Puppet Master: A Marceau Mystery by Raoul Michelle

Author:Raoul Michelle [Michelle, Raoul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

27

DIYARBAKIR, TURKEY

The next morning Ell Herirl was sitting at his desk. It was critical he speak to Ceril Barak, in person. He was concerned about his mentor’s safety and that of the team. Surfing the web, Herirl googled flights to Diyarbakir, none were direct. He’d be arriving too late to visit the prison; he’d have to spend the night. He reserved a room at the Dies Hotel. He knew the place; he’d stayed there once when he’d visited another prisoner.

Using his new alias, he booked the flight, paying a premium for a same-day reservation. Traveling on an American passport, he was sure no one would question him. Baksheesh would definitely be needed, so he took some large denomination Lira notes.

Nothing to be done about morning Paris rush-hour traffic. The ride to the airport seemed to take forever. He made it to his gate just in time to board. The flight to Diyarbakir left and arrived on time. At the hotel, no one asked why he travelled without luggage. Exhausted, hungry, he skipped dinner and fell straight into bed. In the morning, famished and in need of coffee, he was down at breakfast minutes after the dining hall opened. The room was nearly empty.

Inside knowledge and baksheesh made possible what for others would be unthinkable. Using the pretext he was a U.S. journalist who needed deep background on the despicable Kurds and their equally despicable acts, Herirl had secured a fifteen-minute interview with Ceril Barack. At the jail, he sought out the guard who helped, and rewarded him handsomely.

The old man, wearing striped, stained pajamas, shuffled into the room. The size of a small closet, it looked and smelled like a chicken coop.

“How are you holding up?” Ell was shocked at the sight, but not surprised.

Established in 1980, according to most human rights organizations, the infamous Diyarbakir prison is one of the ten worst in the world. Although current conditions are not as bad as they were during the notorious ‘period of barbarity’ of the 1980s, as much as Amnesty International would like to believe that ‘the whole world is watching,’ they’re not.

“All right.” Ceril had a faraway look in his eyes that spoke of profound sadness.

“Are you being taken care of?” Concerned, Herirl reached out to touch the wire mesh that separated them. They touched fingertips. The man’s fingers were cold despite the heat.

“So many of our brothers are here with me. We watch out for one another as best we can.” Barack’s words rang hollow. He was thin, much too thin. “I’m happy for your visit, you are looking well.”

“Where is Murat?” Ell ignored the compliment. It was plainly obvious he’d had a better time at the Super-Max in Pennsylvania than this man was having here.

“He’s OK but may lose his sight.” Barack said.

“What? Why?”

“They think he’s the mastermind behind Cappadocia.” Barack looked up as he said it.

“And?” Herirl stopped, trying to find the words. Of course they both knew, but neither one could do anything to help their friend.

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