I move out of the room and look through an archway to the outer lobby, which is well lit. Glass windows face the front and I can see the guard standing with his back to me, looking toward the parking lot. He’s bundled up, smoking a cigarette, and probably hating every minute of this assignment. I scan the ceiling, walls, and corners for more cameras and find one aimed directly at the front doors. I can easily scoot past this one because I’m already in the building. While the guard’s not looking, I move across the outer lobby, through the double wooden doors and into the main receptionist’s office. Thank goodness the lights are already off.
I go to the keypad, punch in the same code, and enter the hallway leading to Basaran’s office. The lights are on here and I see no way to turn them off. I know there’s another camera around the corner up ahead, so I use the periscope again to take a look. It’s a motion-detection camera that pivots in a wide arc. Midway in the arc is Basaran’s office. There’s no keypad for his door — they must figure that once you’re past the reception desk, you’re clear to roam wherever you want.
I have to distract that camera. I take the camera jammer out of the Osprey and turn it on. The thing vibrates a little, so I know it’s working — I sure can’t see the microwave pulses coming out of it — and it works best if you’re moving at the same time. So I aim the jammer in front of me, turn the corner, and quickly move down the hall. I hear the camera lens zoom in and out as it attempts to focus on whatever it thinks it detects, but it’s very confused. I open Basaran’s door and slip inside just as the camera regains its functionality.
The overhead lights are off in the office, but mood lighting is on — behind the wet bar, on the desk, and here by the door. Curtains cover the big glass window overlooking the lake, and fortunately they’re closed.
First, I examine the desk and its contents. The drawers hold nothing of interest — just a bunch of personal items, credit card bills, employee phone numbers, and other papers relating to the company. There’s also that hand exerciser, the rubber ball I saw Basaran squeezing when I first met him. I boot up the computer and see that a password is required to gain access. Damn. If only I had Carly St. John’s expertise now. I had informed Lambert I’d be coming here tonight, but Carly didn’t have much notice to try to hack Akdabar’s server. There’s not much I can do.
I shut down the computer and then notice for the first time that there’s a framed photograph sitting on the desk. It shows a veiled woman with two young girls, ranging maybe six to eight years old. Basaran’s family? The thing is, they don’t look Turkish. Most Turkish women, even very religious ones, don’t wear veils as they do in, say, Iraq or Iran. I quickly snap a copy of the picture and store it in my OPSAT, then move to the filing cabinets.
The lock picks open the cabinets easily, and I find more documents relating to Akdabar Enterprises — employee records, accounting books, and other boring stuff. One drawer, however, contains files marked Cyprus. I pull these out and thumb through them. I see records relating to the shopping mall that Basaran is building — expense reports, schedules, press releases, and company memos. The place is located near the city of Famagusta, a seaport that is perhaps Northern Cyprus’ most strategic urban center after the capital, Lefkosia.
At the back of the drawer is a document portfolio with twine tied around it. I remove it, untie the twine, and look inside. It’s full of copies of blueprints that have been reduced in size. They show portions of some kind of machine — there’s a base that takes up a couple of prints, an engine shown from several sides, and what looks like a series of cylindrical pieces that fit together. I’ll be damned if it isn’t some kind of weapon.
The machine’s designer is named “Albert Mertens,” and this name is on every page. Surely he’s the same Professor Mertens I met earlier in the day. I snap some photos of the plans for good measure.
I put everything back the way I found it and approach the door. The damned camera jammer uses so much power that it’s basically just good for one go, and then it has to be recharged. I don’t risk using it again, so how do I get out without the camera seeing me? I think for a moment and get an idea. I go back to Basaran’s desk, open the drawer, and remove the rubber ball. I return to the door, open it a crack, and roll the ball down the hall in the opposite direction from where I need to go. The camera whirrs and follows the ball as I slip out and close the door behind me. It will just have to be a mystery as to how the ball got into the hall.
Moving back to the outer lobby is not a problem. When I look out the front, I see that the guard isn’t there. I quickly scoot around to the corridor that leads to the back door. The lights are still off, so I’m okay. I carefully open the door, peer outside, and leave the building.
I guess it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it’d be.
Now I need to zigzag back across the complex and take a look inside the steel mill/warehouse. I retrace my steps, bouncing from building to building and avoiding the glare of the floodlights, and finally make it to a shed across from the courtyard that’s in the center of the compound. The lights are bright here and I see two guards standing lazily by the flagpoles. Not only that, but there are more surveillance cameras perched on the poles. The big building is on the other side. I could go the long way around the courtyard, building to building, but that increases the chances of my being seen.
As I ponder the problem, I hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. It apparently entered through the front gate and is now driving down the main road toward the courtyard. Concealed by shadow, I lie in the grass beside the shed and watch as the car stops so that the driver can speak to one of the guards.
It’s the Citroën, the car that chased me earlier! Three men are inside, as before. Son of a bitch. Further proof that Basaran had something to do with the incident in the town square. No wonder he stood there doing nothing. Shit, is my cover blown? Does he know who I am? And the bigger question is — why? Basaran’s supposed to be on our side, isn’t he?
But I could be jumping to conclusions. These guys in the Citroën could be acting independently of Basaran, for all I know. Maybe Basaran has enemies within his own organization. It’s possible.
Then something odd occurs. The two guards get into the Citroën and drive away toward the airstrip on the far side of the compound. The courtyard is empty. It still doesn’t solve the problem of getting to the other side without the cameras seeing me. Do I dare shoot them out?
The answer comes to me as I look to my left and see a shed housing the three-wheelers, those golf carts I saw the guards driving earlier. I run to the shed and climb into a cart. No key is needed because it runs on electric power. There’s a nice canopy over the driver’s seat — so if I hunch over and keep my head down, I’m fairly certain that the cameras won’t make me. On the surveillance video I’ll probably just look like another guard. I decide to risk it.
The thing starts up and I drive into the courtyard. I hear the cameras move as they pick me up, but I don’t worry about it. I putter along at a slow speed as if I’m just another lazy guard doing his rounds. For authenticity I stop once and pretend to rummage around in the floor of the cart, then continue on.
I make it across, get out of the cart, and begin to explore the sides of the big building. The main employee entrances and loading doors are closed, locked, and directly under floodlight beams. On the far side, though, there’s a garbage Dumpster sitting directly beneath an open window. I scramble up the Dumpster and peer into the place.