Chapter XXXIX. Alleys Still Remember

He is considering the options and his plan while still in the taxi.

The voice of the driver: Did you find the airport questioning to be a pain?

-not unusual; they were expected.

“Has Solmaz begun working?” he continued.

The voice: Not yet. She just got here two days ago. The business may open its doors the following week.

-What about her brand-new persona? Will she receive it soon?

-We need some time as soon as the papers get released. It is difficult to revive the woman’s daughter and reveal Solmaz’s identity. Don’t rush; be patient.

-Please take your time; we’re not in a rush. Just make sure everything is done correctly.

He paused, fearing the response, but eventually found the strength to ask: Is there any news regarding Ruslan? he wondered as he peered out the window.

After a lengthy sigh, the speaker said, “The Mesopotamia Sniper, I haven’t heard anything about him in a while.”

Baibars: The exact meaning of this is unclear.

He assured him as he turned to face him: “Don’t worry, my dear, he’s still alive, hunted in Iraq, like a cat with seven lives.”

After a moment of silence, he continued, “It surprised me that he is not just a passing person in your life! You have never before informed me about your two of you’s relationship! Why is that so?”

“Personal relationships have no place at work, my friend”, said Baibars. “There is no room for emotions.”

After a protracted period of stillness, the voice grinned and motioned with his palm toward him, saying, “Underneath your seat, a letter of yours.”

Baibars reached out to a hidden pocket beneath the seat. He pulled out, folded, and opened a piece of memoirs that included a picture of a young woman who appeared to be from one of the former Soviet Union’s countries, along with the name Katrina, written in bold.

Baibars: I knew you would find her, so here she is, Katrina, he said, placing the picture back inside the envelope.

“Prince Suleiman’s spirit will undoubtedly be furious, but there is nowhere for feelings”, he sighed before continuing.

“What about our corporate headquarters in Uskudar?” He questioned the driver.

-Its restoration and equipping are in the works. Although I’m still not certain we should utilize the same administrative headquarters, we will reinstate it under the name Sufi Zawiya as previously. In the most desirable parts of Istanbul, we can set up our main office.

After a long sigh, Baibars said: My friend, this old building will always serve as a reminder of the blood that was shed in it and in the alleys around it, of the cause we are fighting for, and of our ancestors who gave their lives for it.

“The alleys around it still remember. The heroic deeds and selfless sacrifices of Sheikh Omar and his soldiers were meticulously documented, and it is time for us to do the same.” he continued as his thoughts wandered.

He grinned and said, “My friend, the truth always lies in these alleys, in the tiniest details.”

The Voice: If someone had tried to persuade me five years ago that Headquarters Alpha existed on the island of Malta and those stories circled around it, I would not have believed them, but you have come to us with unquestionable proof. I’m hoping we’ll be successful in completing this task.

Baibars declared with assurance: We will prevail at all costs, we won’t fail them now, and we won’t throw away the legacy of our predecessors, the Yildiz dervishes.

Many lives were lost for the purpose of what was accomplished, possibly by coincidence, including those of the dervishes of Yildiz, Sheikh Omar, and Abd al-Haqq as well as the officers of Yildiz who were treacherously assassinated.

Neither Sheikh Omar when Abd al-Haqq sent the papers to Assiut, nor Abd al-Haqq when he put them in a box in the safe, nor Hassan when he buried it in the house of the Zainab family, nor Fouad when he kept it a secret that he did not reveal to anyone throughout his life, until the moment of death, and he did not find before his eyes except Marwan, to reveal to him, and none of them, perhaps, would have occurred to him, that a mixture of Ottoman, Turkmen, Arab, Pharaonic, was raised in the midst of suffering, torment, chaos, ambiguity, illusion, love, and pharaonic curses, truth and hate.

He will continue to work on a case that was started more than a century ago, be the anticipated heir, and be successful in disproving its chapters and learning its secrets.

The box in Baibars’ palm contained a number of densely packed coincidences.

Would that they weren’t such a coincidence!

On the other hand, it appears as though she chose him over all of humanity because he has reached the exact hand that he should have reached.

Had this box fallen into the hands of any other heir of his grandfather Hassan, he might have handed the papers over to the nearest security post, or antiquities authority, or even sold them on the black market, and they would have made their way one way or another to where they belong in Malta.

But it ultimately fell into the right hands—the hands of the one who was struck by chaos and polished by coincidence. He wrestled with it until he tamed it and became its brother, friend, and son.

He did not experience safety and stability from a young age. He inhabited a place where anarchy and utter randomness were raging.

Here he is making his first moves toward becoming the son and lord of the shadows.

The moniker “Son of Chaos” that he gave himself is well-deserved.