[b]Famagusta, Cyprus[/b] Since the end of the Great War, Famagusta had changed substantially. Under the British, the town had boasted a large central market, pristine beaches and was a popular spot for Turkish and British high society. It was one of the only places in the world that Greek, Turkish and British cultures met, creating an odd patchwork of Turkish coffee shops, British pubs and Greek fish stalls. Following the meteoric fall of the British Empire, Cyprus itself was a brief, independent republic in the 40's. Famagusta had become one of the few economic centres on the island that successfully carried the torch handed to them by the British Army. A Greek military invasion in 1947 of the island had caused hot debate in the Ottoman Empire, with fears of a Greek invasion butting heads with the single decade of peace in Turkey. In the end, only the Ottoman embassy in Athens had closed in response. Greek politics had brought economic growth to the Cypriot Greek community but the Turkish Cypriot community had largely been ignored. The upper classes of Turkish Cypriot society had fled to the open arms of the Ottomans, becoming a powerful minority in their own right. Famagusta had died a slow death, suffering from being only, Turkish periphery town on the edge of the Greek demesne. Of the few rich Turkish families that had remained in Famagusta, Melik Demir and his family were one of only three. The Demir's had made their money on a small, offshore natural gas drill and when that ran out, diversified, going on to own entire towns of real estate for Greek and European tourists. They had made their fortune under the Greeks and British. But Melik, robed in an open-buttoned shirt and a pair of shorts, felt no less Turkish than the two Foreign Intelligence men sat opposite. The meeting was to take place at Melik's Famagusta home. After a long dinner of olives, beef and Greek yogurt, where the men had made chirpy small talk with Melik and his associates, they had retreated to the balcony to smoke and discuss business. "Well, Melik, to put it into simpler terms - what do you want?" asked Yusuf, drawing a long breath of smoke from his cigar. Melik, a darker man with a powerful moustache and a belly that only grew with the loss of his hair, smiled. "My associates and I are proposing this, gentlemen. A mercenary force, made up of Turkish Cypriot patriots, ex-soldiers and others with interest in our island, re-take our soil from the Greeks. Upon retaking our land, we wish for it to be annexed back into the Ottoman Empire, as it was prior to British occupation" said the Cypriot. The Ottoman, Emir, nodded slowly. "We are aware of that. In your original proposal sent a few years ago, we were led to believe there was to be an independent Cypriot republic, led by you" he smirked. "I'm not interested in politics. I'm interested in Cyprus" replied Melik. "I reached the decision some time ago that an independent Cyprus cannot stand on its own two feet. We need the guidance of our brothers in Turkey". He dipped his bread into the olive oil bowl and nibbled on it as Emir and his partner glanced at each other. "There are complications to this, Melik. The Department, while believing an annexation is feasible, cannot see our neighbours reacting too kindly. Arabs and Bulgarians do not want to see a re-growth of the Ottoman Empire" said Emir, reciting the lines given to him by his boss. "This is not re-growth, this is the taking back a historically Turkish province" replied Melik, his usual warm Cypriot accent remarkable colder than just moments before. "I will remind you of my gift to His Sultans government". "Yes, Melik and we are very glad for that but the military will not back a blatant invasion when you refuse to share any of your plans!" began Emir, his partner nodding in agreement. Before he could continue, Melik spat in disgust. "Oh, don't spin that old yarn. I know the military have had plans for an invasion of this island since the 30's!" he growled. "Yet you do nothing. If the Ottomans will not take the initiative to crush a clearly weaker enemy, then we bloody well will!" Silence descended on the balcony. Emir took a deep breath before speaking again. "What do you need, exactly?" "Men, ships, arms, money, anything the Sultan can share with us" said Melik, his smile from before returning. "Well, we can't give you uniformed soldiers but there are several Cypriots operating with the Ottoman security service who may be glad to aid you" retorted Emir. "We can get you guns and transport, easily. When exactly is this invasion to take place? Next