonel?” Barbeau asked pointedly.

“It does, ma’am.”

“Who operates reconnaissance aircraft operating along the border? Is it that Scion Aviation International outfit?”

“Yes, ma’am. They operate two large and pretty high-tech long-range recon planes, and they’re bringing in smaller unmanned aircraft to supplement their activities.”

“I want to talk with the rep right now.”

“He’s standing by, ma’am. General?”

“‘General’?”

“The guy from Scion is a retired Air Force general, ma’am.” Barbeau’s eyes blinked in confusion—obviously she didn’t have that information. “Most of our contractors are retired or former military.”

“Well, where is he? Isn’t he working there with you, Colonel?”

“He doesn’t usually operate out of the Command and Control Center,” Wilhelm explained, “but out on the flight line. He’s networked his aircraft in with the Triple-C and to our few remaining assets.”

“I have no idea what you just said, Colonel,” Barbeau complained, “and I hope the Scion guy can make some sense and give us some answers. Get him on the line now.”

Just then a new window popped open on the videoconference screen, and Patrick McLanahan, wearing a lightweight gray vest over a white collared shirt, nodded at the camera. “Patrick McLanahan, Scion Aviation International, secure.”