Love Me, Istanbul

Prologue

22nd November 1999.

01.45 a.m.

When division officer Ekrem Altinkaya got that call, he knew something was terribly wrong. Tucking a loaded pistol into his belt, he left the station in haste and drove down towards the coast, where his friend Attila Erendil had requested for them to meet. Although Erendil never told him the reason behind their urgent meeting, Altinkaya could only think of one possible option. The coastline was wet - it had rained a while ago. The Karadeniz (Black Sea) looked like an endless void, stretching out into nothingness. He could hear the waves crashing against the cliff walls of Riva, a little coastal town located at the outskirts of Istanbul. Although Altinkaya loved the calming sounds of the Karadeniz, he felt a different, almost sinister-like tension tonight - as if the waves are trying to send him a message that he couldn't fathom.

Ten minutes later, the Toyota rolled to a halt by his favourite fishing spot - a coarse, rocky cliffside by an abandoned wooden shack. Killing the engine, Altinkaya made his way towards the shack and dialled Erendil's number. Realizing he had no phone signal, he cursed under his breath. His surroundings are pitch black - the only source of light he had was the tiny torchlight that he kept in his glove box. As he approached the shack, he saw two cars pulling up nearby. A black Ford and a silver Honda. Recognizing Erendil's Ford, Altinkaya made himself visible - until the driver emerged. It wasn't Attila Erendil.

Who are they? He thought. Did Erendil call someone else?

Instinctively, he switched off the torchlight and took cover in the shadows. Altinkaya could barely identify the man's face in the dark, but he could tell there are two other men with him in the car. He could tell these men are not to be messed with. From afar, he saw the driver opening up the boot and heaved two oil barrels out of the car. The men then carried the barrels towards the edge of the cliff and lowered them onto the ground. With a few kicks, the oil barrels rolled down the cliff and fell into the sea with a heavy splash. 

It didn't take long for Altinkaya to realize that he is witnessing a crime unfolding before his eyes. Reaching for the gun in his belt, the officer ran and fired several gunshots towards the men. 

"Dur! Polis!" He shouted. "Do not move!"

The men ducked behind the Ford and made a run for the other car. Pulling out their guns, the men fired back in Altinkaya's direction. Altinkaya barely took cover as they fled from the cliff with the Honda. Realizing he couldn't do anything else, Altinkaya went over to the Ford to run a search. The men had left nothing behind - apparently they took everything out of the car before they drove here. To his shock, there was another person in the car. A young girl - sitting in the passenger's seat, unconscious with a bleeding head wound and a seat belt fastened over her tiny frame. The officer's first aid instincts kicked in and checked her vitals. He could feel faint puffs of moisture against his hands.

Çok şükür, he thought. She's alive.

Unfastening the seat belt, Altinkaya carried the girl towards his car. Using his spare t-shirt as a bandage, he wrapped the shirt around her head like a bandanna and letting it soak the blood. As he laid her limp body onto the rear passenger seat, he noticed a faded scar between her brows. There was an eerie sense of deja vu looming over his mind. Where have I met this girl before?

Instantly, Altinkaya grasped the true horror of the situation. Calling for backup, he slammed down the accelerator and drove towards the nearest hospital - all the while cursing furiously as the truth dawned on him.

Attila Erendil had just been murdered.