DRAUMRS - Dreamweavers - Book Two

23 - Next Act

To say that Turkey was on edge would be an understatement. Under attack by lone-wolf terrorists and small groups of radicals for years, the country and the people had moved from expectations of peaceful progress as a developed country to premonitions of doom as a declining regional player. The streets remained reasonably safe, however each shooter attacking a symbolic soft target and each suicide bomber driving a carload of explosives into a public market reinforced the belief that security everywhere was going to Hell.

The government used the opportunity of a perceived threat of widespread terrorism to bolster security measures and to clamp down on its internal enemies. Thousands of citizens, who wanted nothing more than better leadership, were jailed on suspicion, had their families persecuted and faced seizure of their property. Any vocal non-native, legal Turkish resident or not, was likely to be deported without explanation. Organized opposition parties were handicapped by constant investigation, asset seizures and intrusive harassment.

The majority of the populace, who were not insiders of the current government, felt the leadership of Mert Yilmaz was the primary cause of both the country's decline and the public unrest. At every turn, Yilmaz had frustrated useful solutions and made enemies of countries like Russia and Iran, who should have been helpful allies. NATO membership, once the holy grail of acceptance in Western Europe, had proved increasingly tenuous as Turkey often agitated in opposition to majority NATO interests in the Middle-East.

Separatist issues in the west regions and sectarian battles across the country were becoming a constant challenge to the government's ability to rule. Long-serving politicians had managed to alienate both military and business leaders. People in the streets were anxious for change, but a rigid political regime didn't offer any, even when supposedly open elections were held.

It was rumored that even within the ruling party, there was a secret contra team of newcomers ready to take over, should they have the opportunity. Risking their necks, the upstarts had cultivated friendships with influential partners, both inside the country and outside of its borders.

Burak Tekin stopped in mid-step as he approached his new Egea sedan. Getting a company car was a nice perk of his new job, even if the car was just the base model with few upgrades. At least it had air-conditioning, which was a rare luxury for a personal car.

He had been hurrying through his normal early morning routine of coffee, coffee, coffee and maybe some sourdough toast with tahini spread; the toast added only if he was feeling expansive. He was carrying the last coffee in an insulated mug as he left his recently purchased row house in a 'better' neighborhood, much to his wife's satisfaction, and headed up the side street to the private lot where residents' cars were parked.

Normally, his first real food of the day came as part of his mid-morning review of overnight operations at his natural gas compressor plant in Sivas, on Turkey's main east-west pipeline. Today, he had skipped the hurried toast at home, certain that a quiet morning would allow lots of time for cooking up something in the small kitchen he shared with the engineer and operations supervisors at the plant. As the newly-appointed facility manager, he mostly sat with his chair tipped back and listened, first to complaints of problems, of which there was always a long list, and then to proposed solutions: always a much shorter list. He often thought that, without problems to bitch about, no-one in Turkey would have much to do. The bitching session was a good time to eat something, as a full mouth gave him additional thinking time, when an answer was expected.

He loved getting his hands dirty looking into things, but after his last promotion he was now expected to wear a white shirt and western-style tie, on the off-chance that someone important might show up. Except by advance announcement from one of the many junior bureaucrats responsible for showing off energy plants like his, no-one important ever showed up. He usually risked it by ditching the tie on the hook behind the door, where it could be retrieved if a call came or even if he just saw a cloud of dust on the long entrance road in. His gatekeeper knew enough to always call back to the office, even for standard deliveries, so nothing was ever much of a surprise.