Acts of treason a max ke.., p.1
ACTS OF TREASON: A Max Kenworth Suspense Thriller Book 2, page 1
Table Of Contents
Books by Patrick Parker
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Did you enjoy reading Acts of Treason?
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Books by Patrick Parker
Acts of Treason (A Max Kenworth Suspense Thriller, Book 2)
Copyright © 2023 by Patrick Parker
For more about this author, please visit https://patrickparkerbooks.wixsite.com/author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
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Editing by The Pro Book Editor
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2023903279
eBook ISBN: 979-8-9878022-1-2
paperback ISBN: 979-8-9878022-0-5
Main category—FICTION / Thrillers / Political
Other category—FICTION / Thrillers / Terrorism
First Edition
Books by Patrick Parker
Six Minutes Early: A Max Kenworth Suspense Thriller (Book 1)
Acts of Treason: A Max Kenworth Suspense Thriller (Book 2)
War Merchant: A Dydre Rowyn Suspense Thriller
Treasures of the Fourth Reich
Chapter 1
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Chez Vous Restaurant on French Street
Istanbul, Turkey
Although the temperature was in the low forties, the bright afternoon sun made it a pleasant time to be out and the street was filled with people as usual. George stuck his hands inside the pockets of his tan jacket as he pretended to window-shop one of the displays at the many shops on İstiklal Avenue, one of the busiest streets in the world, near the intersection of French Street. After several minutes, he casually strolled to the next display. Having already scouted French Street and the restaurant, he was now scrutinizing the area in all directions while waiting for his contact, who was due to arrive in the next several minutes.
There was an uneasiness in the air that caused his senses to work at a furious pace, seeking to ensure he hadn’t been followed or wasn’t walking into a trap. His training in the US Army Special Forces and later in the CIA Clandestine Service Trainee program had instilled in him to be ever vigilant while preparing to react effectively and efficiently in a variety of hostile situations. Changes taking place in the country had brought him there. He had done this many times before and knew very well that if he was discovered, he would be executed.
George spotted a beautiful woman in a short skirt approaching. Brunette hair pooled on the fur collar of her brown coat that was buttoned at the waist. Her demeanor was poised, making it easy to see her ample amount of cleavage on display. Once again, he scanned both sides of the street as she stopped beside him.
A possible setup, he thought. I’ll play along.
For the next several minutes, George monitored his surroundings to determine who might be with the woman and to watch for his contact. It didn’t take him but a moment to determine it was a setup for a mugging.
“Those look delicious,” she said, pointing a well-polished nail at one of the chocolates displayed as she leaned closer to George. Her silky voice seemed to warm the crisp air.
“They do.” He smiled and looked into her brown eyes, then beyond her.
George spotted his contact, Erol, several meters behind the woman. Erol continued his pace past the two without acknowledging George. He needed to continue his pretense with the woman for a few moments to ensure no one followed Erol.
“Would you like one?” she said. “I’d like to get something warm to drink.” Her coat gaped open a little more.
“Oh, I don’t know.” George shifted his stance and dropped his head, playing bashful and nervous as he checked his surroundings one more time. Satisfied no one had trailed his contact, it was time for him to leave. As he turned to step away, his eyes landed on her breasts that looked like they were about to pop out of the lace bra. “Sweetheart, I must be on my way.”
“Honey, you are very handsome. Why don’t we go to my apartment? It’s just around the corner.”
George said firmly, “You are enticing, but I simply don’t have time.”
She leaned into him. “I—”
“No. You and your three boyfriends across the street move on or I’ll call the polis.”
“A girl’s got to make a living.” She shrugged and walked on.
George watched her go until she disappeared into the crowd. Within a half hour, some poor sap’ll be her victim, he thought. Sorry I couldn’t prevent some dope from bein’ mugged. He casually stepped around the corner, onto French Street where the brightly painted buildings decorated with awnings and plants resembled a Paris street. He proceeded to Chez Vous to meet with Erol, whom George had met with several times previously. Erol worked on the Turkish Special Forces staff and was his key contact inside the military.
The restaurant, on the European side of Istanbul, had been specifically chosen for this meeting. They wanted a quieter restaurant to meet in and one that was in proximity to such a busy street where you could easily blend into the crowd and practically disappear. The restaurant fit their requirements much better than those on İstiklal. Opening the solid oak entry door, George stepped inside, slid the zipper of his jacket down, and first noticed only three couples at tables scattered around the room. Erol, seated alone by a window, brushed the sleeve of his cream-colored wool sweater, then gave a slight nod—a signal that it was safe. George walked over to the table, seeing that it was set for two with a plate of white cheese in the middle and drinks at each setting. He assumed they were raki—an anise-flavored liqueur similar to ouzo or sambuca. The men exchanged greetings as if they were friends, and George slid onto the chair across from Erol.
