‘They award most of them to anyone who serves,’ replied Yilmaz. ‘I’m sure you have plenty of your own.’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ said the Prime Minister. He motioned them through into his private office, made their aides wait outside. This wasn’t the kind of talk that wanted witnesses. ‘Nine mass-casualty bombings in three months,’ he began, walking to his desk. ‘Twenty in the past year.’
‘The terrorists are to blame for that, Prime Minister,’ said Aslan. ‘Not my ministry or the police. We’re doing all we can. And we’re making real progress. We have already made a number of highly significant arrests in Cyprus this afternoon.’
‘Ah, yes, all these highly significant arrests of yours. You tell me about them after every bomb. Then you quietly release them a week later for lack of evidence. So what good are these arrests when the bombings don’t merely continue, but get worse? They’re saying thirty people. Thirty people!’ He sat down, as much to calm himself as anything, then looked back and forth between them. ‘You may have seen me on television earlier. I assured the nation that we operate a joined-up government, that you two were already working together on this. Is that even faintly true? Are you working together?’
The two men glanced coolly at each other. Their mutual loathing was an open secret. ‘I saw your briefing, Prime Minister,’ said General Yilmaz. ‘As you made clear, counterterrorism is rightly a job for the police, not the army.’
‘And we don’t need the army’s help,’ added Aslan. ‘All things considered, we’re making commendable progress in—’
Baştürk slapped the table. ‘Commendable progress!’ he mocked. He let silence fall again, then said: ‘I don’t care what history you two have. I don’t care about turf wars or saving face. This is a crisis.’ He dropped his eyes a little, for all three of them knew that this was merely his own exercise in arse-covering, so that his earlier statement wouldn’t be proven a lie. ‘General Yilmaz helped defeat the terrorists last time it got this bad. He knows the Syrians and he fought in the Cyprus campaign. So I want you to take advantage of his experience, Iskender. Is that clear?’
‘But we—’
‘Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Prime Minister.’
‘Several of my old team are still in the service,’ Yilmaz told Aslan. ‘Perhaps I could have them seconded to you? To observe and advise only. That way we wouldn’t overstep any constitutional boundaries. And, who knows, your team may even find their new perspective helpful.’
‘Minister?’
Iskender Aslan flushed. If he said yes and things improved, people would credit the army. If things continued or got worse, it would be because he hadn’t accepted enough help. But he had no choice. ‘Of course, Prime Minister.’
‘Excellent,’ said Baştürk, hurrying to his feet and walking Aslan to the door before he could think up some objection. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. Now I need a quick word with General Yilmaz on that other matter.’
‘That other matter?’ frowned the Minister. ‘But I thought we’d agreed to leave it until—’
‘Did you?’ asked Baştürk politely. He closed the door on him then turned back to the General. ‘Now, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk riots.’
FIVE
I
Iain walked Karin down to the hotel lobby and pointed her to a nearby shopping street, then asked at reception about overnighting a package to the UK. He’d missed his window, however, so he asked instead for directions to a computer repair store, got sent across the river along the hospital road. A grizzled shopkeeper was hauling down rusted shutters with a hooked stick, a cigarette almost sideways in his mouth, as though he’d walked into a wall. He eyed Iain gloomily, but invited him inside. The place was dimly lit, as seemed appropriate for the computer morgue it resembled, shelves crowded with innards and peripherals. It would be easiest to have the man try to recover the footage for him, but it was too risky, so he bought himself a new laptop instead, plus a screwdriver and various other tools, then returned to the hotel.
Karin was still out shopping. He cleared space on the dressing table, opened up both laptops and transferred his old hard drive into the new machine. It wouldn’t boot. That, sadly, was the extent of his computer skills, so he called the office, got put through to Robyn. ‘I just heard,’ she said. ‘Poor Mustafa. I can’t believe it. He was so nice.’
‘I didn’t know you knew him,’ said Iain.
‘I put him on our system.’
‘Of course.’ Iain rubbed his neck wearily. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘My laptop got pretty badly banged up. I’m sure you can imagine. But there’s stuff on it I need.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Footage.’
A moment’s silence. ‘My God. You think you got it?’
‘It’s possible. I’d like to find out.’
‘Overnight it to me. I’ll start on it first thing.’
‘I missed last post,’ he told her. ‘And this needs doing fast. Can’t you talk me through it?’
‘You’d need a new laptop.’
‘Already got one. And I’ve tried switching drives.’
‘No luck?’
‘No luck.’
‘Then you’re going to need some more equipment. And it won’t be quick. Recovery could take a day, maybe longer.’
‘I’m only after a few video-files.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. What we’ll have to do is we’ll have to send in a special program to copy every bit of salvageable information on your old hard drive over to your new one. Think of it as like a photographer at a crime scene. You don’t know where the vital clue might be, right, so you photograph everything. But you won’t have to stand over it or anything. The program will run by itself.’
‘Okay. What will I need?’
‘Get Skype if you don’t already have it. And an external web-cam too, so that I can see what you’re up to. Plus a CD-writer and some blank CDs and a—’
‘Whoa!’ he said. ‘I need to write this down.’ He fetched a pad and pen. ‘Okay. Shoot.’
‘An external web-cam. A CD-writer. Some blank CDs. An external hard-disk drive with as much capacity as you can get, because you’re going to be sending everything to it. Oh, and does your room have a fan?’
‘No. Air conditioning. Why?’
‘You’ll need to keep the disks cool. They’ll seize up otherwise. Buy two computer fans to lay on top of them. And a couple of mouse-mats, to stop them vibrating.’
‘What about software?’
‘I’ll email it to you. Burn it onto a CD then boot up your new laptop with it. Call me back once you’re ready.’
‘It won’t be until morning. The shop’s closed.’
‘Try me on my mobile if I’m not in. And don’t go yet. Maria wants a word.’
‘Fine.’ He sagged and fought a yawn, the day’s adrenalin finally ebbing away. ‘What about?’
‘I think there’s some issue with Mustafa’s insurance.’
‘Oh, hell,’ he said, sitting up straight again. ‘Put her on.’
II
‘Riots, Prime Minister?’ asked General Yilmaz.
‘You know, I imagine, that the public service unions have called for a Day of Action this Friday to protest against the new wage and pension cuts.’ It was why he’d gone to the Academy that afternoon: his son’s concert was on Friday night, and so there was a chance that duty would keep Baştürk from it. ‘Most of the other major unions have declared their support. And now various opposition parties have endorsed it too. There will be large marches and rallies here in Ankara and in Istanbul, and smaller ones all across the country. And they keep revising the estimates of attendees up. Because it’s not only about pensions and the economy any more. It’s about the bombs as well. People see us as ineffective. They see us as weak. So there’ll be plenty of trouble-makers out to take advantage: anarchists, Marxists, criminal gangs, everyone with a grudge or a fondness for mayhem.’