year?" "July" replied Melik. Emir dropped his cigar and scrambled to the ground to pick it up. "July!" he exclaimed. "We've been planning this for two years, gentlemen. Just because you only decided to get involved when we hit a road-bump on supplies doesn't mean we aren't prepared for this". With that, Melik snapped his fingers and a servant appeared in two seconds. "The file, Stavros!" he barked in Greek, who disappeared as quickly as he appeared. By the time the file had reached Melik's hands, Emir still had not spoken but chewed on his cigar, incredulous at what he had just heard. Melik flipped through the folder slowly and nodded. "I want this to be in the hands of the Sultan by Friday. If you require further negotiations, I will personally meet with him myself" said Melik, sliding the file over to the Ottomans. "There's a boat leaving Famagusta tomorrow evening. Get on it and you will meet my associate, Ismail Ali. He will journey with you back to Constantinople and answer any questions that remain. Goodbye, gentlemen" he sneered, standing to his feet and retreating back into his villa. "What the fuck was that?" asked Emir, incredulously looking at his partner. "I thought this guy had a plan! What am I supposed to do with a fucking file?" "Give it to Ankara" replied his partner, staring out at the glittering sea thoughtfully. "We did our bit." [b]Karakilise, Kurdistan Autonomous Region, Ottoman Empire[/b] The bodies swung softly in the breeze of the warm, May afternoon. Crowds of curious onlookers were held back by a cordon of police as Sergeant Nebez climbed the ladder, the cool steel of a knife bringing a metallic taste to his mouth. "Careful, sergeant!" called a police officer, standing below the bodies with a tarp. He spoke with a thick Kurdish accent that masked any sarcasm. Nebez's muffled reply was unintelligible but the officer nodded anyway. The two bodies had been found earlier in the morning, hanging from the statue of some Sultan or another in the central square. On each outstretched, stony arm hung a man, each with a sign around their necks. "Traitor". Both men had been Kurdish police officers, by the looks of their dark uniforms. The army had been quick to the scene and Nebez's squad had quickly taken over from the police, who had been unsure what to make of the unusual scene. Bodies of local Turkish farmers had been appearing for months now but never had the murderers attacked the police. When Nebez reached the top of the ladder, he removed the knife from his teeth and began to quickly slide it across the rope. It was thick and knotted, probably made in a local mill. As he slowly cut, the corpse swung around and he was face to face with the dead man. His hair was greasy and flecked with dried blood. One eye was swollen and his face was bloated with bruises. No doubt he had taken a beating before being strung up for the town to see. This was a message to the police and the populace and Nebez already knew who it was from. The Kurdish National Front. Nebez placed a hand on the rope to steady himself and began sliding the knife across the rope even faster. The body fell with such force that he almost lost balance but caught himself on the eroded face of the statue. "Fuck..." he swore loudly before quickly scrambling down the ladder. The corpse had already been wrapped up in the tarp and two officers were struggling to carry it into the back of a van. Nebez brushed himself down. The onlookers had lost interest yet the cordon was still in place. "Boy" barked Nebez and a private immediately appeared at his side. "Yessir?" he answered obediently. "Send word of this back to base. I want arrests and suspects immediately". "Yessir" he answered again before hurrying off into the crowd of police officers who surrounded the second body. "What's going on? Get him wrapped up now!" yapped Nebez, following the private into the crowd. The second corpse was already laying spread-eagle on the tarp but the officers were rifling through his pockets. "But sir, there's something wrong with this one" said an officer, squinting at the corpse. Nebez pushed past and bent down. "What do mean?" he grunted. This one looked like the other. "Under his jacket, there's some kind of-" began the officer, pulling the mans jacket apart and revealing a bomb vest. He never got to finish his sentence as a large explosion rocked the square, blowing the statue into pieces and every man scattered across the ground. The dust cloud could be seen for miles and in Nebez's final moments of life, he could only see dust and feel the fire slowly consume his body.