“These are very dangerous times,” Erol said, his gaze darting around the room before he sipped the liqueur.
George glanced out the window. “What do you have for me? The situation?” He sipped his drink and nibbled on a slice of cheese.
Erol leaned forward, closer to George. “As you know, the situation is bad and deteriorating. The prime minister and President Kağan are at odds with each other. Corruption is bad in the government, and the president is consolidating more power. He is afraid he will be overthrown. Relations between Turkey and our neighbors are strained, and especially with the US. The administration supports the Muslim Brotherhood, and they are firmly within the government. The hardline move of the administration is not sitting well with the military.”
“What’s the military planning?” George asked, then pinched off another piece of cheese and sipped his drink.
The mention of friction between the military and government was of particular interest. George knew Turkey was no stranger to coups d’etat. The country had already experienced four, the most recent in 1997. Anything can happen during or after such an event, especially if that country is the second-largest military in NATO. The Muslim Brotherhood compounded the problem.
“I don’t know.” Erol sipped his drink and fidgeted in his chair. “Many are disgruntled.”
George studied him for a moment. “You don’t know, or won’t tell me? Is it across the board or local? Will they revolt against the government?”
Erol lowered his head, then nodded. “I am afraid they will. From what I can tell, it is mostly at the senior levels. The conscripts just do as they are told and don’t know anything. How far and wide, I don’t know. I don’t know when either. One must be very careful and not ask a lo t of questions.”
George scanned the room, then asked, “Is Turkey going to continue to participate in fighting ISIS?”
“I believe so. For now, anyway. There is a lot of friction between the military and government.” Erol finished his drink and said, “I must go now. This is for you.” He slid his hand across the table, allowing his hand to linger until George’s hand approached his.
George accepted the hidden USB drive and slid his hand back to his lap. “Keep me up to date on what the military is going to do and when.” He locked his eyes on Erol’s.
Erol nodded. “One more thing. If the situation deteriorates more, I want you to get my family and me out of the country. Not to the US. The Muslim Brotherhood is entrenched in your government as well. They will kill me.”
George nodded.
Erol stood and turned to leave, and George watched him walk out of the restaurant. Erol was smart and knew how to elude anyone who may be watching. Not being seen and the ability to disappear in the crowd would add points to his and Erol’s safety. George scrutinized the couples at the other tables again and could not pick up any indication that they were interested in him or Erol. He casually finished the slice of cheese and his drink, then left the restaurant. He had no way of knowing what the flash drive contained but knew if he was caught with it, he and Erol would undoubtedly suffer severe consequences. If Erol risked his own safety to get the information to him, it was important and he needed to pass it to Field Station Ankara.
Within ten minutes, George was at a location where he could safely contact the desk officer about transferring it. The coded response back directed him to rendezvous in eight minutes at the predesignated location—the Pera Museum near the Portrait of the Countess of Vergennes in Turkish Attire.
The desk officer at Field Station Ankara retrieved the information on the flash drive, entered it into the database, and notified the analyst for review. The data was then flagged and a note was sent to the military attaché in the embassy and one to the Middle East desk officer at headquarters in Langley.
Monday, February 15, 2016
Office of the Deputy Director
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
At the urging of Deputy Director Trent Weldon, Deputy Secretary of State Aaron Fitzgerald and Deputy Secretary of Defense Wes Brock joined him in his office for a meeting. The three men and Weldon’s secretary sat around the small meeting table near the window overlooking the courtyard below. The flat-screen TV on the wall played the news with the sound off.
Fifteen minutes into the meeting, Trent turned to his secretary, who was taking notes, and said, “Sally, would you please get us some coffee. We’ll take a short break.”
Sally placed her pen next to her pad and stood, then said, “Just coffee or does anyone want anything else?”
“Coffee,” “Just coffee,” and “Coffee is fine,” they said with nods and smiles.
Sally walked out of the conference room and closed the door.
As soon as the door latched, Weldon stood and stepped to the window and peered out, then looked back at the others. This part of his meeting was not to be included in the minutes, nor did he want anyone outside of the three of them to know what was discussed. “I don’t need to remind you,” he said, his brow dipping, “the election is in nine months and we’ve gotta keep a positive light on the president and the party or we’ll be without jobs in January.” He returned to his chair and sat, then ticked off an item on his notepad. “You may’ve seen the intel out of Turkey that came in over the weekend. There was a note about a possible coup d’etat. Downplay it. It may not amount to anything. For God’s sake, we can’t let this be tied to the Muslim Brotherhood or the Arab Spring. Shut down any communications if it goes in that direction.”
“Trent,” Wes Brock said, “we’ve got a lot of civilians in Turkey. If something is about to happen, we’ve gotta get ’em out of there. It’ll take a little time to get the resources in place to evacuate them.”
“I haven’t seen the intel yet,” Aaron said as he looked at Wes, then Trent. “If something is about to happen, I’ve got people to evacuate as well. We’ll need to get a travel advisory out. If we don’t get people alerted and evacuate them, it will look bad for all of us to not have been out in front of this.”
“Relax, it’s just a bunch of grumblings,” Weldon said. “We’re checking it out. Besides, we could use this to our advantage. You can always blame it on the republicans, or perhaps, Russian meddling.”
“If there’s about to be a takeover, we have a significant problem at Incirlik Air Base,” Brock said. “We’ve got nuclear weapons there. We just can’t throw them on a transport and fly ’em out.” He pitched his pen onto the table and leaned back. “We need time to coordinate with NATO and figure out where we can put ’em. Even worse, there’s forty of ’em allocated to Turkey.”
“I’ll keep you posted on what I find out. Just sit tight for a while,” Weldon replied.
“How the hell are you going to keep something like this quiet for a while?” Fitzgerald asked, his voice raised and full of astonishment. “The British and Saudis also have troops at Incirlik. The Germans are also considering stationing people there. I’m sure they know what’s going on with Turkey.”
“Listen, I’ll work the intel side and have everyone downplay it. Don’t bring it up unless it comes from outside. If either of you is pressed, we’re watching the situation. End of statement!” Weldon said in a commanding tone as he leaned forward. “I’ll talk to the British and have them keep it quiet. Aaron, the Secretary of State, will say anything you want him to say. If he hears about it, tell him we’ve talked about the issue and believe it’s overblown. Just a few disgruntled soldiers. Wes, don’t bring it up. If the generals mention it, tell them the same. If they persist, they’ll decide to retire. Got it?”
Fitzgerald and Brock both nodded.
At that moment, the door clicked open and the room fell silent. Sally entered carrying a tray with a carafe and four cups. She set the tray on the table, filled each cup, and passed it to each man. Taking the last one, she sipped it and placed it on the table as she sat back down. Looking to Weldon, she smiled and dipped her head slightly, acknowledging that she was ready to continue with the notes.
The meeting continued another twenty minutes. A number of topics were discussed, mainly dealing with terrorism. Turkey was not mentioned.
Leadership within the US government seemed to fall into limbo and only the most demanding situations were addressed, many of them often placated. It appeared the outgoing president was not interested in the international arena. His domestic agenda seemed to favor the Muslims at every turn. The propaganda machine from inside the Beltway was in high gear and, at times, rivaled that of Hitler’s favorite propagandist, Leni Riefenstahl.
Presidential campaigning was already in full swing with the administration and much of the country focused on the conventions in July. Obviously, the democrats wanted to remain in power and the republicans wanted to replace them. The news was constantly filled with stories or tidbits about the candidates and potential candidates while border security, the Middle East, and a host of other scandals competed for the spotlight in the news but could never push the campaign out of the limelight.
The presumptive democratic nominee and expected first female president, Jenny Gareth, took every advantage to grab the spotlight—the same as the other candidates, making it difficult to know who to believe. Her well-funded campaign and notoriety kept her ahead of any other candidate, the odds-on favorite to win the election thanks to her spin doctors. It wasn’t long until the Beltway propaganda incorporated Jenny’s marketing efforts and even the president started campaigning with her—an unusual maneuver.
Many within the government supported Jenny and, despite controversies surrounding her political career, were undeterred. With the backing and endorsements of high-profile figures and staff across the government, her poll numbers remained high. Senior employees jockeyed for positions in Jenny’s administration. Money flowed and deals were made behind the scenes. For those who didn’t openly support her and for whom other means didn’t work, arms were twisted and, in some cases, worse. Murder was suspected but never investigated. Jenny would win, no matter what.
